How a Simple Bird Feeder Changed How I See the World
A quiet reflection on how a backyard bird feeder changed the way I notice the world — and why paying attention might be one of the most underrated mental health practices we have.
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Change Lanes: An Open Letter to My Children About Boundaries
You’re just reaching your teenage years as I write this. You’re beginning that slow shift from childhood toward young adulthood. You still live under this roof, but I can already see the independence forming.
Someday you’ll be in your twenties, making your own decisions about who to love and who to build a life with.
When that time comes, I hope you remember this:
Creating emotional boundaries is one of the hallmarks of being an adult.
It didn’t come naturally to me.
In my twenties, I placated. I pleaded. I tried to earn approval. I confused intensity with compatibility. I stayed in relationships that required constant work just to keep them from exploding.
I thought that was passion.
It wasn’t.
It was emotional chaos.
I didn’t know how to create relationship boundaries because, if I’m honest, I didn’t fully believe I deserved peace. I thought love meant effort. I thought maturity meant endurance. I thought staying proved strength.
So I stayed in high-conflict relationships and tried to make them work.
That’s not relationship maturity.
That’s insecurity dressed up as loyalty.
One of the hardest lessons I learned is this:
You cannot fix people.
You cannot change people.
You cannot love someone into emotional stability.
The only thing you can control is your position.
It’s like when you’re driving and you see a car swerving all over the road. You don’t try to teach the driver how to steer. You don’t match their speed. You don’t stay in their lane hoping they calm down.
You create distance.
That’s what protecting your peace looks like.
Boundaries aren’t punishment.
They’re positioning.
When someone lives in a constant state of drama — when every disagreement escalates, when the relationship requires constant emotional management just to stay intact — that’s not healthy communication.
That’s turbulence.
And turbulence is exhausting.
There are people who are addicted to intensity. They need confrontation. They need stakes. They need the relationship to feel like a television show.
Healthy adult relationships don’t feel like that.
They feel calm.
They feel safe.
They feel steady.
The breakthrough in my life came when I realized I was actually happy by myself. I didn’t need someone else to make me feel approved of. I didn’t need a relationship to confirm my worth.
That didn’t happen overnight. There was a stretch after a breakup where I had to learn how to be alone. Music helped carry me through that darker season, and I’ve written before about how Sly Stone’s music guided me through that darkness.
That time alone mattered.
Because when I finally understood that I didn’t need someone, everything shifted.
That’s when I met your mom.
Not because I was searching harder.
But because I wasn’t searching from insecurity anymore.
I was mature enough to build instead of chase. Strong enough to choose emotional stability over intensity. Clear enough to recognize peace as strength.
We didn’t build drama.
We built a home.
A stable home.
A calm home.
A place where kids could grow into excellent human beings without walking on eggshells.
I’ve written before that choosing the right life partner is the most important decision you’ll ever make. I didn’t fully understand that in my twenties. I understand it now.
The person you marry will shape your peace, your home, and the environment your children grow up in.
If you can learn one thing from my mistakes, let it be this:
Protect your peace.
Create emotional boundaries early.
Choose people who make your nervous system relax.
And if you ever find yourself in a relationship that feels like constant work just to keep it together — change lanes.
Not angrily.
Not dramatically.
Just calmly.
“Know what’s enough. Build what matters.”
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