I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
I’ve lived on a rural country road for many years. It’s unpaved and unmaintained by the county or the state, lined with trees, and more frequently crossed by deer and jack rabbits than people. It’s a throwback to an older, simpler way of life. It’s also a throwback to a scene I’ve always remembered from Mad Men, where Don Draper and his family finish their picnic and then nonchalantly throw all their trash into the grass below. My experience walking and running and biking and driving on this road has been to witness the return of that attitude. People dump tires and old mattresses. They dump debris from construction sites. They dump beer bottles and candy wrappers. They dump illegal deer kills and for some inexplicable and alarming reason, a lot of dead dogs. At first, this just pissed me off — especially because the nails kept giving me flats. It made me angry at humanity and the place that I lived. I tried calling the police and animal control and my local politicians — of course, they did nothing. I put up cameras which did nothing. I despaired about the climate and the future. I thought about moving. But then one morning on my walk with my kids, a thought hit me that was both freeing and indicting. How many times do I have to walk past this litter, I thought, before I am complicit in its existence. Even if I moved to a place where this didn’t happen, I thought, it would still be happening here. Marcus Aurelius was right when he said that you can also commit injustice by doing nothing. So I started cleaning it up. The tires went into the back of my truck—and I paid to have them properly recycled. I tossed nails and screws into the trash. I’ve put on face masks and gloves to scoop up dead dogs, which I burned or took to the back of my ranch to decompose in a less disruptive place. I can’t say the experience is pleasurable and it’s not exactly saving the world, but it is empowering. I talk in my new book “Right Thing Right Now” (you can preorder it at the link in bio) that Justice is about starting small and doing what you can to save people from trouble or pain—and that these little things add up.
My running philosophy.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Swipe for 10 habits that will help you to live and be better. These habits are adapted from my new book “Right Thing, Right Now” (which you can preorder…right now through the link in bio!). So if any of these resonated with you, I can promise you’ll like the new book.
Why is your teenager rebelling? In part, to get a rise out of you. Why is your middle schooler being a smart aleck? To see how you’ll respond. Why is your toddler calling for water from their bedroom, only to change their mind to juice, only to explain they meant the other juice, only to now ask to go to the bathroom. Because it’s funny. Because it’s a game. Because they’re playing with the little bit of power they have in this crazy, uncontrollable world: Their power over the adults who have power over them. So relax. Just go with it. Understand what’s happening. It’s not about the puzzle. It’s not about anything. You are the toy. Listen to the full conversation with @officiallymcconaughey on the @dailystoic podcast. And for more parenting insights, check out @dailydad !
It’s not ambition or skill that sets you apart, but sanity. From my conversation with Cal Newport on The @dailystoic Podcast.
Each of us has the power to contribute to a problem or to be part of the solution. The decision to reform oneself is not an isolated one. It may matter only a tiny bit in the big scheme of things, but it does matter. I tell this story in the afterword of my new book “Right Thing, Right Now: Good Values. Good Character. Good Deeds.” There’s just one week left to preorder the book to receive exclusive preorder bonuses at the link in bio. I hope you’ll check it out.
