The Next Rep, Booker Prize & Crossroads

1. Crossroads, Jonathan Franzen

I liked this one quite a bit, despite the notable absence of many truly likeable characters. It follows a pastor, his wife, and their kids in 1970s suburban Chicago as each wrestles with faith, sex, drugs, ambition, guilt, and trying to be a good person. I’m a sucker for a sprawling family saga, and Franzen is really good at making you understand people even when you don’t particularly like them.

2. Mary Beard on why we read

Mary Beard is a judge for this year’s Booker Prize, and in a round-table discussion she said something that immediately got my attention: “I cannot bear the phrase, ‘I really love reading.’” You’ll need to watch the whole 1 min 26 sec clip to understand why, but her larger point is terrific: reading isn’t valuable simply because it’s pleasurable. Sometimes a book is difficult, frustrating, or even unpleasant. And THAT can be exactly why it’s worth reading. I’ve made a similar case for reading fiction before, but she nails it much more succinctly than I did.

3. In Fighting for Every Black Child, Did I Betray My Own?​

What a piece by Nikole Hannah-Jones. She deliberately enrolled her daughter in an underperforming, predominantly Black public school as part of her commitment to fighting school segregation. Now her daughter believes that decision came at her expense. I found the reaction almost as fascinating as the essay itself: terrible parent vs. trail-blazing advocate. I taught for five years in a low-performing public school in Atlanta, so I can attest to how difficult these environments can be. But I also have a lot of grace for a parent trying to live according to a larger principle while making an intensely personal decision for her own child. At what point does sacrificing for the greater good become sacrificing your own kid? I’m not sure there’s a clean answer, which is exactly what makes the piece so compelling.

“The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.” — Marcus Aurelius

​

“The most important step a man can take… It’s the next one. Always the next step.” — Brandon Sanderson

Next rep.

Monday. January 1. After vacation. When work calms down. When the kids go back to school. WHEN IT FINALLY COOLS OFF HERE IN ATLANTA!

We love a clean slate.

Unfortunately, after 20 years of running a fitness company and raising five kids, I’m sorry to report that the slate never actually gets clean. At best, it gets kitchen-counter clean: you can kinda see most of the surface, but there’s still a permission slip, three water bottles and somebody’s AirPods sitting there.

So here’s a phrase we use in sports that I think works even better in regular life:

You don’t need a fresh start. You need a next rep.

A quarterback makes a terrible throw: Next rep.

You miss a week of workouts: Next rep.

You lose your patience with your kid and handle something poorly: Next rep.

You realize it’s been two weeks since you did the thing you swore you were going to do consistently: Next rep.

The point isn’t to pretend the last rep didn’t happen. Learn from it. Make adjustments. But don’t let one bad rep snowball into an elaborate waiting period for the conditions to be perfect enough to try again.

And here’s something worth remembering as a dad: there is value in your kids seeing a bad rep. They need to know that adults miss the mark too. But what matters just as much is what they see next.

A silly example: Earlier this year, I hurt myself racing high school kids in the 110-meter high hurdles at a track meet. Yes, I realize how that sentence sounds.

It royally jacked up my plans for a competition later in the summer. My kids watched me limp into the house and sulk for a day.

Then they watched me get to work on rehab.

Do I own it?

Do I laugh at myself?

Do I adjust?

Do I take the next rep?

So skip the clean slate. Pick one small thing. Send the text. Take the walk. Do the workout. Book the trip. Start the project. Run the race (just maybe one without high hurdles).

Next rep.

​

---

Thanks for reading, dads.

Let’s make this time count!