Cedric Thompson Jr

I got another seven days.

And somewhere in the middle of them, I told my daughter, “F**k it.”

She wanted to go to the park. It was already 7:00, bedtime was at 7:30, and I had been up since 4:30 that morning working. I was tired, still had things to finish, and everything about the routine I’ve built told me it didn’t make sense to go.

But she had asked me a couple times, and eventually something in me just said, f**k it. Let’s go.

So we went.

I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking discipline means sticking to the plan, but I’m starting to realize there’s also something to be said for knowing when the plan doesn’t matter as much as the moment in front of you.

Especially in the season I’m in right now. I’m working hard on something I believe in, even if everyone doesn’t understand what I’m doing yet. I’m okay with that. I’ve been misunderstood before.

What I don’t want is to become so focused on the life I’m trying to build that I miss the one I already have.

And strangely enough, that little “f**k it” carried into the rest of my seven days.

I tried Coke and espresso with Alex and wish we had recorded our first reaction. I played some terrible golf with my boys. I had an impromptu date with my oldest and youngest daughters. I started The Case for Faith and kept exploring questions about faith, history, theology and what I actually believe.

None of those things were particularly profound on their own. But together they reminded me of something I’m trying to get better at: listening to myself enough to know what needs my attention now and what can wait until tomorrow.

The routine matters. The work matters. The plan matters.

But so does knowing when to say f**k it and go to the park.

That’s what these seven days taught me.

On to another seven.

This was my 8th grade graduation. A few hours after it happened, my mom told me she was leaving my dad.

Years later, when I was grown and trying to figure out whether marriage was something I could actually do, I asked her why.

She told me she was exhausted. Problems with money. With work. With communication. She did everything she knew how to do. And then she said this:

"I knew I had to move on and figure something out, because it wasn't working. That was the only option I had."

My first thought was: that's not true. You had options. You could have stayed and fought. You could have gone to counseling. There were ten things you could have tried before you furnished a house in secret and drove us two hours north.

I sat with that for a long time.

And then I realized she was telling the truth.

It WAS the only option she had. Because it was the only one she'd ever seen.

Here's the part that should scare you: you've got a list too. You didn't write it. You can't see it. And you're going to pull from it the next time your partner shuts down on you.

I wrote about where that list comes from, and how to add to it. Link is in the comments.

Seven days is a strange amount of time.

Long enough for a doctor to tell you your heart is okay.

Long enough to realize that feeling good mentally doesn’t always mean your body isn’t carrying something.

Long enough to catch five bass with a good friend, bring your daughters to work for the first time, watch them sit where I create and ask questions about what their dad does.

I remember doing the same with my dad.

Then I watched all three of my girls sing together at camp. My oldest started all of this years ago. Now there are three of them up there.

Soccer started. Alex and I got some work done. We finally cleaned out the damn Breville, so hopefully the cappuccinos hit different now. I tried some new recipes, drank some new wine, and made a blueberry espresso tonic that deserves another attempt.

And somehow, all of that fit inside seven days.

That’s what I’m starting to love about taking these pictures every week.

Life moves so fast that you can forget you lived it.

You remember the big things. You forget the fishing trip. The lunch at work. The questions your kids asked. The song they sang. The coffee you made.

And maybe a good life isn’t only built in the moments we’ll remember forever.

Maybe it’s built in all the little ones we would’ve forgotten.

This week reminded me of something else too:

Take care of yourself so you can take care of those around you.

My heart is fine. My mind feels good.

Now I’m working on making sure my body believes what my mind already knows.

On to another seven days.

Unfortunately, sometimes the path to personal growth comes at a cost. Hopefully you all can take something away from my experience.

Link is in the comments