April 25, 2025 | Reflections at 4:00 p.m.
It was one of those philosophical Fridays. The school holiday had started. The campus was quiet. And so was my mind.
But reflection has a way of sneaking in—like a quiet companion—when things slow down. Last night and this morning offered me more than just moments. They gave me questions. And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that the quality of our lives is shaped by the quality of our questions.
A Night with a Lost Phone—and a Lost Trust
Last night, I was walking with my sons, Aden and Eann. Aden had been given a phone again after a long break. I’d held it from him—not out of punishment, but out of fear. Fear that he might fall into the trap of distraction, addiction, and digital dependence.
But this week was different. He was representing his school at the MSSD chess competition. The phone became a practical tool—for communication. A necessity. A gesture of trust.
While I was deep in conversation with a mentee during our daily reflection walk, Aden trailed behind, capturing photos with his phone. I didn’t notice when it happened. But suddenly—it was gone.
I was furious. I let the words slip: “You’ve lost my trust.” The moment I said it, I knew it wasn’t right. The frustration was real, but my reaction was fear-driven, not love-led. It wasn’t leadership. It wasn’t fatherhood. It was control disguised as concern.
Miraculously, someone answered the phone when we called. We retrieved it within minutes. But something else was lost in the process.
Back home, Aden wasn’t himself. He was quiet. Withdrawn. When I handed him the phone, he wore a mask he had crafted from an A4 paper—two eye holes cut out, scribbled markings like an emotional shield. I told him to take a shower and help with Loki. He didn’t speak. I gently tore off the mask. He was crying.
And just like that, a moment became a mirror.
Fatherhood Is Fragile
The next morning, I checked in on him. He said, “Not yet,” when I asked if he was okay. Then I noticed the papers he had pasted on the wall—six to eight of them. Full of thoughts like, “Nobody likes me” and “Why do people treat me like this?”
This wasn’t just a lost phone. This was a boy processing pain. Shame. Silence.
I realized—again—that parenting doesn’t come with closure. It’s not a software update we can just download. It’s a dance. A marathon. A sacred, exhausting climb.
As children grow, so must we. When they’re young, they absorb our every word. As they mature, they form their own. We can no longer dictate. They aren’t code to be written. They’re stories to be nurtured.
Philosophy in the Mess
I found myself reflecting on this with my marriage counselor. She said something that stuck: “This tension at home isn’t bad. It’s good. Because there’s restoration.”
That’s life, isn’t it? Not perfect harmony, but resilient recovery.
And I’ve wrestled with the age-old question: What makes a better parent?
Is it the one who’s always gentle, attentive, giving the best environment? Or the one who’s tough, imperfect, but builds children ready for a world that’s far from ideal?
Ecclesiastes whispers in the back of my mind: “Vanity, vanity. All is vanity.” The good die young. The wicked prosper. Some eat healthy and pass early. Others drink Coke every day and live to 90.
So what truly matters?
The AI Analogy
Lately, I’ve been experimenting with AI. Prompts. Custom instructions. Why does the same engine give such different results?
Because what you get is determined by what you ask.
If your prompt is vague—“Suggest good food”—you’ll get vague answers. But if your prompt is purposeful—“Suggest baby-friendly meals for children with allergies to ABC, designed to encourage lifelong healthy eating habits”—the output transforms.
That’s life too.
If we live with unclear intentions, we shouldn’t be surprised by unclear outcomes.
We expect results, but we’ve never clarified the goal.
Even God doesn’t force us. The truth is already available. It’s not about the answer. It’s about the question: Who do you want to become?
What We Avoid Reveals What We Fear
A lot of people say they don’t know what they want. But they’re very clear about what they don’t want.
That’s where we begin. Strike those off. But pause—are you avoiding something because it’s against your values, or simply because it’s outside your comfort zone?
I don’t have the answer for you. But I know this: clarity begins with honesty.
And sometimes, the best step forward isn’t more effort. It’s more rest.
Rest, Reflection, and Real Questions
As the weekend draws near, I’m torn—should I spend time with my parents or stay home to think and plan?
But maybe the better question is: What gives life?
Rest doesn’t mean passivity. Rest gives space for clarity to re-emerge. When the mind is still, the soul speaks.
Productivity isn’t about doing more. It’s about creating value. For your family. For your future. For the world.
Final Reflection:
And that, I believe, is how we make life meaningful again.
In parenting, in leadership, in life—it’s not the complexity that’s hard. It’s the simplicity.
Simple truths are the hardest to live.
So before you measure your day by how much you got done, ask yourself the one question that matters:
Who am I becoming?
Leave a Reply