The Burn

“Abraham Lincoln wasn’t born on Mount Rushmore. He didn’t arrive in the world with his face on the penny. He came as we all do — a bare-gurgling bundle of possibility. Born, as we are, free — within some limits — to make of himself what he would.” - William Lee Miller

We ran out of water.

We lived on an island. And like many places not connected to the underground magic of modern life — city water, especially — you ran out of things. Our house sat on what used to be a coral reef a few million years ago. You couldn’t just dig a well.

I guess you could dig a well. But the result was brackish — basically nature’s way of saying, “Nice try.”

Under our house was a cistern. A big concrete box that collected rainwater. That was our supply. If it didn’t rain, we ran out. Simple as that.

So you learned to live with limits. For us, that meant what my stepfather called the Cruzan Shower. You got two minutes. That was it.

Fast-forward a few decades. I’m fighting different battles now — mostly with teenagers who treat loading or unloading the dishwasher like a human rights violation.

These days, I take my time in the shower. Rain from the ceiling. Somewhat indulgent. And a few minutes in, the mirror fogs up.

I’m still standing there. But I can’t see myself.

And lately I’ve been wondering — how much of the rest of my life is the same?

I think I’m seeing clearly. But I’m just staring through fog. It feels clear. But it’s not. It’s just familiar — and familiar is often unreality.

Obscured by ego. By fear. By defensiveness. Those three love to show up uninvited — usually right when something breaks.

Suddenly, it’s everyone else’s fault. The timeline was off. The tools weren’t right. Mercury’s in retrograde. Anything to avoid saying, “Maybe I missed something. I was wrong.”

That’s self-preservation. But it’s not understanding. And it won’t get you unstuck. And it certainly won’t help you do your best work.

The more I sit with it, the more I think the most important thing in life is understanding. Understanding how the world actually works — and how it doesn’t. What I control. What I don’t. What’s true and what’s not. How other people see things — and why they might see it differently.

Because it’s tempting to bend reality into what I want it to be. But the work is to see it for what it is. Because only then can I take the next right action. The next good action.

That kind of clarity — the willingness to face what’s true — I saw it in Lincoln.

You already know the myth: the dirt floor cabin, the rise to the presidency. What I hadn’t fully appreciated was how relentless he was about learning. Reading. Doing. Questioning. Listening. Understanding.

Sure, ambition got him moving. Maybe it gets me moving too. But I think understanding is what helped him make the turn.

Ambition became purpose.
Because he understood.
He saw clearly.
It wasn’t about him.

You can’t do what’s required if ego and fear are superglued to your eyeballs. If you’re stuck in the reptile brain that’s been trying to protect you for the last few million years, you can’t interact with the reality of today.

That’s the work.

I think it comes down to my emotional maturity. And that’s mostly about understanding my emotions — knowing what helps and what doesn’t. Seeing when I’m being defensive. When I’m not. When I’m open. When I’m actually listening — or just trying to win.

Understanding makes that possible. It helps me move beyond ego and into something quieter. Out of that small, rigid room in my head — and onto open ground. A wide plain. Green grass. Puffy clouds. Room to breathe. Room to see.

But it doesn’t just happen. I have to catch myself. I have to sit with it.

Am I seeing what’s real? Or indulging in something more comfortable?

Clarity doesn’t arrive all at once. It burns off — like fog in the morning.

Most problems in life aren’t technical — they’re interpersonal. And the person I interact with the most… is me.

It’s hard to have that relationship if the mirror’s foggy.

The job is to clear it. To see myself for what I am — and the role I play with everyone around me.

The truth.
The ego.
The fear.
The deception.
The progress.
The good.
The bad.
The potential.

Understanding reality — that’s the mission.

It takes time.
Sometimes help.
Sometimes pain.

But it starts with reflection.

Take care, friend. Be good. Bye.

—Kelly