I've been told by more than a few that I shouldn't try to publish a collection of essays, especially as my "first" book. The wisdom goes that only celebrities or well-known authors are successful with essay collections. I need to earn my stripes first—write a novel, become famous, or, as one author mentioned, turn my essays into narrative nonfiction that attempts to answer one unanswerable question.
I thought about the latter for a while and even attempted to convert my essays into a cohesive narrative. The unanswerable question that came to mind was, “Why am I doing this?”
I’ve also spent over a decade working on a novel, an 82,000-word exploratory draft with an ending I loved, a decent first few chapters, and a middle that I should set to proverbial, or actual, fire. I printed it and marked it up in red pen like a real writer, only to stick it in a drawer, where I would eventually dust it off, rewrite it, and shelve it again. Finally, at the end of 2023, I was done. Not finished—just done. My real life has presented me, and continues to present me, with richer material anyway: my daughters' carpool conversations, my wife's resilience, and my granddaughter's morning enthusiasm are just a few examples.
Oh, and here’s the thing: I buried the lede. This isn't my first book. I've written and published two technical books, which made me briefly famous within a small community of programmers. More than 15 minutes of fame. Maybe like 18.
So there you have it. I do qualify for the honor to write a collection of essays, and I have even considered an unanswerable question: a worthwhile yet challenging one, because the answer changes depending on the person, and more than that, depending on where the person is in their journey.
What does it take to live a good life?
This question follows me into each morning. Some mornings it arrives gently, carried on thoughts about my granddaughter's laugh. Other mornings, it crashes in like a metro train, reminding me of past mistakes, missed opportunities, and all the adventures in between. But it always arrives, as reliable as that damn train.
I'm Kevin. I'm a grandfather who still wakes up…that’s it, I thankfully still wake up. A career software developer, technologist, and leader, who discovered that debugging life is more complicated than debugging code, and a man who literally needed a train wreck to understand what matters. (Subscribe to read more on that)
What You'll Find Here
For the next better part of a year, I'll be sharing excerpts from the collection I'm writing. These aren't advice columns or how-to guides—they are, but I’ll disguise them the best I can. They're dispatches from someone still figuring it out, tracking my reluctant foray into fatherhood, my stumbles through marriage, my evolution as a parent, and now my unexpected joy as a grandfather. Plenty of things unrelated to any of that will make their way here, too.
You'll find:
Letters to Lilo (my granddaughter): Stories and words of wisdom about maintaining wonder in a complicated world…and what music to listen to.
Carpool Confessions: Ten years of driving my daughters to school taught me that the best conversations happen when no one's making eye contact. Those morning commutes became my backstage pass to their lives.
Marriage Stories: Including how my wife and I rebuilt our relationship one conversation at a time. Just kidding, we've had the perfect marriage, with not even the slightest disagreement in our nearly 40 years together.
General Reflections: On everything from chess lessons with a five-year-old, how to train for a marathon, to Marcus Aurelius quotes that hit different after 60.
The Real Story
My technical writing background taught me how to break down complex systems into understandable parts. These essays attempt something similar with life's big questions: How do we break inherited patterns while maintaining strong family bonds? How can we protect our children while allowing them to grow? How do we retain wonder in a world designed to diminish it?
The Publishing Journey
I'm working toward publishing this collection by early to mid-2026. You're not just reading rough drafts—you're witnessing the book taking shape. Your comments and shared stories become part of this conversation about what makes a good life. Some essays will appear only here, others will be expanded for the book, and all of them are real—sometimes uncomfortably so.
Let's Begin
Each essay stands alone, like me at one of my high school dances. But together, they form a larger story about growth and connection, about how we carry our pasts forward while creating new futures.
This morning, like most mornings, I woke up wondering what makes a good life. These essays are my attempt to share what I've discovered so far—not as a guide but as a fellow traveler, still figuring it out, still growing, still waking each day to new possibilities.
Welcome to the odyssey (I purposely didn’t use journey a second time, because that word triggers my daughters.)
—Kevin
New essays arrive weekly (or when the thoughts are too persistent to ignore)