Time seems less like a straight line and more like a loop… a full circle, sometimes bringing us right back to where we started.

Jess and I dated when she attended JMU, and so many of our early memories took place in those Harrisonburg, VA mountains.

Picnics. Hikes. Shopping trips. I made the 3 ½-hour drive as often as I could. Her dorm was in the “Village” — a cluster of residence halls at the heart of campus.

This morning over breakfast, I flipped through the winter edition of the JMU magazine. And what was in a feature spread? The Village.

The article grabbed my attention, not just for the nostalgia of our dating days, but because we have another important connection there: our youngest son, Sam.

Now a freshman, he’s living in the same complex, just a stone’s throw from Jess’s old dorm room. Exactly 30 years later.

If someone had told us back then that we’d be returning to visit our child in that very spot… we would have laughed.

But here we are.

Life is funny like that, but also pretty amazing. There’s a lot of love there in the Village.

Full-circle moments. Start looking for them. The older I get, the more I see them all around.

PS: Shoutout to our other JMU family connections: Luke, our oldest Dukes alum, and Jake, a sophomore.

It’s a dinner I’ll never forget.

Growing up, Ola was my neighbor, an older widow who lived alone. Her closest loved ones resided several states away. She was always quick with a smile and a wave.

After noticing my family struggling through a hard time, she called me over one late afternoon. “Just thinking about y’all,” she said, handing me a big pot of food. “Enjoy.”

No one else knew. No fanfare. No applause. Only compassion, pure and simple.

That was decades ago, but I still think about it.

This week, I stumbled upon a Japanese term: Intoku (陰徳). It means doing good in secret, without seeking the spotlight.

That’s the challenge: to do good when no one’s watching, just because. The ripple effect can last a lifetime.

When I think of Intoku, I picture my sweet friend from across the street, who passed away almost 25 years ago.

Thank you, Ola. Your quiet kindness lives on.

During my first job at a car wash, I wrecked a man’s brand-new Town Car.

I was 16. I left the driver’s door open while reversing and smashed it into a brick wall. A stupid mistake. And for years, I carried the shame.

How could I have been so dumb?

Time moved on. Decades have passed. That vehicle is long gone and probably rusting in a junkyard by now. But I still think about it with frustration.

Today, I watched an episode of Severance. A character is asked, “What is something for which you feel shame?”

His answer: “My dog died when I was a kid. It was my fault.”

“Why?”

“I left the gate open.”

No other details.

Shame is a prison. Be kind to yourself. Forgive yourself. Speak to yourself the way you would to someone you love. The past is unmovable, but your relationship with it is not.

Overcoming shame means choosing, at last, to close the door. Or to finally shut that gate.

My first Norfolk, Virginia trip came in my teens.

An afternoon’s drive from my hometown, it was a blur of battleships, shipping cranes, and port traffic. A bustling maritime city.

On our way from NC to Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, we made a quick stop at a downtown area called Waterside. After buying some fudge, we hit the road again.

In a gazillion years, I never would have imagined how much Norfolk would shape my life. Because a decade later…

It’s where I met my future wife.
Where I rented my first apartment.
Where I got married.
Where four of my kids were born.
Where I worked.
Where I bought my first house.
Where my life was saved (long story).

So tonight, it was nice to make the hour drive back to the “mermaid city” to visit my sweet in-laws. And by the way, it’s not pronounced Nor-folk. It’s Nor-fuk. Now you know.

Funny how a random spot on the map can become a main character in your story.

Bonus points if it starts with fudge.

I was king of the world back in the TiVo days. Master of my TV universe.

That little black box was peak tech. A total game-changer. And that’s when (early 2000s) I had my first binging experience.

“Mass consumption” wasn’t a thing when I was a kid. If you loved a show, you had to wait forever — a whole week — for the next episode. And if you missed one, good luck catching a rerun anytime soon.

The first show I ever binged? 24. Bauer power.

Even with today’s endless streaming options, I’m not much of an on-the-couch-marathon-the-entire-season kind of guy. I can’t sit that long. But thanks to Snowpalooza this week, Jess and I blitzed through Landman Season 1.

10 episodes, 5 days. Wrapped up the finale tonight. It may or may not have involved pizza and brownies.

And somewhere, my old TiVo is still trying to record every episode of The Andy Griffith Show. Godspeed, little buddy.