Back to back blog posts one day after another? I’ve not done that in over a year.

But, this one was too good for me to pass up. And, not a “pat myself on the back type of good,”, but more like a “I can stop kicking myself in the face type of good.” Well, okay. Not really that either. But whatever.

A few weeks ago I wrote about a coat I was supposed to give away when I stumbled upon a car on fire (how, exactly, does one “stumble upon” a car on fire?). That story is here, and it’s about my complete failure to listen to the voice that said “give the guy your coat.”

So as I wrote that day, I haven’t worn it since and was determined to give it away. I’ve carried that coat in the truck of my car since March 4th. Practically driving around the streets of New Jersey Jake and Elwood Blues style with a huge megaphone shouting out for a guy that needs a large coat from Buckle (some of my friends are probably saying, please, the world needs less Buckle clothing to go around–keep your coat hidden away somewhere). Alas, nothing.

At one point, a friend of mine who I love, said “Raz, just keep your coat. I like that coat. Nobody needs your coat.” And, I thought, well if she would’ve said nobody WANTS your coat, now, then she might have a point. Still, I couldn’t shake it. Have. To. Give. It. Away.

Last night I’m walking in the City and I round a corner…and there he is! I knew the instant I saw him, standing on the corner with no warmth. Too bad I didn’t have the coat, I thought to myself, it was back in the car and I was late for dinner. So I kept walking.

Fifty steps later I spun around, ran to the garage and with the privilege of annoying some Central Parking attendants, grabbed the coat from the trunk, and brought it back to…Him.

I wasn’t going to blog about giving my coat away, this is a ridiculously trivial gift, and has more to do with me following the “voices in my head” (the one that said for me to give it away, not the one that screams at me to stop by Dunkin Donuts every two miles on Route 22). And, let’s remember, the only reason I have two blog entries about this is b/c I was selfish, hard of hearing, and logical in the first place.

So I was determined not to write about the follow up to this one. But…

When he put this coat on, his coat, and he wanted his picture taken, well, the smile on his face was worth a million bucks.

And all I had to do was pay a hundred bucks to see it.

Yesterday I was getting in my car after a workout in the gym and as I fired up the car, a song came on that brought back such a vivid set of memories from decades ago.

Growing up, even at the age of 9 or 10, I remember sitting in cars in our driveway. Just to pass the time. I’d daydream, pretend I was driving, and simply hang out. I love cars. And I love music. So when I could borrow the car keys and actually start the car and listen to music once in a while, now, that was the stuff. Until, one day, I started the car in the garage but failed to open the garage door (I was pretty young). That freaked my parents out a bit. But, I’m still here. Perhaps down a few brain cells.

Hotel California was the song I remember listening to at the age of 14, and I decided that was the first song I would listen to when I got my license and could go on that first solo drive. For years I looked forward to that moment, and when the day came, I grabbed my well used remixed tape with Hotel California and jumped into a 1979 Chevy Impala station wagon, my first car. It was a rust bucket, but it was mine (sort of). And it represented my ticket to freedom. And dreaming.

Many miles were covered cruising around Upper Arlington in that Chevy, and I write I can still hear that engine at idle which made a really distinct yet subtle and soft chugging noise at idle. Like a tired, but happy, horse. What made the drives fun were the dreams; I was 16, and had so much to look forward to, with aspirations of playing football (happened) at Ohio State (didn’t happen), of becoming a businessman (happened) and someday a famous one (didn’t happen–yet), and all sorts of related and unrelated thoughts of what my life could someday become.

Years later, I had another ’79 vehicle–but this one was the greatest car ever made in the world (well, perhaps second greatest to a ’91 560 SEL that I totaled in North Dakota which I still lament), a 1979 Mercedes Benz 300SD. It was my dads for years, but by the time I got it she was, well, a really tired, but also really happy, horse. Probably worth not more than the price of four tires–maybe eight–but I loved this car. This time I was a junior in College, and some parts of my life had come together better than I imagined, and others not quite yet. But I still remember the hope and excitement that I had for the future, and my dreams were….well, my dreams. Anything was possible. And some doors were shut, like my OSU football dream, but others were plenty open. Many hours were spent just driving around the countryside of Indiana, and I remember most the long drives where I’d open all all the windows and the sunroof with dusk setting while hurtling down a country highway in the middle of cornfields as dusk settles, the sweet smell of a summer evening. It was fun. Anything was possible.

Yesterday, when I jumped in, it brought back these memories and many more in what felt like a sudden flash. And then it brought me forward. To today. And life. Things I wish I could change. Things still left to do. Mistakes I made. Mistakes I don’t want to make. The life I live (for which I’m really thankful). And the life I wish I lived. Amazing experiences I’ve had. And amazing experiences to come.

Last night at dinner at 21 Club in NYC we were seated right down from what I’ll affectionately describe as “a really old dude.” And I could hear his laughter and saw a spark in his eyes, he was playful, charming, witty (yes, I did have some of my own conversations instead of eavesdropping on his, but was mesmerized by this guy, partly related to the thoughts going through my head from the song). And I kept thinking, all these old people are really just young people…trapped in old people bodies. With their own dreams, aspirations, and goals of greatness. With time ticking.

And it dawned on me, that even though I’m only 37, that’s exactly what I was feeling as well. I’m just at a different phase of it all, with some of my life irreversibly behind me and still some ahead.

Third letter in the series. My first one is here, and the second one is here.

Dear Levi,

I’m flying home from Dallas the day before your birthday as I start this letter; I was born in Dallas, you know, and it’s a great state to claim as ones birth since I think Texans appreciate this more than any other State. I’m sure by now you’ve met quite a few peeps from all over the world up there, including those from Texas, and yes, kiddo, I know many Texans can be loud, boisterous, and overly proud of their heritage. But they’re also my people. So hang with them, you’ll find they have a lot of heart. But I bet in heaven, it’s probably hard for the Texans to continue to proclaim, “Everything is bigger and better in Texas.” That’d be awkward to be saying that, then turn around and see Jesus standing above you tapping his finger and clearing his throat.

It’s strongly familiar that I write to you as I’m flying and looking outside at 30,000 feet with cumulus clouds spanning miles in the foreground of a soothing blue sky. Some of my best memories growing up were of me and my dad flying around in a little private plane he had, and I adored going to the airstrip with him to wash it, watch him do some mechanical work, or to simply go for a ride on what felt like a magic carpet. With me, you’d have to settle for a commercial flight—I don’t think I’ll ever get my private pilot license at this point (though I started when I was 21 and had enough time and no money; now, the opposite is true). But you’d enjoy flying with me all the same, traipsing through the airport, seeing all the sights.  You’d probably even find going through security as an adventure.

This year, my friend, is the year you’d start playing football. And even though it’s just March, we’d be getting ready now. You’d be so little, engulfed in a dizzying array of pads, protective gear, and a helmet too big that it would be weeble wobbling all over your little head as your little legs churn as you run. We would spend more time getting the gear on and off you, than you would actually spend time playing in a game, but I’d love every minute. I’d have you out in the yard, doing little drills and making you sprint and tackle–as well show you how to catch a football, which despite the teasing you’d hear from my College football buddies, I became moderately good at doing. And I’d probably secretly be hoping that you would grow to be 1″ taller than me, a few 1/10th of a second faster in the 40 yard dash, with a few lbs more muscle mass than I was in high school so you could really compete in the big leagues, at least some strong D1 stuff.

Instead, today, I am listening to Nicki Minaj sing “Moment for Life” which somehow is adding to my sadness, whilst sitting here just hoping you were with me–under any circumstance. And even if you couldn’t play football, we would do other things that you and I would be good at doing. Like making fun of the other kids playing football. Sorry, that was wrong, but that thought did enter my mind for a second. No, instead, we’d do the stuff you could do, and we’d find your gift and pursue it wildly. Like we’re trying to do with Zoe; she’s super talented at all things, but she just wants to cook and create stuff. And while I want her to be disciplined, I care more that she finds and develops her gift so the challenge is to try to do both without stifling her. So we cook a lot. And Royce has so many gifts, but even the stuff that she’s only “okay” at she is ferociously determined. I’m sure there are a few things that I’d push you to develop if you had the talent, certainly football being one of them. But I’d also dig whatever your natural gifts were–even if it were limited to Croquet and Knitting, though those activities aren’t the best for a hyper-type-A personality. I’d adjust.

I feel better just writing your birthday letter today; yet I’ve also let you down. I know you know, but your book isn’t done. No excuses my friend; it’s been a wild year, but I am still plugging away. Stay patient with me, and I’m sorry I’ve missed my committed date of having it complete—and I won’t promise another date until I know I can honor it. But I’ll keep working on it.

Normally I give you a bit of a family update; this year, it’s a bit too complicated for me to write, and I’m sure you know enough. We’re all good, though it has been far from an easy year.  RoZo and Mom say more than hello. And I know it’s hard for all of them not to be able to see you on this day. Mom thinks about you ALL of the time. This afternoon we spent some time in honor of you at the house. RoZo wanted to go and get helium balloons and tie cupcakes to them and send them off to you in heaven. And while a part of me thought this is a charming and magical idea, the pragmatic side of me is contemplating the potential consequences of a cupcake hurtling down towards earth at 50mph. We went with emotion rather than logic today, and off went the cupcake with six balloons. You can guess who picked out the football balloon. RoZo selected the rest. The kids want to send stuff to you so badly, and see you even if just for a minute.

I really miss you. A lot. Perhaps it looks like I’ve gotten on with my life and often forgotten much about you. But it’s not true. My heart aches for you. And I wish you were here, with me, right now. You’d think I were a cool dad, at least for now, finding me entertaining, funny, strong, confident, and dependable. You would look at me and proclaim things like “You’re the best dad in the world!” But as time would go on, and as years pass, you would see me for who I really am. A mix of some good attributes, but plenty of broken ones as well. But for now, I’d be quite perfect in your innocent eyes. Which would be very cool.

Today, I wish I could see those little blue eyes and what I know would be a mischievous smile with lots of cackling and laughter throughout the day–merciless teasing of your big sisters, who are pretty good at dishing it out as well. Little dude, I miss you more than you know. And this very day, my only prayer would be that JC takes you on his knee and somehow reads this letter to you.

There are probably too many snapshots of my life that I’d like you not to see, but today I wish you could see me and my eyes as I wrote this birthday letter to you. Then, with just one look, you’d know just how much I love and miss you.

Happy Birthday, buddy.

Literally.

We’re driving back from the NYC area to Western Jersey on Saturday late afternoon, just me and, then my RoZo sitting in the back. We’re jamming to some Rihanna, they’re telling endless stories, the sun is out…and we’re wearing shades, we’ve got a full tank of gas and a half a pack of cigarettes.

(okay, those last three are lines from the Blues Brothers)

Up on the right about a quarter of a mile ahead I see a car in flames, and the kids start screaming in the back. Anyways, since this isn’t the point of the story, I’ll speed this part up. Car on fire. Family of four were already out, the mom was convulsing in tears (I wanted to give her a hug, but didn’t). The Dad, a gentle giant who spoke broken english sprinkled w/ Spanish words looked in shock. Car appeared like it was about to explode. Moved them a few hundred yards away. Called 911. Everyone shows up. End of story.

But, as I was leaving, I looked over at the dad, he was shivering in the cold and had this tiny thin little blanket draped over his shoulders. It wasn’t bitter out, but there was a bite. And it was as if a voice said to me…

“Give him your coat.”

To which I replied “Woooooahhhhh! I just bought this coat. Like six weeks ago. And I only have two coats here in NJ, the other stuff is in storage. And it was expensive. I did my thing, this is ridiculous.”

So I walked around the car a few more times, realized the authorities were going to take care of him. Got in the car. Knew I was supposed to give him my jacket. Almost got out to give it to him.

Put the car in drive. Then park. Rethought it again. Back in drive, thinking this is absurd that I don’t need to give a guy my coat that I just bought, who I stopped to help (amongst many many people who just kept driving by). I did my deed, I thought. I did what really mattered.

As I drove off, I kept thinking “I should’ve given him my coat.”

And, nearly one week later, after having thought about this all week, I realize I didn’t do my deed at all. I was supposed to give him the coat off my back. Instead, I was selfish, hard of hearing, and logical.

When I should have been abundant, intuitive, and irrational.

So it’s a long ways coming, but anyways here’s our update. It’ll be a quick entry, one because at the end of the day nobody really cares THAT much to know the minutiae about our move, but I still have people who text or email and say “dude, where did you go?”

Where we went: New Jersey. Neeeewwww Jeaaarrssaaaaayyy!

Side note: my daughter, Zoe, recently said to me very sincerely “Dad, now that we’ve been here a little while shouldn’t we start talking like them? Like, shouldn’t I start saying “yooooous” instead of “you”? Ummm, no Zoe. Absolutely not. Please don’t even let those thoughts creep into your head.

So on June 1st I started as CEO of DealOn Media, a VC-backed start-up company that is in the Group Buying space (competitors that you might have heard of include GroupOn and Living Social). Here’s eight months of summary at what we did at DealOn: bootstrapped, built great technology, secured some big partners, didn’t close a few big partners we should have, made some brilliant decisions, made some lousy decisions, built a great team of incredibly-talented-and-highly-committed people (this was really the key success factor), tested and trialed to figure stuff out, figured more stuff out, got some momentum, and along we went until we unexpectedly and very rapidly found ourselves in a position where we started to get approached by a lot of buyers.

And, last week it was announced that we were acquired by ReachLocal. I never expected that we would get acquired within eight months, but we did more things right than not, we got a few breaks, we built and accomplished some pretty cool stuff, and we landed with a very successful publicly held Company that’s full of exceptional talent, passion, and commitment. Things I dig. So my Board and DealOn investors are (very) happy, I’m quite certain all of my employees are happy, and I think the buyers are happy…so, therefore, I’m pretty happy. While it wasn’t all fun and games (though we did have some fun, too), this has been one of the most stretching and adventurous business experiences of my life.

Here are a few links to the announcement:

http://www.screenwerk.com/2011/02/15/reachlocal-buys-dealon/

http://www.clickz.com/clickz/news/2026544/reachlocal-buys-dealon-plans-deals-exchange

http://www.socaltech.com/reachlocal_s_zorik_gordon_on_daily_deals/s-0033998.html

So, I left Olympia the end of May, and Erica and the kiddo’s came out in August. We’re at a temp location in Western NJ, and while we miss the West Coast immensely there are quite a few nice things about being on the East Coast–including being much closer to three of my sisters, Erica’s dad, and a MUCH shorter flight to see my parents (at one point on the West Coast we’d gone years since seeing them, and now we see them every few months).

There are things that I really love about being out here (like, that I’m able to write this from a coffeeshop in Manhattan and adore the energy in this town; I literally think my biochemistry changes when I drive through the tunnel to get into Gotham).

And there are things that I don’t love about being out here (like, working out at the gym w/ the natives in New Jersey. It’s not normal, and it’s an experience I hope you can bypass).

But, all in all, it’s part of the adventure we’ve been on and I’m grateful for every minute. Hour. Day. Okay, at least every week.   Seriously, I’m very grateful. And I’ve met some incredible people out here who have changed my life in so many ways.

Erica continues to homeschool, in an environment that isn’t that homeschool friendly or resource laden (“okay, now, which cult did you guys say you belong to again?” I promise, peeps, it’s not that weird; but it was way easier in the NW/Olympia where SO MANY people homeschooled); Royce is booting away the soccer ball in between reading books (I LOVE that she wanted her 9th birthday party to be a “bookstore birthday party” where they all got together at Clinton Bookstore to read and share stories out of books. Go Royce Go!). And, Zoe, ahhhh little Zoe. She’s more creative than ever, has turned into an aggressive little basketball player, and completely adores cooking (often but not always with me, and she’s an avid Food Network viewer). Ahhhhh, I miss our Oly kitchen! She could watch cooking shows for hours on end. It’s pretty darned cute, and I think it might be her gift.

Longer than I expected (it always is), the Raz Family update. The adventure continues…

This one is a bit more…casual, and slap-dash, but we’re going to let it go anyways. It really is purely an outtakes version, was hoping for something a bit more sincere and thoughtful but it just didn’t happen that way. And I didn’t get the participation of Erica or Royce/Zoe, but we had so many people at the house it was a bit chaotic and not optimal studio environment. So, again, this is outtakes people. Outtakes. Not me in everyday every moment life.

Anyways, Happy Thanksgiving to everybody. And, by the way, when you get a heritage/free range Turkey (like we did) it is a BIT easier to understand how I did what I did, which you’ll see at the end of the video. Too much explaining will ruin the silly surprise.

So there it is, from the RazFam to yours–best to each of you!

-Raz, Erica, Royce, and Zoe

I hate germs.

And I can’t stand touching the door handle on the way into a public bathroom, but particularly so on the way out. So like some, I use the paper towel to open up the door handle on my way out. Sometimes–usually–there’s a trash can near the door on the way out. At my office there isn’t one.

And I’d move the trash can from where it was, to a location by the door. Which was just as convenient for those who didn’t use my method, and it would offer a receptacle for those who use the “towel on door” methodology.

But it kept moving back to its old location. Frustrated, I finally would just throw my paper towel down by the door once I opened it up and headed back to my office. Someone else would clean it up at the end of the day, I figured. I didn’t really think it through that blatantly, I just didn’t want to get germinated, and I couldn’t keep moving the trash bin. So I did this “right by the door paper towel toss on the floor” for 2-3 days.

Then one night I was leaving the office around 10pm. I was tired. Frustrated. Annoyed. Work, which overall goes really well and I genuinely am passionate about, had been particularly difficult that day. And I was sluffing out the door muttering to myself something about how hard my job was, the challenges of life in a raw start-up company, how difficult it is to be a CEO, and blah blah blah.

Translation: I was whining to myself.

Which I don’t think I do very often, but it had captured me as I was locking up the door.

And as I’m turning around I hear a little girls voice. I thought I was mistaken, it was after 10pm on a weeknight. But, sure enough, I saw a little girl–maybe 6 or 7 years old–running after her dad down the hallway. Her dad, as it turned out, was the janitor for the building–a hardworking immigrant, always cheerful and exceptionally fastidious. It was obvious as he was just finished cleaning the men’s room. The same one where I’d been casually throwing my door-opening-paper-towel-pieces by the door for a few days.

Suddenly a wave of my absurdity was cast over me. Not just for the extra trash I was leaving for this guy, but for how I was feeling about myself as I leaving the office. Here I was, fortunate in 500 different ways. Whilst making his job more difficult through my selfish little trash deposits. And here he was, I’m sure also in some ways very fortunate, but also going through the challenges of life cleaning buildings on the second shift. With his young daughter in tow.

I then realized, my job is easy. And isn’t particularly admirable.

His job, however. Now, that’s admirable.

I’ll forever remember it.

And I’ll never, again, throw a piece of paper towel by the door.

As many know, she was born very premature. I’ll skip the details of the story, I’m sure in accumulation or specifically I have a post in here somewhere that details it.

Anyways, lots of long hours in the NICU. Looooong and stressful hours. And as long as they were for us, for the staff there–particularly the nurses–it was a day after after day. Probably without a lot of gratefulness. Likely without tons feedback. And, all too often, seeing a wrenching end to a life just begun that affects families in deep and emotional ways difficult to explain.

So Royce, our oldest, was a perfect product of Morristown Hospital (lots of things contributed, Providence, the Doc’s, modern technology, lots of prayers, and as I’m addressing today, particularly the nurses). So anytime I’m in the area, which is about once a year, I drop off a note thanking whoever from the staff that’s on at that particular time, and generally something like an Ice Cream cake since there’s a Friendly’s right down the street.

Too often I forget about the people who have difficult and often thankless jobs, so maybe this annual pilgrimage to Morristown was my reminder to myself to do a better job of this, as well as to provide a really sincere thanks to some people who transformed our life.

Sometimes I get wrapped up in thinking that for us to make an impact we have to do something exceptional. And, while there are many great illustrations of people doing just that–I think I can find far more from people who do the simple things, consistently, with a lot of heart, and persistence towards excellence.

In my 8+ years of doing these thank-you-drop-by’s, I’ve never once ran into our two Primary nurses from Royce’s stay at the NICU–they just never happened to be on when I was stopping by in the past.

Until this last visit. It was so cool but on my last visit BOTH of her Primary nurses were on duty, Alyssa and Denise were both there that Sunday afternoon when I was making my annual stop. And it brought back a flood of memories to see them both, and a few other emotions. I got some great time with them both, and was reminded about the simple acts of service that can make such a big difference in peoples lives. For us, the big thing was helping ensure some precarious months in the NICU by paying such great attention to Royce. But beyond that, there was a whole level of emotional support they provided as well.

So, today, a shout out of thanks to all the people out there in jobs that don’t get the gratitude that you deserve. Because whether you saved a life, changed a life, or changed a diaper (for someone young or old), you deserve some appreciation–and a reminder, that the stuff you do, even the routine and mundane, can be a game changer for someone else.

You just don’t always know who, or when.

As many of you now know, yesterday with the internal team and today with the entire external field organization I announced publicly my resignation from Univera as the CEO of International. I’ll be wrapping up my time at Univera through the end of May.

I have nothing but the greatest things to say about my time at Univera. The people involved, and particularly each of the field leaders as well as some key people internally (special thanks to Regan, a great boss and friend, as well as my teammates, too many to mention), have been nothing short of exceptional to me–you’ve been true partners all along the way. I’m also grateful to Bill Lee, who has provided me such an incredible opportunity these past four years.

It’s now been 4.5 years, and after several expanded roles at Univera, I can think of no other job in North America that could have stretched me as much as did these past experiences. From good times to exceptionally tough times, from long-term strategic planning to dealing with urgent “today” issues, from driving to objective decisions based on market data to those decisions related almost wholly to heart, emotion and subjectivity, there is no other job that I can think of which would have been as powerful an accelerator in my personal and professional life as this one. It’s been 15-years worth of experience in a little under five years of time. And while I have learned so much, at the same time, I feel like I’m just getting warmed up.

Which puts me at a place in my professional career where, for a variety of reasons, I have selected to take a different path and move onto the next thing professionally. The dream that has existed at Univera for each of you still remains; for me, however, for now my dream and destiny rests elsewhere (the details of which I’m keeping quiet about for now). While I’m very excited about my future, I’m also bittersweet for the reasons each of you know.

What’s next?

As some of you recall, at Convention two years ago when I spoke about our goals and dreams, I made a firm commitment to achieve four goals in my life and created a plan in order to achieve each one. Two have been accomplished (a certain business goal, and also my trip back to Kolkata, India), yet two still remain to be completed–and I’m stubbornly determined to accomplish them both, in addition to some new ones along the way.

The two goals? One is to complete a book I am supposed to write, and it needs to be done this year. The second is a physical health goal, specifically to get down to 15% bodyfat. So I’m still going to succeed at these, no matter how frustrated or off course I’ve been with them both (and as an aside, neither should you be frustrated by any delays in your goal setting/achievement…you can still accomplish them, stick with it, keep re-loading as needed…don’t quit, don’t quit!), and those are going to be a focus this year in addition to my new professional endeavors.

And, there’s more writing I’ll continue to do. It’s not for lack of content that I haven’t blogged for the past month, for a variety of reasons I just felt better to let it rest. But I’m going to continue blogging.

And my focus will largely continue to be about personal development–to try to write in an authentic way, without idle BS that so often peppers our talk that gets in the way of truth, and to try to continue to share stories of people who have done either the ordinary or extraordinary, or have learned lessons along the way.

Some of them are stories of the deepest magnitude, a hero who touched–and saved–so many lives, like that of Rick Rescorla during 9/11. Others have been fun filled gifts of laughter and play, like the Forever Wedding Dance couple who taught us a simple lesson about celebration and having fun. And then there are stories about the unbridled passion to make a difference in the lives of kids–like Geoffrey Canada with the Harlem Children’s Zone. None  of those are original content, simply the pulling of stories of others with a few pieces of commentary alongside.

And it will continue to be sprinkled with some personal stories and anecdotes–some involving my business endeavors and others around personal experiences. So those things will continue, and I hope you’ll freely participate along the way. You can also follow me on Twitter (@richraz2) or on Facebook (“Rich Razgaitis”).

What I get absolutely fired up about is to see people pursue their passion, whatever and wherever that may be, so that each of us can find their destiny and achieve greatness (which, has nothing to do with title or money). These can mean radically different things for all of us. The key, though, for every one of us, is to find and pursue with unbridled passion those things for which you and I were intended.

That is when the magic happens.

It’s the reason that I love movies like Crazy Heart. Stories of redemption, personal calling, overcoming a struggle to achieve greatness. I read a great quote the other day: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” I love to connect with those who are fighting the hard battle–but also remain determined and destined to achieve greatness. At the same time, I would love to imprint upon others a distaste for apathy in a way that makes them sick. Yes, we should hate apathy (in most all cases) because it’s one of the greatest thieves from you pursuing your purpose. Being apathetic is giving up, it’s not caring. And once we’ve lost the heart and passion to care, well, I don’t know how to reignite that again–let alone help someone win.

So onwards with the stories of perseverance towards purpose.

Erica and the girls are both torn yet excited for our future. They, too, went “all in” with us on this Univera journey. I’m thankful for the sacrifices they’ve made to let me have the time and adventure with each of you. They’re ready for the next move, though, and are resilient and excited despite this being bittersweet.

I will miss each one of you. Tremendously. Together we have gone through it all, especially those of you who have been on this journey with me for years. It is, really, too difficult to put into words without sounding trite or filled with hyperbole. There’s a lot that’s happened. A lot we learned. And even more we gained.

So I’ll leave it at this: together we’ve been through it all, and I love you a lot. No matter what.

Thanks for a great journey.

Your friend,

Raz

The reason I write in my blog is to connect with people. Not just from one segment of life, but from many. Usually the focus revolves around finding your purpose, passion, and renewal.

And as part of the thread of stories I try to share experiences and observations in leadership, volunteerism, wellness, as well as some events that are simply personal experiences that fall in none of those particular categories and, might, at times, be more personal.

Today’s entry is one of those. So if the personal aspect is too much, please skip this one today. The first entry that I made a year ago was here: Happy 4th Birthday Buddy.

Here’s today’s entry…

Dear Levi,

Today marks what would have been your 5th birthday.

This year I’m home instead of on the road, and lots has changed in our life–some for the better, and other parts not so much. But we’ve learned a lot, and we’ve grown a lot. God has been really gracious with us, and me, more than I deserve I am sure.

Royce is getting to be such a great soccer player, and has become so exceptionally good at reading. At night she reads to Zoe, sometimes “illegally.” She has a little flashlight that she pulls out after we’ve turned the lights off and I often catch her continuing to read into the evening. Mom makes her stop (as she probably should) but the truth is I sneak in and give her a little thumbs up when I catch her reading and tell her it’s okay. She has such a heart for people, and an exceptional ability to communicate with others. And she’s intense, in a high-achiever way. Perhaps sometimes too intense (that’s probably from my DNA). I admire and love her passion and enthusiasm for life.

Zoe is amazing as well in her own unique way as well, she has such a compassionate heart. And is so incredibly creative. You should see (or maybe you did?) the latest “dog feeder” invention that she made out of who-knows-what materials–I can’t believe what she thinks up! I love it, every day it seems there’s a new contraption for me to scope out. Her ability to develop deep relationships and comprehend complex information is pretty amazing too. She processes so quickly, I love her ability to think thoughtfully and deeply for such a young kid.

I’m so proud of both of them, and so is Mom. And today I know we would be equally proud of you as well. I wish I knew your attributes that I could brag about, someday I’ll find out what those are specifically. I’m sure there would have been, or are, lots.

We talked about you a great deal this week, and more than ever, we miss you.

Yesterday and today, especially.

You might not know it, but Royce and Zoe each have their own “baby song”, which kind of represents them as a kid. This whole thing started with Royce, when she was in the hospital NICU as a preemie and we didn’t know whether she would live–or if she did the kind of life she would have. At many points the outlook was grave. During our daily drive to Morristown Hospital, Mom and I often would hear the song by Marvin Gaye (probably one of my favorite artists) “Aint No Mountain High Enough”, which came to symbolize our confidence and belief that everything would be okay with Royce.

Of course, we still play that song and think about those days. So, naturally, about a year ago Zoe wanted her own “baby” song that represented her! We chose, with a strong bias from Zoe, “I’ve Got a Feeling” by Black Eyed Peas!!! LOL. I think that’s hilarious. You can listen to the song, I think the lyrics are fine, but don’t watch the YouTube video–it’s a little too racy. Especially for up in Heaven. That could be awkward.

So you’re the last one without a song, and yesterday I thought we should pick a song for you on your 5th birthday. I wish you were here to help select it, but I think you’ll dig it. Unanimously we picked “I Can Only Imagine” by Mercy Me. Your mom thought of it first, I can’t tell you how much she misses you. It’s beyond words.

Some people have told us that every year this would get easier. And while time helps heal some things, it doesn’t seem true as it relates to missing you. Every year represents another year without you, and we’re both comforted and saddened as the years go by.

This evening the girls made little cupcakes for you, RoZo decorated yours–it’s the one in the middle, with all the balloon candles. And we went to play laser tag–we’ve never done it before, but the kids thought it would be something you would enjoy doing so they picked it instead of going to some princess movie, which I don’t think you would have liked as well.

There’s one project that I was supposed to do for you several years ago. It’s been on my mind, and I know I’ve been negligent in finishing it and I’m really sorry about it. This is the year. I have to do it, and I want to make a commitment to you that I’ll get it done.

Tonight, as I wrote a year ago, I hope that this message gets to you somehow and in some way. I think it will. Know that we love you so deeply, and we’re so glad that we even had you for a few hours. I wish it had been many years, but the hours and memories that have ensued are better than never having the gift of you in our lives.

Levi, here’s your “baby song.” I hope you enjoy it. Whenever we hear it we’ll think of you.

I love you buddy, no matter what.