Author: Jason Zerbey

Posted on

Good Enough

Two days ago I wrote about not feeling good enough. Then I wrote about a woman who I never felt like I was enough for. I felt shame for not being more than I am.

I’ve been flooded with messages from God that I am enough.

Disclosure: Some of the links below are affiliate links, meaning, at no additional cost to you, I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. 

“What if my gold be wrapped up in ore?”

That’s from John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. It’s about discarding the things that don’t serve you and focusing on the truth. I believe that we cover our gold in ores of self doubt and fear of truth.

This morning, during my intentional breathing and meditation, I felt and envisioned that ore falling away, leaving only gold.

Later in the morning, at a Martin Luther King, Jr. service opportunity, the volunteers were graced with performances from Jea Street, Jr. and Nadja Nicole. Nicole sang the Esperanza Spalding song, “Black Gold.” She prefaced it with a message that each of us was good enough.

I spent nearly four hours pulling at ivy and doing my part to beautify the new home of One Village Alliance in Wilmington. It was simple, gratifying work.

After the work and some rest, I got myself to my first jiu-jitsu class in months. A skin infection had side-lined me and I was terrified to restart my nascent journey. That’s the way journeys go, they can be interupted just as they begin.

I survived the class and walked away feeling the accomplishments of showing up and being excited to return.

I am good enough. I feel God in my daily life. He fills me up when I am empty. He sends me these messages and offers me opportunities to share my gifts with the world.

Posted on

Freeing Myself

A former lover walked by me on the street. I was sitting, talking with a friend, and being present when this figure from the past strode by, ignoring the weak, “Hi,” and wave I produced. I was taken away from the moment and disquieted.

She was my first love after losing my wife, Mary. It was a fireworks show of an affair and lasted nearly as long. In addition to a passionate romance, it was a convincing game of family. Her daughters and my sons seemed to belong in each other’s lives from the start. Anywhere we went, people assumed we were a traditional family. I got caught up in the play. I missed my role as “Husband and Father” to the degree that I was unintentionally acting it out. We discussed and enacted co-parenting, but we avoided labeling the relationship other than “friends” to subvert questions from the curious (and perhaps ourselves).

The whole arrangement remained under a thin secrecy. It seemed right that we alone should be navigating our new, post-marital existences. We discussed establishing something “long term” and she returned my expressions of love.

Then the connection was broken. We had a day of deep, physical connection. After hours of pleasure, we went to dinner and a concert. We lost a piece of our bond somewhere between that afternoon and the restaurant. Nirvana’s “All Apologies” played during dinner and in the chorus, Cobain sing screamed “Married, Buried.” I always thought it was “Mary, Mary,” and that’s what I heard that night. We knew that things had changed, but didn’t discuss it. This was unusual. Our relationship had been built on exploring uncomfortable emotions, suspicions, and fears. I chalked some of it up to exhaustion and my own desire to return to bed together. We got to the concert during the opening act. We took our seats as one song ended and the artist introduced the next. It was a song about a ghost named Mary. A thick heat swelled inside me as I forced a joke, “It seems we have a chaperone tonight.” My stiffness and discomfort did not abate through the evening and was worse the next day. I again tried to explain the feeling away as exhaustion, but we didn’t talk for a week and when we met next, we were no longer lovers.

There wasn’t anger, I believe we were both confused about what had happened and there was no blame to place. We made an effort at a friendship, but she never seemed comfortable around me again and that soon ended.

I think about her and what we shared more often than I would like to admit. I see her at odd times and remain confused about my feelings toward her. I have great fondness and appreciation for the time we shared. She was there for me in a very difficult time and held my hand as I shifted from a grief mindset to a healing and growth journey. I have changed a lot in the two years hence. In great part, I have her to thank for that. And now that feels like nostalgia for what was. A comforting feeling of a happy time, but not one that needs to be reproduced or re-envisioned. It was right when it was right.

After she walked by and I was shaken by the surprise, my friend asked, “Do you think this is a sign that you should reach out to her?” I didn’t have an answer, the unanswered questions surrounding the end of our relationship seem to call out for asking. I realize now that I must find those answers in myself and come to peace with not knowing what I cannot know.

Posted on

Not X Enough

My growth mindset has an inherent contradiction, a paradox that must be applied as a balance. The idea is to go to bed greater than the person who woke up that day, but to do so is to admit that each day I am not waking up to all that I can be.

A couple of my daily affirmations speak to this: “All is right in my world,” and “I am change.” If all is right, why would I change?

Change is involuntary, it is the turbulent flow of life. Engaging that flow and meeting it where it is propels me.

I got back outside for my intentional breathing and meditation this morning. I spent December in a funk and didn’t find a rhythm during our early January road trip.

As I stepped outside with my mat, I thought, “Oh, it’s not cold enough.” Then the thoughts cascaded and I compared myself to the folks on the Wim Hof groups who roll in the snow, break ice to swim in Scandanavian lakes, and retain their breath for minutes at a time. I thought of how slow my growth seems, how I’m not pushing myself enough, and how poor my focus is.

Then I rolled my mat out, lied down, and looked up at this.

I’ve grown fond of this view. It’s been more than a month since I took it in and it brought me back to the peace and hope I received when I started this practice in April.

I remembered that I am enough because there’s no other way to be in the present. I know that it is the path to being greater and more present in the next moment.

Posted on

Torn Apart

What do you do when you’ve been insulted by a loved one?

Disclosure: Some of the links below are affiliate links, meaning, at no additional cost to you, I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. 

I want to forgive and make an effort to not take it personally, but I also don’t want to make myself vulnerable to future attacks. I have done well to adhere to Don Miguel Ruiz’s Agreement: Don’t Take Anything Personally. I find it most difficult when the insult is worded in a deeply personal way.

I can intellectualize why this person has an internal conflict that he is projecting on me. I’m especially good at explaining this when I’m not the one being insulted.

I struggle with letting him close again. I want to model a healthy environment for my sons and curating the souls I choose to be around is an important factor. Since becoming a widower, one of my most important intentions was to invest myself in those who invest in me.

That’s not to the exclusion of strangers and community. Many of our blessings come from these sources and I continue to pour out the energy and resources we possess. It is those who would reject and insult our gifts that I do not want in my life.

Is that it? Is an insult delivered out of a lack of self love harmless and forgettable? Is it still deserving of a new boundary? I don’t see myself or my sons as too fragile to be compassionate to our loved ones. I do see life as precious enough not to share energies with those who would not accept them.

I often tell my sons, “You must ask before helping someone. You cannot help one who does not want help.” Can all communication be defined as “help?” Whether attempting to understand someone or yourself, solve a problem, or share joys and confusions, aren’t we always helping ourselves and others when we are communicating properly?

For now, that is how I will frame it. I will establish healthy boundaries and keep my heart open to forgiveness.

Don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements:

Posted on

“Diametrically”

I asked my son what he would write about auditioning for his role in The Pilgrim’s Progress.

He said he would write about learning the word “diametrically,” even though it turned out not to be in a line he needed to recite.

It’s simple, but he’ll never forget that word and so many others that he’s had to learn for the stage.

It reminds me of his first time at a mic. He volunteered to read a line in Delaware Shakespeare‘s Shakespeare Day event. He couldn’t read yet, but his little hand shot up and he was charging forward before I could stop him. The emcee, David Stradley, read the line in his ear and Westen repeated the words clearly.

His fearlessness is matched only by his curiosity. Adventure means learning and the more we learn, the greater the adventures become.

I’m losing count of the times he has taken the stage in various settings, each time learning more.

Posted on

Thursdays Are My Favorite

This was established as an anti-isolation group. We were all feeling trapped by government regulations and the fear-based hysteria of the media. We came together as families who wanted to experience community again. We are moms and dads who need human contact and children who need to play with other children.

We’ve become the community we were seeking. We support each other in material and non-material ways. We listen to each others needs and provide when we can. These Thursday meetups have grown into other get-togethers, field trips, homeschool lessons, clubs, and numerous social events.

Thursdays are my favorite because they are when the biggest, and most diverse, group of us meet. Thursdays are when we explore our differences and reveal our similarities. We share ourselves with each other.

Posted on

A New, Stranger Chapter

A new world opened to me on the last day of our roadtrip under unexpected circumstances. My sons were sleeping in and we were parked in a dingy RV park with a locked bathroom and few amenities, I received a message turning down an invite I had sent to a young lady, and I was nearing panic at being unprepared for responsibilities I had taken on with a homeschool theater group.

All this at the end of another incredible journey could have meant dread at returning home, as I had felt after previous treks.

But it didn’t. I felt freedom in my independence and deep possibilities in cramming for my new role as assistant director. The Pilgrim’s Progress is the play and upon starting my research, I found that I was already connecting with the text and seeing the chance to return to my Covid-interrupted Bible studies, perhaps even in a leadership role.

During the final leg of our voyage, I listened to commentary on the book and it’s Biblical foundations. The protagonist, Christian, goes on a hero’s journey, much like I have since losing my wife. Once home, my sons and I sat down to watch a well-produced animated adaptation. There seems to be a world of knowledge to discover within this book and it sparks my most curious inclinations.

How is this chapter of my life “stranger,” as I claim in my title? Well, that remains to be seen, yet my life has been increasingly strange for a long time and I am happiest when I embrace the weird.

Posted on

FFT: Assistant Director?!

Fuck, I curse too much for this gig.

Disclosure: Some of the links below are affiliate links, meaning, at no additional cost to you, I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. 

I’ve never acted, directed, written, built a set, played music, or been any part of a stage production. I’m sitting in on auditions this week and don’t know the material. The Pilgrim’s Progress is the most famous Christian novel in history and I hardly know the outline. I feel that pressure too, of not being “enough” of a Christian, whatever that means. And getting children to focus on a task is not an unschooling dad’s strongest play. Even though I’ve been assured that my role will be limited and it all seems manageable, I’m a bit terrified.

That’s why I volunteered. I’ve been a fan of theater since my best friend’s family took us to see Phantom of the Opera in Philly as high school freshmen. He got sent to boarding school and I started hanging with the drama kids. I became a casual theatergoer, from Evil Dead: The Musical to Patrick Stewart as Macbeth in London to many more Shakespeare productions with my sons.

Now I’m father to a couple of drama kids. Their bravery inspires me daily. They love an audience and they’re not afraid of failure. I’m not helping this production for their sake, but they have excited me to take on something new and scary.

FFT: Fucking First Time. New places, new people, new responsibilities…these are the things that frighten and exhilarate me.

Posted on

Thrice Malice

Michael Malice has evolved from a curmudgeonly hipster troll on late night cable news (Red Eye with Greg Gutfeld) to the most curmudgeonly optimistic troll in media today. It has been a joy to watch his public journey toward self actualization.

During a few hours on the road yesterday, I was able to listen to three new interviews with him. Each with a different flavor.

The first to grab my attention was Malice with Isaac Morehouse.

Michael Malice Thinks Things Are Looking Up

Morehouse is the founder of Praxis, a modern apprenticeship company expanding the options for young people to enter a productive and fulfilling adulthood. He talks with Malice about the broad concepts of the Red Pill and the White Pill.

The Red Pill is the mindset shift that occurs when one understands that the corporate media is lying to them about almost everything. One pill may have you realizing that reporters are ordinary humans who want to be liked by the celebrities, politicians, and power brokers they cover and will protect those relationships rather than chronicle dirty truths (e.g. Epstein, Queen Elizabeth II, Kate Middleton, and Prince William). Though Malice warns, “You’re supposed to take one Red Pill, not the whole bottle.” I’m guilty of recreational Red Pilling when the accepted bullshit is flowing my way.

The White Pill is the hero to the villainess Black Pill. Simply put, it is the idea that today’s methods of communication and information sharing have taken away the power of the few to control the narratives that lie us into domestic, international, and interpersonal conflicts. There will continue to be turmoil as the power structure is brought down, but the world will be freer and more peaceful on the other side.

As I don’t obsess over the latest fever dream of broadcast news, and Malice mentioned the storming of the Capitol in that podcast, I sought out commentary and eyewitness accounts of what happened recently in Washington, DC.

Storming the Capitol: Michael Malice, Karlyn Borysenko and Elijah Schaffer

Dave Rubin is a commentator who I have come trust through his relationship and discussions with Jordan Peterson and his public conversion away from ideology.

This roundtable includes two reporters who were at the scene on the events in DC on January 6th. These are not narratives, but facts from the ground that will not please those who want a tidy story. Malice rightfully puts this in context with the burning of DC and other cities in June.

Lastly, I found Malice’s latest episode of “Your Welcome” where he has a conversation with comedian Dave Smith.

Dave Smith – In The House 10.Three – Episode #136

Smith and Malice discuss the general mess that is the Libertarian Party. The Party missed a huge opportunity in 2020 and is floundering with an undercooked stew of bumper sticker ideas and desire to be “in the middle.”

One big takeaway from this conversation for me is the concept that libertarians have a position that can out right the Right and out left the Left. I have to give it another listen, but this may be the banner under which libertarians can gather a cohesive debate strategy.

That’s a lot of homework and I hate homework. The first discussion is really the one you want to introduce you to Michael Malice and a positive outlook for the coming storm.

Michael Malice’s books:

Isaac Morehouse’s books:

Dave Rubin’s book:

Dave Smith’s comedy special:

What I’m reading:

Posted on

LOVE

During a visit to Bok Tower Gardens in Lake Wales, Florida, we spent time creating art and music at their children’s garden.

I found instant tranquility in the watercolors placed on the pint-sized work table. Similarly, my sons dove into their projects.

Another child, maybe three or four years old, sat with me to create shapes no more complex than my own.

After his mom coaxed him back to his group, I noticed what he had painted. It was a padlock that had a heart in the space between the shank and the body (learning lifestyle bonus point: I had to look up the names of those parts). Children are clued into a deeper level of existence. Heart imagery has been trailing me for days and I know this is God’s way of refocusing me on love.

Meanwhile, the Zerbey creations were a bit more wild.