I'm riding in the Odyssey with my wife at the wheel and the kids sort of watching the DVD and sort of bickering among themselves. It's 2pm and we're all sort of realizing what a huge frickin' mess we've gotten ourselves into.
We've finally pulled the trigger on Marengo.
Marengo is apparently someplace where either Napoleon won or lost versus the British way back when.
It's also a big cave in southern Indiana.
We've spoken and plotted to go there since arriving in Indiana in 2005. Today we finally pulled it off.
We have everything in tow: the sullen 15-year-old, the incredibly trying 12-year-old, the Yoda-wise seven-year-old with the hair-trigger temper, the three-year-old who mimics them all incessantly, experiments with unclicking and reclicking her seat belts and lost her three front teeth to her diet as an infant in China years ago (the toll only being reached last week, to the horror of her adoptive parents), the wife who loves her husband more than ever as he as grows occasionally quite distant in his work, the dad storming to figure out his book on grand strategy who sometimes seems painfully oblivious to the world around him.
Marengo.
It's almost the title of the reflective memoir of his/her broken family that child # 1, 2, 3 or 4 writes decades from now, to world acclaim.
It's the metaphor for roads not taken, sights not visited, wounds not healed, family not preserved.
Except we pulled off, we had our fights, we managed our hugs, we connected on various levels, and the day ends with several strong bonds reinforced.
It is amazingly exhausting to keep a family going, but it's the most important thing you'll ever accomplish.
They will test you, they will inform you, they will reflect you.
None will turn out as you expect, none will follow the paths you have chosen, all will push every conceivable boundary.
And if you're smart, you will recognize that your love depends on nothing they do, or become, or how they extend your life in the people they choose to love, the children they manage to raise, or the family they're lucky enough to conceive and maintain.
Throughout it all--this parenting gig--I learn one thing: never bet against the need to connect.
Globalization isn't a historical process, nor some sum of national calculations. It's the same expression of desire we've witnessed from humans since their status in this world was still questionable.
Simply put, the questions never stop. They just become more individualized, more concrete, more palpable.
But humanity moves on.
I know, I see it every day, in the eyes and actions of creatures I consider so beautiful and so dear that I sometimes catch myself listening for every breath they take.
There is a saying in youth services, that every kid grows up thinking the world is exactly like their family--no matter what the circumstances.
Think about that for a minute and you crack every code worth deciphering in human history.
The same, I am finding, is true for anyone aspiring to truly strategic thought. The sterility, the humanity, and all the variations in between can be located in this most intimate of processes--this microcosm of global community.
You want ideas that stick? Then connect to that which sticks to you.
There is no escape in a world of complete transparency.
Horizontal thinking is a great gift, but a personal curse. There are so many days and so much empathy to be had in any one life. You share where you can, you husband where you must, and you give it every full measure possible.
There is no retreat once you accept the connection.
You either rush into it all or you spend your days cringing behind your cynicism, camouflaging it as "objective expertise."
I don't want to waste one minute, and I will exploit every source possible in the meantime.
And therein lies my faith.