There were no large crowds of supporters packed along the Ben Franklin Parkway.  Instead, a few good friends were spread out along the Radnor Trail. 

There were no live bands, corporate sponsors, hospitality tents, or clusters of runners.  It was just a relatively quiet Sunday with the occasional jogger or dog walker passing by every hundred yards or so. 

There was no public website, official chip times, or elaborate course routes.  There was only a group text, an Apple Watch, and an old trail map.  

The 26.2 miles that Pete and Jessi Ayoub ran on December 6^th was not the marathon they had initially signed up for.  The race they had registered for, trained for, and raised money for was unfortunately cancelled because of the pandemic. But that didn’t stop them from running their first marathon anyway.  They made up their own event instead. 

A few weeks ago, on a cold and sunny December morning at the Radnor Trail, I attended “BouyaThon,” a makeshift private marathon orchestrated by my sister and her husband. Jessi and Pete (aka “The Bouyas”—a fun nickname created from spelling Ayoub backwards) ran back and forth on the trail in their matching blue limited edition Bouyathon shirts as the lone participants of the event. I was fortunate to get VIP access from mile markers 16 through 24, so I jogged alongside Jessi and Pete as their personal photographer and morale booster for an 8 mile stretch. Along the way, I saw several bundled up friends holding signs and wearing masks to support the two runners as they made their way through the course map. With my exclusive access to the final third of the marathon, I got to witness arguably the most challenging portion of the race. I was there for the foot cramps, the knee pain, the looming exhaustion, and the overall monotony of the trek. But for every daunting step, I witnessed the Bouyas’ undeniably positive spirit and determined commitment putting their minds over matter.

When my segment was complete, I joined the rest of the Bouya fan club at the finish line to see Pete and Jess conquer their mission.

About 20 minutes later, the crowd went wild as the makeshift marathoners came into sight with triumphant smiles on their faces. As Jess and Pete discovered one last boost of energy from the adrenaline of the moment and the “final mile playlist” that they simultaneously streamed through their AirPods, they sprinted through the Dollar Store’s finish line ribbon. Friends and family hooted and hollered from a social distance. The two little Ayoub girls, Leila (2) and Drea (8 months), stormed the trail to give their Mommy and Daddy a congratulatory hug and subsequently burst into a meltdown of tears due to the cold weather and the chaotic scene. Jordan quickly wrapped the runners in Reynolds kitchen tinfoil in lieu of those cool space blankets that they distribute to participants after the big marathons. Pedestrians and cyclists had no clue what to make of the scene. Pete concluded the marathon by “Ending the workout” on his Apple Watch and logged their official time somewhere in the iCloud. The recorded time didn’t set any records and wouldn’t qualify them for prestigious marathons like New York or Boston, but it didn’t matter. They slayed a 26.2 mile dragon and they deservingly felt on top of the world. The rest of the day included pictures, glasses of champagne, wintery beers, slices of pizza, Dairy Queen Blizzards, and a long awaited chicken parm sandwich. As Jess and Pete worked to replace the calories they had just burned on the run, I kept thinking about the lessons that I learned from the pandemonium I experienced at that jerry rigged finish line.

2020 has been a marathon for all of us.  While some have had an easier road than others, it’s been an overall long and grueling challenge for everybody in different ways.  We’ve been largely stripped of the crowds of people that we usually rely on to keep us going, and we’ve been deprived of many support systems and resources that we’ve come to count on when times get tough.  The roads that we planned to run on have been shut down, and we’ve been forced to draw new maps and take new paths.  And like a brutal challenge of running 26.2 miles, life can be difficult enough on its own before you factor in all of the extenuating circumstances that we’re currently facing.  So as we become more exhausted and the cramps begin to worsen and every mile seems longer than the one before it, it’s tempting to stop pushing ourselves and postpone our goals until conditions improve. 

But Jessi and Pete showed me that we can keep running. We can continue to challenge ourselves. We can remain committed to the goals that we initially set for ourselves before the road got rough. We can stay consistent in our approach. We can learn new things. And we can cross that makeshift finish line with pride. We just have to get creative, be flexible, adjust our course, build our support system, find courage, and make our own fun along the way.

I’m sure Jessi and Pete would’ve loved large crowds, live music, official course routes, a sea of runners, commemorative shirts and medals, foil space blankets, and all of the pomp and circumstance that comes with a major marathon event. But when that wasn’t available, they decided they could make their own shirts, bring their own finish line, record their own time, find their own foil, create their own event, establish their own fundraiser, and run their own race. Circumstances outside of their control might have canceled the event that they signed up for, but it could never stop them from crossing th finish line that they committed to. The goal was to run a marathon, to take on a new challenge together, to push themselves farther and further than they’ve ever gone before. And they did just that.

Right now, as we all find ourselves limping towards 2020’s final mile, we have plenty of excuses to defer our goals, ease up on our growth, and quit trying to create joyful moments. Jessi and Pete proved that you don’t have to abide by those convenient excuses. We can makeshift our own marathon. We can grow, persist, and smile through every daunting mile. And we should definitely certainly celebrate like never before when we cross that jerry rigged finish line together.

Happy Holidays to you and your family. Thank you for reading, reflecting, and running this makeshift marathon by my side all year. Good luck with the rest of your race and I hope this helps you finish strong.

There wasn’t anything spectacular about the morning of November 8^th, 2020. I tiptoed past Jack’s bassinet on my way to get breakfast going in the kitchen. With the eggs and bacon beginning to sizzle, I looked out at the pond and the pile of colorful leaves that had fallen around the perimeter. My moment of serenity was soon interrupted by a faint sound of incoherent ranting. As I turned on the nearby monitor, Charlie appeared on the screen performing stand-up comedy for her loyal gang of stuffed animals. I took a few sips of coffee to shake off the hangover that I earned from a birthday golf outing and driveway fire with friends the night before. Then I mustered up the energy to go upstairs and bring the comedian down for breakfast. When Jordan and Jack joined us at the table, Charlie began requesting songs to play over the speaker, and a dance party broke out to “Can’t Stop the Feeling.” At some point during breakfast, both kids were smiling peacefully and adorably. A few moments later, they were simultaneously melting down with little consideration that it was my birthday or that I was beyond tired. When the chaos calmed on the morning I turned 30, I thought for a second, “Hmm…so this is 30?! It’s everything I hoped for.”

In fact, when people asked, “Where do you see yourself at 30?” I’d choose this scene every time.

In the fall of 2015, Jordan had just moved back from Nashville, and we were preparing to rent a condo across from Guppy’s in Conshohocken. I was a year into my part time MBA program at Villanova, and I was probably clearer on what my plans were on Friday night than what my future career path looked like. I was a relatively low to mid-level sales consultant at Vanguard just coming off a promotion when a Senior Leader named Seth took me out to lunch.

At lunch, Seth asked about my 5 year plan.  I fumbled through my response.  While I certainly contemplated the answer before, I never wrote it down or organized the thoughts that were jumbled in my head.  So when I was put on the spot, I started grasping at what I thought he might want to hear vs. the vision that I actually saw.  Seth stopped me in my tracks and advised, “Janiec…When your vision is clear, your decisions become easy.  You’ve got to own your vision.  I’ll show you what I mean.”  

On his napkin, Seth illustrated the exercises that he routinely practices to define, refine, and OWN his personal vision, values, and aspirations.  We discussed how he maps out a vivid 5 year plan, and then breaks down the key components of the plan into smaller intervals.  He encouraged me to get my own notebook and give it a try.  And before I could even digest the lunch, let alone the conversation, I found a little black notebook sitting on top of my desk.  

The notebook might have cost less than $3, but it was one of the most valuable gifts I have ever received. Over the past 5 years, as life and the world around me continued to rapidly change, I have spent considerable time in that book clarifying and prioritizing my own vision, values, and ambitions.  The reflection process provided a sense of internal focus amidst all of the external noise.  Inside that book, I worked towards identifying my primary strengths and weaknesses, defining my purpose, deconstructing my values, recognizing my role models, and highlighting what brings me the most joy, meaning, and growth.  The pages of the book clarify who I am, what I want to accomplish, and where I want to be.  And amidst all of the added, crossed out, and rewritten lines of notes, I engineered my own aspirational roadmap for what life might look like at 30.

In recent years, having this roadmap has helped me stay patient, but also allowed me to seize opportunities when the time was right.  The map empowered me to say “No” to choices that could have easily thrown me off course.  The map gave me a “Green light” to embrace, progress, and persist through each challenging leg along the journey. 

My birthday provided a nice moment to both celebrate and reflect on how my hopeful vision unfolded into real life.  The milestone nudged me to open up my nightstand cabinet and flip back through the original pages of the book.  I recognized the sheer luck and the amazing people that shaped my current reality.  I also took some pride in how my clearly defined priorities and intentions developed me into who I wanted to be.  Despite having a pretty good idea of what I wanted the vision to look like, I had no clue it would feel this special.   

For example, I dreamed of having two kids by 30, but could never fathom how it would feel to dance around the kitchen at breakfast with my favorite people.  At 25, I wrote down the exhilarating experiences I wanted to have over the next few years, but couldn’t imagine how much joy I would get from just spending quality time with friends on the golf course or around a fire pit in the fall of 2020.  I had an idea that I wanted to complete the MBA and CFP® programs, but didn’t know how exciting it would be to put the coursework behind me and prepare for this next chapter in my career.  I hoped Jordan and I would own a home close to family, but really couldn’t imagine the view that I would have while cooking breakfast on the morning of November 8th.  And at 25, I set ambitious goals for my personal improvement in golf, basketball, and tennis, but uhhh…I’m still pretty terrible at all three. Oh well!

This milestone birthday also inspired me to look ahead. It motivated me to turn the page and start filling up the blank space with who and where I want to be at 35. I hope this reflection motivated you to spend some time filling your own pages as well. Because when our vision is clear, our decisions are easy. And on my 30th birthday, thanks to a little book and a lot of coffee, I’m feeling clearer than ever.

As we approach Election Day, I’ve been thinking a lot about the lessons I’ve learned from my mom. I’ve taken stock of the principles that she instilled in me. I’ve reflected on the values that she taught me to look for in a spouse, a friend, and a leader. So as I filled out my ballot this week with these important values in mind, the decision was clear and easy. My mama raised me too right to choose the wrong guy.

Throughout my childhood, Diane Janiec was the Commander-in-Chief (Dad was VP) of our household. Mom is sweet, bubbly, and fun, but she also knew how to keep my sisters and I on the right track through her own unique version of “law and order.”  She was always actively involved in our sports, but focused more on our sportsmanship, effort, and teamwork rather than worrying about wins.  She was engaged in our education but focused more on what we were learning and how we treated our classmates and teachers rather than what our report card said at the end of the semester.  She was always the biggest fan at our plays, speaking contests, and talent shows, preparing us to make the most of our “moment in the spotlight” whether we were casted as the lead or an extra.  She listened with empathy whenever we came to her with a problem, but also held us accountable to finding our own solution.  She showed us the importance of surrounding ourselves with good people. She taught us that we couldn’t control everything that happened, but we could always control how we responded.  Through unconditional love, important conversations, and many creative lessons, Mom (& Dad) instilled the core values in me that I live by today.

I remember in 6th grade, my Mom asked if I had a girlfriend.  When I said “No,” she didn’t need a polygraph test to know I was lying.  She could sniff out a fib from a mile away.  But rather than grounding me, Mom had something else up her sleeve.  As soon as I walked in the door from middle school, she sat me down at the kitchen table, prosecuted her case, handed me a pen and said, “Start writing.”  My punishment was to write a 1000-word essay titled, “Why you shouldn’t lie to your mother!”  Mom did whatever she could to turn teachable moments into life lessons. She knew letting little lies go could lead to big problems down the road, so she always stressed the importance of integrity.  Looking back, I can picture her giggling with my Dad and her friends about this creative little punishment.  I’ll never know where she came up with these ideas, but I do know my Mama raised me to be honest.

I remember running errands with my Mom when I was a little boy.  I have vivid memories of being bored to tears in a shopping cart or a stroller for what felt like hours as she stopped, smiled, and chatted with nearly everyone we saw.  When a simple, “What aisle is the laundry detergent?” often turned into a vibrant conversation about life, I started to take notice of what she was doing.  Whether she knew all these people in the grocery store, or just wanted to brighten a stranger’s day, she put kindness over convenience no matter where we went.  The same was expected of us towards our classmates and teammates – to make sure that everyone felt include.  She’d tell us to get to know our classmates that weren’t part of our inner circle or invite those to our birthday party if they were often left out.  Mom encouraged us to become friends with kids from different races, ethnicities, and backgrounds. She showed us how to find common ground while celebrating differences. Mom reminded us to always be compassionate and empathetic because we never know what kind of day somebody might be having.  She taught me that people rarely remember what we do, but they often remember how we make them feel.  I remember how much I dreaded those trips to the grocery store, but I realize how much I appreciate those lessons today.  My mama raised me to be kind.  

I remember during my Freshman year of high school, I got “Detention” for my antics in Spanish class. Mom wasn’t ok with me disrespecting the teacher, and she escorted me into detention to make sure I sincerely apologized. After my apology was accepted by “Seňora,” Mom noticed a star senior linebacker that had detention along with me. He was sitting there awestruck by what he had just witnessed. When Mom turned to the senior and encouraged him to apologize for his actions too, I was mortified and thought for sure I was going to get beat up by the big guy after she left that morning… I was wrong. The Linebacker just turned to me with a beaming smile, and said, “Damn, Janiec! I got mad respect for your Mom.” The Linebacker was right, my Mom knew in order to earn respect you need to show respect. She required that I respect the rules of coaches, refs, teachers, and friends’ parents. She taught me to spend some time talking with the adults before running off with the other kids. When I was a cocky teenager, Mom reminded me that I might mean the world to her, but the world certainly didn’t revolve around me. She helped me become as considerate of others as I was of myself. She helped us understand how much we learn and grow when we listen to and respect someone else’s perspective even if it might be different from our own. My mama raised me to be respectful.

I am forever grateful that I have Diane Janiec as a guiding force in my life. But with that said, I know that she wasn’t the only parent or role model teaching these values.  I hope these stories and these lessons got you thinking about the way your mother or another role model instilled the values you live by today.  I’m sure we can all agree on both the importance of these principles and the importance of having leaders that continue to reinforce them. 

So as you fill out your ballot over the next two weeks, I hope you consider the way you were raised. We’ve relied on these values to choose our significant others, our friends, and our leaders.  Why should this election be any different?

After all, our mamas raised us too honest to be lied to. They raised us too kind to be indecent. They raised us too responsible to be reckless. And they raised us with too much respect to be divided. So when we see a leader act completely contrary to the basic principles that we cherish, we should remember that our Mamas raised us better than that.

Nevertheless, regardless of how you vote or how this election turns out, I promise to be honest with you, respectful of you, and kind to you. Because that’s the kind of American my mama raised me to be.

Meet Jack Anthony Janiec. I just met him a week ago so I don’t know him all that well yet, but after spending some time with him he seems like a pretty chill dude and the ladies think he’s adorable. So if you’re a little stressed out right about now, I’m here to give you “a shot of Jack” that will ease your mind and bring a warm sensation to your heart.

Jack has already brightened my world. Jordan and I began September 10th with a depressing breakfast conversation about Covid, the west coast wildfires, and Breonna Taylor. On the contrary, we ended that same day on a completely different planet of emotions with a healthy newborn baby boy snuggled up in our arms. While Jack hasn’t yet solved all of the challenges in the broader world, the peace and quiet he brings to my lap makes everything feel ok for that particular moment in time. And he makes me optimistic about the future.

There are not many feelings like the one I felt with tears in my eyes and joy in my heart when my voice cracked, “It’s a BOY!” I selfishly needed a son in time for the start of football, and the Chiefs and Texans were about to kick off the NFL season in an hour. There might be empty stadiums this year, but I’ll gladly trade the traditional atmosphere of sold out crowds to watch the game with my little man. And as luck (and an incredible wife) would have it, I watched Andy Reid and Patrick Mahomes do their thing with my new little “football” swaddled up and tucked in my arm. When the Eagles fell apart on Sunday during Jack’s first experience as a Philly sport’s fan, we squirmed and whined through the disappointment. Nevertheless, it was comforting to know that we’ll get to go through the Eagles and Nittany Lions’ highs and lows together for many years to come. As my boy struggled to sleep on our first Monday together, it served as an excuse to stay up and watch Monday Night Football with my bud. And now Big Ten Football is back?! LET’S GOOO, Jack! If our future is half as good as Week 1 has been, I will cherish all of the father/son time in the days, weeks, and years to come. I look forward to creating memories, capturing experiences, teaching each other important lessons, sharing values, and watching him grow, think, and evolve on his own unique path. I can’t wait to see who he becomes, but until then, I’m just enjoying who this 6 pound wobbly ball of love is today.

And Jack’s not just changing my life. I’m seeing the buzz he’s giving others too.

Jordan powered through her grueling pregnancy with the unwavering hope that she was carrying someone special enough to make it all worth it. Jack came two weeks ahead of schedule and Jordan delivered him in record time with no epidural. I guess she just really couldn’t wait to meet the little “Mama’s boy” that she always dreamed of.

After Jordan has watched Charlie and her “#Girldad” dance around the kitchen in their pajamas for the 300th time, she was ready for that same special bond with her little guy. And she definitely got it! I melt when I see the way Jack looks at his Mom. I mean, he hasn’t opened his eyes much and when he does, he’s like a cross eyed bobble head doll, but I’ll admit that he does seem to focus and hold her gaze when he locks onto her. Maybe the gaze and snuggles are just a sign of his hunger, or maybe he’s sorry about peeing on her during the previous diaper change. But either way, I’m staying tuned for the relationship they build through the years, and I’m grateful to have a front row seat for it all.

Charlie needed a baby brother, and I think she’s starting to accept it. She will be the sweetest, coolest, and funniest big sister ever. She’s already transitioned from denying his existence and acting out for attention on Days 1 and 2 to singing “I love you, Jack,” writing his name in chalk, sharing her toys, riding with him in the stroller, and giving him morning kisses on Days 3, 4, and 5. In a quarantined world that revolved around the Empress Charlie Bear, the spotlight needed to be shared at some point and thus far it has been a relatively peaceful transition of power. I see a future of them sharing secrets, being each other’s biggest cheerleader, playing 1on1, giving each other advice, plotting against their Mom and Dad, and having each other’s backs in school as partners in crime. Charlie is lucky to have a little brother like Jack, and Jack’s especially lucky to have a big sister like Charlie. Jordan and I cherish the fact that we both hit the sibling lottery, and I’m glad that we were able to share the winning numbers with our kids.

Jack is Pop Bonder’s 5th grandchild and Mimi and Pop Pop Janiec’s 4th. Although both sets of grandparents have already built a Hall of Fame resume, Jack might just take their game to even higher levels. I’m looking forward to the day that Jack looks at his Grandparents the way that Charlie looks at “Mimi” and Cole Bonder looks at his Pop. I’m looking forward to seeing my Dad push Jack on the tree swing, teach him how to play tennis, build him a sandbox, and feed him tomatoes from the garden the same way my Pop Pop did with me. Jack will learn about the importance of faith, family, friends, and fitness from his grandparents. He will adopt their outlook on life that centers on humility, kindness, personal growth, positivity, and gratitude. When it comes to Jack’s nature vs. nurture, I feel like between his family tree and the village that comes with it, he has both concepts covered quite well. But even more than what the Grandparents do for Jack, I’m most looking forward to the joy that he brings to them. Because they certainly deserve it.

With the arrival of Jack, his Great Grandmom “Gigi” now has 7 great grandchildren (and counting).  Every Holiday with my extended family seems to get more cute, crowded, and filled with diaper bags.  And while it makes me sad that my Pop Pop is no longer here to witness the baby boom, it makes me happy that my Grandmom is seeing her and Pop Pop’s legacy continue to get bigger and bigger.  I love seeing Gigi get this precious quality time with the newest branches of the family tree (even if it is from a safe distance).  

But despite all of those great grandchildren and all of their second and third cousins, the continuation of the “Janiec” last name was endangered until last week.  I was the last opportunity in all of the extended family to have a boy that would ultimately keep the “Janiec” name going into the next generation.  Little Jack is officially here to carry that torch.  In addition to the continuation of our last name, Jack’s middle name “Anthony” which honors both of his great grandfathers, will continue a legacy of grit and family-first values that he inherited from these two legendary men. After all, we learned from my Pop Pop that it’s not about what you build or how you build, it’s all about who you build with…so Jack plans to keep on building.

And for the rest of his family and friends, at a time when we all need a little spark of joy, hope, love, and positivity, Jack’s here to bring it.  He hasn’t said much yet and I think he must be just resting up, but the kid is pretty destined to be a social butterfly. Between this guy’s parents, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents, his cousins, and his parents’ friends, he’ll be raised to be one heck of a good time.  He has a position waiting for him as Rush Chair of Pi Kappa Alpha at Penn State in 2040.  He has teachers from East Goshen through East High School already gearing up for the next generation of “Janiec” in their classroom.  He will bring that extra spark to backyard BBQs, locker rooms, family gatherings, and everything in between.  And I’ll be damned if he doesn’t bring out the famous “lasso” and “Backbend” move on the dance floor alongside his Daddy at weddings in our future. 

Again, I don’t really know the guy all that well. He hasn’t said much and often just lays and looks around until it’s time to eat. Nevertheless, I have a feeling he’s going to be something special at a time when we need something special. And as 2020 continues on and we could all use a shot, we might as well reach for the top shelf. So now, with the leaves beginning to change, the air beginning to chill, and the future beginning to brighten, raise your glasses for a shot of Jack.

Jordan-

Our new car reminds me of our relationship. As I look in the rear view mirror, I think about how far we’ve come. As I look out at the road ahead, I’m excited about what awaits us. As I look at the design of the 2019 Honda Pilot Elite, I see a symbol of who we are.

Because today on our third wedding anniversary, I’m not afraid to admit it. We may try to look cool like an SUV on the outside, but we’re a straight up minivan on the inside. And while the “Elite” model may be wishful thinking, I’m grateful that you’ve upgraded us in every way.

When we met at Penn State, I was a wannabe rapper and a newly appointed Frat Social Chair, but you saw right through me. I had a few miles on my odometer, but you did your own inspection and ultimately signed off on my condition. I tried to show you a flashy exterior, but you opened up my doors and showed me a life full of car seats, Captain’s chairs, and a folding third row with plenty of cargo room for strollers, toys, and diaper bags. I tried to give off vibes of speed, horsepower, and off-roading capabilities (not really, but go with it for the metaphor), but you fell in love with my safety features. So it’s not surprising that our car search went the exact same way. We were initially attracted to the SUV look, but felt at home with the minivan vibe.

Now, regarding the “Elite” model, we certainly didn’t start out this way. 10 years ago, we began our relationship with the basic package. It got the job done, but definitely needed some upgrades. We’ve gone from leaving beer cans all over our tattered college apartment floor to vacuuming Cheerio crumbs off of our new black on black leather interior. We had cold stretches early on in our relationship, but now we have heated seats and a sunroof to keep things warm along the journey. We’ve drifted off course at times in the past, but now we have lane assist to point us back in the right direction. Little by little and year after year, we’ve upgraded each feature of our relationship to go from “Basic” to “Elite,” just like our Honda Pilot.

Our three years of marriage have been the ride of a lifetime. As we continue our journey from this new car, I’m confident that it will keep getting better from here. Because my view from the driver seat is the most beautiful scene in the world. I see Charlie chirping away to the tune of “Hakuna Makata” in her car seat. I see an empty car seat waiting to be filled by our newest member of the family in just a few weeks. I see extra space in the back for friends and family to hop in for a ride. I see my favorite passenger riding shotgun holding my hand with her left and picking the next song with her right (all too often Taylor Swift). I like the way the car looks on the outside, but I love the way it feels on the inside.

I’m looking forward to the memories we make in our new Honda Pilot. I’m excited for the new passengers and precious cargo that we fill it with. I’m ready for the sing alongs, the road trips, the treks down the shore, and all of the soccer games. Because we have the vehicle and the relationship to do it all. So buckle up because I can’t wait to see where this road takes us!

Happy Anniversary,

Kevin

After spending a hot July with a pregnant wife, a teething toddler, and a stressed out America, I couldn’t help but notice a common thread between the three.  We’re all going through some serious growing pains!

All month I witnessed signs of daily discomfort whether it was Jordan getting internally kicked in the small intestine by the baby’s growing leg, Charlie gnawing on the side of her crib as a new tooth poked through her gums, or Americans tearing each other apart on social media over political issues.  But regardless of the cause or the extent of the pain, we all seemed to feel something.

You may have felt the discomfort as you worried about the health of our family and friends. You may have felt it as you worried about our job security or new working conditions. You may have felt it as you wondered what would happen with our upcoming school years, sports seasons, or weddings. You may have felt it as you tried to fit 29 hours of a “to do list” into just 24 hours in a day. You may have have felt it as you looked ahead at an election that will reveal our true values and you’re feeling nervous about the results. You may have felt it as this entire crisis continues to expose how broken and unequal some of our systems really are. You may just feel it because we miss our friends and normal life. I know I felt many of those things. Regardless of the cause, you might feel like a turning in your stomach that Jordan experiences in pregnancy, or the “life just punched me in the mouth” feeling that Charlie’s teeth are going through. Either way, it sucks.

As a side note, I just had to rewrite all this because my final draft didn’t save after I finished cleaning up my flooded basement. So if you’re stressed out and frustrated, just know you’re not alone.

However, this month I also saw a few examples of the GROWTH that’s possible when we help each other persist through the pain and find hope in our vision.

For instance, July allowed me to see a few examples of this critical strength play out. I watched Jordan power through the daily aches and pains in her third trimester of pregnancy. As the baby continues to grow and move and press on things that aren’t used to being pressed on, my future son or daughter literally takes Jordan’s breath away amidst a sore back, restless legs, and sleepless nights. But she’s toughing it out. Meanwhile, I spent the month watching Charlie battle through the teething stage. It’s difficult to see my little girl shove half of her hand in her mouth and cry, “Dada, hurt” or “teeeef, owww,” especially when the pain throws off her sleep, her appetite, or her overall mood, but she hung in there. During the first week of July, I watched Alexander Hamilton and the founding fathers fight a brutal war for their independence only to be faced with the challenge of building a new nation from scratch. And in the final week of July, I listened to stories about Congressman John Lewis’ putting his life and dignity on the line for civil rights. Beatings, arrests, and discrimination did not stop John Lewis from marching across that Selma bridge or from speaking up in Congress. Within these different examples, I did not envy their pain, but I certainly admired their strength.

Despite our personal strength, we shouldn’t have to fight these battles alone, and we definitely shouldn’t make it harder for each other than it already is. I see the energy we spend ripping each other apart these days when we could be collaborating to find mutually beneficial and growth oriented solutions. We should recognize how difficult it is to go through whatever we’re going through and give people a break rather than giving them a hard time. If we show a little compassion, we can be there for each other through the pain and lift each other towards our vision.

For instance, with the pain that Jordan’s going through, I can be there for a back rub at the end of a long day or simply do the heavy lifting with Charlie even if I’m tired from “shop-vacking” the flooded basement.With the pain that Charlie’s going through, I can be there for extra snuggles or by giving her something frozen to chew on. And with the pain that Alexander Hamilton, John Lewis, and all the leaders, soldiers, activists, immigrants, teachers, essential workers, thinkers, builders, doers, expecting mothers, and teething toddlers have gone through to get us where we are today, the least I can do is show gratitude and compassion for the things they fought for.

But even if we have the strength to persist through the pain and we feel supported from compassionate people, we won’t be able to grow unless there’s a hopeful vision of a brighter future that we’re working towards.

At this point, Jordan’s sick and tired of being sick and tired from the pregnancy, but she remains hopeful and confident that it’s all worth it in the end. She stays keenly aware that this grind and her sacrifices are just a necessary part of the process, and she never loses sight of the little baby that we’ll get to meet when all of the discomfort comes to fruition. So she presses on and the baby keeps growing. Charlie is so ready to be done with the teething stage, but we know that big smile that lights up the room will make this process all worth it. So Charlie presses on and her smile and cuteness keeps growing. Hamilton and his friends risked or lost their lives in the Revolutionary War, but they felt independence and their new nation would be worth it. So Hamilton pressed on and enabled America to begin growing. John Lewis had his head bashed in on Bloody Sunday during a peaceful protest, but he knew a more just and equal society would be worth it. So Congressman Lewis pressed on and allowed our freedom to keep growing. Hope for a brighter future allowed these strong individuals and bonded communities to transform pain into growth, and that is precisely what we need today.

So as I fight through my own growing pains to work towards a better tomorrow, I will take the lessons I learned this month from Jordan, Charlie, Hamilton, and Congressman Lewis.  Because as John Lewis wrote in his final words, “Now it is your turn to let freedom ring.  When historians pick up their pens to write the story of the 21st century, let them say that it was your generation who laid down the heavy burdens of hate at last and that peace finally triumphed over violence, aggression and war.”

This reflection was an attempt to pick up my “pen.” It certainly was painful to write, but I think I grew from it.

No matter where you stand on issues of policing, protesting, and racism, we can all agree that we have work to do as a nation. And no matter how much progress that you feel we’ve made since the first Juneteenth 155 years ago, it’s clear that too many people still don’t feel safe, heard, or fairly treated.

So as I reflect on this defining moment in history, I’d first like to say to my black friends and colleagues:

I’m listening and I hear you. Black lives more than just “matter” to me. They are important. What you’ve had to endure is simply wrong and it needs to be better. I will be here with you working towards a brighter future.

But I also need to admit a few unfortunate truths about myself. I admit that the issues that I write passionately about today were not priorities on my privileged radar a month ago. I’ll also admit that at times throughout my life I’ve held prejudice thoughts, uttered ignorant generalizations, dismissed systemic issues, and allowed others to do the same.

My lack of knowledge on black history and social injustice led to a lack of understanding. My lack of understanding led to a lack of compassion. My lack of compassion led to a lack of personal accountability. And my lack of accountability led to missed opportunities to make a positive impact. I was inherently benefitting from the way our system is set up, so I rarely had to think, talk, do, or learn much about racism at all. And since learning is optional, conversation is uncomfortable, white privilege is embarrassing, and action is inconvenient, it was easier for me to just avoid getting involved all together.

But the events of June 2020 made it impossible to ignore any longer. And my friends’ and colleagues’ personal stories made it unacceptable to stay passive. I began to listen and learn, and as I did, I kept coming back to one key take away:

I’ve been part of the problem. So if I want things to be better, I need to be part of the solution.

Rather than point blame on others and suggest naive solutions to complex, nuanced, and deeply systemic problems, I recognize the need to first look within and see where I can personally be better. In order to effectively demand change from others, I need to work for and become the change myself. Whether I was ready or not, June 2020 presented an opportunity to challenge my own biases, engage in my own conversations, and take my own actions. So that’s what I’m doing.

To challenge my own biases, I read articles, streamed videos, watched documentaries, listened to podcasts, and personally reflected on how I viewed race. Prior to June, I would’ve considered myself “one of the good guys” and even an ally when it comes to racism simply because I have black friends, I appreciate black culture, and I admire many black celebrities and leaders. But good relationships and good intentions haven’t made me immune to believing bad stereotypes. Fortunately, the more I learned, the more those stereotypes appeared incomplete or flat out unfair. For example:

I’ve always wanted life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all. But podcast episodes with Heather McGhee and Ibram X Kendi taught me about long standing racist laws, concepts like “Redlining,” and unfair banking and hiring practices that make this pursuit of happiness way more difficult than I initially thought.

I want all communities to be as safe as the one I grew up in. But as a little kid running around in a Batman costume, I was taught from an early age that safety would be achieved by getting “bad guys” off the streets and putting them in jail. However, documentaries like 13th have helped me realize that this way of thinking has reinforced a broken criminal justice system and led to mass incarceration, which have actually caused many of the safety problems that we have in communities today.

I want to see talented young black people rise to levels of great success. However, I unfairly assumed that many problems we see today would be fixed if young black men acted more like Barack Obama, Denzel Washington, or Will Smith. A webcast put together by my company’s Black Professional Network helped me realize how unfair and narrow minded that this suggested standard is.

I want to see less police brutality, but until listening to episodes about police unions and a deeply intertwined court system on “The Daily” podcast, I realized the need to fix a grossly mismanaged orchard rather than just remove a few bad apples.

I want “racism” to go away, but I had always just considered racism the demeaning actions and harsh words from a small group of bigots, or the heinous things you see in history books and movies. But when I read the book, White Fragility, I realized all of the ways that we subconsciously contribute to this social construct.

My intentions and hopes for a brighter future haven’t changed, but new perspectives and information have corrected assumptions that were taking my focus away from the real problems. But just reading books, listening to podcasts, and watching videos could only get me so far. For instance, I absolutely love the new series with Emmanuel Acho, “Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man,” but it wouldn’t be as impactful until I had my own uncomfortable conversations with black friends.

So over the past few weeks, I’ve joined discussions in both facilitated groups and private conversations. While the content and themes in the discussions were consistent with what I was reading and watching, I found a new level of empathy when the narrative came from the heart of someone I know and care about. This was especially powerful when I realized that people that I have admired have also been exposed to many of the same brutal experiences you read about in the books and see in the documentaries.

It was in these conversations that I learned nobody is fully exempt from racism regardless of their success, environment, or social network.

For example, I learned how it feels for the one or two black friends in a predominately white group when they are said to have a “white personality.” What the heck is a white personality anyway?

I learned how disappointing it was for the most talented singer in my high school when she didn’t get a leading role in the musical because the leads were written and reserved for white characters. Imagine how much better the play would’ve been if the best possible cast was put on the stage.

I learned from Senior Leaders at my company about how it feels to be seen as a top performer at headquarters, but seen as “just another black guy” by the cops on the commute home. How can the same person be seen so differently in these two environments?

I learned how it feels for my black colleagues when they get a promotion that they worked hard for, but then second guess whether their peers think they deserve it. How did you feel the last time you were promoted?

At times during these conversations, I wanted to get defensive or justify my thinking. At times, I wanted to make it clear that I’m not racist. But with each conversation, I got a little better at listening, thinking, feeling, and reflecting. These powerful conversations will stick with me for a long time, but they can’t stop now. I realize that in order to sustain the level of empathy that is needed from active allies, I will need to stay engaged on a regular basis.

And those haven’t been the only uncomfortable conversations I’ve had. I’ve had some tough but really powerful discussions with my white friends and family too. For years, we never really discussed our views on racism or how society got to where it is today. If we did in the past, it would most likely be a case of biased assumptions reinforced with similar biased assumptions. But all of the information that is being shared has challenged our thinking, and thus we’ve been able to better challenge each other in conversation. We don’t always agree in these discussions, and it will take some people longer to move from their initial opinions and embrace the new perspectives. Nevertheless, the more we’ve opened up the floor for dialogue, the more thoughtful and understanding we’ve been as a collective family or a group. And I’ll admit that in some conversations, I’m the one challenging, and in other conversations I’m the one being challenged. Jordan and I see the importance of having these conversations on a regular basis with Charlie in the future…she just has to learn a few more words first.

A common theme through the content I’m consuming and the conversations I’m having is greater recognition of the unique privileges that I’ve had throughout my life. For example, I am privileged just to learn about racism from articles, documentaries, storybooks, and compelling conversations, whereas my black friends often learn about it through traumatic personal experiences. When I jog through nearby neighborhoods, “racism” to me is a concept on a podcast, whereas for Ahmaud Arbery, it was a cause of death. I get to feel guilty for my inherent advantages of whiteness rather than be presumed guilty by a biased justice system. I get to worry about the qualifications on my application rather than worrying about the impression my name may give on my application. I get to drive down the road worried about getting caught in traffic rather than what will happen if I get pulled over. I get to strive to be more inclusive rather than worry if I’ll be included. Most of all, I get to be judged first by my character and my merit rather than the color of my skin. Recognizing privilege won’t solve all the world’s problems, but it needs to be acknowledged before I can begin to truly understand the issues and formulate real solutions that can help us progress.

Learning and listening has helped me recognize my biases, withhold unfair judgment, and gain a deeper understanding of the context and complexities that drive the outcomes and emotions in our society. More than anything, my learning made me realize how much more there is to continue to learn. Challenging my biases has been a humbling experience, but it was an important first step in sparking the change in myself before I ask it from others. And knowing what I know now, it’ll finally be uncomfortable to NOT join the conversations, it’ll be embarrassing to NOT acknowledge white privilege, and it’ll be inconvenient to NOT do something.

So it’s about time that I’m accountable for the personal impact I have on these issues. I recognize that racism will continue, but I pledge to not allow the next news story to surface while I’m passively ignoring the issue. I recognize that I’ll continue to have biased thoughts, but I pledge to check myself and learn more about what I’m actually thinking. I recognize that I’ll hear subtly ignorant things said by friends and family, but I pledge to challenge their words and spark a conversation. I recognize that my black mentors and mentees will still run into some issues of inclusion and belonging in the workplace, but I pledge to be an ally and an advocate and a connector. I recognize that creating more wealth and education equality will be an uphill battle, but I pledge to donate time and money to valuable causes that advance the mission. I recognize that there are still many bad apples in law enforcement, but I pledge to push for police reform and accountability. I recognize that there is a rotten, worm-infested apple in the White House, but I pledge to vote and plead others to vote based on values, decency, and leadership instead of favorable tax rates and deregulation in this upcoming election.

I admit that I’ve been part of the problem, so the least I can do is be part of the solution.

Is all of this too little, too late? Probably. But I hope it’s never the wrong time to do the right thing. And when Charlie comes home from East Goshen Elementary one day in the future and tells me her class learned about June 2020, I hope she’ll be proud that her family has been actively involved since that inflection point in history. Most importantly, I hope Charlie includes, embraces, and celebrates all of her classmates because she’ll know that it’s consistently the little acts of kindness that will mean the most and make the biggest impact on the people in her world.

This reflection is a step forward for me, and I hope it can be a conversation starter for us. If you’re open to talking more about this, or want to exchange podcasts and books, or just want to borrow the mirror and reflect yourself, I’m happy to share.

As Martin Luther King Jr. said, “We will not remember the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” Consider this the end of my silence.

My weekly drive down Lancaster Ave from Vanguard to Villanova always allowed just enough time to reflect on a few important questions:

-At the end of a busy work day, is it worth going?

-If I’m going, how can I make the most of my experience?

-And if I’m trying to make the most of my experience, can I realistically juggle the program with everything else going on in my life?

Now, as I reflect on those questions while eating what’s left of my graduation cookie cake, I’m confident that I found the right answers along the way. I’m glad that I chose to pursue an MBA at Nova. But I’m especially proud that I chose to keep showing up, embrace every opportunity, and live life throughout my entire journey. And as I look at the family picture that we just took in my cap and gown on my virtual graduation day, I’m quite happy how all of these choices turned out.

With Vanguard’s academic reimbursement benefit, I stretched my part-time program more than 6 years to avoid paying out of pocket. And it was sitting in rush hour traffic over those 6 years where I learned that “showing up is half the battle.” I understood that in order to add some letters to my LinkedIn profile and to claim partial connection to Jay Wright and the 2 Men’s Basketball Championships, I had to keep going and keep putting in the work.

And I chose to put in the work. During my first year in business school, I remember choosing to show up to Managerial Accounting or Data Analytics over Conshy happy hours with my roommates, Gary and Ort. I sometimes chose Operations or Corporate Finance over Vanguard Rec-Basketball games. Through the middle of the program, I often drank Wawa coffee instead of red wine after work because I chose three hours of lecture on Corporate Governance and Innovation instead of dinner and Netflix with my fiancé. And towards the end of the program, once or twice per week, I chose Global Strategic Management and the Social Enterprise Practicum instead of spending time with Charlie in between daycare and bedtime. Outside of class, I occasionally chose to attend group project meetings during NFL games. I read Harvard Business Review case studies and textbooks while Jordan escaped into novels. I would find ways to sneak in assignments between parenting and my at-home to-do list. The course load itself was never too stressful or overwhelming, but showing up remained a constant item on the priority list amidst everything else.

And of course, I couldn’t just show up. Too much time, effort, and money were invested to not fully embrace each opportunity. A few months into my commute, I began turning off the Mike Missanelli sports talk radio show and tuning into various audiobooks and podcasts with Ryan Hawk, Michael Kitces, and Dax Sheppard. I figured even if the class that night wasn’t all that valuable, I could choose exactly what I wanted to learn for my hour in the car. And when I got to class, I couldn’t just sit there for three hours revamping my Fantasy Football roster, scrolling social media, checking work email, or checking out houses on Zillow (ok..I’ll admit, I did all of those things at some point). Instead, I made a deal with myself to fully engage, ask questions, provide real world examples, and facilitate discussions. For group projects, I vowed to serve as an active and productive member of the team, whether it was taking the lead on the simulation in our inaugural “Leadership Challenge” or writing a rap for Khayelitsha Cookies in South Africa. If 6 years of my life would be spent on that commute or in that classroom, I was going to make the most of it.

But despite all of the time I spent getting my MBA, I’m glad I chose to “just keep livin’” (as Matthew McConaghey would say) through it all. We too often say, “once I finish x, I will then start y.” But with a little encouragement from Jordan, I decided to just make school another part of our journey through life. I didn’t need an MBA to get married, buy a house, or become a dad. And I didn’t need an MBA to become a leader or a CFP(R). So it didn’t make sense to wait on those things until after graduation. Jordan and I kept the train rolling down the tracks and figured out a way to make it all work. And I think in doing so, being a student made me a more curious husband, more diligent homeowner, more dedicated father, more thoughtful leader, and more dynamic financial professional. My life experience enhanced my learning in the classroom while the lessons in the classroom helped guide the way I lived and worked. By choosing to just keep livin’, I really chose to just keep learning.

So as I sit here in my cap and gown, it’s natural to think about “What’s next?” And since I’ve graduated and completed my formal education, people have begun to ask, “What will you do with your MBA?” But I guess the answer is really, “what I’ve been doing.” I think about how I can apply the three most valuable lessons that I learned amidst all of the advanced business courses in the curriculum. As Kevin Janiec, CFP, MBA, I’ll just keep choosing to show up, embrace every opportunity, and just keep livin’. And If I do that, every hour and dollar of my education will have been worth it.

Congrats to the class of 2020! Thank you to Jordan, Vanguard, Nova, my classmates, and all of the people who encouraged and helped me along the way. It feels great to be done, but it feels even more exciting to just be getting started.

*If you’re thinking about pursuing an MBA or trying to make it all work, please reach out.

These last two years have made me keenly aware of the subtle things that make moms so special. I’ve benefitted from these subtle things my entire life, but seeing Jordan operate the Mom game has reminded me how amazing our mothers really are.

Jordan- thank you for doing all of the little things. It’s the little things like giving up wine or chronic back pain and sleepless nights during pregnancy while I’m comfortably snoring right next to you. It’s the Amazon package of summer clothes that you order for Charlie before I even realize it’s getting warm. It’s knowing when to take the bubble machine out of the box to mix up our entertainment sources during quarantine, but also knowing when to say “No” to that extra snack I was about to give her. It’s knowing just what to do when I look at you and ask, “uhhh…what should we do?” It’s reading the parenting blogs and the baby books when I’m listening to a leadership podcast. It’s the group text with your mom friends about how to handle certain parenting situations while I text my friends about the next golf outing. It’s adding things to the grocery list that I didn’t know we needed. It’s that infectious laughter that warms up the room. It’s the sweet cuddles at the end of a long day. It’s knowing exactly what bow matches with that new outfit. It’s dancing around the living room. It’s playing bad cop at times for a good reason. It will be the proactive emails to teachers or knowing who and what will be happening at high school parties before they even happen. It’s being a role model to other Moms and future moms. It’s keeping our house and our family full of the essentials, but more importantly full of love. You’ve been an amazing mom with one and I can’t wait to see you with two.

And Mom, I’ve always appreciated having the Michael Jordan of motherhood, but now that I see Le-Mom James do her thing, I realize how great you really were. I see all the little things you did and still continue to do for us from a different angle. I see the way Dad looks to you like “uhhh, what do we do” the same way that I look to Jordan. And now as I experience parenting, I turn to you every step of the way for advice on how to keep kids humble and kind. We turn to you with questions about how to raise kids that appreciate experiences over material items, or how to hold your ground with firm and safe boundaries while allowing room for kids to learn from their mistakes and fall and scrape their knees. We instill your values and recycle your lessons. Thank you for being the amazing example to me the way that Mrs. Bonder was to Jordan.

I’ve been fortunate to surround myself with a dream team of Moms. My Grandmothers, Mom, wife, Mother-in-law, sister and sister-in-law, cousins, friends’ moms, and now friends represent a collection of special women doing special things to raise special people. Keep doing what you do best, and setting the example for Moms of the future. Love you all!

Happy Mother’s Day!

The other day, I heard the quote, “We cannot control what happens to us, but we can control the way we respond.” It made me think about the following questions:

When we look back at April 2020, how will we remember it? Will we remember the crisis, or the special moments, or the recovery in which we came back better than ever?

And as I reflected on these questions this past weekend while splitting and planting perennials around the house, I became more and more confident that these April showers will bring May flowers.

Let’s be clear. April brought us some serious showers. We had moments of light rain and moments of torrential down pours. Dark heavy clouds loomed overhead as we listened to the scary thunder roll in from a distance wondering whether it would reach us and our loved ones. And while the rain impacted all of us differently, we all felt the showers to some extent.

This April, many of us patiently took shelter as we waited for the weather to subside. Our most courageous and “essential” friends ran towards the storm to help out. And then there were some “others” that seemed to disregard the weather report all together 🤦🏼‍♂️. But regardless of where we were or who we were, we were all regularly flooded with bad news and pelted by drops of adversity. Not just numbers in a paper, but actual lives lost, jobs cut, livelihoods threatened, and families separated. Weddings, proms, state championships, graduations, and long awaited dream vacations were postponed and cancelled.

So as I looked out the window and watched the raindrops persistently splash and ripple on the surface of the pond, Jordan would call into the kitchen (my office) from the dining room (her office), with a common question, “Is it seriously still raining?” And it was. Charlie even sang a gibberish rendition of, “Rain Rain, Go Away,” but Mother Nature didn’t listen. It felt like April just continued to shower.

But it wasn’t all bad. In between showers, the sun would occasionally make its way out. There were nice spring days that allowed for long walks on the street and more interactions with our neighbors than ever before (6 feet apart, of course). The sun allowed us to watch Charlie chase “Ri-Ri” around the yard, clean up around the house, and have a beer and a burger on the back deck with our quarantine partners, Grammie and Pop Pop.

The sun seemed to shine when we heard about extraordinary acts from ordinary people (make sure you check out “Some Good News” with John Krasinski on YouTube.) It shined when Charlie, Jordan, and I would blast music and find ourselves in a spontaneous dance break to mix up the work day or when we belted out “We’re all in this together” during The Disney Sing-A-Long Special. The sun shined on every new word, animal noise, funny face, gesture, or activity that we got to witness Charlie learn day after day.

The sun shined through Vanguard’s commitment to its employees and my sales team’s ability to embrace our new normal. It shined through virtual client meetings when Charlie would hop onto my lap and offer her latest economic insights. It shined when I finished my last assignment ever for the Villanova MBA program. It shined when my buddies virtually debated LeBron vs. MJ, and while Jordan and her girls debated the best Taylor Swift songs of all time. It shined through podcasts and audiobooks and playlists on my long runs…ok, maybe short jogs. It even shined through my pathetic attempt at “30 days of Yoga.”

And the sun shined the brightest with the arrival of my new niece, Drea Ayoub. It shined when our best friends, Johnny and Katie, brought home baby JJ. It shined when my boy Domes’ baby Jordan became the newest honorary member of our sales team. The sun will shine even brighter when I’m allowed to get within 6 feet of these adorable babies.

So with the amount of sun and rain we experienced in April, May could be a ripe environment for flowers to grow. But it was a concept I learned while landscaping this month that seemed to symbolize what we’re going through and gave me hope for the full bloom that we’ll experience coming out of this.

As I was getting the beds around the house cleaned up and ready for mulch, my dad stopped me in my tracks. “Hey Kev, are you splitting your perennials?” Considering I had no clue which of the plants were perennials, nor did I know what splitting meant, I stared at the beds with a blank stare and responded with “ummmm…” So if you’re like me and weren’t aware of this concept, apparently you’re supposed to split perennial plants like Day Lillies, Daffodils, and Black-eyed Susans. You do this by dividing the flower with a spade, then removing a section of the plant and its roots from its typical spot, and ultimately replanting the divided section in new soil. During this process, we expose and reveal what the perennial flower is made of underneath its typical surface. And as a result of the splitting, both the new plant and its original flower will bloom more beautiful than they did the previous season. This must be one of those secret “Dad” lessons that we somehow avoided for 30 years.

The splitting concept seemed counterintuitive to me. From my perspective, the plants seemed to be just fine the way they were, and I didn’t want to ruin the flower by cutting it to its core and removing it from its current soil. But I had to trust the experts- or Dad and Google- that while things might look different, splitting is a necessary and essential process to rejuvenate our entire landscape.

When I reflect on April, I feel like we’ve all been split just like these perennials. It feels like a spade pierced through the way things were and cut us to our very core. I feel like this quarantine process has exposed our roots and shown what we’re made of underneath our surface. We’ve been divided and removed from our normal soil, and eventually we’ll continue to be replanted in entirely new environments. As we replant ourselves, our health and livelihood remains uncertain. We’ve been drenched by April showers, but we’ve also embraced every ray of sun that has shined down upon us. So as we turn to May, a new month, and a new tomorrow, I expect that we will bloom more beautifully than we did last season.

I’ll say it again, “We cannot always control what happens to us, but we can control the way we respond to it.” So how will this crisis make us better? How will we use this moment to help others? What actions will we each take to improve our situation? As I think about these questions, and turn my calendar to May, I’m looking forward to seeing us grow. Because after all, April showers bring May flowers.