My usual fitness studio is closed for a week. The owners are two sisters and they and their families go “down the shore” for a week in July. I’m taking it as an opportunity to try something new/different. I have had a couple of shoulder injuries in the last six months, and I have mild osteoarthritis in my neck, so after mulling it over for a few days, I finally landed on a plan to work on a neck and shoulder routine for seven days, with the idea that I will learn more, build strength, and reduce the chances of future injury.


In my life’s worth of problem-solving, I often advise “Pick your expert, and pick a book.” There’s way too much info out there about everything, and so many people have opinions about how to do something. My wife and I devised this approach when we were at the brink of being parents. There’s so much advice out there about childbirth and child rearing that it was easy to spin in indecision. So, we picked a book (Dr. Sears) and our pediatrician, and all other advice we tuned out.


For my “7 Days for Neck and Shoulder Support” routine, I’m doing the same thing. Since all my parts feel pretty good right now, I don’t need a doctor or physical therapist. But I needed to narrow the world of inputs. Since my neck arthritis has been confirmed with an X-ray, I want to maximize freedom of movement. Since my shoulder issue is an occasional rotator cuff thing, I want to develop a routine for healthy strengthening to avoid re-injury. For my “expert,” I’m going to go with Yoga with Adriene on YouTube. She has a video playlist for neck and shoulders and she’s got a great vibe. For my book, I have chosen Treat Your Own Shoulder by Robin McKenzie.


But what will keep me accountable? I know me and I know I can get busy, distracted or otherwise resistant to my own goals. When I work out at my fitness studio, there’s the external accountability of signing up for a class and being expected to show up. And there's a $10 penalty for late cancellation/no shows. For my running club, people notice when I don't make it. My week-long neck and shoulder routine is really just a thing I made up, which would be easy to blow off or forget. So I'm manufacturing accountability by writing a blog post about it, and sending an email to my mailing list. Not that I expect y'all to reach through your phones or computers to quiz me on my progress, but I guess it's possible you could. It's really more about me knowing I've shared it, and if you did ask me, how would I answer? 


So here we are. Today I did 30 minutes of shoulder and neck-focused yoga with Adriene, and I identified Robin McKenzie’s book, which I read some of online, and which will arrive tomorrow in paperback form because I think it will be a useful resource to have on hand this week and further down the road. And, I’ve deputized you to help me hold myself accountable.


If you’ve got something you want to fix in your life, let’s talk about it. Every August, I open up my schedule for free coaching sessions. Short-term coaching is perfect for setting a course to work on a specific problem. A little support and accountability at the right time can go a long way.

For the last few years, I've offered free coaching in August. I'm going to do it again. I know it's only July, but August will be here before we know it. Click here to sign up.

Why do I do this?

1. I like to coach people. Through coaching with me, people are able to improve their "it" -- work, relationships, parenting, mapping a plan for the future. I love being able to help make those changes happen.

2. Not sure I need a number 2. But, Why August? I am usually not traveling, my schedule is more open, the days are long and it's really hot here. Seems like a good time to have some Zoom calls.

Okay, that's about it. Want to try coaching with a nice lesbian?

Click here to pick a time.

I've been reading Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist who survived Nazi concentration camps during World War II. The book is often recommended as one of the most important works ever written about resilience, purpose, and the human spirit.


Frankl's experiences are almost impossible for most of us to imagine. In the camps, he observed that people who were able to hold onto a sense of purpose, hope, or responsibility often seemed better able to endure unimaginable suffering. From those observations, he developed a form of psychotherapy called logotherapy, which is based on the idea that the search for meaning is one of the primary forces that motivates human beings.


At its core, Frankl's message is simple: life is never made meaningful by comfort alone. Meaning can come from creating something, loving someone, serving others, or even from the way we respond to unavoidable hardship.


As I've been reading, I've found myself reflecting on my own life and asking some uncomfortable questions.
How do we know if our lives are meaningful?


If we're fortunate, we spend decades building careers, raising families, contributing to our communities, and helping others. But many of us eventually reach a point where we begin to look back and wonder what it all adds up to.


One of the things I appreciate about Frankl's work is that he doesn't suggest that happiness should be our ultimate goal. In fact, he argues that happiness is often a byproduct of living a meaningful life rather than something we can pursue directly.


Interestingly, modern research on well-being seems to support this idea.


Studies consistently show that people who have a strong sense of purpose tend to report greater life satisfaction, better mental health, and even better physical health. Researchers have found links between purpose and lower rates of depression, greater resilience during difficult times, and in some studies, longer life expectancy.


That doesn't mean people with purpose never struggle. It means they often have a reason to keep moving forward when life becomes challenging.


As someone who works with women in midlife and beyond, I think this question becomes especially important as we age.


Many of the roles that once gave our lives structure begin to change. Children grow up. Careers evolve or come to an end. Parents pass on. Volunteer commitments shift. Retirement appears on the horizon.


The question is no longer, "What do I have to do today?"


Instead, it becomes, "What is worth doing now?"


That's where I find myself wrestling a bit with Frankl.


Some of the examples in the book feel a little too tidy for my taste. Frankl often helps people reinterpret difficult experiences in ways that reveal meaning. Sometimes those insights are powerful. Other times I found myself wondering whether meaning was being discovered or created through a new way of looking at the situation.


Then again, perhaps that's part of being human.


We are storytellers. We make sense of our lives through the stories we tell ourselves about who we are, what we've done, and what matters. Maybe meaning isn't something we uncover like buried treasure. Maybe it's something we cultivate over time through our choices, relationships, and commitments.


What I do know is that the people I meet who seem most satisfied with their lives are rarely focused on happiness itself.


They're engaged.


They're curious.


They're connected to people they care about.


They're contributing in ways that feel authentic to them.


They're still growing.


Whether Frankl would agree with that interpretation, I'm not entirely sure. But it seems consistent with both the science of well-being and my own observations.


As I continue reading and reflecting, I keep coming back to a simple question:


If I were looking back on my life years from now, what would I want to have spent my time doing?


I don't think there's a single right answer. But I do think it's a question worth asking.


And perhaps asking it is one of the ways we begin to create a life that feels meaningful in the first place.

(This is part two. If you didn't read the prior post "Accidental History Detective", read it first.)

I kept coming back to that one sentence: "Ezra Baker Jr. died in an almshouse." It was written as fact, repeated across genealogy reports, and accepted without question. But it wasn't true.


We do this in our own lives, too. A single mistake or misinterpretation can get repeated until it becomes the story we tell about ourselves. "I’ve never been good at public speaking." "I’m not the kind of person who takes risks." "I always mess things up." Sound familiar?


Ezra’s story reminded me to challenge assumptions. The first recorded version isn’t always the right one. If I had accepted the almshouse story, I wouldn’t have found his connection to Lincoln, his political appointment, the crazy story of scandal and intrigue, or his last years practicing medicine in Philadelphia. The real story was more complicated—but also more interesting.


Maybe it’s time to look at your own narrative. What’s a belief you’ve carried about yourself that might not be the full truth?

You don’t have to keep retelling the same story if it no longer serves you. If you’re ready to explore new possibilities, coaching can help you rewrite your own history.

I never set out to uncover a mystery. I just saw a name—Ezra Baker Jr.—on a genealogy site and read the familiar refrain: Once a respected doctor and businessman, he died poor, alone, drunk and forgotten in a Philadelphia almshouse. It struck me as odd that he would end up in my adopted hometown, because I don’t have family ties to the Philadelphia area. Why would he end up here?

Curiosity got the better of me. I found where he was buried (Woodlands Cemetery in West Philadelphia) and went to see for myself. His headstone, though weathered, was marble. And that didn’t sit right with me. In 1870, poor men who died in almshouses weren’t buried under marble. That simple fact cracked open the whole story.

What followed is a continuing deep dive into forgotten records, political appointments, scandalous accusations, and unexpected connections. His final years—those that history seemed to misplace—weren’t quite what the old genealogy reports claimed.

I tracked him to a politically-appointed post in Washington Territory, in proximity to two of his sons. I tracked him to Washington DC, where he was trying to get a meeting with Lincoln after being pushed out of that job. 

It turns out that Ezra did know Abraham Lincoln. He did business with military generals. He had been part of a major Civil War-era smuggling trial. He had spent years crisscrossing the country. I kept chasing leads. I found him later in a Philadelphia directory at Broad and Passyunk, maybe still practicing medicine. His cause of death was listed as “softening of the brain,” an old term for what might have been a stroke or dementia.

The usual story about Ezra Baker Jr. turned out to be more rumor than reality. And that got me thinking—how often do we accept someone else’s version of the truth? How many times do we repeat a mistake until it becomes history?

Theme: Stay Curious.

Sometimes, a single detail—a marble headstone where there shouldn’t be one—can change everything. What might you discover if you followed a thread of curiosity in your own life?

Your story matters, and sometimes rewriting history—whether it’s your own or someone else’s—starts with asking the right questions. If you’re ready to explore your own narrative, coaching can help you uncover what’s been overlooked.