#family-and-religion

#family-and-religion

The Stasi, the secret police, were legendary for their data files. Their work was based on instilling fear, and they induced stunningly amazing numbers of East Germans into informing on their neighbors. Something along the lines of 1 in 6 East Germans were informants, whether out of fear or out of approval of what the East German government was doing.

We are living through one of the most disorienting periods in recorded history. The AI race is accelerating toward ever faster, ever more sophisticated automation and optimization. Agentic AI systems are moving from research labs into workplaces, healthcare, and governance. Geopolitical tensions are restructuring alliances faster than institutions can adapt. And planetary systems are signaling, with increasing urgency, that our current trajectory is unsustainable. Amid all this, it is dangerously easy to lose sight of a foundational question: What are we actually optimizing for?

Part of the answer lies in the visceral nature of the game. Unlike chess, football is physical to the point of absurdity. Grown adults in body armor crash into each other over what is essentially a leather egg. There's drama in every play. You don't need a PhD in physics to appreciate a one-handed catch while somersaulting over a defender like a caffeinated acrobat.

Behind the closed doors of a therapy practice, science and spiritual traditions are not adversaries. In fact, knowing how to ensure that your belief system is compatible with counseling can transform your experience and strengthen your bond.

Nobody tells you this can happen. They warn you about teenage rebellion, about empty nest syndrome, about your kids moving across the country. But nobody warns you that your kids can live in the same town and still feel a thousand miles away. The worst part? I did this. Not on purpose, not all at once, but slowly, over years of being the kind of father I thought I was supposed to be.

I was thinking about this the other day while scrolling through my phone on a Saturday morning, realizing I'd been working for two hours without even noticing. Growing up, my weekends looked nothing like this. There were unspoken rules, traditions that just happened without anyone scheduling them into a calendar app. These weren't grand gestures or expensive activities. They were simple rituals that, looking back now, built something most of us are desperately trying to recreate through therapy apps and self-help books: genuine connection.

Growing up, Melissa Shultz sometimes felt like she had two fathers. One version of her dad, she told me, was playful and quick to laugh. He was a compelling storyteller who helped shape her career as a writer, and he gave great bear hugs. He often bought her small gifts: a pink "princess" phone when she was a teen, toys for her sons when she became a mom.

When I was eight, my grandmother taught me how to make her famous apple pie. But it wasn't really about the pie. Every Saturday afternoon, we'd stand side by side in her kitchen, her weathered hands guiding mine as we rolled out dough. She'd tell stories about her childhood, ask about my week at school, and somehow make me feel like the most important person in the world.