Happy 4th of July! Today's post is the second part of a story posted last Friday. I hope you enjoy, and, as always, thanks for stopping by.

It's July 4, 2004, and I'm sitting in a barber's chair on a sunny afternoon in El Paraíso, Honduras. My barber, a young man with a thorough knowledge of U.S. history and our founding fathers, stops cutting my hair and asks me, "Kevin, do you believe that in the U.S. anything is possible?" I pause for a moment and reply, "I do." He looks at me, as if pondering my response, and says, "I think in Honduras anything is possible." Suddenly he starts laughing and shaking his head, amused by what I now realize was a sarcastic response. He points his scissors towards a man seated across the barber shop who has joined in the laughter. I sit quietly in my chair.

This is part one of a two-part story that will conclude next Friday, July 4th. Thanks, as always, for reading and please share your thoughts when you're done. Have a great Friday!

It's Wednesday morning, and I'm heading over to an auto parts store to pick up some paint. Our 1998 Toyota Camry, with 194,000 miles, has an engine that keeps on chugging. However, everything around the engine is threatening to give out. I'm worried that, without some work, I'll be driving it around like Fred Flintstone, legs dangling out through the floorboard.

I pull the car up slowly to the front of the house. It's a quaint brick house, built in the 1940s and  shaded by a large elm tree in the front yard. Addie and Bridgette hop out of the car and get to work. They grab a wrapped sandwich, granola bar, banana and small carton of milk and place the items in a green basket. "Let's go, Dad!" Addie shouts, and my two girls race up the walkway to the faded red front door of the house. We tap on the door, announce "Meals on Wheels," and enter. 

It's 1:27 p.m. on an overcast Tuesday afternoon. I'm standing at the sink, dish towel draped over my shoulder, trying to determine how to quell an increasingly annoying ant problem. From the living room, I hear a loud twang. Addie has found my guitar and is "playing" it. She strums and bangs, and the sound is, well, unpleasant. Bridgette is doing some form of interpretive dance while Addie bangs away. I feel a slight headache coming on.

I'm 40. I hit the milestone about six months ago. Forty, to me, was a significant birthday. Somehow it seemed like the official transition from "young" to "middle age." I imagine this is around the time some experience the dreaded mid-life crisis. It certainly seemed like a good time to reflect on my life and to think about where it may be heading. After a short time, I acknowledged the uselessness of this endeavor. The truth is that I have no idea where I'm headed. I know this because, standing at the kitchen sink, I understand I never expected to be here on a Tuesday afternoon. 

It's 2006 and Cristina and I are walking towards Cuyalí on an overcast day in Honduras. Heavy rains over the past several days have caused a creek to crest its bank and flood the local road. We are expected in the village and need to somehow traverse the flooded waters. I attempt to leap from one rock to the next but land in about a foot of water. Cristina watches safely from a rock, contemplating her next move. 

This is a picture of my lawn. I tell people that it's a tribute to the many varieties of grasses and weeds that grow in Virginia. When lawn care specialists knock on my door, I can see the excitement in their eyes when I answer. 

"The grass is always greener" is an expression I think about a lot. In the case of my yard, the grass is greener on just about every other property I can see. Sometimes people use this old saying as an excuse not to take a risk or challenge themselves. They don't want to leave their comfort zone, so they stay where they are and convince themselves that the new opportunity wouldn't lead to anything better. There is no doubt that seeking new pastures can be a positive, life-changing experience.

Paradise is . . . experiencing the sense of awe.

"I'm tired Dad! Can't we stop?" my youngest daughter, Bridgette, pleads, slouching her shoulders and huffing as the words come out of her mouth. Up ahead, my oldest daughter, Addie, is looking miserable, sitting on a bench and asking my wife, Cristina, how much farther to the top. "Come on, Bridgette, you can make it," I say. "We're almost there."  

Paradise is . . . the bond of family.

I enter the doctor's office with my oldest daughter, and we both take a seat in front of the woman checking us in. She is seated behind a computer, asks for the name of my daughter, and then slides me a form. "We are updating our patient information," she says dryly. "Please fill this out." My daughter and I find two seats in the waiting room, and I begin filling out the paperwork. It's going along fine until I reach a question that asks for the race and ethnicity of my child. I start laughing. I turn to my beautiful, brown-eyed little girl and think, Now that's a great story.

Paradise is . . . being inspired.

What inspires you? What gives you an energy boost (naturally, in this case), puts a smile across your face, and fills your soul with the feeling that you are strong and the world is full of opportunity? If you've read the book or perused this website, you know I'm a believer in focusing on these things. It's not always easy, but life in El Paraíso taught me that inspiring stories are all around us. They are everywhere, but you have to be willing to seek them out. There must be a determination to filter out everything around you that is wearing you down and zoom in on that which inspires. 

When we arrived in El Paraíso, I saw garbage-strewn streets, dilapidated housing, and a population that appeared, upon first glance, disinterested in improving their plight. I saw little reason to be hopeful that Cristina and I could have any impact. So, I moped around the house, complained about our seemingly impossible situation, and made myself miserable. I was, in a word, uninspired. Then, something happened. 

Paradise is . . . not being afraid to be your own person

By now, it seems that anyone with young children knows about the movie Frozen. Both of my daughters saw the movie recently and were enamored, especially with the hit song, "Let it Go". The other day, my youngest daughter grabbed a pink sheet, a black dress, and some socks in order to put together this outfit to resemble the character Elsa. She wore it most of the morning, regardless of the activity. As I watched her marching around the house and in and out the front door, I couldn't help but feel a little bit sad. How much time is left until she no longer is comfortable dressing up and acting like whomever she pleases?

I'm finding life as an adult to be exhausting in ways I had not imagined. The path we choose in life is ours alone. My wife and I, like all people, had to make tough decisions about where to live, career paths to follow, how to educate our children, etc. I'm struck by how many people judge those decisions, provide unsolicited advice, and even take offense when the road we are on differs from theirs. Society can, at times, feel like one big bully. It's not easy to be your own person, to carve your own trail, to do something outside of what society has deemed the norm. To constantly find yourself in a defensive position, explaining to others why you don't necessarily want what they want, is tiring.

In the past, I was easily influenced or angered when unfairly judged by others. In fact, looking back, there were risks I should have taken, paths I should have followed, that I avoided out of fear of what others might think or say. Recently, finally, I've learned that the best thing I can do is live my life according to my values and what makes me and my family feel happy and fulfilled. There will always be those, maybe even the majority, who disagree or take issue with those decisions. However, if you live a life based on your design, there will be those inspired to do the same. And that's how you can change the world.

Right now, my youngest daughters are listening to their new favorite song. They are spinning and dancing, comfortable with everything about who they are. That's my dream for them today and always. As for me, I have a new mantra when others are critical of my path in life: I simply "let it go".