August always feels like a hinge—summer wanes, school years begin, and the air carries both heat and anticipation. It’s a month of transition, and this year, I feel it more than ever.
I write not to mark the calendar, but to mark the moment.
Not to mourn what’s lost, but to reckon with what’s unfolding.
Not to preach, but to prepare—for myself, my children, and anyone else who senses that something deeper is stirring beneath the surface.
We live in a time of paradox:
- Technological miracles coexist with spiritual malaise.
- Economic growth masks widening inequality.
- Freedom is celebrated, yet often feels conditional.
- Truth is accessible, yet increasingly obscured.
I think of the words of Amos, who warned not just of injustice, but of complacency.
I think of Frederick Douglass, who demanded fire, not comfort.
I think of the Founders, who listed grievances that still echo in new forms.
And I think of my own role—not as a prophet, but as a father.
I have no right to enjoy a child's share in the labor of my fathers unless my children are to be blest by my labors.
So this August, I labor—not with tools, but with thought.
Not with slogans, but with sincerity.
Not for nostalgia, but for renewal.
I reflect on movements like The Zeitgeist Movement, which challenge us to rethink the very structure of society—not through politics or profit, but through reason, sustainability, and compassion.
I don’t claim to have answers. But I do claim responsibility.
Responsibility to ask better questions.
Responsibility to live deliberately.
Responsibility to prepare the soil for whatever seeds my children may choose to plant.
August is a time of harvest—but also of preparation.
Let us gather what wisdom we can.
Let us discard what no longer serves.
Let us labor for a future that honors the past without being bound by it.
co-written with copilot
