Tell Me Sumpin’
Hey guys, it’s me, Josh—your friendly neighborhood Dad Philosopher™.
I have very exciting news to share: somewhere between debating the merits of wearing pants and explaining why we can’t have another pet, my 3-year-old daughter, Ruby Jane, suddenly decided I’m cool.
For the first two years of her life, she wasn’t my biggest fan. She’s always been a Momma’s girl, and while I never took it personally, I won’t lie—it stung a little. But something shifted recently. Maybe it’s a phase. Maybe I finally wore her down with Starbucks cake pops. Either way, I’m not questioning it. I’m just grateful.
Lately, she’s been asking me to play dolls, to chase her around the house, to wrestle. But my favorite? She asks me to tell her stories.
It started a few weeks ago. She curled up next to me on the couch, looked up, and said, “Tell me sumpin’.”
At first, I asked, “What do you want me to tell you?”
She thought for a second, then shrugged. “Just think about sumpin’ and tell me sumpin’.”
And so I did.
I told her stories about her siblings. Stories from my childhood. I made up adventures on the fly, pulling details out of thin air, watching her eyes widen as she hung on every word.
And something hit me.
One day, she won’t ask me to tell her stories. She won’t curl up next to me on the couch, hanging on every word. The dolls will be packed away, the bedtime giggles will fade, and before I know it, I’ll be looking back—wishing for just one more night of “Tell me sumpin’.”
See, I think there’s a version of me—maybe it’s the ambitious side, or maybe it’s just the guy who gets sucked into Instagram sometimes—that still thinks the good life is out there somewhere. You know, when the house is perfectly clean, the goals are met, and there’s just… more of everything. More money, more freedom, more ease.
But the older I get, the more I’m realizing that more doesn’t always mean better. Because when I stop and really pay attention, the moments that make me feel richest aren’t flashy or impressive.
It’s my kids breaking into laughter at the dinner table because Ruby decided to shove way too much food into her mouth. It’s Gwyn insisting I play the same song on repeat during the drive to school. It’s Lila asking me to rebound for her in the driveway, determined to get just one more perfect shot. It’s Jude dragging me out for an early morning run, even when I’d rather stay in bed.
It’s the late-night conversations with my wife—when we’re too tired to move but somehow still find the energy to talk about everything and nothing.
Here’s the funny thing: when I was younger, I would’ve rolled my eyes at someone saying all this. I thought rich meant luxury vacations, dream jobs, or never having to think about money. But now? Now I think it’s the stuff we forget to notice when we’re too busy chasing something else.
These aren’t the kinds of things that make headlines or social media feeds. But maybe that’s the point.
Life doesn’t wait for us to figure it all out—it hands us these little pockets of joy, right in the middle of the noise and the mess, and says, “Here. This is what matters.”
It’s easy to think we have endless time for these little moments, but we don’t. They slip through our fingers while we’re busy, distracted, or waiting for the “big” stuff. But the big stuff? It’s already happening. Right here. Right now.
So, yeah, I still have big dreams. I want to do great work, provide for my family, and leave a legacy that matters. But I refuse to overlook the beauty right in front of me in the pursuit.
If you’re lucky enough to have a little hand reaching for yours, a voice calling your name, a tiny person who just wants your time—give it freely. Because one day, you’ll wish you had.
That's all for today.
Godspeed.
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