|
|
Tue 6 Jan, 2026
Colmar, France
|
Hey Reader,
I’m back in Colmar after ten days in Romania.
Before sitting down to write, we were at the table sharing a galette des rois. One of those small French family rituals that mark the season. We cut the cake, passed the plates around, and one slice had the little figurine inside. This time, it landed on my plate. Paper crown included. We laughed and moved on.
This trip in Romania felt different. For the first time in my life, I said something to my dad that I had never said so directly before. I hugged him and told him I love him. Simply, clearly, without wrapping it in anything else.
It felt good. Calming, even. Like something loosening that I hadn’t realized I was holding.
I don’t know how your relationship with your parents is. In my family, we’ve always been more at ease talking about practical things than about feelings. We talk about work, plans, logistics, what needs to be done. Not so much about what’s happening inside. So this moment felt like crossing a line I had avoided for years.
My dad is in his sixties now. We live in France, my parents are in Romania, and we see each other maybe two or three times a year. At some point during this visit, a thought landed that I couldn’t shake.
If we only see each other a few times a year, that might mean we only have 20-30 real meetings left.
So I didn’t want to leave again without saying something that mattered, even if it felt uncomfortable.
Another moment with my dad came back to me during this trip. One from about ten years ago.
I was still in the military then. I had been in for a decade. I was an officer, with a stable path ahead of me. Good income, early retirement, benefits. The kind of life my family understood as success. When I told them I was leaving, I didn’t have a clear plan. I just knew I couldn’t stay.
My mother supported me. She usually leads in our family. But my dad took me aside and told me he thought this was the biggest mistake I could make, and that I would regret it.
At the time, it was hard to hear. But looking back now, that conversation is one of the moments I feel closest to him.
Not because he agreed with me or not, but because he spoke from his own place. He didn’t smooth it over or stay quiet. He shared what he truly believed.
A couple of years later, he told me he was wrong. That I couldn’t have built the life I have now if I had stayed in the military. But what stayed with me wasn’t the correction. It was that he had taken me seriously enough to stand his ground back then.
This trip helped me see a pattern more clearly.
I recently finished reading Iron John. It wasn’t an easy read for me, but I know this kind of hard helps me grow. One idea helped me understand my own story. The book speaks about the difference between the soldier and the warrior.
The soldier fights for security, for pay, for a system.
The warrior fights for an ideal, for meaning, for something he believes in.
When I left the military, I was stepping out of the soldier role, even if I didn’t have the words for it at the time. I wasn’t chasing freedom for its own sake. I was choosing something that felt honest, even though it came with uncertainty.
What I notice now is that when a decision comes from that place, life tends to organize itself differently around it. Not magically, but more coherently. Things don’t stop being hard, but they stop feeling random.
That’s what some traditions call the king. Not a ruler, but a way of bringing order, creativity, and care into the world once a direction is chosen.
Looking back, that’s close to how it felt after I left the military. I didn’t know what would come next, but I was no longer fighting myself at every step.
Today, my purpose looks different. Simpler, and deeper at the same time. To be a rooted dad. To build a family that feels like home. To live in a way that doesn’t require constant negotiation with myself just to get out of bed.
Coming back from Romania, with that conversation with my dad still warm in me, I feel like something has shifted. Less distance, less holding back, more willingness to say what matters while there’s still time.
I don’t know exactly what this year will ask of me. I only know I want to meet it more honestly than before.
If this stirred something for you, I’d love to hear it. Just hit reply. I read every message.
Happy New Year.
One dad figuring it out, same as you.
P.S. These letters aren’t a broadcast, they’re a conversation. If something speaks to you, or even stirs you the wrong way, just hit reply. I read every message.
If these letters help you slow down or see things more clearly, you can support this work by becoming a paid subscriber.
Paid subscribers get:
• Weekday Cold Showers
Short, grounding notes you can come back to when you feel scattered, disconnected, or stuck in your head. Full archive included.
• Private chat access
A quiet space to ask questions, share what’s coming up for you, or reflect without performing.
• Live conversations (3–4 times a year)
Small-group Q&A calls focused on real life: relationships, fatherhood, direction, and staying grounded. Replays are always available if you can’t join live.
Unsubscribe | Preferences | Aristide Briand, Colmar, France 68000