Fall-ish

Fall is arriving. Well, the “season” of fall, not necessarily the weather. Heat and humidity still rule the day, but the mornings are arriving later as we settle into September. The first Race Week of the 2026-2027 season is upon us and summer is officially over. College Football kicked off, schools have been back for a few weeks, and Labor Day is in the books.

More of the morning coffee was enjoyed in darkness, the tranquility and quiet welcome companions for each sip. This also means I’ll soon face another season in December, somewhat of a landmark, my 55th. A number that has some magic to it. It doesn’t have the flash of a 40th birthday, or a big 5-0 celebration, but a milestone I’ll embrace nonetheless. There’s a freedom that comes from certain birthdays. A freedom to chase passions, to live authentically, to be more of myself. You care less about the little things, or maybe you appreciate them more, I’m not entirely sure.

I heard a quote that resonated; accept people as they are, but place them where they belong. That’s powerful.

There are parts of Mel Robbins’ Let Them theorem, a splash of ‘Change what you can, and accept what you cannot’, with a little ‘It is what it is’ thrown in for good measure. More so I would say there’s a fine balance between accepting things and not giving a f*ck, and I mean a razor thin balancing act.

As I reflect back on the summer I am reminded that health is a blessing and happiness is a choice. Cheers to a great fall and maybe some cooler days.

Of Love and Loss

'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all.

A beautiful line from In Memoriam A.H.H. by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. A poem composed as a tribute to a personal friend who died suddenly at the age of 22. It is a phrase that has come to mind often this week as wave upon wave of sad news hit me. 

The week started with the passing of a friend from college, Stacie Hamburger Russell. More than just my friend, she had been best friends since childhood with my dear friend and neighbor, Rochelle. Stacie had valiantly battled pancreatic cancer with grace and grit. The world watched as Patrick Swayze and Steve Jobs battled it. It’s a painful process to watch with an inevitable outcome. I hurt for all she leaves behind: her son, her friends, and her community. 

Without even a chance to process, I received the news that one of my closest friends, Norman ‘Jay’ Pingley, died. I’ve known Norm for almost as long as I’ve been in the event business. Of course, we met at a race, likely in his home state of Florida. His personality was larger than life. When he walked into a room, everyone greeted him the same way the fictional Boston bar greeted its favorite regular: "NORM!" He was a giant teddy bear, yet strong as a grizzly. He would give you the shirt off his back and would often take off his pants as well. Everyone I know has a Norm story, likely multiple, and every story can be attributed to Norm's carefree attitude toward others' opinions. Norm wasn’t afraid of being the center of attention, the butt of the joke, or the ill-timed comment to the media about nails on a bike course.

Norm was the backbone of the event industry, the ‘carnie’. He might not get into town when he promised, but he would work his ass off when he was there. More than cones and cades, Norm was an unexpected role model to a lot of guys. He loved his kids so deeply. His pride was palpable in the videos he'd text us — Bud playing lacrosse, Ali Claire shining in everything she did. He showed the world (and new dads) what it meant to show up for his kids.

He walked me through some really dark times during my divorce. He allowed me to lean on him as we shared the pain of heartache. I will never be able to thank him enough for that gift. Thank you, Norm, for pulling me through to the other side.

The timing of my writing is tragically ironic. The last time I published was 7 years ago as I reflected on the passing of my uncle, Lou Wattigny (read ‘Drained’ here). He was so many things to me: a role model, a hero, a big brother. This week rounded out with the anniversary of his death. I miss him dearly and wish that I could call him during tough times or just to shoot the shit.

As I wipe away the tears, I am left with these thoughts. We are promised nothing. Love him or hate him, Coach Nick Saban gave a great 1:35 second speech on this subject The Importance of Nothing - Coach Nick Saban. We aren’t promised tomorrow. So don't put off until 'later' — you may never get it.  Chase the dream. Share your feelings. Push fear aside to do the thing you’ve been thinking about. Check on your friends. Most importantly, love deeply and tell those around you ‘I love you’.