I love the phrase "plain-text". It is the option I select each evening as I sit here hunched over my cheap netbook at my dimly lit desk in the corner of my bedroom, just having tucked my kids into bed. MailChimp has all of these options for marketing campaigns with all sorts of "tricks" to encourage people to click and interact.

Not thank you. "Plain-text" says it all. Just words. Every time I have gotten away from "plain-text" I have faltered. Whether it be words on a screen or spoken on a podcast, the idea has always been the same, less is more. I let people talk me out of a minimalist blog theme, "it doesn't encourage clicks," they said. So I tried to get fancy and I forgot about the words. The same happened with the podcasts.

Words are incredibly impactful, all on their own. On a whim I sent out two emails the last two evenings, no expectations. I have received more responses than I can keep up with, yet I will respond to each one with care very soon. It is humbling, but it is words that resonate with people. Words have power.

Many of the email responses I have received could be life-changing. Real ideas for career moves I could make or simply "you're not alone" rapport that bring a bit of light to the darkest nights. They are just words, but they evoke emotion and action, real human connection.

Everyone likes to write about how they are "killing it" or "hustling" every day, but those people go silent when things get tough, and they always get tough. Let's, instead, talk about the struggles and challenges. Some people claim we should hide our weaknesses, the it gives us more power. I disagree, when we hide something we weaken ourselves. In the eternal battle that takes place in each of our hearts, the bad guys score a blow each time we hold back and pretend. We give our weaknesses more power by concealing them. This isn't physical war, man against man, this is man against himself. And our allies are other men willing to share their battle plans.

When do we appreciate our parents?

I am 37 years old. My kids are preteens. I was struck with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my parents tonight. Not because of what they did for me or the sacrifices they made, though I am thankful for that, but rather for the emotional strength it takes to watch your children grow older and time slip away.

The passage of time. It occupies much of my thoughts these days. My kids' childhood is slipping away, one day at a time. The days where they will do "kid" things are coming to an end. One child is already moved on from boy to young man, both physically and mentally. The second child will follow in the next few months.

"I always thought she'd be my little girl forever I never really thought this time will come And I'd love to see the woman that she's growing up to be There's still so many things we haven't done And I'm holding on to every little minute I'm holding on for dear life

And I'd smile, and I'd And I'd cry, but not too loud"

This song, Not Too Loud by Jason Eady, hit me right in the heart recently. Every night as I tuck my 10 year old daughter in to bed I get closer to the day where it'll be the last time. I really thought it would last forever. For so long I would take it for granted, even getting annoyed at the process as I couldn't wait to do my own thing. Now I realize those moments are life, that's it, right there. When I am 80 and looking back on a moment in my life that I'd wish to recreate more than any other, it'll be that one, tucking my young kids into bed.

I'll be damned if I'm not the luckiest man alive to have experienced something as great as that. I will savor it each and every night until the day it ends, then I will look back with gratitude, and a bit of sadness.

Now I know why my parents cried at graduation. I never understood it until now. It's the passage of time. The end of an era for a parent. A role that brings such meaning and fulfillment is widing down. Sure, we go on to do plenty of important things once our kids are grown, but does anything ever come close to being the center of the universe to a little person? I find it doubtful.

Mark