Tomorrow starts another school year.

And honestly…where did the summer go?

My natural pessimism immediately starts making a list.

I didn’t get enough done around the house.

I didn’t spend enough time with the kids.

I didn’t get outside enough.

I didn’t enjoy enough sunsets, enough campfires, enough ordinary moments.

If I’m being fair, that list will probably never disappear. There will always be something I wish I had done better.

That’s just how my brain works.

Sometimes my self-reflection turns into self-judgment. I can make a convincing argument that I could have been a better person in just about every role I play.

Human being…could have been better.

Husband…could have been better.

Father…could have been better.

Friend…could have been better.

And honestly, I’m probably not wrong.

But that’s only half the story.

This summer wasn’t perfect, but it was full of growth.

I took care of people who needed it, sometimes quietly and sometimes in ways that couldn’t be hidden.

I found some energy to invest back into my marriage. Not because I wasn’t committed before, but because the last few years often felt like survival mode. When you’re just trying to get through each day, it’s hard to intentionally invest in each other. This summer felt different. It felt like we finally had enough breathing room to dance again.

As a dad, I still wish I had spent more time with the girls and with Matt. I don’t think that feeling ever goes away. But we also shared experiences this year that simply wouldn’t have happened a few years ago. Those memories matter, and I’m grateful for them.

Friendships are evolving too.

Making friends in your forties isn’t like it was when you were twenty. Or maybe it is, and we’re just more complicated now. Either way, I’m still figuring out what healthy adult friendships are supposed to look like.

Lately I’ve noticed more and more parents posting on Facebook about how quickly their kids are growing up. It almost feels cliché now, except that it’s true. Maybe that’s why so many people write about it. When enough people experience the same thing, it stops being cliché and starts becoming part of the shared human experience.

Tomorrow marks another milestone in our house.

For the first time, we won’t have an elementary school student.

I’m not sure I’m ready for what that represents.

I know how fast this year will go because I’ve already lived it once. Kids slowly disappear into friends, sports, activities, jobs, and eventually lives of their own. Time with family shifts from being the default to something that has to be planned. That’s the way it’s supposed to happen.

My job isn’t to stop that.

My job is to make the most of the time that’s left while preparing them for the next stage of their lives.

The other day my middle daughter sent me this video.

I still don’t know whether she sent it because she thought it was funny, because she was teasing me, or because she actually meant it.

I’m aware that I get a little…sermon-y during car rides.

Old habits die hard.

Years of driving Matt around taught me that those quiet moments in the car were where some of our best conversations happened. They were where I tried to pass along whatever little bit of wisdom I thought I’d earned. Someday he may send me the therapy bill for some of those conversations, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Maybe that’s why I still do it.

Because one day, those drives end.

Tomorrow starts another school year.

I still wish I had done more this summer.

But maybe the goal isn’t to squeeze every possible moment out of today.

Maybe it’s simply to do a little better tomorrow.