We've gotten alarmingly comfortable slapping diagnoses on our kids: ADD, anxiety, defiance, you name it, often for behavior that's just a child being a child inside a system that sets them up to struggle. This week I make the case I've been building toward for a year: the words we speak over our children don't just describe them, they help create who they become. A casual label is a verdict dressed up as an observation. The harder, more hopeful truth is that the work was never your child's to do alone. It's yours. You're the problem, which means you're also the answer.

There's a reason your kid's whining can undo you faster than almost any other sound: it's built to. Whining is wired to bypass your reasoning and grab you before you can think, the same channel that lets a real cry reach you in an emergency. This week I look at why that sound hijacks us, why it works (because it does), and how we can stop rewarding it without ever shutting our kids out. The motto in our house: whining only gets you hugs. The love is always available. The leverage is not. (Word count: 99)

This week I'm ranting a little (lovingly) about our obsession with finding "the thing" that will fix everything: the supplement, the protocol, the branded parenting hack, the latest biohack. My wife's mahjong group hosted an "Analog Night" and it hit me: why do we need to brand being present? The Torah's nazir makes the same mistake: turning a temporary restriction into a virtue. The real work is internal, unique to you, and never finished. No program can do it for you. Your inner state radiates into your whole family. That's the actual superpower. There is no thing. There's only you.

This week I explore why commitment, not analysis, is the key to a fuller life. Research shows that people who endlessly optimize their choices are measurably less happy than those who commit and move on. The same pattern shows up in my coaching work: people rarely lack knowledge; something is blocking them from acting on what they already know. The fix isn't more information; it's learning to quiet the evaluating mind long enough to actually hear: your kids underneath their words, your own instincts underneath the noise, the life that's already in front of you waiting to be received.

This week I'm exploring why so many driven, successful people struggle to feel wonder at ordinary life, and what that has to do with our inability to rest. The same part of us that can't stop working is often protecting a younger part that once found the world magical and learned it wasn't safe to be that open. I share a personal story about reclaiming something I lost as a kid, walk through a deeper version of last week's exercise for meeting that exiled part of yourself, and offer two simple practices you can try with your family this Shabbat to start seeing the miraculous in the everyday.

Why can't driven, purpose-oriented men stop working? This week's essay redefines "flow" through the lens of parsha Emor, Victor Wooten's The Music Lesson, and Jewish mystical teachings about the sacred role of silence and rest. The Torah's peak spiritual experience is the Amidah, standing completely still with nothing to say. I explore why workaholism is almost always driven by fear underneath the hustle, offer a practical IFS exercise for confronting it, and make the case that the quiet, boring, unperforming version of you is what your kids need to see.

You already know screens are bad for you. So why hasn't that changed anything? This week I argue that avoiding the bad doesn't sustain transformation; you need a vivid sense of what you're building towards. The Torah calls it holiness: a spiritual sensitivity, a felt aliveness to your own soul and to God's presence in the ordinary. Screens deaden that sensitivity. I share what we do in my house to protect it, why I'm unapologetically extreme about it, and why the answer to "how much is too much" can only come from your own inner compass.

This week I'm writing about why I started graduate school in Marriage and Family Therapy, and what this week's Torah portion, Tazria-Metzora, teaches about what's really going on when family life feels chaotic. The parsha describes a mysterious affliction that can appear on the walls of a house, and I think it's a powerful metaphor for what I keep seeing in my coaching work: the presenting problem is almost never the real problem. The kids' behavior is a symptom of something deeper, usually parental anxiety that predates parenthood entirely. The Torah's prescription is to bring in someone from outside to look, and sometimes to tear open the walls to find the treasure buried underneath.

What if the hardest thing about Passover isn't the cleaning or the dietary restrictions, but the radical idea that you didn't earn any of it? In this week's essay, I explore how Dayenu, the song everyone sings but nobody thinks about, is actually a meditation on enoughness and the art of receiving. I walk through specific intentions for the matzah and maror at your seder this year, and why actually eating them, fully, in the way they're meant to be eaten, might be the most countercultural thing you do all spring.

Every dad in my groups says the same thing: I know what I should do, I just can't do it. This week I explore why, through an unexpected collision between modern parts-based psychology and what Chassidic philosophy has been teaching about the animal soul for centuries. Parshas Vayikra opens with the laws of animal offerings, and the Hebrew word korban doesn't mean sacrifice: it means bringing close. What if the ancient practice of bringing an animal to the altar is really a protocol for approaching the parts of ourselves that hijack us as parents?