I’ve been sitting with the word available lately—not in the calendar sense, but in the deeper, more revealing way we either show up to life… or don’t.
Available shares a root with avail—to make use of, to bring into being, to allow something to matter.
To be available, then, is not just to be present.
It is to be able to be used by the moment.
And that raises a question that feels increasingly central to me:
Am I actually available to my life?
On May 23rd, 1995, our son Jacob had a stroke at the age of two, and last week marked the 31st anniversary of that day.
I’ve been thinking about it differently this year—not just as a memory, but as a moment that redefined what it means to be available.
In the immediate aftermath, there was no abstraction, no philosophy—just a sudden and total reordering of our lives. My wife, our extended family, and I were thrust into a reality we hadn’t chosen but were now fully inside. Everything became oriented around Jacob—his recovery, his care, his future.
We didn’t have the luxury of asking whether we wanted to show up.
The question was far more fundamental:
Could we make ourselves available to what life was asking of us?
That experience has stayed with me—not just as a memory of hardship, but as a living definition of availability.
Because available doesn’t simply mean present.
It means being able to be used at the moment.
Able to hold what arrives.
Able to stay intact while doing so.
The Moment Calls — But Can We Answer?
Across different traditions, I’ve started to notice the same truth expressed in different languages.
A declaration of readiness. A willingness to be called.
Joseph Campbell frames it as the Hero’s Journey:
The call arrives—but the hero must choose to answer.
Carl Jung sharpens it psychologically:
Can the psyche hold the tension required for transformation?
And Charlie Munger, in his wonderfully direct fashion, brings it down to earth:
“You’ve got to keep yourself glued together.”
Four lenses. One underlying challenge.
When Life Uproots You
Nothing prepares parents for a moment like Jacob’s stroke. It’s hard to imagine that we were younger than Jacob is today when it happened. I can’t imagine him as a parent having to contend with such an ordeal. It doesn’t feel like a “challenge” or an “obstacle.” It feels like the ground disappears beneath you.
Our lives—mine, my wife’s, and our extended family’s—were uprooted overnight. Everything reorganized around one central reality:
Jacob.
His recovery. His care. His future.
That moment was not theoretical pressure.
It was total.
And the question wasn’t philosophical:
Could we make ourselves available to what was being asked of us?
We didn’t have a choice.
But we did have a responsibility—to stay glued together enough to meet the moment.
The Expansion of Pressure
Life presses on us through multiple dimensions at once:
- Emotional shocks
- Old traumas and unresolved triggers
- Physical pain and bodily limitations
- Financial strain and capital at risk
- Expectations, both internal and external
- Aging and the quiet awareness of limits
- Success, which can distort just as much as failure
- Uncertainty about what comes next
These pressures don’t just test us—they stretch us apart.
And underneath all of it lies the real question:
Can the psyche maintain coherence under stress?
When the System Gets Overloaded
When pressure exceeds capacity, something subtle but profound happens.
We don’t just struggle—we fragment.
We become unavailable.
Not externally. Not visibly.
But internally.
We “come unglued.”
And when that happens:
- Impulsivity replaces discernment
- Panic narrows our field of vision
- Old wounds get reactivated and hijack the present
- Resentment colors interpretation
- Ego defenses take over
- The sense of self begins to fracture
At that point, the call may still be there…
…but we cannot meet it.
The Physical Body as Part of the Container
One thing I’ve come to appreciate more recently is that this “container” is not just psychological—it’s physical.
Pain has a way of concentrating awareness.
It can fragment us… or deepen us.
There are days when my body pushes back. When aches and limitations remind me that I am no longer invincible.
And yet, there’s another way to see it:
Physical pain is evidence that I am still in the arena.
Still alive. Still engaged. Still capable of growth.
If I want to continue competing in tennis and fully participate in life, then the work is clear:
I have to expand my capacity—not just mentally, but physically and emotionally—to hold that discomfort.
Financial Pressure and the Field of Meaning
There’s another dimension of pressure that has been very real for me lately: financial exposure.
I haven’t felt this level of financial pressure in a long time.
The investment in The TenniSphere has required a meaningful allocation of capital—capital that, in another context, would simply sit as reserve.
And yet, when I walk the property, I feel something unexpected:
Peace.
Not the absence of tension—but something deeper.
Alfred North Whitehead described peace as:
“A broadening of feeling due to the emergence of some transcendent aim.”
That captures it.
Because what was once static capital has been transformed into something living.
A Majestic Enclave. A place of growth, energy, and shared experience.
The pressure is still there.
But the meaning has expanded.
And with it, my ability to hold that pressure.
Perspective as Structural Reinforcement
Perspective doesn’t remove stress.
It organizes it.
Without perspective, pressure suffocates.
With perspective, it integrates.
Pain becomes part of growth.
Risk becomes part of creation.
Uncertainty becomes part of the path.
And the container expands.
Staying Glued Together
Munger’s phrase—“keeping yourself glued together”—carries more truth the longer I sit with it.
Because everything else depends on it.
You cannot:
- Say Hineni if you are psychologically unavailable
- Answer the call if you fragment under stress
- Grow if your container collapses
- Avail yourself of the moment if you disintegrate under pressure
So the work becomes:
Don’t disintegrate under reality.
Stay intact enough to respond.
The Proof of Availability
And here’s the extraordinary part.
Jacob is now an adult.
He graduated from college.
Earned a master’s degree.
Coaches basketball.
And has started a career in the life insurance business.
In his own way, he has answered the call of his life.
He is not defined by that moment in 1995.
He is defined by what he has become through it.
He, too, is an available person.
The Sequence of Becoming Available
The progression now feels clear:
- Hineni → I am here.
- Campbell → I will answer the call.
- Jung → I will expand the vessel that can hold this.
- Munger → I will stay glued together while doing it.
- Life → Will continue to apply pressure anyway.
And within all of it:
- Availability → I am able to be used by this moment.
The Real Work
Maybe the goal isn’t to remove pressure.
Maybe it’s to become the kind of person—and build the kind of life—that can hold it.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Financially.
Psychologically.
Without losing coherence.
Because in the end, the question isn’t:
“What is life asking of me?”
It’s:
“Am I available to answer it?”
And as I reflect on that question, especially this week, I’m reminded that availability is not just an idea—it’s something lived, tested, and proven over time.
Jacob, your life has been a quiet and powerful answer to that question.
Beautifully shared. Thank you, Gary.