Lessons from Losing Wilson

---

Stardate 02.06.2026

Do you remember that scene in Cast Away when Tom Hanks wakes up and realizes Wilson is drifting away?

That moment lodged itself deep in my heart. My pulse raced. Tears streamed down my face. Even now—twenty-five years after the movie first hit theaters—I can feel it like it happened yesterday.

Maybe that’s why my heart skipped a beat the day a volleyball with Wilson’s face on it was returned to lost and found at my day job.

No one claimed him.

When I heard he was headed for the trash compactor, I spoke up—loudly. And just like that, Wilson was mine.

Once I adopted him, he went everywhere with me. It was like having a new puppy… but easier. No messes. No late-night walks. No early-morning wakeups. Just presence.

Wilson became my new best friend.

---

When the pandemic halted my travels, I did the next best thing I could for my travel buddy.

I FedExed him to New York City.

A dear friend, Erin, was battling cancer. Wilson showed up for her the same way he had shown up for me—with quiet companionship, emotional support, and steady presence. I could see it in her eyes when she sent me a photo of herself, Wilson, and her real-life pet gathered together.

Sadly, Wilson dribbled out of my life forever when Erin passed away.

I slipped into depression. And it wasn’t until I entered therapy that I learned something important: it’s okay to grieve something like this. Even something others might not understand.

Wilson was gone—but somehow, his spirit wasn’t. Maybe it was the memories. Maybe it was love refusing to disappear.

---

Some time later, while walking along a river on the way to Blarney Castle in Ireland, something caught my eye.

A red volleyball.

It was drifting alongside the path, as if placed there on purpose.

The sight jolted me like a bolt of lightning. A flood of memories rushed in. Moments later, I kissed the Blarney Stone—legend says it gives you the gift of gab. That red volleyball felt like the exclamation point at the end of the sentence.

Suddenly, inspiration returned—charging like the bulls through the streets of Spain.

Olé.

I went home from that pilgrimage with my writing mojo packed neatly in my suitcase.

What I learned is this: losing Wilson helped me explore the deepest crevices of my heart. Inside those dark caverns, I faced other losses too. And I learned something else—there is recovery.

I’m still learning that now.

The good news? There is joy in sharing what those losses have taught me. There is life after death. And there is always more of the story to come.

Come back on St. Patrick’s Day, and I’ll share the rest.

Have a great day.

---

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18

---

Captain’s Addendum

Bones: “Michael, are you telling me you mourned a volleyball like a fallen crewman?”
Spock: “Doctor, attachment is not illogical when it reflects genuine connection.”
Bones: “I still say Starfleet doesn’t prepare us for this.”

Michael’s Reflection:
What I know now is this—grief doesn’t ask permission. It simply shows up where love once lived. And if we let it, grief can become a teacher rather than a thief.

---

Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

---

Mission Log
Some losses never leave us—but they can still lead us forward.

Thank you for carrying this story with me today. May it rest gently with you, wherever you are, and may it open a quiet space for healing and remembrance.

🖖

The Guide, Not the Hero

 

---

Stardate 02.05.2026

I was having breakfast the other day when I watched a short video about storytelling. It stuck with me: every story has a hero, a villain, and a guide. And the most important part? Knowing your place as the guide.

It made me reflect on life. The “heroes” are not me—they are the people around me, each facing their own challenges and decisions. The “villains” are not monsters—they’re distraction, confusion, and the noise that can pull focus from what really matters.

My role isn’t to fight their battles. It’s to show the path, offer tools, and help them see what’s possible. Sometimes that means sharing a tip, a habit, or a routine. Sometimes it means sitting quietly and listening.

Being a guide isn’t flashy. It isn’t loud. It’s steady. It’s faithful. And the reward comes quietly, in seeing someone move forward on their journey with clarity and confidence.

Scripture reminds us:

“Where there is no guidance, a people falls, but in an abundance of counselors there is safety.”
— Proverbs 11:14

Showing up as a guide—without taking over—can be the most powerful way to help someone grow. It allows them to step fully into their story while giving you a chance to model faith, patience, and purpose.

Captain’s Addendum

Bones: “So you’re the guide now?”
Spock: “Doctor, he has merely recognized his role in the narrative. Nothing more dramatic is required.”
Bones: “I liked him better when he fought the monsters.”

Michael: Guiding isn’t about control. It’s about presence. Tools, tips, encouragement—they’re all part of the path. But the hero must walk it themselves. That’s where real growth happens.

Join me here: https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

---

A Peek Inside the Magical Forest

Stardate 02.04.2026

Today is a day off from my day job.

Tonight, I’ll return to the tennis courts—still smiling after a win against the second-place team in our Men’s 55+ league. But before any of that, I’m meeting a friend who recently called, nearly bursting with excitement about his first book.

We’re meeting in the magical forest—also known as my home studio.

Though he’s never been here before, he understands me better than most. At one point he joked,
“You live in a magical forest surrounded by magical creatures.”

I loved that. Because he’s right.

Many are curious about what I do—and why I do it—especially when they learn I’ve had no formal training and spend a lot of time fumbling forward.

Do you know anyone who has written over 6,000 stories without fully knowing what they’re doing?

Better yet—do you know anyone willing to sit on a front porch and welcome perfect strangers who happen to wander by?

---

I’m brand new in this cyber neighborhood called Substack, and most of my real-life friends don’t quite know what this place is yet. Meanwhile, here I am—sitting on the porch, taking it all in. I’m genuinely in awe of the neighborhood.

I’m grateful for every small sign of life so far. A thumbs-up. A quiet reader. A passing wave.

One friend recently asked why I’m not spending more time on the louder platforms where “everyone” seems to be. I told him I was looking for something different—something more intimate.

A place where nobody knows my name, but they’re curious about my calling.

Here, there’s no judging.
No preconceived limits.
No pressure to perform.

I’m free to create.
Free to listen.
Free to meet people from all walks of life.

The forest feels mostly empty right now—and that’s okay.

I’m hopeful this will be a place where relationships grow slowly and meaningfully. For now, I’ll keep sitting on the porch, ready to engage whenever a new visitor shows up.

If you’re one of them—thank you for stopping by.

Scripture reminds us:

“The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”
— Psalm 121:8

---

Captain’s Addendum

Bones: “Michael, you sure this is the best use of your time—just sittin’ around waitin’ for folks to wander by?”
Spock: “Doctor, it appears the captain understands that meaningful encounters cannot be rushed.”
Bones: “Hmph. I still don’t trust forests.”

Michael’s Reflection:
I’m learning that I don’t need to chase people down. If I stay present, tend the porch, and keep the light on, the right conversations arrive in their own time.

Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

As the day unfolds, I’m grateful—for the quiet, for the forest, and for the courage to remain open.

Gentle closing question:
Where in your life might a small, welcoming porch be enough for today?

🖖 Captain’s Note:
“Our calling is not to write perfect words, but to reveal perfect grace through imperfect moments — one percent better, one day at a time.”

---

Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto

Stardate 02.03.2026

There’s a song that plays quietly in the background of my mornings—not on a speaker, but in spirit.

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.

Not as a warning about becoming less human, but as a thank-you for the routines that help me live more fully human.

The older I get, the more I realize how much energy gets wasted on preparation. Decisions before the day even begins. What to wear. What to take. When to go. By the time some people start their day, they’re already exhausted from choosing.

So I’ve chosen not to choose.

I wake up without an alarm clock now. Somewhere along the way, my body found its own rhythm. That alone feels like grace. No jolt. No scramble. Just awareness.

My clothes are already laid out. Yesterday’s version of me took care of today’s version of me—and I’m grateful for that small act of kindness.

My supplement stack is already waiting on the dining room table. No cabinets to open. No decisions to make. Just a steady handoff from habit to health.

When I turn on the shower, I don’t wait for comfort. I step in immediately, even when the water is brutally cold for that first minute. Especially then. That shock wakes something up inside me—endorphins released, clarity restored, courage practiced early. The discomfort pays dividends for hours.

And on workdays, I leave the house at exactly 8:08 AM.

Not 8:07. Not 8:10.

8:08.

These routines may look rigid from the outside, but they’ve done the opposite inside me. They’ve created space. Space to think. Space to pray. Space to notice what actually matters.

Scripture reminds us:

“Let all things be done decently and in order.”
— 1 Corinthians 14:40

Order doesn’t remove wonder. It makes room for it.

The song Mr. Roboto plays with the fear of losing ourselves to automation. I get that. But I’ve found that when routine serves intention—and intention serves love—structure becomes a servant, not a master.

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.
Thank you for handling the small things
so I can stay present for the important ones.

---

Captain’s Addendum

Bones: “Michael, you’re tellin’ me you jump into an ice-cold shower on purpose?”
Spock: “Doctor, the captain appears to value long-term benefit over short-term comfort. A most… logical adaptation.”
Bones: “I liked him better when he complained.”

Michael’s Reflection:
What I’m learning is this: discipline isn’t about becoming mechanical—it’s about becoming dependable. When my mornings run on rails, my heart is free to wander where it’s needed most.

Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

Donor Ships 8 Cases of Crayons for Patients at Children's Hospital

---

Donor Ships 8 Cases of Crayons for Patients at Children’s Hospital

Stardate 02.02.2026

“The crayons are here,” Derek said.

I was stunned.

There were so many crayons I needed a flatbed to get them to my vehicle. Eight full cases. I hadn’t realized how heavy crayons could be until I was lifting them one box at a time, already doing the math in my head.

I started thinking ahead—thinking about the kids.

“I can split the crayons up into baggies,” I said, “so every patient can get some with their Where in the World is Wilson?coloring book.”

“That’s one way,” Derek replied.
“Or if you run out, just let me know and I’ll order more.”

Derek happened to be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. I was mailing the first proof copy of the coloring book to senior leadership at our corporate office for review. I’ll admit—I was a little nervous as he slowly studied each page.

But his response told me everything I needed to know.

This coloring book is going to bring joy to people who need it most. And now, thanks to an unexpected act of generosity, those pages will be filled with color. Real color. The kind that invites imagination, distraction, and a moment of light in a hard place.

I thanked Derek and rushed off to the indoor tennis courts to join my team in our pursuit of another league championship. My captain trusted me with #1 doubles. Teammates stopped by to cheer us on. It was a sweep.

Maybe the endorphins helped. Or maybe it was the quiet certainty that doors were opening.

As the day continued, Amazon emailed to let me know the next shipment of proof copies had arrived.

Piece by piece, it’s all falling into place.

“Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”
— Galatians 6:9

---

Captain’s Addendum

Bones: “You’re telling me a pile of crayons changed the trajectory of your whole day?”
Spock: “Doctor, the emotional significance appears… considerable.”
Bones: “Figures. Humans can find hope in anything.”

Michael: Sometimes it isn’t the grand gestures that move us forward—it’s the quiet ones. A man saying yes. A box being lifted. A door opening just enough to remind us we’re not walking alone.

---

Join me here: https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

Mission Log:
Small acts. Open hands. Unexpected provision. One percent better—together.

Thank you, Derek.
And thank you, friends, for walking this road with me. May you notice the crayons in your own day—the simple gifts that bring color where it’s needed most.

I Got Bested in Scrabble

I Got Bested in Scrabble

Stardate 02.01.2026

I got a surprise phone call yesterday during our family Scrabble day. One of my inner-circle friends called with big news.

He wrote a book.

That’s the hard part. Finishing. He has a manuscript in hand, and I know exactly how that feels. We’re meeting soon in what we affectionately call the magical forest to talk about next steps. Publishing today is changing so fast it can make your head spin—especially for independent publishers like me.

Thankfully, I’ve learned to stay grounded.

My faith has taught me to loosen my grip, to let go, and to let God remain in charge. There’s a quiet peace that comes with realizing I’m not the center of the universe. I don’t have to force outcomes. I don’t have to rush timing. I just have to be faithful with the next small step.

I’m learning—slowly—not to rush things. I’m learning to trust the process.

Writing can be a lonely road at times, which makes it even more meaningful when someone trusts you enough to ask for guidance. I’m genuinely happy for my friend, and honored he reached out.

And while words were being carefully chosen on one front, they were being joyfully deployed on another.

During family Scrabble, I put everything on the table…and still came up short. I was bested by a member of the next generation. It turns out word-smithing runs strong in the family—and among friends too.

I’ll be sure to share a link to my friend’s book when it’s released into the world. For now, I’m grateful for the reminder that growth shows up in many forms: in faith, in friendships, and sometimes on a Scrabble board.

As Scripture gently reminds us:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6

---

Captain’s Addendum

Bones: “You lost at Scrabble? Jim, that’s a medical emergency for your ego.”
Spock: “On the contrary, Doctor. It is evidence of generational linguistic evolution.”

Michael’s Reflection:
I didn’t lose anything yesterday. I gained perspective. Faith keeps teaching me that progress isn’t about always winning—it’s about staying present, staying humble, and staying open to learning, even when the lesson comes from someone younger across the table.

Join me here: https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

---

Mission Log
Today’s lesson is simple: trust the process, celebrate others’ wins, and don’t underestimate the wisdom sitting across from you.

Thank you for walking with me. May you carry a little peace, a little patience, and a little gratitude into your quiet moments today. 🖖

Waking Up in a New Neighborhood

---

Waking Up in a New Neighborhood

Stardate 01.31.2026

I know the feeling of being new in a neighborhood.

Not the kind with a welcome mat and a borrowed ladder.
The quieter kind. The place where you show up without history, without familiarity, and without knowing whether anyone will notice you’re there at all.

That’s where I find myself right now.

It’s a strange mix of vulnerability and excitement—standing on a new street, holding the same tools I’ve always carried, wondering if they’ll still be enough.

What surprised me most wasn’t the new environment.

It was being noticed.

Someone slowed down long enough to really read.
Not a drive-by nod.
Not a generic response.

A genuine welcome. The kind that says, I see you.

That feeling is exhilarating.

But it’s also familiar.

I’ve walked into new spaces before.

I once wrote 2,500 love letters to my wife, one at a time, describing what lived in my heart. No audience. No applause. Just the quiet discipline of showing up for love.

Later, I wrote about my dad’s final 35 days. That wasn’t a project. That was presence. Grief doesn’t ask for polish—it asks for honesty.

And then there were the blog posts.
More than 6,000 now.

Written early.
Written quietly.
Written without any promise they’d land where they were meant to.

Still, I showed up.

Not because it always felt good.

Feelings are fleeting. They come and go like weather.

Calling is different.

Calling doesn’t ask how you feel.
It asks whether you’ll return tomorrow.

That’s what keeps me showing up now. Not excitement. Not validation. Something deeper. A quiet certainty that this is what I’m meant to do—whether the street is crowded or empty.

Rain or shine, I’m here.

There’s something sacred about consistency when no one is watching. Something grounding about keeping the porch light on even when the road is quiet.

I’m grateful for new places.
Grateful for kind neighbors.
Grateful for the reminder that being seen is a gift—but being faithful is the work.

“Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.”
— Galatians 6:9

---

Captain’s Addendum 🖖

Bones: “You ever notice, Spock, how some folks only show up when the crowd’s watching?”
Spock: “Indeed, Doctor. Consistency appears most revealing when observation is minimal.”
Bones: “Guess that’s when you find out who you really are.”

Michael: I’ve learned that the truest work happens when there’s no applause. Showing up anyway—that’s where calling takes root.

---

Join me here: https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

---

Mission Log

This morning, I’m at peace.

Still walking.
Still writing.
Still committed to getting one percent better.

May you live long.
May you prosper in purpose.
And may you walk boldly in divine love. 🖖