The Hand-Off

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Stardate 03.20.2026

I had a quiet moment yesterday at my day job, right at the beginning of my shift.

A long-time member asked how our pickleball fundraising efforts were going back in my hometown. It felt like a simple question—one of those everyday conversations you don’t think much about at first.

But something in me nudged a little deeper.

I shared a preview of what’s next. Not the full picture—just enough to explain the heart behind it. The coloring book. The vision. The hope of getting something meaningful into the hands of people who need it most.

That’s when the moment shifted.

He told me he was meeting with the CEO of the university today.

And just like that… the conversation took on a different weight.

I handed him the proof copy I had with me.

No pitch. No pressure. Just a quiet hand-off.

And now, that book—and the story behind it—is walking into a room I won’t be in.

It’s a humbling thought.

Later that evening, I hosted a simple Facebook livestream to share yesterday’s vintage blog story. Nothing polished. Just a few friends showing up, listening, engaging.

It reminded me of something I’m starting to understand more clearly:

Impact doesn’t always come through big moments.

More often, it moves through quiet ones.

A conversation at the start of a shift.
A book placed into the right hands.
A small group of people showing up to listen.

That’s where doors begin to open.

This morning, golden hour came a little later for me. I slept in—something I don’t always do—but something I probably needed. The past 72 hours have been full, especially with the launch of the coloring book.

Even in the slowing down, there’s a lesson.

Not every step forward has to be fast.

Sometimes growth happens in the pause… in the recovery… in the quiet space where we can reflect on what’s unfolding.

And right now, something is unfolding.

The trio of Irish books—once just an idea during a season of writer’s block—is now moving in ways I never could have planned.

Not because I forced it.

But because I stayed with it.

There’s a verse that comes to mind:

“Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” — Proverbs 16:3

That feels true today.

What started as a small step forward has become something that’s beginning to carry itself.

And maybe that’s the reminder we all need:

We don’t always get to see where the path leads.

But we can trust the step in front of us.

And when the moment comes… we make the hand-off.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock observed quietly. “Captain, it appears the transfer of your work has initiated outcomes beyond your immediate control.”

Bones smirked. “In other words—you handed it off, and now it’s out there doing its thing.”

I nodded.

Because that’s exactly how it feels.

Not everything we start is meant to stay in our hands.

Some things are meant to be carried forward by others.

---

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

---

Mission Log

Some of the most meaningful moments in life don’t come with announcements.

They arrive quietly… and move forward without us realizing just how far they’ll go.

So when your moment comes—when you feel that nudge—don’t hold on too tightly.

Be willing to make the hand-off.

And trust where it leads.

Thank you for being part of this journey.

One percent better. 🖖

A Stupid Moment From My Past

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Stardate 03.19.2026

Yesterday I hosted a couple of friends on a Facebook livestream.

Like many of my adventures, it was another one of my clumsy attempts to keep up with technology. Those of us who grew up in the 60s understand this well—the older we get, the steeper the learning curve seems to become.

Still, I’m doing my best to keep up.

What I didn’t realize until the livestream was nearly over… was that once I split the screen with my guests, only the top of my head was showing.

That was it.

Just the top of my head.

So if you happened to be one of the viewers who witnessed that fiasco—I owe you an apology. That one’s on me.

You would think, after a lifetime of mistakes, I’d know better by now.

But that thought took me back.

Way back.

To one of the more… memorable “stupid moments” from my past.

I was 35 years old when I made what I thought was a bet I couldn’t lose.

The deal was simple: winners would go to Disneyland with their families.

I doubled down.

Confident. Certain. No hesitation.

But there was a catch.

If I lost, I would be dropped off on Alcatraz Island and have to swim to shore in San Francisco.

At the time, it didn’t seem impossible. My cousin John—who was attending medical school in San Francisco—had already done it himself. So in my mind, it was doable.

Still crazy… but doable.

What I didn’t account for was my own team.

My coworkers in San Diego—my teammates—completely fell apart. Every single one of them.

They tanked.

And just like that… I lost a bet I was sure I couldn’t lose.

Life didn’t pause either.

During the year I spent training to prepare for that swim, my wife became pregnant with our third child.

Looking back now, that part humbles me more than anything.

While I was out there preparing to prove something… she was carrying something far more important.

When the time finally came, my teammates flew up to San Francisco to watch.

One of them even asked if he could film me in the water—hoping, in his words, to catch a million-dollar moment if a shark decided to make an appearance.

That tells you everything you need to know about my friends.

The night before the swim, I made a questionable decision.

For my last supper… I chose seafood.

Even now, I shake my head at that one.

My wife stayed home—pregnant—and I went through with it.

I made the swim.

At one point, something bumped into me in the water.

I still don’t know what it was.

But I can tell you this—I’ve never swum faster in my life.

When I finally made it to shore, I called my wife to let her know I had paid off the bet.

Thirty years later, I can look back and say this with complete honesty:

I’ve had my share of stupid moments.

Maybe more than my share.

But here’s what I’ve also learned along the way—

Those moments don’t define us.

They shape us.

They humble us.

They remind us that we’re human… still learning, still growing, still figuring things out as we go.

Yesterday’s livestream?

Just another one of those moments.

Not perfect.

Not polished.

But real.

And maybe that’s enough.

There’s a verse that feels fitting here:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

That’s the comfort.

We don’t have to get it all right.

We just have to keep showing up—with humility, a sense of humor, and a willingness to learn.

One percent better.

---

Captain’s Addendum

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain, your pattern of behavior suggests a consistent willingness to engage in high-risk decision making.”

Bones shook his head. “In other words… you keep doing dumb things and somehow live to tell about it.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

Because they’re both right.

And maybe that’s part of the journey.

Not avoiding every mistake…

…but learning how to grow from them.

---

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

---

Mission Log

We all have moments we’d rather redo.

But sometimes those very moments become the stories that shape us—and connect us.

So give yourself a little grace today.

Laugh when you can.

Learn when you need to.

And keep moving forward.

Thank you for being here.

One percent better. One day at a time. 🖖

Beyond Grief

Stardate 03.18.2026

Grief has a way of making life feel foggy.

When you’re in it, your vision narrows. The path ahead isn’t clear. Even simple decisions can feel heavy. I know what it’s like to walk through that kind of fog—where you’re moving, but not always sure where you’re going.

That’s part of the reason I’m setting up a conversation with my accountability partner, Joni.

Her story is one of deep loss. After her husband passed away, the fog set in. And like many who have walked through grief, she had to find her way forward one step at a time. Not all at once. Not perfectly. Just steadily.

My hope is that when we sit down together, her experience will offer something meaningful to anyone who may be in that same place today.

Not answers.
Not easy fixes.
Just a light… for the next step.

---

In my own life, I’ve come to understand that grief doesn’t always leave on its own timeline.

There are moments when it lingers.

For me, daily writing has become one of the ways I’ve learned to navigate through it. Putting words on the page has helped me process what I’m feeling—sometimes clearly, sometimes not—but always honestly.

And when the fog became too dense, I reached out for help.

Joni was one of the people who responded.

She helped point me in a direction that led to professional support—support that gave me tools to cope, to understand, and to keep moving forward.

That’s something I don’t take lightly.

---

We all face moments in life when we need guidance.

Sometimes it comes from a professional.
Sometimes it comes from a friend.
And sometimes it comes from simply being willing to say, “I need help.”

There’s strength in that.

---

The upcoming conversation with Joni will take place on Substack. If you’re subscribed, you’ll receive an email with the date and time. And for those who can’t attend live, I’ll be sharing a replay afterward.

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

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“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
— Matthew 5:4

---

I also want to take a moment to say thank you.

Last night’s livestream came with a few technical challenges. I’m learning, adjusting, and working to improve with each step. I appreciate your patience as I continue to grow into this space.

One percent better.

---

🖖 Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Captain, it would appear that even in reduced visibility, forward movement remains possible.”
Bones: “Yeah, well… sometimes you just take the next step and trust the ground will be there.”

Captain (Michael):
I’ve learned that I don’t need to see the whole path.

Just the next step.

And sometimes, that step is simply reaching out… or listening to someone who’s been there before.

---

Today, I’m grateful for the people who walk alongside us—especially in the fog.

Wishing you peace, clarity, and the courage to take that next step. 🖖

4:11am, St. Patrick's Day

Stardate 03.17.2026

The email arrived just after my early morning prayers and meditation.

I didn’t rush to check it. I’ve learned to start the day grounded first—to listen, to breathe, to be still. And then, when I opened my inbox, there it was:

A message from Kindle Direct Publishing.

Congratulations, your paperback, “Where in the World is Wilson?” is now live on Amazon.

Any writer will tell you… this moment feels like a birth.

You do the work. You prepare. You release control. And then you wait. The timing is never fully yours.

On this same day one year ago, I found myself sitting in a hospital waiting room, waiting for a similar message about The Adventures of Castaway Wilson. Something in my gut told me I couldn’t leave until the news came through. Amazon says it can take up to 72 hours after you hit “publish.”

This year, I smiled at that memory and did things just a little differently.

I pressed the button three days ago.

Not out of fear—just a quiet understanding that sometimes preparation is its own form of faith.

And today… at 4:11am, on St. Patrick's Day… the timing aligned.

---

My dad used to say, “Everyone needs a little luck.”

I’ve come to believe there’s truth in that.

For me, that “luck” showed up as Wilson.

He appeared when I was stuck… and stayed when I felt lost.
Not to solve everything—but to remind me I wasn’t alone.

There were moments when the path forward felt unclear. Moments where the silence was loud. And somehow, in those spaces, Wilson became more than just a symbol—he became a steady presence.

And then… he was gone.

That’s when things got harder.

Because it’s one thing to struggle. It’s another thing to lose the very thing that helped you through it.

But just when hope felt distant, something unexpected happened.

A reminder. A return. A spark that reignited something I couldn’t quite explain.

And with it came a realization I carry with me now:

We all belong… even when we don’t believe we do.

---

These three books—what I’ve come to call my Irish triplets—are not just stories.

They’re markers along a path.

Moments of searching. Moments of losing. Moments of finding again.

Each one is different. But together, they point toward something simple and important:

Hope is never as far away as it feels.

If these reflections—or these books—do anything at all, I hope they help you recognize your own version of that hope… and take one small step forward in your journey.

One percent better.

---

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

---

If you’d like to hear more about the story behind these Irish triplets, I’ll be sharing more during a livestream this evening.

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

---

🖖 Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Fascinating, Captain. The alignment of timing and intention appears statistically improbable… yet deeply meaningful.”
Bones: “Or maybe it’s just what happens when a man keeps showing up, even when it’s hard.”

Captain (Michael):
Maybe it’s a little of both.

I’ve learned not to overanalyze the timing of things I can’t control. What I can do is keep showing up—with faith, with effort, and with a willingness to grow.

Wilson didn’t solve my problems. But he helped me see them differently.

And sometimes… that’s enough to keep moving forward.

---

Today, I’m grateful.

Grateful for the journey.
Grateful for the people walking alongside me.
And grateful for the quiet reminders that we’re never as alone as we think.

Wishing you peace, reflection, and just a little bit of that good “luck” today. 🖖

Holding the Runway, T-Minus 24 hours to Launch

Stardate 03.16.2026

My wife sent me a text message while I was at my day job.

A blizzard is headed our way. Please come home early.

The last time she warned me about weather, I ended up crossing the double yellow line two miles from home during a major snowstorm and got t-boned by an oncoming van traveling 50 miles per hour.

Her text messages carry weight.

The only complication this time was that I was scheduled for the closing shift. Responsibility and caution were having a quiet conversation in my mind.

Earlier that same day something beautiful had unfolded at my desk.

Helen M. Swearson stopped by to get a name badge. At that exact moment I was helping two new members sign up. I didn’t know it yet, but they were both educators.

As Helen approached, I reached into my desk and pulled out a proof copy of Where in the World is Wilson? — the coloring book she illustrated.

I opened it to the tribute page.

It was the first time Helen had seen it.

Her reaction was immediate. Her face lit up. The glow in her eyes said more than words ever could.

The two new members standing nearby leaned in, curious about what was happening. Their curiosity was contagious, so I handed them the second proof copy and explained that they were the first people outside our circle to see the coloring book that will soon be shared with patients at our local children’s hospital.

That’s when I learned they were teachers.

One teaches first grade. The other teaches fifth grade.

They flipped through the pages carefully, the way educators do when they are imagining a child holding something in their hands.

Then one of them said something that made my heart smile:

“This will go over well with kids.”

For a moment, time slowed down.

Helen stood there glowing as she watched two educators react to the work she poured her heart into. It was a quiet but powerful moment — the kind you don’t plan and can’t manufacture.

Just a simple intersection of people, purpose, and timing.

Those moments are gifts.

Tonight I’ll host a couple of livestreams for friends and family to share the backstory of how Wilson entered my life. Tomorrow, if everything continues according to plan, the coloring book will go live on Amazon.

We’re waiting on the final green light.

In aviation terms, we are simply holding the runway.

Engines ready.
Systems checked.
Eyes on the horizon.

Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day, which feels like the perfect day to welcome a little Irish-spirited volleyball named Wilson into the world.

Before that moment arrives, I just want to say thank you.

To my friends.
To my family.
To the quiet supporters who believed in this story when it was just an idea.

Your encouragement helped carry this project to the runway.

As always, I’m reminded of the gentle wisdom found in Scripture:

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

Sometimes the harvest arrives in surprising ways.

A glowing illustrator.
Two curious teachers.
A children’s coloring book preparing for its first flight.

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

---

Captain’s Addendum

Bones leaned back and crossed his arms.
“Spock, I’m a doctor, not a runway controller. But even I know you don’t rush a launch.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Indeed, Doctor. The most successful missions often begin with patience.”

I smiled at both of them.

Sometimes life teaches us that the most meaningful moments happen not during the launch itself, but while we are quietly waiting on the runway — grateful for everyone who helped us get there.

🖖