Defining Writing Moments

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Stardate 03.24.2026

Yesterday brought a few quiet moments that stayed with me.

A colleague at my day job asked me to bring in a couple of copies of Where in the World is Wilson? Another reached out to share that the kids she volunteers with are preparing to make a decision about how they want to help patients at a local children’s hospital.

It’s humbling to watch this unfold.

What started as a simple idea is now beginning to move beyond me. I’m doing my best to create a path—a way to get Wilson out into the world and into the hands of those who might need a little encouragement.

And something unexpected is happening along the way.

What I thought would primarily reach patients is also reaching healthy kids.

They’re connecting with it.

They’re carrying it.

That’s been something I didn’t fully anticipate.

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A couple of people also asked me how I find inspiration to write each morning.

That question gave me pause.

Because the truth is… it doesn’t always come from where people expect.

Sometimes it comes from quiet reflection.

Sometimes it comes from the past—stories of family, moments that shaped who we are, and the paths that led us here. I’ve shared pieces of that journey, including stories about ancestors who played a role during the early formation of our country.

But not every story is meant to be told.

There’s a line I’ve been learning to recognize more clearly:

The difference between what we’re called to share… and what we’re entrusted to carry.

That realization played a role in my decision to shift from memoir into fiction when I wrote The Caveman in the Mirror. Not because the stories weren’t real—but because not all real things are meant to be placed into the public space.

Some things are meant to be held with care.

Protected.

Respected.

Because trust matters.

And when someone shares something with you—whether it’s your own story or someone else’s—you begin to understand that writing isn’t just about expression.

It’s about stewardship.

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There’s a verse that has been sitting with me as I reflect on this:

“Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much.” — Luke 16:10

That feels especially true in this season.

The more I write, the more I realize that not every moment is meant to become a story.

Some are meant to shape us quietly.

Some are meant to remain between us and God.

And some… are meant to be shared when the time is right.

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As I look ahead, I’ll be hosting a series of livestreams to share more about the stories behind my projects—how they came to be, and what they’ve meant along the way.

Not everything.

But enough to help others understand the journey.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock studied me for a moment. “Captain, it appears you are learning to distinguish between information and responsibility.”

Bones gave a slight nod. “Just because you can tell a story doesn’t mean you should.”

I smiled.

Because they’re both right.

And maybe that’s what this season is teaching me.

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

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Mission Log

Not every story we’re given is meant to be shared.

Some are meant to be carried.

And learning the difference… may be one of the most important parts of the journey.

Thank you for being here.

🖖

Where Wilson is Headed

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Stardate 03.23.2026

It started in the most unexpected way.

A volleyball fell out of a family van and dribbled into my life at a time when I felt completely stuck. I was dealing with a severe case of writer’s block, unsure of what to do next or where the story was headed.

Then Wilson showed up.

What began as a simple, almost comical moment turned into something much more. He became my traveling companion. Everywhere we went, people smiled. Conversations started. Walls came down. And somewhere along the way, those smiles began lifting my own spirits.

Wilson didn’t just give me a story.

He gave me momentum.

But then, just as unexpectedly as he arrived…

I lost him.

That loss hit harder than I ever anticipated. What started as something light and playful turned into something deeply personal. I felt it. The absence. The silence. The weight of it.

And for a while, I sank.

Until something happened that I still can’t fully explain.

Along a quiet trail near Blarney Castle, I saw it—a red volleyball, floating gently in the river.

In that moment, everything shifted.

It wasn’t the same Wilson. But it didn’t need to be.

Because what I realized in that moment was this:

Wilson was never just something I carried.

He had already become part of me.

And from that point on, the journey changed.

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The coloring book is now one week old.

And I find myself sitting in a place of quiet amazement at what’s already unfolding.

Lives are being touched.

Conversations are happening.

Doors are opening.

But more importantly, something deeper is becoming clear:

This is no longer just my project.

When something is real… other people begin to carry it.

I saw that clearly when I learned about thirty elementary school students who held a bake sale to raise money for patients at a children’s hospital. They didn’t have to do that. No one told them to. They simply chose to help.

And then something even more powerful happened.

Kiwanis International stepped in and matched their $300 with another $300—doubling the impact and expanding what those kids had already started.

Kids helping kids.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

And the story keeps growing.

A friend from my day job donated crayons—simple, thoughtful, necessary—so the children receiving these coloring books would have everything they need to bring the pages to life.

Piece by piece.

Person by person.

The story is moving forward.

And my role is becoming clearer.

All I need to do now… is complete the hand-off.

Not control it.

Not force it.

Just place it into the hands of others and trust where it goes next.

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There’s a verse that feels fitting as I reflect on all of this:

“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others.” — 1 Peter 4:10

That’s what this feels like.

A gift, once held tightly…

Now being passed on.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock studied the situation carefully. “Captain, it appears the object you once carried has now become a shared experience among many.”

Bones smiled. “In plain English… it’s not yours anymore. And that’s a good thing.”

I nodded.

Because they’re right.

And maybe that’s the point.

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

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Mission Log

Some stories begin with a single moment.

But the meaningful ones don’t end there.

They grow.

They move.

They find their way into the hands of others.

And when they do… they become something more than we ever imagined.

Thank you for being part of this journey.

🖖

Wilson Meets Owner of North Dodge Athletic Club After Cardio Tennis

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Stardate 03.22.2026

What a difference a week makes.

Last Sunday, I barely made it home before a blizzard rolled in—shutting down highways and interstates and forcing everything to a standstill. I stayed put, waiting for the roads to reopen, which didn’t happen until noon the following day.

Yesterday, the temperature reached 89 degrees.

Not a trace of the storm remained.

It felt like more than a shift in weather.

It felt like a shift in season.

Spring Break brought a quieter energy to the courts. Our pro was away on vacation, and our cardio group was about half its usual size. With fewer people and no structured drills, the atmosphere felt… open.

Unscripted.

And for whatever reason, I decided to do something simple.

I went to my car and grabbed the coloring book.

I wanted to introduce Wilson to my tennis friends.

No big plan. No agenda.

Just a moment.

What followed was something I couldn’t have planned.

I set up three informal livestreams right there at the facility. Nothing polished—just real conversations, unfolding as they came. The smaller group made it easier. More personal. More connected.

By the time the third livestream began, something even more unexpected happened.

Teesa, the owner of North Dodge Athletic Club, agreed to join me for an interview.

As we talked, I found myself walking through the journey—how Wilson came into my life, the adventures we shared, and the day I lost him.

Somewhere in the middle of telling that story… the emotion caught up with me.

It wasn’t planned.

It was just real.

When the interview ended, Teesa asked if I would pose for a photo with the coloring book for next month’s newsletter.

Then she extended an invitation.

She offered me the opportunity to set up a table during one of her upcoming tournaments—so members and families could discover the story and connect with the books.

I didn’t see that coming.

And I didn’t make it happen.

It simply unfolded.

Standing there afterward, I felt something I’ve been noticing more and more lately—

Gratitude.

Not the kind that comes from achieving something big…

But the kind that comes from recognizing something meaningful is quietly taking shape.

Friends showing up.
Conversations opening doors.
Moments turning into opportunities.

Even the livestreams—once something that felt uncomfortable—are beginning to feel more natural.

Not perfect.

Just more me.

There’s a verse that comes to mind as I reflect on all of this:

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” — Isaiah 43:19

That’s what this feels like.

Something new.

Not forced. Not rushed.

Just… emerging.

Like spring after a long winter.

And maybe that’s the lesson in all of this.

We don’t always recognize the moment when things begin to change.

Sometimes it looks like a smaller group at the courts.

Sometimes it starts with a simple decision to grab something from your car.

Sometimes it’s just being willing to show up—without needing to know exactly what will happen next.

And then, before you realize it…

You’re standing in the middle of something meaningful.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock observed quietly. “Captain, it would appear that unstructured environments have increased the probability of meaningful outcomes.”

Bones smirked. “Translation—you stopped trying to control everything… and things started working.”

I smiled.

Because they’re both right.

And maybe that’s the point.

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

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Mission Log

Not every opportunity is planned.

Some of the most meaningful ones arrive when we loosen our grip and simply stay present.

So when the moment opens—step into it.

You don’t have to force what’s already unfolding.

Thank you for being part of this journey.

🖖

Are You Living in the Moment?

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Stardate 03.21.2026

Before I get too far into today’s reflection, I want to pause for something important.

Two of my siblings were born on this day—different years, same date.

Happy birthday.

Your brother is thinking of you this morning. I’ll be reaching out later today to share my love, but I didn’t want the moment to pass without saying it here first.

Now, as I settle into this golden hour, a simple question has been resting on my mind:

Am I really living in the moment?

If I’m being honest, that hasn’t always been easy for me.

There were seasons in my life when I spent far too much time looking backward. Replaying moments. Digging up memories. Holding onto regrets—mistakes I wished I could undo, opportunities I let slip by, relationships that changed or faded.

Other times, I found myself living too far ahead.

Chasing goals. Thinking about what’s next. Planning, preparing, trying to get somewhere other than where I was.

And somewhere in between the past and the future…

I missed the present.

Maybe you’ve felt that too.

Because the truth is, both directions can quietly take something from us.

The past can hold us.
The future can pull us.

And before we realize it, the moment right in front of us slips by unnoticed.

But this morning feels different.

There’s a calm clarity in recognizing something simple, yet powerful:

I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Not yesterday. Not tomorrow.

Right here.

This day in front of me feels rich—not because everything is perfect, but because everything I need for this moment is already here.

There’s something freeing about that.

It softens the pressure.

It quiets the noise.

It reminds me that life isn’t waiting somewhere else—it’s happening now.

So I find myself asking you the same question I’m asking myself:

Is there something in your past that’s still holding your attention?

Is there something ahead of you that’s pulling you out of today?

And if so… what would it look like to gently return to this moment?

Not forcefully. Not perfectly.

Just… intentionally.

There’s a verse that comes to mind as I sit with this:

“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” — Psalms 118:24

Not yesterday.

Not tomorrow.

This day.

That feels like the invitation.

As I wrap up my golden hour, I’m preparing to head to cardio tennis and spend time with friends on the court. The weather is supposed to reach record highs today—one of those unexpected gifts that shows up early in the season.

And I don’t want to miss it.

Not by being distracted.

Not by being somewhere else in my mind.

Just by being present.

Fully here for whatever the day brings.

That’s the goal.

Not perfection.

Presence.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock looked at me thoughtfully. “Captain, it would appear that your greatest challenge is not time itself, but your relationship to it.”

Bones gave a slight grin. “In other words… you’ve been everywhere but where your feet are.”

I nodded.

Because that’s exactly it.

And maybe today is a chance to change that.

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

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Mission Log

The present moment is easy to overlook.

It doesn’t demand attention. It doesn’t announce itself.

But it’s where life actually happens.

So wherever you are today… be there.

That’s more than enough.

Thank you for taking this moment with me.

🖖

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.

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

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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🖖 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.

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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. 🖖