Is Your Soul Awake?

Stardate 03.05.2026

Life can feel like a roller coaster.
Sometimes the ride moves so fast we barely have time to catch our breath. Other times, we slowly climb upward and the pace finally allows us to look around and take in the view.

I’ve noticed something about those quieter stretches of the journey.

When life slows down—even a little—I remember to check in with my soul.

For many years, my focus was on the to-do list. One task after another. Responsibility after responsibility. In that rhythm, my playful side stayed mostly hidden. Looking back, I realize much of that time was spent in what felt like crisis mode.

When the mind believes danger is near, it shifts into protection mode.
It works hard to keep us moving, solving problems, and staying alert.

There are people in this world who truly live surrounded by danger every day. My heart goes out to them.

But for many of us, the greater danger is something quieter: living so busy that our souls fall asleep.

That’s why I’ve learned to pause.

In stillness, something beautiful happens. The noise fades, the mind settles, and the soul begins to wake up. It’s in those quiet moments that I sense my connection with God most clearly.

Relationships matter deeply in life. At the very top of my list is my relationship with my Creator. He is present in the good seasons and the difficult ones alike.

And the more often I turn toward Him, the more awake my soul becomes.

Even in uncertain times.

Even when the world feels unsettled.

Sometimes the most powerful act of faith is simply pressing pause long enough to remember who walks beside you.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

If your life feels too busy to stop for a moment of stillness, try something simple today: gently tell your mind it doesn’t need to run the entire show.

Your soul may be waiting for the quiet.

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

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Captain’s Addendum

Bones: “Spock, are you telling me humans need to stop once in a while just to listen to their souls?”
Spock: “Doctor, logic would suggest the soul cannot be heard over constant noise.”
Bones: “Well I’ll be… maybe that’s why the Captain keeps sneaking off for quiet walks.”

Michael has learned something through experience: when life slows down, the soul has room to breathe. Those quiet pauses—prayer, reflection, even a peaceful walk—are often where God meets him most clearly. In those moments, Michael isn’t chasing life anymore. He’s inhabiting it fully.

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Mission Log Reflection

Thank you for sharing a few quiet moments here today.
May your soul find a little stillness, and may that stillness draw you closer to the One who created it. 🖖

How to Become the Person Bruce Lee Fears

Stardate 03.04.2026

If you think you’re not capable of becoming the person Bruce Lee fears, you might already be surrendering the match in your mind.

The famous quote goes something like this: Bruce Lee didn’t fear the man who practiced 10,000 kicks once — he feared the man who practiced one kick 10,000 times.

Most people read that and immediately think, I could never do that.

The brain steps in quickly.
That’s too much.
That’s boring.
That’s unrealistic.

And just like that, the battle is over.

Our brains are wired to conserve energy and avoid discomfort. Ten thousand repetitions sound exhausting. It’s much easier to move on to something new, something exciting, something less demanding.

But here’s what I’ve learned:

Practice is rarely exciting.
It is often quiet.
Sometimes tedious.
Almost always transformational.

I know this because I’ve practiced something more than 10,000 times.

I’ve written over 6,000 daily blog posts — and counting. I’ve walked thousands of people through sign-ups at my day job. When I tell a new potential member that I’ve helped over 10,000 people do exactly what they’re about to do, something shifts.

They relax.

They trust.

Repetition built competence. Competence builds confidence — not just in me, but in the people I serve.

On the tennis court, my forehand is reliable. My two-handed backhand? Still under construction. It’s improving, but it isn’t a weapon yet. The difference isn’t talent.

It’s reps.

When that backhand reaches 10,000 intentional swings, it will show. My opponents will feel it before I even say a word.

The deeper lesson isn’t about kicks or backhands.

It’s about mastering the mind.

Fear lives in the mind.
Excuses live in the mind.
Discipline begins in the mind.

When you choose one meaningful thing and practice it consistently — not perfectly, just consistently — you change. Slowly. Quietly. Permanently.

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

Ten thousand repetitions aren’t about intensity. They’re about faithfulness.

One percent better.
One deliberate rep at a time.

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

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🖖 Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Fascinating. Mastery appears less about talent and more about sustained repetition.”
Bones: “You mean to tell me greatness is just stubborn consistency?”
Spock: “Precisely, Doctor.”

Michael’s Reflection:
I used to think transformation required a breakthrough moment. Now I know it requires a repeated one. Whether it’s writing, guiding others, or refining a backhand, the change happens in the quiet reps no one applauds. Master the mind, commit to the practice, and let the results arrive in their season.

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Mission Log:
Today’s mission is simple: choose one meaningful practice and repeat it. Not for applause. Not for speed. But for growth.

Thank you for walking this journey with me. May your quiet repetitions today strengthen both your skill and your spirit.

My Journey to Becoming a Writer

Stardate 03.03.2026

Long before I ever called myself a writer, I was a tennis player.

My first racket came from Walgreens — $9.99, paid for with paper route money. It didn’t last long. It cracked mid-match during my freshman year, and my coach handed me his racket so I could finish.

That moment stayed with me.

Eventually, I found racquets made by Wilson and never looked back. As my game improved, so did my loyalty. Tennis was my life. Four hours a day on the court felt normal.

My dad was the writer. He had the credentials. I had calloused hands and green strings.

After college, I was hired at a struggling tennis facility — cracked courts, declining memberships, ownership tensions. I was newly certified by the USPTA and barely knew how to sell a newspaper subscription, yet I told the general manager I could sell memberships. I believed in the courts, even if I wasn’t yet sure I believed in myself.

Politics followed. Owners changed. Priorities shifted. I walked away more than once from jobs that no longer aligned.

Each exit felt uncertain. Each step taught me something.

Somewhere in the middle of all that movement, writing found me.

I wrote a memoir about my father. Local writers helped shape it. A wrestling coach in Southern California opened his home weekly so I could learn the craft. I found a writing community — and then I had to leave it when we relocated to Iowa.

That goodbye was one of the hardest transitions of my life.

Alone again in a new state, I kept blogging daily. One post at a time. No guarantees. No applause. Just discipline.

Today, I look back in quiet disbelief. Over 6,000 blog posts. A memoir. Three books born on St. Patrick’s Day — my Irish triplets. And now, a coloring book releasing in just two weeks.

This still feels like a dream.

Through it all, Wilson remained part of the story.

Three Wilson racquets sit in my bag today, strung with green — the same strings the Bryan brothers once used. Wilson entered my life on the court and later entered my writing as a stand-in for my family during a cross-country move. He even bounced into my life when a volleyball fell from a van — a moment that felt almost scripted.

When I lost Wilson during the pandemic, I felt the loss deeply — not just as a character, but as a companion through transition. His absence forced me through a writer’s block I didn’t see coming.

And then something shifted.

The coloring book tells the story of where Wilson went — and what happened next.

Clarence said it best in It’s a Wonderful Life: “No man is a failure who has friends.”

Wilson became that friend for me during a season when I needed one.

Now he will become a friend to children in a local hospital — kids facing battles far greater than missed matches or creative droughts.

That’s the part that humbles me most.

What began as a $9.99 racket has turned into a mission I never saw coming.

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

I didn’t plan this path. I simply kept showing up — one percent better, one day at a time.

Wilson is more than a prop. He’s a reminder that purpose often hides inside our passions.

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

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🖖 Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Fascinating. The captain’s trajectory from athlete to author appears statistically improbable.”
Bones: “Improbable? It’s human, Spock. You follow your heart long enough, and it leads somewhere meaningful.”

Michael’s Reflection:
For years I thought tennis defined me. Now I see it prepared me — discipline, repetition, resilience. Writing didn’t replace tennis. It grew from it. And Wilson? He simply helped me see that no chapter is wasted when it’s surrendered to purpose.

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Mission Log: Sometimes the smallest beginnings — a cracked racket, a daily blog post — become the launch pads for unexpected callings.

Thank you for walking this journey with me. May you recognize the quiet threads of purpose already woven through your own story today.

Wilson on the Launch Pad

Stardate 03.02.2026

One might assume I’d be in a frenzy right now.

Projects stacked high. Deadlines approaching. “Wilson” standing on the launch pad with just fifteen days until liftoff.

But the opposite is true.

My sleep reports tell the story. Deep sleep. Strong REM. No alarm needed. The numbers confirm what my spirit already knows — I’m not operating from urgency. I’m operating from alignment.

In fact, I’ve been intentionally reducing my workload. Saying no more often. Clearing the runway instead of crowding it. And something beautiful has happened in the process: rest has returned.

Even with Wilson preparing to meet the world, I’m calm.

Yes, there’s work to do. There are details to tighten and final preparations to make. But I no longer feel chased by the clock. I feel carried by it.

There is time.

Time to prepare well.
Time to move steadily.
Time to trust the process.

The older I get, the more I realize that frantic energy is rarely the fuel for lasting work. Peace is.

“The Lord gives strength to His people; the Lord blesses His people with peace.” — Psalm 29:11

Peace doesn’t mean inactivity. It means steadiness under movement. It means trusting that today’s faithful steps are enough for today.

Wilson is on the launch pad.
The countdown is real.
And so is the calm.

Stay tuned. It’s getting exciting — not because of pressure, but because of purpose.

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

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🖖 Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Fascinating, Michael appears composed despite the imminent launch.”
Bones: “I’ve seen captains lose sleep over less. Guess this one finally figured out how to breathe.”

Michael’s Reflection:
There was a time when I equated intensity with importance. Now I’m learning that serenity can carry just as much power. Wilson doesn’t need my panic. He needs my preparation. And I’m inhabiting this season fully — steady, grateful, and ready.

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Mission Log: Today’s lesson is simple — peace is not the absence of responsibility. It is the presence of trust.

Thank you for walking this journey with me. May today bring you the kind of calm that strengthens your purpose and deepens your rest.

Golden Hour – Integration

 

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Stardate 03.01.2026

This morning I slept an hour longer than usual.

Date night has a way of resetting the soul. Worship, laughter, an unexpected moment on stage, and a shared smile that lingered long after the curtain closed. When I opened my eyes today, there was no rush waiting for me. Only quiet.

I closed my eyes again.

I traveled inward — not to escape, but to listen.

I found myself sitting in warm water from a Montana hot spring, surrounded by the people I love most. The water was clear. Nothing to fix. Nothing to clean. Just presence.

I moved upward through memory and fire. Campfires with my daughter. Flames that did not destroy but warmed. My father at a grill, smiling the way he used to. Energy aligned instead of scattered.

At my heart, we were all together — family gathered in celebration, life moving forward, generations overlapping in gratitude.

There were mountains and lakes. Forests and wishes. A sunset in Tuscany with my bride. Future trips not yet taken. A sense that the story is still unfolding.

And then, just as gently as it began, I returned.

The sun was rising.

The house was quiet.

My breath was steady.

There is a kind of peace that comes from accomplishing something.
There is another kind that comes from integration.

Today feels like integration.

The memories are not heavy.
The dreams are not urgent.
The energy is not frantic.

Everything is aligned vertically — from foundation to crown — like a bolt of lightning turned toward heaven and grounded in earth.

I do not need to chase the mountaintop.
I do not need to manufacture a moment.

I simply need to be here.

Golden hour has arrived again, and it feels like a gift.

Beyond the Front Porch

Stardate 02.28.2026

In the Midwest, front porches matter.

They’re where neighbors wave.
Where stories are exchanged.
Where you sit long enough for conversation to deepen.

When my wife and I expanded our deck years ago, the project came in under budget. She smiled and said, “Let’s build a front porch.” We used the savings to make our home more welcoming.

That decision shaped more than our house.

It shaped my heart.

My space in cyberspace follows the same pattern. When someone visits my page on Substack, the first thing they see is the front porch. The light is always on. Day or night.

You are welcome here.

For me, connection matters. The deeper, the better. My hope is that when someone pauses on that digital porch, they feel safe.

If you’re comfortable staying a while, the invitation is simple: come inside and get better acquainted.

There’s nothing flashy about my space. It’s not designed to impress. It’s designed for those who are curious about the writing projects unfolding in real time.

More and more, those stories are evolving into video. I feel drawn toward visual storytelling — not for spectacle, but for presence. Beyond the front porch, there’s a small home studio.

That’s where the quiet magic happens.

Now, here’s the tension.

Other members of my family prefer anonymity. Privacy in our home is sacred. There are strict guardrails around what is shared and what remains within our walls.

The same protection extends to visitors.

My promise is this: this space will remain safe.

That’s one reason this platform feels right. If you choose to visit, you may meet people willing to share their lives openly and honestly. My 86-year-old mother, for example, has given full permission for her journey toward restored strength — preparing for Europe seven months from now — to be shared. You’ll see her progress unfold in future videos from what I affectionately call the “magical forest.”

Others may stop by for conversation as well.

No spotlight.
No pressure.
Just presence.

Consider this your invitation to sit on the porch.

You don’t have to subscribe.
You don’t have to identify yourself.
It’s perfectly fine to remain anonymous.

If you ever decide you’d like to visit more often, you can follow along or subscribe.

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

And mark your calendar for St. Patrick’s Day. Think of it as an open house. I’ll have a few treats prepared.

Scripture reminds us:

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” — Hebrews 13:2

Hospitality is not about perfection. It’s about posture.

A light left on.
A chair pulled out.
A steady welcome.

That’s the rhythm here.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating, Captain. You are constructing community through architecture — even in digital form.”

Bones crossed his arms. “Just make sure nobody tracks mud across that cyber living room.”

Michael smiled. A front porch isn’t about performance. It’s about invitation. In a world chasing spectacle, I’m choosing steadiness. One conversation. One story. One percent better. The goal isn’t traffic. The goal is trust.

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Thank you for stopping by the porch today. May your own home — wherever it is — be filled with light, safety, and conversations that strengthen your faith.

Why 1% Better Works

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Stardate 02.27.2026

Maybe you’re aiming to hit more home runs in your life.

Home runs are exciting. The crowd rises to its feet. The applause is loud. Success feels visible.

But home runs require nearly perfect timing. A near-perfect swing. And if we build our lives chasing only those moments, many of us quietly walk off the field before we ever experience excellence.

I’m approaching my senior years differently.

Of course I’d love to hit a home run. But I’ve learned something steadier, something more sustainable: it’s better in the long run to do the small things well.

At the top of that list is practice.

A lot of practice.

Practice is the silent part of the game. No cheering. No spotlight. Just repetition. Adjustment. Humility. It’s the decision to make one small change that most people would never even notice.

That’s my daily goal now:

Be one percent better today than I was yesterday.

There is peace in that.

Especially in turbulent times.

When a new opposing pitcher steps onto the mound — a health scare, a setback, a difficult conversation — I’m not rattled. I’m willing to take two steps back. I’ll adjust my stance. I’ll study the pitch. I’ll keep working until I find a way to get on first base.

Because getting on base consistently wins games.

Over time, if I do hit a home run, I don’t throw a party. I study it. I look for what worked so I can repeat it. Not for applause — but for consistency.

This method works wherever you find yourself in the game of life.

Young.
Mid-career.
Starting over.
Finishing strong.

Don’t chase perfection.

Chase progress.

One percent better.

Make it your mantra.

Have a great day.

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