To the men within 30 minutes of Tipp City, Ohio:

To the men within 30 minutes of Tipp City, Ohio:

Some of you may be wondering whatever happened to Mike after he quietly slipped into the “retirement season” of life a few years ago. The simple answer is this: I didn’t retire from caring—I just stopped wearing a name tag.

I still spend my time investing in things that matter. And right now, that includes a small group of men who are willing to pause once in a while and ask better questions about their lives.

We have two seats left.

It’s free.
It’s early (but not cruel). And you’ll still have about 357 days a year to sleep in.

This is not a program. It’s not therapy. It’s not a Bible study with fill-in-the-blanks. It’s just a group of men choosing to take time seriously.

I call the idea The Ten Balloons—a simple way of looking at the different areas of life and asking: What am I paying attention to? What have I ignored? What might need to change?

You don’t need to agree with anyone.
You don’t need to be “spiritual enough.”
You don’t need to have life figured out.

You just need to be honest, curious, and willing to show up.

No book to read. No curriculum to follow. No expert in the room (especially me).The conversation comes from whoever shows up.

We’ll meet early, one meeting in January (the 20th), two meetings each month: February, March, April and one closing meeting in May What’s expected (eventually): Beyond showing up, within the first month each of us will write a short mission statement for our own “Ten Balloons” and share it by email with the group.

This isn’t about fixing your life.
It’s about noticing it.

If you’ve felt the nudge to slow down, take stock, or begin again—this might be for you.

And if not? No pressure. No guilt. No awkward follow-up. Just an open door.

Logistics (for those still reading):
• First and Third Tuesday of the month
• 6:30–8:00 AM
• At my house in historic Tipp City.
• Bring your own coffee; refills and juice provided.

Email me mike@tenballoons.com to save a seat!

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For those considering joining this group - here is an essay about it!

More Like You. Less Not Normal

An Invitation to Breathe, Notice, and Begin Again

I recently invited a small group of men to share in something I’ve done many times before—a simple kind of gathering for people who sense it might be time for a fresh start. Sometimes that start comes with a new year. Sometimes it comes with a new season of life. Sometimes it follows something harder: a career change, retirement, divorce, a health scare. And sometimes it comes for no clear reason at all—just the quiet feeling that you don’t want to walk the next stretch of life alone.

I began doing this kind of work back in the 1970s. I called it The Ten Balloons—not because it was complicated, but because it wasn’t. At its heart, it was a commitment to pause. To stop long enough to notice the habits you’ve been carrying, the routines you’ve been repeating, and the excuses you may have outgrown.

Not to judge them.
Not to fix everything at once.
Just to see them clearly.

Some people arrive because they want to change their lives. Others come because they want to understand the one they’re already living. Both reasons matter. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do isn’t move forward—it’s stop long enough to take a breath, look around, and say, “This is where I am.”

That pause has become rare. We live in a world that celebrates motion, productivity, and noise. But very little honors reflection. Very little gives permission to rest, reset, or simply say, I’m doing the best I can—and I’d like to do a little better.

When I first began this work nearly fifty years ago, it felt risky. Motivational speaker Zig Ziglar used to say that only three percent of people set goals in multiple areas of life—and are willing to talk about them. At the time, I didn’t believe that number. It felt too small, too pessimistic. But over the decades, I’ve come to think he may have been closer to the truth than I wanted to admit.

That’s what these small groups have always been for. Not a program. Not a performance. Just a space where people can take time seriously—time to listen, time to speak honestly, time to notice what still matters and what might be ready to change.

And over the years, the pattern has stayed mostly the same. Good groups. Honest effort. Real connection. But this year, I’m seeing it with new eyes—and noticing something else quietly rising to the surface, almost like a subtheme:

More like you. Less not normal.

Somewhere along the way, the world got louder and more divided. The news changed. Conversations changed. Even friendships changed. I don’t belong to a political party. I’ve never wanted someone else to do my thinking for me. I’ve always tried to listen carefully, read widely, and figure things out for myself.

But that has gotten harder.

Last year, I made a deliberate decision to be more careful about what I read, what I listen to, and what I watch. Not because I wanted to hide from the world—but because the past decade has been costly. Friendships have been strained. Trust has thinned. Every day seems to bring a new version of truth, and it’s harder than ever to know who to believe.

I’ve watched people of deep faith drift from scripture to popular opinion without quite realizing when the shift happened. And on many days, I’ve felt strangely alone—not because I lacked people around me, but because it felt harder to find honest, thoughtful conversation that wasn’t trying to win something.

That’s part of why these pauses matter more now than ever. Not to fix the world. Not to argue it into shape. But to give people a place where they don’t have to perform, prove, or pretend—just breathe, reflect, and remember who they are beneath all the noise.

Taking time to examine your own Ten Balloons is the doorway into this mindset. Not arguing. Not performing. Just honest conversations with yourself about your future—who you want to be, how you want to live and influence, and, most of all, what God might be asking of you in this season of life for the people within your reach.

Amen.