For the last two years, some buddies and I have done a polar plunge together on new years day. We live in the south, so it’s not brutal, but it’s still pretty cold for someone raised in the Carolina heat. Due to the ongoing pandemic, there was no polar plunge in the cold mountain lakes this year.

So what did we do?

Well, we did what any modern adult in 2020 has done and made it virtual. At 8:21 pm (20:21) we all hopped on a zoom call with cold beers and collectively took the plunge into ice cold showers…


A pier on Lake Marion.

I’m not big into poetry, but it was recommended that I read Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson. I now live in Greenville, South Carolina, which she refers to as part of her childhood. The poetry is incredibly approachable for someone (like me) who really struggles with the nuances and imagery of poetry. And it’s autobiographical. It’s a quick read for adults and I love it. I did some riff off her style to write about a place I’ve wanted to get on paper for a while.

Growing up, I spent my summers at a family house on Lake Marion…


To the left of the door that leads into the sun room where the A/C window unit cranks all day (because it’s 100 degrees without humidity, easy). The sun room surrounded by windows with lake front views, and exposed brick where I’ve scraped my knees countless time. The room with a daybed made for napping. The room with sliding glass doors that we locked for laughs as someone tries to rush inside from the afternoon thunderstorm. The room with creaky wicker furniture that have the softest floral cushions that seemd to soothe any sunburn. The room with boat carpet floors…


It’s no secret that millennials have flocked away from the modern church in the Unites States. I have my own wretched history, and, after the (long) quote below from a viral facebook post, I’ll muster the courage to share my evangelical exodus:

Someone asked me why I thought my generation is leaving the Evangelical tradition. I started to write then I started to breakdown. What started as an answer turned into a lament over my tradition. A tradition I love and cherish.

I gave my life to Jesus when I was 5 and was later baptized into the church. I…


I recently attended a Diversity, Equity & Inclusion training related to work led by Leading in Color. I found the opening exercise to be really powerful for my colleagues and I to get to know each other and where we came from on a deeper level. It’s a relatively simple exercise of writing a poem with an outline provided. Below is the outcome.

I am from bathing suits From baseball gloves and bike rides. I am from wood paneling (warped, wrapping the wall of each room, dusty from vacancy since last September). I am from summer sun and lake water…


I write this sitting next to my grill making dinner for my family. My kid is taking a bath. My honesty is flowing as smooth as my third beer on my empty stomach.

I’ve had a close to perfect father’s day with bacon and sprinklers and ice-cream, which makes me feel really proud of the life I’ve built for myself. But father’s day also causes lament for a relationship so strained in my own life.

Sometime around the age my son is now (5) I tried my first beer. I was standing on the sidewalk outside of the apartment we…


It was 10 pm last Wednesday when I walked into my bedroom where my wife had already started drifting off to sleep. I tried to keep it routine — brush my teeth; lie down; close my eyes. But it was too late. The panic had already taken a hold.

“I need you to wake up,” I said to her. The words barely left my lips.

“What’s wrong?” she murmured through a stretch.

“I think I’m having an anxiety attack.”

That sentence led into at least two hours of shaking, uncontrollable emotion, trouble breathing and my heart racing, and, at some…

Christopher Bullard

Ramblings from another millennial dad.

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