On writing, changing, and learning to live a little more quietly.
Well, here we are again.
If you’ve been around for a while, you’ve probably noticed that I have a habit of disappearing, reappearing, changing direction, questioning everything, and occasionally setting fire to something I spent considerable time building.
Metaphorically, of course.
Usually.
I’ve written under different names. Built websites. Started projects. Explored ideas. Created businesses. Walked away from some things and returned to others.
And somewhere along the way, I’ve accumulated enough identities to make a government bureaucrat nervous.
Minister. Counselor. Hypnotherapist. Coach. Martial artist. Machinist. Author. Husband. Father. Grandfather.
All accurate.
None particularly adequate.
Because the older I get, the less interested I am in defining myself by what I do for other people.
So, welcome to ShaneClements.com 2.0
Or welcome back.
Depending on how long you’ve been following my wandering.
The Trouble With Reinventing Yourself
I’ve spent a considerable portion of my adult life trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.
At fifty-five, I’m beginning to suspect I may have missed the deadline.
I’ve been a machinist since 1989. I’ve trained in martial arts since 1985. I’ve spent more than three decades involved in ministry, counseling, coaching, and helping people navigate the peculiar experience of being human.
I’ve written books, developed courses, created audio recordings, taught classes, and spent countless hours trying to turn things I know into things other people might find useful.
Some of those endeavors have been successful.
Others have been rather expensive educational experiences.
And more than a few have left me wondering why I thought they were good ideas in the first place.
But here’s something I’ve begun to recognize.
Not everything I enjoy needs to become a business.
Not every interest requires a brand.
Not every thought needs to become content.
And not every skill I’ve developed obligates me to spend the rest of my life offering it to other people.
That’s been a surprisingly difficult lesson to learn.
Especially for someone who has spent most of his adult life being useful.
I’ve Changed My Mind About a Few Things
If you knew me twenty years ago, there’s a reasonable chance you wouldn’t recognize some of my thinking today.
If you knew me ten years ago, the same might be true.
And if you read something I write today, don’t be terribly surprised if I see it differently five years from now.
I’ve spent enough time studying philosophy, religion, psychology, and human behavior to become increasingly suspicious of absolute certainty.
Particularly my own.
There was a time when I believed I had answers to questions that I’m no longer convinced anyone has adequately answered.
There were things I preached with conviction that I now examine with considerable skepticism.
And there are ideas I once dismissed that I’ve since discovered deserve a much closer look.
That doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned everything I once believed.
It means I’ve stopped treating changing my mind as a personal failure.
I still find tremendous value in the teachings of Jesus, the practical wisdom of the Stoics, the mindfulness traditions of Buddhism, and the uncomfortable questions raised by existential philosophy.
I don’t feel particularly compelled to force all of those things into a neat little theological package.
Life is complicated enough without pretending every worthwhile idea must fit inside the same box.
And frankly, I’m getting a little old to keep climbing into boxes simply because other people find them convenient.
So, What Am I Doing Here?
Writing.
That’s it.
No elaborate mission statement.
No carefully engineered content strategy.
No promise to transform your life in six easy steps.
This website is becoming what I’ve wanted it to be for quite some time.
A personal journal of thoughts, stories, questions, and observations.
Some days I’ll write about marriage, family, fatherhood, or the lessons learned from loving the same woman for nearly four decades.
Other days I may explore faith, doubt, religion, and the things I’ve come to question after spending much of my life in ministry.
There will be thoughts about masculinity, discipline, martial arts, personal responsibility, and what it means to become a decent human being.
I’ll occasionally wander into hypnosis, psychology, habits, the subconscious, and why people keep doing things they genuinely wish they would stop doing.
There may be philosophy.
There will probably be politics, although I’m becoming increasingly uninterested in the political circus.
I’ll write about grief, death, love, freedom, work, and the strange little absurdities of everyday life.
Sometimes I’ll play devil’s advocate simply because I think an idea deserves to be challenged.
And sometimes I’ll tell a story because I find it amusing.
Not everything will have a lesson.
Not everything will be profound.
Not everything will be comfortable.
And I can almost guarantee that not everything will be short.
I’ve never been particularly good at squeezing a lifetime of observations into something designed to be consumed between two thirty-second videos.
If that’s inconvenient, I suspect we’ll both survive.
I’m Becoming Increasingly Difficult to Reach
There’s another change happening in my life.
I’m growing tired of being constantly available.
Somewhere along the way, modern society decided that because technology makes it possible to reach someone at any moment, everyone is entitled to do so.
Phone calls. Text messages. Emails. Notifications. Social media.
An endless procession of people, businesses, and institutions competing for a piece of our attention.
And for years, like many people, I’ve participated willingly.
I’ve posted, responded, checked, refreshed, promoted, and occasionally found myself staring at a screen without the slightest idea why I picked it up in the first place.
I’m increasingly uninterested in continuing that arrangement.
I’m not withdrawing because I hate people.
I’m withdrawing because I’ve begun to appreciate how much of life happens when nobody is demanding my attention.
A quiet morning with coffee.
An afternoon with a good book.
A conversation with my Wildflower.
Time with my children and grandchildren.
Working with my hands.
Taking photographs.
Sitting in a room without feeling compelled to accomplish anything.
Those things don’t require an audience.
And they certainly don’t require an algorithm.
The older I get, the more appealing the idea of becoming a slightly eccentric hermit in a cabin in the woods becomes.
My Wildflower, Watson, a coffee pot, a workshop, some books, and enough distance from civilization to make unexpected visitors reconsider their plans.
I suspect I’d be quite content.
Although I would still need decent coffee.
There are limits to how primitive I’m willing to become.
I’m Not Here to Build an Audience
That may sound like an odd thing to say on a public website.
But I’m not particularly interested in chasing followers, engineering engagement, or turning every thought into something marketable.
I’ve done enough of that.
I have books I’ve written, recordings I’ve created, and courses I’ve developed. Those things still exist, and I’ll occasionally mention them.
I may create more.
Or I may not.
But I’m no longer interested in measuring the value of everything I do by whether someone is willing to purchase it.
This journal isn’t another attempt to establish myself as an authority.
It’s a place to think out loud.
To tell stories.
To examine ideas.
To occasionally contradict myself.
To document the process of growing older, questioning assumptions, and learning to live with fewer unnecessary demands.
If someone finds value in that, wonderful.
If nobody reads a particular entry, that’s fine too.
The writing itself is enough reason to write.
A Few Things Haven’t Changed
I still love my Wildflower.
I still enjoy strong coffee, old books, martial arts, and working with my hands.
I still believe personal liberty and individual responsibility matter.
I still think people are far more complicated than the labels we assign them.
I still enjoy questioning conventional wisdom, especially when everyone seems unusually certain about something.
I still have a dry sense of humor that occasionally gets me into trouble.
And I still believe a good story deserves enough room to be told properly.
But I’m becoming more selective about what receives my time.
More comfortable with silence.
Less concerned with approval.
And increasingly willing to leave questions unanswered rather than manufacture certainty where none exists.
I suppose that’s part of getting older.
Or perhaps I’m simply becoming a grumpy old man.
The evidence supports both possibilities.
No Grand Announcement
I’m not promising a new beginning.
I’ve made enough of those announcements over the years.
I’m not declaring that I’ve finally discovered my purpose.
I’m not unveiling a revolutionary philosophy or inviting you to join some grand movement.
I’m simply returning to something I’ve always enjoyed.
Writing.
Under my own name.
Without feeling the need to explain which version of myself is speaking.
Some entries will be deeply personal. Others will be philosophical, irreverent, uncomfortable, or entirely mundane.
Some will reflect things I’ve believed for decades.
Others may document ideas I’m only beginning to explore.
And if I eventually decide I was wrong about something, I reserve the right to say so.
That’s not inconsistency.
That’s what happens when a person continues learning.
So if you’ve followed my writing for years, welcome back.
If you’ve just stumbled across this little corner of the internet, welcome.
Pull up a chair.
Pour yourself some coffee.
Read something if it interests you.
Disagree if you feel inclined.
And don’t feel obligated to stay.
I certainly don’t intend to.
There are books waiting to be read, things waiting to be made, and a woman I love who deserves more of my attention than the internet does.
The world has enough people desperately trying to be noticed.
I’m becoming increasingly interested in simply being alive.
And somewhere in that quieter life, I expect I’ll still have a few stories worth telling.
Shane Clements
Husband¹ • Father⁷ • Papa⁴