Are traditions the same thing as routines, they're just done less frequently? And if the tradition is both loved and hated, what does that mean? On today's Keepin It Real, Cam shares that he both loves and hates them.

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I have a routine that I practice nearly every day. I both look forward to it and hate it. I wake up shortly after 5am. I have clothes laid out on a chair next to the bed and I dress and go into the kitchen and start the coffee. I fold laundry while it brews. I then pour myself a cup and sit in my morning chair and write in my journal for about thirty minutes. I then review my calendar for the day, make a to-do list, boil an egg for breakfast, shower, dress, and head into the office. It's the same thing every weekday. I love my routine. It's helpful. It grounds me. It's something I can control. It's a predictable thing in this unpredictable world. It's reliable and I like that.

At the very same time, I also hate my routine. It drains the life from me. It's oppressive. It holds me back. It severely restricts me. It's tyranny. How can something that I love so much, that I count on to be there every day, also crush my soul? It makes no sense, but that's what it does.

This, of course, leads me to the upcoming Thanksgiving holidays. Routines and traditions are not the same thing, but they can have the same impact. For years my extended family has gathered at my father's cabin in the woods of Clark County on Thanksgiving Day. I can't be there on Thanksgiving Day without thinking of my mother. She's been gone for three years or so and yet the place still reflects my mother's presence. And Thanksgiving Day was the pinnacle of her presence each year there. She'd set the table in a way I can still remember. She'd send her grandkids into the woods to find leaves that had changed colors for the fall – they're not easy to find in south Alabama. The leaves would be arranged in small vases down the center of the table. There were short wax candle figurines of pilgrims and turkeys that magically appeared on the table each year. They were on that table when I was a child; my kids, decades later, knew to expect them and asked about them. We eat. Comments are made that if you want any food, don't get behind my sister-in-law in the line to fix your plate. The same thing every year. The same comments. The same wonderful food.

It's a tradition. It's an annual routine. It's wonderful to fall back on – we know exactly what's coming. It's also specifically prescribed behaviors which we all agree to participate in, which, to me, can feel stifling. However, I happily do it because not having it – this tradition, this annual routine – not having it available to me – would be worse. The meal would feel empty and awful. I cherish it.

Just like tomorrow, I'll get up again just after 5AM, get dressed, start the coffee maker, fold clothes while the coffee brews, and so on. It's boring and predictable. But I need it. I cherish it. Not having it available to me would be worse.

I'm Cam Marston, just trying to Keep It Real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, it's Friday and Cam's brain has had enough. He once wanted to keep going. Now, he's just hoping to make it to today.

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I can remember complaining that there simply weren't enough days in the week to get all the stuff I needed get done done. I wished that each day was longer and the work week had more days to it. I wanted a twelve-hour workday and a ten-day work week and a three-day break at the end. That would be preferred, I thought. That way I could get everything done and take a break when it was over.

Wow, have times changed. Or maybe I've changed. Maybe it's age or wisdom, but I don't feel the same way about work anymore. I usually charge out of bed on Monday morning with a to-do list that I made Sunday evening. I hit the list hard Monday and Tuesday, adding things to it along the way. By Wednesday I can feel my energy beginning to fade. I'm watching dumb TV at night rather than reading. Thursday morning, I try to get a few simple things done because I know that lunch on Thursday about the last time, I'll be productive that week. Friday, I make a show of it. I leave the easy items on my to-do list for Friday so I can feel like I've done something as I check them off and by lunch on Friday I'm cooked. My brain is fried. I'm tired. Nothing more will get done until my list making begins again on Sunday.

At my gym, one of the trainers asked if I wanted to join her workout at 5:30pm on Fridays. It caught me off guard. I laughed a little and told her that by 5:30pm on Friday I'm useless and beginning a workout at that time on a Friday was out of my world of possibilities. I'm more likely to be having a beer with friends or in a ball on the couch, beaten to death by the work week. An organized workout is nowhere near being on my radar. The trainer is young. She looked confused. I didn't even try to explain.

I'm beginning to appreciate dentists hours more and more. My dentist begins reminding me of an upcoming appointment about six weeks out with a barrage of texts and an automated voice mail, nearly threatening me to not miss my appointment. The dentist also attaches emotions to their message, as if missing or having to reschedule will hurt their feelings. I feel ashamed and like I've let them down if I have to reschedule. When I arrive, I see they pack their patients into the workweek so that they can take half a day off on Wednesday and a whole day off on Friday. His office is a spinning carousel of open mouths and teeth and the dentist is on the move from patient to patient. But call him after noon on Wednesday or on Friday and you'll get the answering machine. He's gone. So is his team. But my phone is still buzzing with automated messages telling me about my upcoming appointment and how they'll be heartbroken and maybe even cry a little if I can't make it.

However, by the time Friday rolls around, I think my dentist and I are living the same dream. He's locked his office door, and I'm shutting down my brain. He's earned his day off, and I've earned the right to stare at nothing for a while. Maybe that's how grown-ups measure success — not by how much we get done, but by how guilt-free we can be when we finally stop trying.

I'm Cam Marston and I'm just trying to keep it real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, another chapter closes in Cam's life. And he wonders what comes next.

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John Cougar Mellencamp has a song called Ain't Even Done with the Night. It's one of my favorites. That song became a regular part of my days four or five years ago. I'd pick my daughter up from her volleyball practice and as we made the turn from the gym onto the larger road, I'd ask Siri to play it. My daughter would protest and moan. "Not again, Dad" she'd say. I'd sing it loudly. It became our song in a weird way. She didn't like it, didn't want to hear it again and again, but eventually began singing it with me. To this day I can't hear that song without thinking about picking up my daughter from her volleyball practice.

This week she played her last volleyball match. She's a high school senior, and I watched her walk off the court Wednesday in Birmingham for the last time. She gathered with her team and her coach to talk about the match, and then she lingered out there a while. I stood by, eager to smile and congratulate her on her volleyball career that included many more wins than losses. When she finally left the court and walked to me, I took a big breath, looked into her red eyes full of tears, and could only hug her and kiss her sweaty head. My words were lost. I muttered quietly how proud I was of her, tears in my eyes, voice choaking.

Last night my son, her twin, played his final high school football game. Like my daughter, his football community has been a big part of his life since he was in middle school. I located him after game, kissed his sweaty head, and told him, like my daughter, how proud he made me to see him out there year after year as a teammate, a contributor on the field, and a leader of the underclassmen.

So, after four kids and hundreds of games and matches, countless hours in stands and on sidelines, it's all over. As I think back on it now, I regret ever complaining about having to pick up my daughters and her friends from another volleyball practice and taking each of them home. I regret wishing I'd get a Friday night in the fall where I wasn't committed to being in the football stands. I wonder how I'll feel when the absence of commitments to my children and their activities makes me wonder who I am now. These tethers that I once begrudged actually offered me meaning, purpose, and an identity. I've heard it referred to as the thunderclap of silence. What will fill that void? And who will I become?

My children may be my role models in this regard. Their eyes are already on what's next. One is talking about college roommates already. The other is getting college applications out and acceptance letters in. Their time being on the courts and on the field will quickly fade to memories and stories; parts of their former identity.

And for me, it's with great sadness, difficulty, and a lump in my throat, that I reluctantly turn the page.

I'm Cam Marston just trying to Keep It Real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam Marston continues to be interested in the research he's doing on retirement trends. He's discovered something called a Men's Shed which is different from a Man Cave where men can go and stand next to each other.

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My work continues to lead me into retirement research. Specifically, how to make retirement fruitful and productive. One of the leading causes of an unhappy retirements is too few friends or no friends at all. Referred to as social isolation, the US Surgeon General said that social isolation is as unhealthy as smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. I find it interesting that being alone is as unhealthy as repeatedly inhaling smoke into your lungs. They seem dramatically different to me. Oddly, there are times I need social isolation to stay healthy or at least to stay sane. I guess too much isolation is the issue.

This research on retirement led me to something call Men's Sheds. Not Man Caves, which are for a man and maybe his buddies to drink and watch sports in spaces painted in testosterone. This is a Men's Shed. I first heard about them in Australia and now they've grown to Canada. They're destinations for retired men to gather and do something together – more than watch sports and drink. They're places that retired men gather to work on things with their hands. It seems a lot of them involve wood working and fixing things made from wood. One retired person has the tools and knows how to use them and opens up his shed for everyone to come and mess around with the woodworking or hang out while other people are messing around. Men around the community join them and they gather in the Men Shed regularly to build and fix things. It gives them purpose and camaraderie, which, if I read all this correctly, men seem be on the search for more so than women. It doesn't say why.

Furthermore, and this interested me, is that men develop friendships shoulder to shoulder. They watch things together next to one another or do things together next to one another, and friendships develop. And I think about the number of fathers I've come to know over the years as we stand together facing the ball field or the volleyball court watching our kids play. We had great friendships, and I only got to know them and come to like them when we stood side by side. I think that's kinda interesting.

Last thing and I'll get off this topic - is the many fewer places for men to gather. Having a 'men only' space is taboo today. In fact, many things 'men only' is taboo today. I mentioned to a friend in Oregon that I'm a member of a male-only Mardi Gras organization. He wondered what kind of misogynistic world I live in down here in south Alabama. He wondered how civilization has passed us by. How could I possibly be a member of such a thing? I let it go. But later in the same conversation he quietly admitted he had no real friends where he lives. He has to travel to see his friends. I felt for him. So I sent him a picture of me and my buddy standing side by side on a Mardi Gras float wearing big grins and throwing beads with the note: "Sure looks like hell, doesn't it?"

I'm Cam Marston, Just trying to Keep it Real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam Marston and his buddies are beginning to discuss retirement. Cam's learning, though, that maybe working so hard to get to retirement may not be worth all the effort.

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The subject of retirement has come with my crowd lately. A few years ago, we maybe whispered about retirement, but now it's a full-on conversation – when are you going to retire, we're asking each other. How will you know it's time? The answer from nearly everyone is "as soon as possible" and "I'm ready right now."

Last week I had breakfast with a lady in healthcare who leads education for medical doctors for a very progressive organization out west. We talked shop for a bit. She had lots of ambitions plans for her organization. She sounded like someone fully engaged and stimulated by their work. My guess is she's about my age and I asked if she ever thought about retirement. In a rush she said "Oh goodness yes. I can't wait." "When do you want to retire?" I asked. "As soon as I can," she said. "But it sounds like you enjoy your work." I was confused. "I do," she said, "but I'm ready to not have to do it anymore." She enjoyed it but doesn't want to have to do it.

Similarly, I've heard more references to burnout recently than I've ever heard. A friend in Mississippi said his wife could tell he was burned so badly that she needed him to either take a year off or buy a new boat. Now that's a supportive spouse! He was lucky to have her and he knew it. I'm hearing burnout references in my calls and with other friends and colleagues, too. Seems like Covid ramped up burnout – before then I seldom heard it. Since then, I hear it more, especially recently. Social Scientist and author Arthur Brooks defined burnout as a "vortex of exhaustion, cynicism, and self-criticism." Wow. But, yep! They all feed each other. The things that used to make you happy about your work now make you unhappy. And, for what it's worth, I read a study that Gen X'ers were experiencing burnout at higher rates than not only any generation today, but any generation every surveyed. I guess that's something to brag about – my generation has broken the unhappiness bell curve.

Burned out and aching for retirement. No employer wants that guy on their team. Then I read that over forty percent of retirees have an unsatisfactory retirement. Retirement's not all it's cracked up to be, they say. Without work, they have no friends and no purpose. The "retirement red zone" is an expression financial professionals use to refer to the five years before and after retirement when you're supposed to get your financial world in order. Turns out this red zone also refers to getting your non-financial retirement world in order, too – making friends outside of work, developing curiosity to drive your hobbies, especially hobbies that include meeting new people. Learning to structure your day when no one else is telling you how to do it. And then, of course, healthy activity. No retirement is enjoyable if you let your health go.

It all makes me wonder, as I feverishly work towards my own retirement, if the emotional and psychological price I'm paying to get there will be worth it?

I'm Cam Marston, just trying to keep it real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam's on his way home from a conference. He began making notes a few days ago about what his years and years of attending conferences has taught him. A bingo card might be fun, he says.

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I speak at few dozen conferences each year. My audiences are the same – thinning brown haired, slightly overweight, middle aged white guys dominate each room. These are my people. I've learned how they like my content delivered and I do it for them each time. If I do it well, it may get me invited back. After twenty plus years, I've seen hundreds of events, and I've identified some meeting and convention themes that have become entirely predictable and that resonate with my people.

First – Classic rock music. It will be played as people file in on day one, during every break, and after the final keynote. It will be vanilla classic rock. Nothing too loud, nothing too rebellious. You will certainly hear "Right Now" by Van Halen at least once and see the thinning haired men mouthing "Right Now" along with Sammy Hagar, thinking they're invisible. Maybe a flash of air guitar on their thigh. You'll also hear "Can't Stop the Feeling," "Uptown Funk," and "Happy." "I Got A Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas will close out day one. Count on it.

Second – At least one keynoter will deliver a lesson reminding us that children are born full of curiosity only to have adults and formal schooling beat it out of them. "Why do we do this to children?" they'll always ask. "Why can't we grow kid's curiosity instead of take it away?" My people will nod. This content shows up at least once in every conference, guaranteed.

Third – Multiple speakers will give examples of how Apple Computer does things differently. Of how Apple sees the world differently. On how Apple's competitors didn't see the iPhone coming but the evidence was everywhere. Lots and lots of references to Apple and Apple products. The speaker will extrapolate some sort of grand lesson from Apple. Count on it.

Fourth – 80% of presentations will use the word "disruption." It's become the meeting and convention word of the century. Someone will tell of Blockbuster being disrupted by Netflix with PowerPoint slides showing the Blockbuster logo. Of Kodak being disrupted by digital cameras, with a slide showing Kodak film next to an iPhone. Count on this, too.

Last – there will at least one mention of Warren Buffett and his investing philosophy and how his philosophy applies to much more than investing. None of my people would dare contradict a Buffett pearl of wisdom. Speakers know quoting Buffett will get lots of thinning brown-haired heads nodding. It's unimpeachable content.

I've daydreamed of making a Meeting and Convention Bingo cards with squares filled with song titles, predictable Apple stories, predictable disruption stories, and the center square being "How is everyone today? I didn't hear you! HOW IS EVERYONE TODAY?" I'd pass them out at one of my conferences. They'd get some laughs. And I'd never ever ever ever be invited back.

I'm Cam Marston, just trying to keep it real.

On this week's Keepin' It Real, Cam admits he feels helpless in today's political climate but he's found something he can do. It's very small, but at least it's something.

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I have quite a few friends who, over the years, have tried to persuade me to get out of the stock market due to some crisis or another. "Pull all your money out," they say, "this time it's not some run of the mill crisis. This one's real. It's different this time."

It's different this time. We are so often tempted to think that whatever the crisis, this one is different. Rarely, very rarely is it different.

For the past few weeks, I've been introduced to political leaders across the state and beyond by a friend who thinks things need to change. He's heard me say on this commentary and in our numerous conversations that I feel our political world today is in dire shape. I've wondered aloud on this commentary and in his and my conversations what my obligation to this situation might be. Do I have an obligation to try to change things for no other reason that I'm worried, sometimes panicked, and more than disgusted by what I see and the way people are treating one another. What should I do, if anything? What do I owe this crisis?

I've also heard myself saying what countless others out there are saying – that this is wrong and someone should do something. What's wrong? The methods and tactics of today's political leaders are wrong. The political violence is wrong. The absence of action from those elected to serve in Washington is wrong. The unchecked ransacking of government employees by a private citizen is wrong. The cult-like worship by many Republicans of our president is wrong. The blatant profiteering of the Oval Office is wrong. The list goes on. I've said it repeatedly: "Someone should do something."

There are no levers I can pull that truly matter. There are no levers I can pull that will fix this or even slow it down. But the helpless feeling I've had has been eased in the past few weeks as I've spoken to political influencers about our political environment today. They've all agreed with a cry we've heard for years and that's this – if there ever were a time for a third political party to be born and take action, now is that time. The Democrats, God love them, have strayed way too far left for me. I can't, without completely betraying my beliefs, adopt their platform. However, Republicans look and sound nothing like the party that had my heart years ago. I can find no semblance of what I used to know and love in that party.

So, I've begun talking to people who share my belief that a third party is acutely needed today. I am collecting their interviews to play on my podcast which, heretofore, has been called What's Working and had a business focus. Now it's focus will be what will it take to create a viable third party to represent people like me who have no voice in Washington and have a deep desire for change.

Someone should do something. And, in a very small way, I've found something I can do. Because, I truly believe, it is different this time.

I'm Cam Marston and I'm just trying to Keep it Real.

On this week's Keepin' It Real, Cam's visit to a hotel on the Gulf this wekend got Cam to thinking about how some people, well, they just don't get it...

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Tuesday I checked into a hotel in Gulf Shores at the Gulf State Lodge. "Where is the free parking?" I asked. "We don't have any. You can pay to park or pay a little extra and I'll park it." This is the bell staff at the front door. I handed him my car key. "Where is a luggage cart? I have a bunch of stuff to get to my room for my workshop tomorrow." "Guests aren't allowed to use luggage carts. Only bell staff." "So for me to take my stuff to my room I'd need to take multiple trips?" I asked. "Yes. But you can't leave your stuff here." "So the only way to comply is to ask you to assist me to my room." "Something like that. We only allow bell staff to move luggage. Guests can't move their own luggage." I'm not liking this. Southern hotels confuse politeness with hospitality. He was very polite. He was not hospitable. What this hotel is thinking is customer service is to me nothing but angling for tips and making my trip more expensive. I'm not happy but trying to not let it get to me. My wife has me writing a gratitude journal because, apparently I'm good at noticing when things conspire against me.

The bellman walked my luggage and me to my hotel room and I'm working to change my first impression. Gratitude, I'm repeating to myself. Gratitude. Along the way he pointed to some construction happening between the hotel and the water's edge and he shared that if I were to come back in the spring my room would overlook a new large adult pool. Oh, man. Did you hear it? This was it. This was going to change things. A dangling modifier. Oh MAN. This is fuel of bad dad jokes. This is candy for self-appointed funny people like me. For centuries dads have pounced on dangling modifiers to get chuckles from strangers and eye rolls from family. The bellman's laughter would completely change how I felt about this hotel.

My mind quickly began preparing. The timing and delivery had to be perfect. I started thinking forward to how and when and where. The bellman helped me into my hotel room and unloaded his sacred luggage cart. I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. It was time. "So," I said, "next spring if I were to check in this room and pull back the curtains just like this, I'd get an eye-full or large adults? I'm not so sure I'd want that. Certainly not want to pay extra for that view." There it was. So well done. Masterfully delivered.

I could see no scars around his face or head where his humor had been surgically removed but that could be the only explanation. "No," he said, "the pool will be large. It will be a large pool." I gave him twenty dollars, and he turned and pushed his sacred cart into the hall. "Thank you," he said, stuffing the money into his pocket. He thought it was a tip, but I was paying him to go away.

I'm Cam Marston just trying to Keep it Real.