Not every battle needs a microphone



My martial arts training kicked in as I noticed someone walking up behind me at a busy intersection in Aurora, Colorado, not exactly America’s safest city, and I was not in the best part of town. I shifted slightly to see her and kept her in view while we waited for the light to change.

She was young, Gen Z perhaps, heavily tattooed, with the kind of piercings that make me wince and wonder how she ever gets through TSA with that much metal. Jewelry swayed from her nose and ears as she stood beside me at the crosswalk. It was a long wait for the light, and let’s be honest, when someone looks that rough, it’s easy to tense up — especially these days. With headlines full of random violence and senseless attacks, wariness can feel like common sense.

In an age of combat and argument, the most radical engagement may be quiet compassion.

Overhead, a bald eagle circled the hospital towers where my wife had been staying for nearly five months. I lifted my phone for a picture. She noticed and said quietly, “That’s cool.”

Quoting John Denver, I replied, “I know he’d be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly. This morning, I don’t think we’re poor, are we?”

She smiled, sadly, almost as if it were forced. “I needed that ... given what I’m carrying.”

The light changed, and we stepped into the crosswalk together. I asked the only question that mattered: “What are you carrying?”

She told me about her ex, abusive, threatening, promising to show up at her house. Fear shadowed every word. I asked if she’d filed an order of protection. She said she was in the process, but her voice carried little confidence. Then I asked if she had a firearm. In an instant, fear gave way to shame. She dropped her eyes and admitted she couldn’t own one because of a past conviction.

On the other side of the intersection, I offered her specific guidance that she could implement right away, practical steps to increase her safety and protect herself. But as I spoke, it became clear that the deeper issue wasn’t just logistics. I didn’t get the sense she believed she mattered.

So I looked at her and said, “Do you understand that your safety matters? That you are worth protecting?”

Her eyes said she didn’t believe it. So I told her again, this time as a fact, not a question: “You are worth protecting.” Tears welled up.

Then I asked if I could pray with her. She nodded tearfully, and right there, on the sidewalk of a busy Aurora street, we bowed our heads.

I can’t count how many people prayed for my wife and me that morning or throughout our long journey. But I can count the number praying for that young woman on a street corner in Aurora. And it wasn’t just me. We have a Savior who “always lives to make intercession” for us (Hebrews 7:25).

That’s all it took. Not a debate. Not an argument. Just seeing her, giving her steps to take, praying for her, and offering her what she could not yet tell herself.

It was an unusual encounter, but crossings like this will only become more frequent, because a generation is struggling with anxiety, depression, and despair at levels we’ve never seen before. According to the Springtide Research Institute (2022), 55% of Gen Z report being moderately to extremely anxious, and 47% say they are moderately or extremely depressed.

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Some of them may look odd to us. They may dye their hair in garish tones, pierce their bodies, or cover themselves in ink. But Henry David Thoreau’s line remains true: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Some of us just wear our wounds differently. Blood is still red. Wounds still hurt. And scars still speak louder than arguments.

In the wake of the Charlie Kirk assassination, many people — young people especially — are rushing to the debate stage, eager for verbal combat. Strong voices still have a space in the public square. But not every meaningful moment requires a microphone or a mastery of apologetics.

That morning in Aurora, I wasn’t looking to change anyone’s politics. I was simply a caregiver, walking to the hospital to sit with my wife after decades of surgeries. Yet a brief exchange at a crosswalk became a chance to remind someone that her life mattered. She never knew what I carried. She didn’t need to. She benefited because I stopped to care. What began as caution in a rough neighborhood turned into an encounter that spoke directly to another human being’s heartache.

A generation is struggling. Those of us of a certain age may not know their world very well. But our scars can speak. It costs little and requires no training to be kind to a wounded soul.

We only need to be ready at a moment’s notice “to comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Corinthians 1:4). In an age of combat and argument, that may be the most radical engagement of all.

In a connected world, Americans are more isolated than ever



Loneliness has become an epidemic in America. Millions of people, even when surrounded by others, feel invisible. In tragic irony, we live in an age of unparalleled connectivity, yet too many sit in silence, unseen and unheard.

I’ve been experiencing this firsthand. My children have grown up and moved out. The house that once overflowed with life now echoes with quiet. Moments that once held laughter now hold silence. And in that silence, the mind can play cruel games. It whispers, “You’re forgotten. Your story doesn’t matter.”

We are unique in our gifts, but not in our humanity. Recognizing this shared struggle is how we overcome loneliness.

It’s a lie.

I’ve seen it in others. I remember sitting at Rockefeller Center one winter, watching a woman lace up her ice skates. Her clothing was worn, her bag battered. Yet on the ice, she transformed — elegant, alive, radiant.

Minutes later, she returned to her shoes, merged into the crowd, unnoticed. I’ve thought of her often. She was not alone in her experience. Millions of Americans live unseen, performing acts of quiet heroism every day.

Shared pain makes us human

Loneliness convinces us to retreat, to stay silent, to stop reaching out to others. But connection is essential. Even small gestures — a word of encouragement, a listening ear, a shared meal — are radical acts against isolation.

I’ve learned this personally. Years ago, a caller called me “Mr. Perfect.” I could have deflected, but I chose honesty. I spoke of my alcoholism, my failed marriage, my brokenness. I expected judgment. Instead, I found resonance. People whispered back, “I’m going through the same thing. Thank you for saying it.”

Our pain is universal. Everyone struggles with self-doubt and fear. Everyone feels, at times, like a fraud. We are unique in our gifts, but not in our humanity. Recognizing this shared struggle is how we overcome loneliness.

We were made for connection. We were built for community — for conversation, for touch, for shared purpose. Every time we reach out, every act of courage and compassion punches a hole in the wall of isolation.

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Photo by oatawa via Getty Images

You’re not alone

If you’re feeling alone, know this: You are not invisible. You are seen. You matter. And if you’re not struggling, someone you know is. It’s your responsibility to reach out.

Loneliness is not proof of brokenness. It is proof of humanity. It is a call to engage, to bear witness, to connect. The world is different because of the people who choose to act. It is brighter when we refuse to be isolated.

We cannot let silence win. We cannot allow loneliness to dictate our lives. Speak. Reach out. Connect. Share your gifts. By doing so, we remind one another: We are all alike, and yet each of us matters profoundly.

In this moment, in this country, in this world, what we do matters. Loneliness is real, but so is hope. And hope begins with connection.

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Charlie Kirk Helped Combat The Epidemic Of Campus Loneliness

Into the dark web of campus ignorance stepped Charlie Kirk, a joyful warrior of immense spirit and optimism.

Digital companionship masks emptiness in a quiet, lonely world



Jill Smola is 75 years old. She’s a retiree from Orlando, Florida, and she spent her life caring for the elderly. She played games, assembled puzzles, and offered company to those who otherwise would have sat alone.

Now, she sits alone herself. Her husband has died. She has a lung condition. She can’t drive. She can’t leave her home. Weeks can pass without human interaction.

Loneliness is an epidemic. And AI will not fix it. It will only dull the edges and make a diminished life tolerable.

But CBS News reports that she has a new companion. And she likes this companion more than her own daughter.

The companion? Artificial intelligence.

She spends five hours a day talking to her AI friend. They play games, do trivia, and just talk. She says she even prefers it to real people.

My first thought was simple: Stop this. We are losing our humanity.

But as I sat with the story, I realized something uncomfortable. Maybe we’ve already lost some of our humanity — not to AI, but to ourselves.

Outsourcing presence

How often do we know the right thing to do yet fail to act? We know we should visit the lonely. We know we should sit with someone in pain. We know what Jesus would do: Notice the forgotten, touch the untouchable, offer time and attention without outsourcing compassion.

Yet how often do we just … talk about it? On the radio, online, in lectures, in posts. We pontificate, and then we retreat.

I asked myself: What am I actually doing to close the distance between knowing and doing?

Human connection is messy. It’s inconvenient. It takes patience, humility, and endurance. AI doesn’t challenge you. It doesn’t interrupt your day. It doesn’t ask anything of you. Real people do. Real people make us confront our pride, our discomfort, our loneliness.

We’ve built an economy of convenience. We can have groceries delivered, movies streamed, answers instantly. But friendships — real relationships — are slow, inefficient, unpredictable. They happen in the blank spaces of life that we’ve been trained to ignore.

And now we’re replacing that inefficiency with machines.

AI provides comfort without challenge. It eliminates the risk of real intimacy. It’s an elegant coping mechanism for loneliness, but a poor substitute for life. If we’re not careful, the lonely won’t just be alone — they’ll be alone with an anesthetic, a shadow that never asks for anything, never interrupts, never makes them grow.

Reclaiming our humanity

We need to reclaim our humanity. Presence matters. Not theory. Not outrage. Action.

It starts small. Pull up a chair for someone who eats alone. Call a neighbor you haven’t spoken to in months. Visit a nursing home once a month — then once a week. Ask their names, hear their stories. Teach your children how to be present, to sit with someone in grief, without rushing to fix it.

Turn phones off at dinner. Make Sunday afternoons human time. Listen. Ask questions. Don’t post about it afterward. Make the act itself sacred.

Humility is central. We prefer machines because we can control them. Real people are inconvenient. They interrupt our narratives. They demand patience, forgiveness, and endurance. They make us confront ourselves.

A friend will challenge your self-image. A chatbot won’t.

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Photo by Liv Bruce via Unsplash

Our homes are quieter. Our streets are emptier. Loneliness is an epidemic. And AI will not fix it. It will only dull the edges and make a diminished life tolerable.

Before we worry about how AI will reshape humanity, we must first practice humanity. It can start with 15 minutes a day of undivided attention, presence, and listening.

Change usually comes when pain finally wins. Let’s not wait for that. Let’s start now. Because real connection restores faster than any machine ever will.

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You were built for meaning, not cheap pleasure



For most of human history, scarcity was the enemy. Territory, calories, energy, and land all had to be fought for, hoarded, and rationed. Wars were waged and innovations forged to survive deprivation. But the material hardship that once united societies in common struggle has largely faded in the affluent world.

Now we face a different enemy: artificial abundance.

The future belongs to those who reject the simulacrum and embrace reality.

In the wealthiest nations, human beings are no longer selected for resilience in the face of scarcity. They’re selected for their ability to resist the seductions of abundance — synthetic food, fake relationships, dopamine on demand. The danger isn’t hunger or want, but the numbing comfort of simulated satisfaction.

Loaded with empty calories

Once, entire civilizations rose or fell depending on their ability to produce and preserve food. Famines routinely devastated societies, and most people spent their lives just trying to eat.

Now, calories come cheap and easy. Factory farming, food science, and global logistics mean even the poorest Americans can gorge on processed junk. A trip to McDonald’s or a few bucks at Walmart buys a week’s worth of empty calories.

But artificial flavorings and chemical fillers are no substitute for real food. They simulate nourishment, but slowly poison the body. Calories are now so available that obesity, not hunger, is the largest threat to the well-being of the poor. The need has been met — and subverted.

Sex and glory, sold cheap

The same dynamic has corrupted sexual desire. Historically, sex drove men to build civilizations, conquer enemies, win wealth, and rise in status. Today, that drive is short-circuited. Men can now simulate conquest and fulfillment without risk, pain, or purpose — through pornography and video games.

Why fight for honor or love when you can get the illusion of both from a screen? Instead of greatness, many young men settle for a life of digital masturbation — and that’s how the system likes it. Young men remain trapped in a kind of eternal adolescence: satisfied just enough to avoid rebellion, addicted just enough to stay quiet.

Fake attention, real loneliness

Social media and dating apps have similarly distorted the lives of young women. Women crave connection, validation, and community — roles they once fulfilled in family, faith, and friendship.

Now they chase attention online, deluding themselves into believing that likes and comments are the same as love and loyalty. Social media simulates female community and male desire, but gives neither. Depression rises. Real-life relationships crumble. Women fear male attention in person but crave it online, where they feel in control.

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Blaze Media Illustration

What results is a dysfunctional, hypergamous dating market. Men won’t approach. Women hold out for the fantasy of the “perfect man” who never arrives. Both sexes lose.

Lockdowns revealed the lie

COVID-19 lockdowns showed us the true danger of attempting to simulate every aspect of human experience.

During the lockdowns, social interactions from school, church, work, and even bonding with friends over a meal became impossible. School, church, work, friendship — all of it was forcibly digitized.

The results were catastrophic: soaring depression, stalled childhood development, and broken education.

But the worst part? People stayed in their digital cages even after the doors opened. Simulated connection became easier than real interaction. And easier won.

The real thing is harder — and worth it

Reality demands effort. Family, community, faith, and responsibility are hard. They hurt. They risk rejection. But they matter.

Left alone with simulated choices, most people will pick the path of least resistance. That’s why society must rethink what it rewards. Because the simulations aren’t harmless distractions — they’re traps.

The French philosopher Jean Baudrillard called this phenomenon the “simulacrum” — a copy with no original. A cheeseburger that isn’t food. AI “friends” that aren’t human and virtual “communities” that cannot possibly relieve loneliness. A porn star who looks and behaves nothing like a real woman. Online attention that ruins offline romance. Video game violence that replaces true heroism.

An evolutionary filter

We face an evolutionary bottleneck as serious as any in human history. But instead of favoring the strong, smart, or adaptable, survival now depends on who can say no.

Can you say no to simulated sex? Simulated success? Simulated community? Can you hunger for meaning, not just comfort?

Those who make it through this filter will be the ones who choose austerity over ease — who hunger for the real thing. The future belongs to those who reject the simulacrum and embrace reality.

Artificial intelligence will only make these temptations worse. But those who refuse to be pacified will also be the ones who endure.

Choose meaning. Teach your children to do the same. The future depends on it.

TikTok trauma queens are scaring off decent men for good



Let’s stop pretending we don’t know why men are done with marriage. They’re not “afraid of commitment.” They’re not “toxic.” And they’re certainly not “intimidated by strong women.” No, men have just finally figured out what the rest of us should’ve admitted years ago: It’s a terrible deal. Not for women — oh no, we’ve gamed it beautifully. For men.

And now, they know it.

Any man who walks away from marriage isn’t afraid of commitment. He’s just smart enough not to sign up for a state-sanctioned mugging disguised as romance.

According to research from the Marriage Foundation, between 70% to 80% of divorces are initiated by women. Among college-educated women, that number jumps to 90%. Translation: The more educated she is, the faster she realizes she can exit stage left with the house, the kids, the 401(k), and a monthly check. All she has to do is say, “I’m not happy,” and a judge will handle the rest.

And what a show it is! He loses his kids, his paycheck, and often his sanity, trying to keep up with court-mandated payments while living in a sad little apartment, granted visitation rights so limited he needs a calendar app and a court order just to see his own kids. Meanwhile, she’s posting #SingleMomStrong like the children are accessories she won in the divorce. How exactly is this empowering for anyone?

Women’s emotional garbage cans

It’s not just the divorce itself — it’s what leads up to it. Modern women have traded femininity for feral instinct, egged on by a culture that rewards emotional instability and calls it “empowerment.”

Think I’m exaggerating? Just spend five minutes on TikTok. You’ll find women screaming into their phones about “healing energy” and “divine feminine rage,” sipping boxed wine in a bathtub surrounded by crystals and court summonses. These women don’t want to love a man — they want to fix their daddy issues with a living, breathing human wallet.

They call it love, but what they really mean is trauma alchemy: “If you loved me, you’d fix me.” No, sweetie. You fix you. Then maybe, just maybe, you’ll attract a man who doesn’t have to call his therapist after every date.

This epidemic of emotional dysfunction isn’t accidental. Many of these women were raised in homes where masculinity was vilified, fathers were absent, and mothers were so bitter they could curdle milk with a glance.

These girls were handed generational rage and told it was feminism. They didn’t heal; they weaponized their pain and waited for the first man dumb enough to step into range. And if he’s not dumb? He’s the enemy. Because how dare he not offer himself up as a sacrifice on the altar of her unprocessed trauma.

Courts eat men alive

Family courts, of course, are the handmaids of this dysfunction. The U.S. Census Bureau reports that less than 20% of custodial parents are fathers, despite all evidence that children need both parents. But try telling that to a judge who thinks “fatherhood” is a weekend hobby and “child support” is a government-backed extortion racket.

Many states rake in billions through Title IV-D incentives, meaning the more money the state extracts from fathers, the more it receives from the federal government. It’s not justice — it’s a racket. It's a taxpayer-funded kickback scheme that rewards broken families and punishes paternal love.

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Ivan Rodriguez Alba via iStock/Getty Images

Worse, child support is often calculated not on what a man actually earns but on what the court believes he should earn. That’s called “imputed income” — and it’s how you turn a plumber into a felon because he couldn’t pay child support based on the fantasy that he’s a brain surgeon. If he misses a payment, he goes to jail. If she violates a custody order, she might get a warning. Maybe.

This isn’t equality. This is Turner v. Rogers in action. The Supreme Court ruled in 2011 that authorities can lock a man up for not paying child support without providing him a lawyer. Land of the free, indeed.

Here’s what’s wild: Women still don’t get it. Men aren’t angry at women — they’re done with them. Like this woman said, men are done negotiating with feral energy. They’re not trying to win an argument anymore. They’re exiting the game. Quietly. Permanently. And still, the same women who created the chaos stand around wondering, “Where did all the good men go?”

Honey, they’re over there — dodging alimony, living in peace, and thanking God they never married you.

‘Empowered’ women, depressed men

Here’s the kicker: We’re not even ashamed of it. We brag about it. We meme about it. Divorce glow-up. Trauma bonding. “Soft girl era.” Meanwhile, the men are just trying to stay out of court and off antidepressants. Feminism? Please. This is narcissism with a publicist.

Men want peace. They want loyalty, partnership, and respect. They want what their grandfathers had — a woman who had their back, not a woman who records their fights for social media clout.

But those women are rarer than ever. We’ve traded homemaking for hot-girl summer, traded character for chaos, and traded companionship for control. And then we expect men to marry us?

Newsflash: Men don’t marry liabilities.

We told them they weren’t necessary. We told them masculinity was toxic. We told them they owed us emotional labor, financial support, and full-time access to their phones. And when they refused, we called them weak. Now, they’re gone. And we still have the audacity to act confused.

Maybe it’s time we stop blaming men for not wanting us and start asking if we’re actually worth wanting. Until we clean up the emotional landmines, stop weaponizing the courts, and remember what being a woman actually means, we’re not a risk worth taking.

And any man who walks away from this mess isn’t afraid of commitment. He’s just smart enough not to sign up for a state-sanctioned mugging disguised as romance.

Church is cool again — and Gen Z men are leading the way



Amid a broader spiritual collapse, one trend stands out: Young men are returning to church in growing numbers. Generation Z, in particular, seeks structure, meaning, and community in a world fractured by chaos and alienation.

For decades, the dominant story in the West told of religion’s slow death. Church attendance dropped year after year, while “nones” — those who reject any religious affiliation — surged. But recent data complicates that narrative, especially among younger Americans.

The return of young men to the church is a cultural reckoning and a budding flower of renewal.

Gen Z remains the least religious generation on record, with 34% identifying as unaffiliated — higher than Millennials (29%) or Gen X (25%). Yet signs of revival are breaking through. One recent survey found that 31% of Gen Z attend religious services at least once a month, while 25% actively practice a faith.

Similar trends are occurring in the United Kingdom. A report by the Bible Society reveals that Catholics now outnumber Anglicans by more than two to one among Generation Z and younger Millennials. In 2018, Anglicans made up 30% of churchgoers ages 18-34, while Catholics accounted for 22%. By 2024, these figures had changed to 20% Anglican and 41% Catholic.

According to the Becket Fund’s 2024 findings, members of Gen Z attending religious services at least monthly rose from 29% in 2022 to 40% in 2024. Similarly, those who consider religion important in their lives increased from 51% to 66% over the same period.

Religious is the new ‘rebellious’

What explains the sudden shift? For generations, youth pushed back against the dominant order, and for much of the 20th century, that order was Christianity. But what happens when Christianity fades, replaced by atheism or whatever postmodern creed happens to be in vogue? The instinct to rebel remains. Only now, the rebellion turns back toward order, tradition, and moral clarity.

For years, legacy media and Hollywood told young men they were disposable — interchangeable, expendable, even dangerous. That narrative failed. And now, young men are driving the revival.

Historically, women filled the pews in greater numbers. But in 2024, that dynamic flipped. According to the Alabama Baptist, 30% of men attended weekly services compared to just 27% of women — a quiet but telling reversal of a long-standing pattern.

Men lead the charge

Traditional, structured worship has become a magnet for young men seeking discipline and meaning. Orthodox and Catholic churches — with their rituals, hierarchy, and deep historical roots — have seen a marked rise in male converts.

A 2022 survey reported a 78% increase in conversions to Orthodoxy since 2019. Catholic dioceses across the country have posted similar gains. From 2023 to 2024, some reported conversion spikes of up to 72%. The Archdiocese of Los Angeles alone welcomed 5,587 people into the Catholic Church this Easter, including 2,786 baptisms at the Easter Vigil — a 34% jump over last year.

But this resurgence goes deeper than doctrine. Churches offer young men what the modern world fails to provide: real community. According to the Barna Group, 67% of churchgoing adults report having a mentor — often someone they met through church. Among Gen Z and Millennials, that number rises to 86% and 83%, respectively.

Small groups and discipleship programs allow young men to wrestle with challenges, seek counsel, and build genuine friendships. These are exactly the structures secular society neglects — and precisely what my generation craves.

Cultural shifts have accelerated the return to faith. The internet may connect everyone digitally, but it often isolates people in the real world. Local churches still offer something screens can’t: brotherhood, accountability, and face-to-face contact. In a culture that demonizes masculinity and treats male virtues as liabilities, the church remains one of the last institutions to honor strength, discipline, and leadership without shame or apology.

A cultural mandate

Many young men today feel discarded by a society that marginalizes their natural instincts and virtues. Christianity offers them something different — a call to action rooted in service, discipline, and brotherhood. It gives them a place where effort matters, strength is welcomed, and belonging isn’t conditional. The need to connect, to matter, and to be respected — long ignored in secular culture — finds real expression in the life of the church.

This return of young men to the pews marks more than a spiritual revival. It’s a cultural reckoning. In many ways, it echoes the moral foundation laid by America’s founders. Though denominationally diverse, the founders agreed that freedom without faith could not last. George Washington said it plainly: “Religion and morality are indispensable supports” to political prosperity.

Today’s young men appear to understand what many in power have forgotten — liberty without virtue cannot endure. As America drifts, a new generation looks not to slogans or screens but to God — for strength, clarity, and the courage to rebuild what has been lost.

Conservatives Aren’t ‘Christian Nationalists,’ They’re Just Homesick For America

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How God Won Me Over After My Dad Abandoned Me

My life changed when I learned I wasn’t alone and never will be.

Home alone for spring break — and hopelessly homesick



Last week was supposed to be one of the best weeks of my life.

When I told my friends why, they responded with a mix of disbelief and envy: “How did you pull that off?” “You hit the lottery!” “Can we trade places?”

At the time, they were busy cramming their kids’ belongings into as few bags as possible, all while trying to stay under the 50-pound airline limit. Spring break had arrived, and my friends were jetting off to various corners of the country to yell at their kids in unfamiliar settings.

The news I broke to them? I wouldn’t be joining the spring break chaos. Due to a poorly timed elbow surgery, I couldn’t travel. My wife would be taking our three kids — ages 10, 7, and 4 — to Utah for a ski trip without me.

So what’s a temporarily solo dad to do with a quiet house and only his beloved bulldog for company?

I had grand plans. Each day after work, I’d come home, change into sweats, and spend the rest of the evening doing what I love most — lighting up a cigar and diving into a good book. Better yet, I’d start two hours earlier than usual, reclaiming time normally lost to homework, sports, and bath time.

Losing the normal rhythm of my day made something very clear: Without my family around, my life had no order. And it’s that order that gives me purpose.

With my family returning the day before my 40th birthday, I saw this as my opportunity to live large for a week — maybe even earn a spot on a “40 under 40” list. But if I’m being honest, my real goal was simple: Do as little as humanly possible.

Still, some things had to get done.

I did three loads of laundry before realizing I hadn’t added detergent to any of them. For dinner each night, I drank a protein shake made of nothing but powder and water. (Apparently, my wife didn’t leave me any actual food.)

I hand-washed every cup, plate, and utensil I used — not because I wanted to, but because the dishwasher intimidates me more than anything else in our house.

It didn’t take long to realize that without my wife around, I function at the level of barely breathing.

But wow, was I free.

That night, the cigar lasted a little longer. My dog got to sleep in the bed. I even sent a few humblebrag texts to my friends.

Then came the next morning.

No waking to the soft sound of the shower running after my wife’s early workout. No stroll down the hallway belting out Travis Tritt’s “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive” to wake up the kids. No chance to embarrass my son by singing in the school drop-off line in front of the girls in his class.

When I walked back in the door that day and saw my daughter’s theater bag hanging in the mudroom, I would have done anything to sit in traffic and drive her to her Monday-night rehearsal — the same drive we always complain about.

But instead, there was nothing. Just that “freedom” I had been craving.

And in that moment, I realized I had it — freedom from the mundane routines of life. And I was miserable.

Losing the normal rhythm of my day made something very clear: Without my family around, my life had no order. And it’s that order that gives me purpose.

I was homesick at home.

It turns out this is completely normal. According to the General Social Survey — one of the most respected studies of American life — men and women with a spouse and children are the most likely to report being “very happy.” For men ages 18 to 55, marriage nearly doubles the likelihood of happiness compared to those who remain unmarried.

Andrew Tate’s followers might want to ask for a refund.

For me, the longing wasn’t just about missing companionship. I missed the “work” that comes with having a family. And according to Brad Wilcox of the Institute for Family Studies, that’s also typical.

But the benefits of that work extend beyond the home.

“It’s getting harder to ignore the data that show men fare better when they have the ‘positive pressure’ of caring for a family,” Wilcox writes. “Stable marriages don’t just benefit kids. ... The obligations of family life motivate men to work harder and smarter. Fathers literally make more money when they have kids.”

Something deeply rewarding comes with the responsibilities of marriage and fatherhood. I’ve gained a new appreciation for the frantic Sunday dash to church and the hours I’ve spent untying double knots.

And if Brad Wilcox is right, those cuddles might even be boosting my income.