May 17, 2025
Today was a good day in the story of my life. It’s the kind of essential moment you feel in your bones the second you wake up — when there’s a shimmer to the air, a brightness that hints this day will echo into the past and reverberate into the future as well.
It was one of those rare pages in the book of my life. Not quite my wedding day, but just beneath it — a chapter I always knew I’d write someday.
I go to a lot of concerts. Every year, I attend dozens of shows. But few artists could ever match the significance of seeing Five for Fighting live (in terms of bucket list bands I haven’t seen yet). I was supposed to go last year, but life had other plans: I was in Philadelphia for WrestleMania. Maybe fate was just setting me up for something more mythical.
Five for Fighting’s music — especially the song “100 Years” — means more to me than I can explain. That song shaped how I view the passage of time, the bridge between the boy I was and the man I became. I even wrote a poem about my connection to it, in the early hours of a Leap Year sunrise on February 29, 2004. That moment’s been a cornerstone of my identity for the past two decades.
And tonight, I knew I had to give that poem to John Ondrasik, the voice and heart behind Five for Fighting.
I didn’t have a VIP pass. No backstage access. But something told me if I waited by the tour van out back, someone would notice. And sure enough — a tour manager caught sight of me, understood what I was hoping for without me having to say a word, and a few minutes later, John came out.
Somehow, against the odds, my plan worked. Twenty years in the making.
I handed him my poem. The very one born under a Leap Year Sunrise, steeped in years of memory and meaning. In that moment, I played “100 Years” in my head, standing there face to face with the man whose words had narrated so many of my seasons. I thought about all the ages I’ve lived through. All the versions of me that had dreamed of this moment.
And tonight, they all stood there with me.
Ondrasik took the envelope I addressed to him and thanked me for the poem. After we took the photo, I looked over at him – and for a moment – all those years in the song echoed through me.
I pictured myself at 33.
I pictured my father at 67.
I pictured my grandfather, who almost made it to 99.
The sky is getting high for all of us, we’re all getting older.
It took me 20 years to find the perfect ending to my poem, “Leap Year Sunrise”, but I finally discovered it a couple of months ago. So simple, nothing too complex – but the idea “There’s still time for me.” can apply to all of us. The sky may be getting high, but there’s still time to chase after those big dreams you have for your life.
