This blog has been 51 years in the making. OK – so that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But it sure feels like I’ve spent a lifetime talking about writing something – anything. And I’m sure for my family and friends, it feels like a lifetime of encouraging me to write something – anything.

But until now, I could never seem to get beyond organizing concepts in my head. I had all sorts of ideas. Great ideas. Amazing ideas. And I was always inspired. That song. That favorite movie. That famous quote. I can’t tell you the number of times I left a movie theater, determined to write the next Academy Award-winning screenplay. I remember actually telling myself I could be the next Ben Affleck or Matt Damon. In the very late 1990s, in fact, I researched and found a place that sold real screenplays. I bought a copy of Good Will Hunting. I told myself that if I could see the structure of this award-winning piece, THAT would be the key to me being able to write my screenplay.

It never happened. I never made it happen.

I started several times. I never finished. I have the first 50-some pages of a screenplay on a disk somewhere. I launched two previous blogs. I can’t tell you the name of either blog – nor do I remember my sign in name or password to get back to them. I also have the first part of a book started by one of my brothers. The original thought was we’d pass it back and forth – each writing a few chapters. I don’t think I added a single line. Pretty lame. I know.

But, in my defense, I had ALL of the best excuses:

• There just wasn’t enough time.
• I needed to flesh out my ideas a little further.
• I’d get to it – later.
• And then there was the very best excuse: I write for a living – I don’t want to spend my free time sitting at the computer – writing.

Are you kidding me?

The real truth to why I never wrote the big masterpiece was because I was afraid. Afraid of failure. Afraid of mediocrity. Afraid of offending someone. Afraid of being misunderstood.  Despite everyone’s best efforts to buoy my confidence and cheer me on to greatness – I couldn’t fully get over this paralyzing fear. I doubted my ability to make it happen.

I guess that’s how these things go sometimes, right? We’re often the last ones to know or to acknowledge what everyone else can plainly see – we can do it. It’s like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. It took battling the wicked witch and those crazy flying monkeys before she got to the heart of the matter –  she had the ability within herself all along to get to where she wanted to go.

So – here I am pounding out my first blog post in sweats and a t-shirt – sans ruby slippers.

I’ve named this blog, “Life After Ted,” in honor of Fr. Theodore Hesburgh. Fr. Ted died late Thursday, Feb. 26. At 97 years of age, a man who had served several presidents, popes, foundations, international commissions and the University of Notre Dame, passed away. He was a widely known and beloved public figure. Beloved by many because he loved everyone so deeply and shared his mind, heart and faith so fearlessly.

On facing one’s fears, Fr. Ted once suggested, “Don’t, be afraid of life. Don’t be afraid of people. Don’t be afraid of yourself. Don’t be afraid of God. Fear of God is something that is respectful that we are so low and He is so high. But fear is not what He talked about. When you go through the Gospels, you have an awful lot of things in the Gospel about love and about caring and about being thoughtful and generous and kind and good. But I think you find very, very little about fear. And that’s a good thing.”

Fr. Ted encouraged everyone to give the gift of themselves. I am sorry that it took so many years for me to finally heed this urging.

And so I dedicate this blog to Fr. Ted and to the many other courageous and now heavenly heroes who gave the gift of themselves so fearlessly, including my brother, David; my godfather – my Uncle George; my Granny and Grandpa Tripp; my Grandma and Grandpa; my Uncle Don; and my cousin, Matt; among many others.

I close this initial post with one of Fr. Ted’s prayers, “Lord, give us the ambition to do as much as we can, as well as we can, as long as we can, and the resolve not to despair over the things we cannot do. Amen.”