A Beacon of Light

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  • My name is Kevin Carroll. I was born and raised in San Francisco, California, where I attended Saint Ignatius College Preparatory. I am a graduate of both Santa Clara University and the University of San Francisco. Following a 40-year career in teaching and pastoral ministry, I launched a new career as a writer and speaker.

    I live in San José, California. My wife, Kathy, and I have three adult sons and five precious grandchildren. I have much for which to be grateful.

    I can be reached via email at kmc43sjc@gmail.com

    My books are available for purchase online from Amazon. I also have copies of some of these titles at my home for those who would like to buy them directly from me.

    A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude  (2017)

    Cherries in the Summer  (2021)

    The Ambassador of 38th Avenue  (2022)

    Dad: 12 Questions…  (2023)

    A Focus on Gratitude  (2024)

    Through the Lens of Gratitude  (2024)

    A Bahamian Odyssey (2026)

  • So Fast

    “Life is like a roll
    of toilet paper.
    The closer you get
    to the end,
    the faster it goes.”
    Andy Rooney

    When I graduated from high school in 1972, my entire adult life was ahead of me. I had no idea, at that time, that things would turn out as they have. I wasn’t a goal-setter. I wasn’t working on a timeline. I was literally taking life one day at a time. Much to my surprise, a number of incredible opportunities were presented to me.

    These were not opportunities for which I had planned or dreamed. They were out-of-the-blue, unexpected, and undeserved opportunities which required only one thing from me — to respond “Yes!” In doing so, my life has unfolded in ways far beyond anything I could have imagined or desired.

    A group of my S.I. classmates and I were sitting in the Carlin Commons on campus enjoying lunch one day when we began reflecting on the future. Just four years earlier, the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey had been released. 2001 was such a futuristic number. I remember talking about the fact that we would be 47 years old in 2001. That was so far in the future, it was difficult to imagine.

    It’s now been 54 years since my classmates and I accepted our diplomas at Saint Ignatius Church, on the campus of the University of San Francisco. At that graduation ceremony, about a dozen members of the class of 1922 received their Golden Diplomas. As they walked toward the sanctuary to be recognized, I couldn’t help but notice how old they were. Some used walkers, while others relied on canes. These guys were old. Yeah, well four years ago, my S.I. classmates and I received our Golden Diplomas. Could we possibly be that old? Already?

    The strangest part of all of this is that I don’t feel old. I don’t think old. I don’t act old, yet I’ll celebrate my 72nd birthday in June. 

    That little quip by Andy Rooney quoted above is the absolute truth. It’s difficult for me to comprehend that I’ve been retired from teaching for more than ten years already. It’s startling to me that my oldest son will turn 40 in May. These little tidbits of information remind me that, even though I’m not old, I’m old enough — old enough to recognize and acknowledge that my days are numbered. How many do I have left in my life? I don’t know. And strangely, I don’t worry about this.

    I am extraordinarily content with the life I’ve lived. I’ve had more amazing experiences in my lifetime than I could ever have expected. I’ve worked hard. I’ve accomplished things in my lifetime that I would never have thought possible back in 1972. And I remain open to new experiences in the future.

    It’s just that it’s all happening… so fast.

  • Some Day

    “You only need to stand
    near the ocean to feel the
    power of the universe
    and a closeness to the
    one who created it.” 
    Susan Gale

    The prophetic words of Jacques Cousteau have proven to be true throughout my lifetime. He said, “The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” It most certainly does.

    I spent the first eighteen years of my life living within walking distance of the Pacific Ocean in San Francisco. Sadly, I took it for granted. In the years since that time, I’ve realized the validity of Cousteau’s words.

    There is something magical about large bodies of water. Due to the cold water and dangerous undertow at Ocean Beach in The City, in my high school years, my friends and I would often drive to Santa Cruz to spend time at more user-friendly beaches. In 1971, I had the privilege of experiencing the Caribbean Sea while visiting Jamaica. In 1974, I moved to The Bahamas for one year. The Bahamas is geographically located in the Atlantic Ocean, not the Caribbean, but it is culturally and politically considered part of the Caribbean. Like the water in Jamaica, the Bahamas is blessed with clear, warm, aquamarine seas. This might explain why I’ve been to Jamaica twice and to The Bahamas eight times, with another trip planned for next week. 

    For many years, I’ve also had the dream of renting a beach house for a month-long writing retreat. While I am definitely drawn to the ocean, I’m not a big fan of the beach. I enjoy being near the beach, just not on it. I prefer setting myself up on a patch of grass, an outcropping of rocks, or even a concrete patio where I can sit, read, reflect, and, occasionally, write. So when I saw the house in the image above, I thought it would be perfect for my writing retreat. Sadly, I have no idea where the house is located, nor whether it is available for rental use.

    American artist Robert Wyland’s experience of the ocean mirrors my own, which is why I am convinced that a home with an ocean view would be the perfect writing venue. Wyland wrote, “The ocean stirs the heart, inspires the imagination, and brings eternal joy to the soul.” 

    Writing can do this, too.

  • Date Gone Wrong

    “Life is not so short
    but that there is
    always time enough
    for courtesy.”
    Ralph Waldo Emerson

    I don’t recall her name. I have no recollection of where we met. What I do remember is that it was the worst date of my life. For the purpose of this article, I will refer to her as Heidi. 

    I was about 28 years old at the time — single and not in a relationship. Somewhere in my travels around the Santa Clara Valley, I met Heidi. I’m usually pretty good about remembering names and where I first met someone, but in this case, I draw a blank. I apparently was attracted to her, because I invited her out to dinner, and she accepted.

    On the evening of our date, I pulled up in front of her Los Gatos home, parked my VW bug in front of her house, got out, and walked up to the front door. I don’t recall having to wait, so I’ll assume she was ready to go. This is the point at which my memory kicks into “vivid” mode.

    As we approached my car, I unlocked the passenger side door with my key and opened it for Heidi. Once she was comfortably seated, I began to close the door. At that moment, her right arm shot out straight to her right, preventing me from closing the car door. As she did this, she continued to look straight ahead with no emotion whatsoever on her face.

    “I am more than capable of opening and closing a car door myself,” she announced bluntly.

    After the initial shock of her statement, I walked around the back of the car and got into the driver’s seat. The first thought that crossed my mind was to get out of the car, walk back over to the passenger side, and just stand there, assuming that, at some point, she would get the idea, open the car door herself, get out, and go back into her home. I didn’t do that. Instead, we went on our dinner date, as planned.

    The fog of the evening returns as I have no recollection of where we went to eat or what I ordered. All I know is that when the meal was over, we returned immediately to my car. I opened the driver side door, got in, and unlocked the passenger side door. Heidi opened her door and got in. I drove her straight home. When we arrived at her house, I didn’t bother to get out of the car. I thanked her for a nice evening, she departed, and I drove off. Needless to say, I never saw nor heard from Heidi again.

    In my formative years, my father taught me some basic social skills, which I practiced with my family when we would go out. I would open the car door for my mother, and even for my sisters. It wasn’t because I thought they were incapable of doing so themselves. It was simply a matter of courtesy.

    Theodore Roosevelt nailed it when he said, “Politeness [is] a sign of dignity, not subservience.”

  • Tuning-In (or Out)

    “Wherever you are,
    be there totally.”     
    Eckhart Tolle

    I was in The City to meet my friend, Tom, for lunch yesterday. To avoid the worst of the commute traffic, I got an early start and arrived at Java Beach Café on Sloat Boulevard at 7:15. I would be meeting Tom at Java Beach Café on Judah Street a few hours later. I enjoyed a bowl of oatmeal, chatted it up with a few people who were there, then put my backpack in the trunk of my car before walking along Sunset Dunes from Sloat to Judah Street. 

    It was a pleasant day for walking in The City. The clean ocean air, the cool breeze, and the sound of waves crashing against the beach created a peaceful environment. Dozens of other people were walking (alone, with friends, or with their dogs), riding, or jogging along the Dunes, as well. A thought crossed my mind which I’d considered many times before. I couldn’t help but notice how AirPods, ear buds, or headphones, whatever term you want to use, are a significant obstruction to communication.

    In an article published in Psychology Today, Dr. Jim Taylor mentioned that “the presence of earbuds seems to now be the rule rather than the exception.” I’ve noticed the same thing. As I made my way toward Judah Street, I couldn’t help but notice that people of all ages were plugged-in to music, podcasts, or some other type of programming while they walked. I’ve done this myself, but I don’t do it anymore. Earbuds interfere with connecting with others.

    When I’m out walking, I like to acknowledge the presence of those I encounter along the way. A simple “Good morning,” or a nod of the head accompanied by eye-contact, enables me to let the other person know I see them, that I’m aware of their presence, and that they matter. When people are using earbuds, it’s rare that they will acknowledge me in any way.

    It is this situation which leads Dr. Taylor to make the claim that “the simple act of wearing earbuds and listening to whatever you listen to is causing potentially irreparable damage to ourselves psychologically, emotionally, and socially.”

    Social connection is a key component of our health and overall happiness. When our attention is focused on what we’re listening to, it is likely that we will fail to notice those around us. 

    There have been countless times when I’ve wanted to greet someone, but because they were wearing earbuds, and I didn’t want to disturb them, I didn’t bother making the connection. I consider earbuds a signal to others that they don’t want to be disturbed.

    I’m saddened to see young people today sitting in a restaurant with their families with earbuds in their ears. I see it when I’m driving, too — Mom or Dad is driving the young person to school while the young person is focused on what’s streaming through their earbuds. It’s sad. It seems that the increase in the number of people using earbuds is resulting an a decrease in authentic human connection.

    “Ultimately, it is up to each of us to decide what we value, what our priorities are, and the kind of lives we want to live,” Taylor writes in his article. “The only real power we have to influence our own lives is our ability to make choices that we believe are healthy and life-affirming.”

    “Just being awake,
    alert, and attentive
    is no easy matter.
    I think it is the greatest
    spiritual challenge
    that we face.”
    Diana L. Eck
    Encountering God

  • Monday, 03/02

    A M D G

  • Sunday, 03/01

  • Write it!

    “When you rise
    in the morning,
    give thanks for the light,
    for your life,
    for your strength.
    Give thanks for your food
    and for the joy of living.
    If you see no reason
    to give thanks,
    the fault lies in yourself.”
    Tecumseh 

    It’s Saturday morning. We all have so much for which to be grateful. Take advantage of this weekend to get out and do something worth writing about. Each one of us has the potential to make a significant difference in the world around us, even if we do so by simply making a positive difference in the life of one person. Who will that person be? How will you make our world a better place this weekend? 

    If you were going to write a book about this weekend, what would you like to to write about? Everyone has a story to share. Everyone has an opportunity to brighten someone’s day. Get out there and do it. Leave a positive mark on the world this weekend by doing something for someone else. What you do matters!

  • Miracles

  • Give & Take

  • Snow

    “Despite all I have seen 
    and experienced, 
    I still get the same simple 
    thrill out of glimpsing a 
    tiny patch of snow.” 
    Edmund Hillary

    Yeah, go ahead and laugh. Yes, I’m talking to you — my friends from the Midwest and East Coast. You guys know snow. Real snow. And you guys know cold… real cold like I’ve never experienced. 

    Growing up in San Francisco, we didn’t get snow, that is, until January 21, 1962. On that morning, our neighbor, Lillian Gray, woke us up with an early-morning phone call to announce that it had snowed overnight. Sure enough, our backyard had a layer of snow, perhaps about an inch, at best. 

    It happened again on February 5, 1976. It is said that as much as five inches accumulated on the top of Twin Peaks, while the Sunset District, where we lived, got about an inch. 

    Only once in my life have I experienced real snowfall. I had taken a group of students on a weekend ski trip to North Lake Tahoe. We were staying at the Fire Light Lodge in Tahoe Vista when it was brought to my attention that snow had begun to fall outside. I stepped out onto the patio outside my room and stood in amazement as I watched the snowflakes fall silently to the ground. I was mesmerized by the silence. When it rains, you hear it. When it snows, the world seems to go silent.

    I’ve lived in the Santa Clara Valley for a little more than 53 years now. While we don’t get snow on a regular basis here, we are treated to the view of snow on the peaks of the hills to the east of San José almost every year. This past week was one of those times.

    As mountaineer Edmund Hillary, the first man to reach the summit of Mount Everest, said so eloquently, “…I still get the same simple thrill out of glimpsing a tiny patch of snow.” I feel the same way. To look up toward Mount Hamilton, and along the range to the north of that peak, and see a solid blanket of snow is an absolute treat for me. I’m not at all tempted to climb in the car to drive up to play in the snow. I am totally content to simply savor the beauty from here on the valley floor. 

    I mentioned the cold… It was 37º when I woke up several mornings last week. That’s cold,… for us. So when I hear of temps in other cities dipping well below 0º, I can only shiver with compassion, hoping that people stay safe and warm despite the conditions. 

    I am grateful for the west coast climate. I’m thankful that I’ve never had to shovel a driveway, drive my car down a snowy road, or experience anything associated with the term “wind chill factor.” I just keep reminding myself that summer will be here soon.