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)

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• December 2022
• November 2022

“There are far, far better
things ahead than any
we leave behind.” 
C.S. Lewis

It was another serendipitous moment. I took another 6.5-mile walk through the Outer Sunset District yesterday afternoon. I started, as I often do, with breakfast at Java Beach Café on Judah Street. After enjoying a bowl of oatmeal and cup of hot chocolate, I began my southbound trek along the Great Highway. When I reached Sloat Boulevard, I walked east to 39th Avenue. A quick left turn put me right back into the neighborhood of my youth near South Sunset Playground.

When I got to 38th Avenue, I couldn’t resist taking another walk past my childhood home, situated halfway between Wawona and Vicente Streets. For some reason, as I approached the house, I was thinking about something I had written with white chalk on the inside wall of the garage back in 1966 — on my 12th birthday. I wondered if it might still be there.

Much to my surprise, the garage door opened just as I arrived at the house. The current resident, along with his young son, was just getting ready to go somewhere. I stopped, introduced myself, and asked if I might check to see if my writing was still on the garage wall. He had not noticed it previously, but we ventured inside to check it out. A tall, narrow cardboard box leaning against the wall obscured our vision of the area where I’d written the message. The resident moved the box. I think he was more surprised than I that what I’d written almost sixty years ago was still there.

Kevin Carroll was here.
6-4-66

I snapped the photo above, thanked the gentleman and his son for their kindness, and went on my way. What a trip!

A closer look at the photo makes it look as though I had written the date as 6-4-61, but the quality of printing, and the height of the writing on the wall, leads me to believe that I must have been older when I wrote it, probably on 6-4-66. I couldn’t help but recall something John Steinbeck had written in his classic short story, Tularecito:  

“After the bare requisites to living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he really existed.”

Proof of my existence can be found on the wall of that 38th Avenue home in San Francisco. I wonder if this same desire might be a motivating factor behind my passion for writing. Long after I’m gone, the words I’ve written in my blog, along with the stories I’ve shared in the books I’ve published, will be available to future generations. 

Will my blog be accessed by anyone after my death? Will my books be read beyond my years on this earth? I will never know. Still, it’s reassuring to know that these possibilities exist, and that I exist, too.

“Golden Gate Park offers
enduring proof that human
beings can alter the planet
with reverence.” 
Kevin Starr

After several hours of writing yesterday morning, I needed a break. I’d been sitting too long. As I looked out the window of my hotel here in San Francisco, I could see that the fog had lifted and the sun was shining brightly, so I put on my walking shoes and headed out the door. I crossed the street to catch the N-Judah streetcar. I got off at the corner of Carl & Stanyan Streets, on the fringe of the infamous Haight-Ashbury neighborhood. I knew what I wanted to do. It was something I’d never done — walk the entire length of Golden Gate Park, from Stanyan Street to Ocean Beach.

Again this morning, I could write a detailed account of my adventures, but I’ll let these photos tell the story. Most people, when they think of San Francisco, probably don’t envision this 1,017-acre urban park. Out of the 45 photos I snapped yesterday, I selected these eleven to share here. I took several detours along the way, so despite the fact that Golden Gate Park is only three-miles long, I walked more than ten miles yesterday. It was a day well-spent.

I’m a 71-year-old native of San Francisco. Yesterday is the first time I’ve walked the entire length of Golden Gate Park.

Better late than never, I guess.

“The fog in San Francisco
is not just a weather pattern;
it’s a living, breathing entity.”

Rebecca Solnit

It was another one of those July San Francisco days. After thirteen hours of persistent fog, the sun finally emerged… at 7:00 p.m., and for less than five minutes. After that, the fog obscured the solar orb for the remainder of the evening. Still, San Francisco is one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

My first PhotoBlog (July 15th) received such positive reviews, I thought sharing yesterday’s seven-mile walk through the Outer Sunset might best be expressed in images, rather than words. You might notice that the biggest difference between the two photoblogs has to do with the brightness of the photos and the color of the sky. Yesterday was downright dreary, a reminder of why I’ve chosen to live in San José.

It was dark. For a while, it was damp. But yesterday’s walk through the Outer Sunset was both invigorating and nostalgic. I’m grateful for the opportunity to revisit my home turf.

“One of the most
beloved and popular
treats was the
ice cream sandwich.”
Annie Reese

It caught me by surprise. Despite the fact that it was 56º, foggy, drizzly, and windy, an ice cream truck, with music blaring, rolled down 48th Avenue yesterday afternoon. An ice cream truck… in San Francisco! I had never heard of such a thing.

Ice cream trucks were popular in my childhood, but not in The City. They could be found in small towns up and down the peninsula between San Francisco and San José and in the East Bay towns like Pleasanton and Concord. These smaller communities, generally speaking, had warmer weather than the City by the Bay. These were places where kids wore shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops in the summer months. Some had a swimming pool in their backyard. Things were different in San Francisco, where summer attire for kids included jeans, sweatshirts, and Converse All Star shoes. City kids never went barefoot outdoors. It was simply too cold.

I have fond memories of encountering ice cream trucks along the peninsula in my younger years. I would often order a Push-Up, Eskimo Pie, or Missile. They were such treats back then. When we would hear the jingle of the songs playing on the loudspeaker of the ice cream truck, we’d quickly ask Mom for a quarter, then run out to the sidewalk and wait for the truck to get to us. The driver would then stop, serve all the kids (and a few adults), then move on.

While we did not have ice cream trucks rolling up and down 38th Avenue in my childhood, we did have the yellow bakery truck that would come by once each week. That was pretty special, too. We’d go outside when we heard the horn sound. The driver would stop, get out, and open the double-doors on the back of the truck. Inside were shelves and drawers with various types of bread, donuts, pastries, and other assorted baked goods. These types of products were popular even when the weather was on the cold side. 

When I heard the music of the ice cream truck approaching yesterday afternoon, I stopped and watched. The truck moved slowly down 48th Avenue between Judah and Irving Streets. On that entire block, no sales were made, which is not surprising since there were no children outside playing. The driver saw me standing on the sidewalk waiting to snap a photo as he passed by. He waved, but didn’t stop. I guess I don’t fit the demographic of an ice cream truck customer. If he had stopped, I was prepared to make a purchase, just because I felt bad for the guy.

I can only imagine that ice cream trucks in The City’s Outer Sunset district would be a tough sell, especially knowing that just a few blocks away, Polly Ann’s Ice Cream has been serving delicious handcrafted ice cream with predictable, stable business hours since 1955. And the soft-serve ice cream at Java Beach Café is pretty darn good, too! 

“Life is not always
perfect. Like a road,
it has many bends,
ups and downs,
but that’s its beauty.” 
Amit Ray

Interstate 280, between San José and San Francisco, is one of the most beautiful stretches of highway in the United States. The trees, rolling hills, open meadows, mountain views, and, at times, a blanket of fog cascading over the top of the hills from the Pacific Ocean, make it a pleasure to drive. Since I moved from The City to San José 53 years ago, I have driven this road more times than I could ever count. Even today, it is a scenic drive I enjoy.

While I did not take the photo of 280 above, I chose it for today’s blog because it is eerily similar to the conditions I experienced driving to San Francisco yesterday morning. The weather reports had warned of inclement weather in The City. Those reports proved to be amazingly accurate.

It was cold, damp, and windy all day, but that didn’t stop beachgoers from making a strong presence along Ocean Beach. I must admit that I am spoiled. Rarely does San Francisco offer what can be called “beach weather.” Yes, there are a few days each year when above-average temperatures draw people to the shore of the Pacific Ocean, but those days are rare indeed. 

After a few hours of reading through the manuscript of my friend’s first book, I took a walk along the Great Highway, which parallels Ocean Beach. The high temperature on this mid-July San Francisco day was 59º. At the time I walked, my weather app indicated that it was 58º, and the “feels like” temperature was 48º. Still, there were numerous groups of people enjoying the natural beauty of the beach.

Walking along the beach yesterday reminded me of Mark Twain’s famous quote about The City: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.”

“It is only the things we
don’t understand that
have any meaning.” 
Carl Jung

The number 43. I’ve written about it before. I’ve shared my experience with repeatedly seeing it in various places throughout my day. This has been going on for several years, and it continues to this day.

It began a few years after my father died. His favorite number was 43. He graduated from Saint Ignatius High School in San Francisco in 1943. When SI had an annual raffle, at which they sold only 200 tickets at $100 each, Dad always bought ticket number 43. (He never won.) When he was sworn-in as Battalion Chief in the San Francisco Fire Department, Dad’s badge number was 43. The number was quite meaningful for him.

In the years following his death, I started to notice the number 43 showing up in random places at various times. For many years, and as recently as last night, when I wake up in the middle of the night, it’s uncanny how often my alarm clock reads 2:43, 3:43, or 4:43. When I get into my car, a 2005 Honda Accord which used to belong to my Dad, the digital clock often indicates that it’s 43 minutes past the hour. At a restaurant in Pacific Grove, Kathy and I received the bill at the end of our meal. The amount due was $43.43. At the gas station one afternoon, a neon sign in the window of the small convenience store announced that the current LOTTO jackpot was $43 million dollars. (Yes, I purchased a ticket, and no, I did not win.) And on numerous occasions, including when I had lunch in The City with my sister, Cathy, a few weeks ago, the table placard given to us when we ordered, which would help the server to locate us when our food was ready, was #43.

I was explaining this to my friend, Dan, as we walked along Laurel Street in downtown San Carlos a few years ago. I suddenly had a feeling… I pulled out my cell phone to look at the time. Dan was as surprised as I was — it was 12:43. How can the frequency of this be explained?

I found this AI response when I Googled “Why do I keep seeing the number 43?”:

“If someone frequently sees the number 43, especially in relation to time (e.g., 10:43, 11:43), it might be interpreted as a personal message or sign, potentially related to one’s life purpose or spiritual journey.”

And there’s this:

“In numerology, the number 43 can symbolize inner wisdom, a search for perfection, and a focus on building a solid foundation for the future.”

And finally, there’s this, written by author Miriam Rachel:

“The number that I have seen lately is 43. Yes, I see 43 everywhere, and I see it mainly on the clock. I tend to look at the clock when it’s 9:43, or 3:43, and so on. I have to say, this did worry me, because 43 is not considered lucky. I know that in Japan, the number does not show up in maternity wards because it can mean bad things regarding birth.”

I’ve resigned myself to not worrying about or trying to understand this phenomenon. It just is, and I’m okay with it. In fact, I savor the moment each time it happens. While I’m aware that each incident may be purely coincidental, I want to believe, and I do believe, that each sighting of the number 43 is Dad’s way of letting me know that he’s still with me, and that he approves of what I’m doing at the moment and with my life in general. While this may sound quirky to some, and I understand this, I am totally at peace with experiencing this anomaly in this way.

Just for the record, as I write this last line of today’s blog post, the time showing on the clock on my computer is… 7:12. Oh, well,…   

“There can be no
vulnerability without risk.
There can be no
community without
vulnerability.”
M. Scott Peck

I could have simply walked on and minded my own business. Most people, I think, would have chosen that option. I didn’t. I noticed something that concerned me — something that posed a risk to the safety of others, so I took action. I rang the doorbell of a house in my neighborhood, even though I had no idea who lived there. I was aware of the possibility that things might not go well, but I was confident that everything would be okay. Remember… I believe the world, and those who reside in it, are basically good.

The danger was posed by two branches of a rose bush which extended well into the pedestrian walkway along the side of the home, located just off Williams Road in San José. Protruding from a gorgeous bougainvillea plant on the south side of the property, the two rose branches had large thorns which had the potential to harm passersby. I almost kept going, but decided to stop and ring the doorbell. It was another one of those serendipitous moments.

The doorbell was a Ring video doorbell attached to the gate of a six-foot wooden fence enclosing the front yard. It took a while for anyone to come to the door, though I could hear a young voice summoning her parents. Finally, a gentleman opened the gate. I didn’t want to alarm him, so I introduced myself and immediately explained my concern. His response could not have been more congenial.

Adeeb and his family have lived in this home for the past few years. His young son and daughter came out to the patio to see who was standing at their gate. They were delightful kids. After explaining the situation about the branches with the thorns, Adeeb and his daughter, armed with two small gardening clippers, walked out to the sidewalk on Williams Road to immediately remove the potentially dangerous obstacles.

Adeeb’s daughter, who was excited to help her Dad with the task, cut the branches precisely where her father directed her to do so. It seemed to me that she was pretty darn proud of the job she did,… and rightly so.

I thanked Adeeb and his daughter for addressing my concern so promptly and with such positivity. I mentioned to him that I write, and that I would like to write today’s blog post about my experience with them, including the photo of him with his daughter cutting the branch. He assured me that he was okay with it.

I should have mentioned that when Adeeb opened the gate and I had my first glimpse into the patio, I couldn’t help but notice something hanging on the wall next to the front door. It was a piece of artwork which read “Blessed and Grateful.”

Yes, they are. And yes, I am — to have had the opportunity to meet them. 

“The future is
already here —
it’s just not
evenly distributed.”
William Gibson

William Ford Gibson is a 77-year-old speculative fiction writer from South Carolina. His writings suggest that while technological and societal advancements exist in some places today, they have yet to be widely adopted. When people today speak about the future already being here, it seems that they are referring to the fact that many of the things that will constitute the normal, everyday lives of those who live in the future already exist for some of us today. I’ve witnessed this with my own eyes.

In recent walks through San Francisco, I couldn’t help but notice the increasing number of driverless cars cruising up and down the streets of The City. The photo above was taken on Monday, July14th on Columbus Avenue in the North Beach section of San Francisco. Driverless cars! How is this possible?

It’s pretty amazing to reflect on all the everyday realities in life today that people didn’t have when I graduated from high school in 1972: digital clocks; solar calculators; personal computers; the Internet; electric cars; microwave ovens; cell phones; digital photography; unleaded gasoline; social media, robotic vacuums, laser eye surgery; Powerpoint presentations; global positioning systems; facial recognition devices; and, of course, driverless cars. This list merely scratches the surface of the technology available to us in 2025.

It’s interesting that in 1995, the English theoretical physicist, Stephen Hawking, predicted that 2025 would be a tipping-point for technological advancements, particularly in space exploration, robotics, and artificial intelligence. It’s this last innovation which scares me most. Apparently, it scared Hawking, as well. He predicted that the advent of artificial intelligence would be “the worst event in the history of our civilization.” 

Hawkings, however, found a way to remain positive, reminding us that regardless of the challenges that confront society, there is always hope. We just need to continue to be curious and determined. It helps, also, to consider hope to be an acronym: Have Only Positive Expectations.

American science fiction writer Ursula LeGuin offers this pearl of wisdom to help us cope with what is to come in the future. She said, “The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.” This may sound ominous, but it’s true.

For now, watch out for those Waymo driverless cars in The City!

“Gratitude turns what
we have into enough.” 
Aesop

It has been almost eight years since the publication of my first book, A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude. This book launched a series of speaking engagements on the topic of gratitude to high school teachers at The Harker School, nurses at Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital at Stanford, young adults at the YMCA Youth Leadership Development Conference in Morgan Hill, and a variety of other schools, churches, and senior living facilities. The speaking engagements came to an abrupt halt in March 2020 when the pandemic hit.

In the years since 2020, I’ve written and published five more books, the most recent being Through the Lens of Gratitude. This book, like my first one, contains fifty brief stories of gratitude followed by a few questions to encourage readers to reflect on gratitude in their own lives. I am just now getting back to giving talks and retreats on the importance of not only feeling grateful, but expressing our gratitude for the many blessings in our lives. As William Arthur Ward once wrote, “Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.”

I was a little surprised to receive a new review of my first book this past week. As I mentioned, it’s been almost eight years since it was published, yet it continues to sell nationwide. This review was written by book publisher Abbie Simire in July 2025.

“I discovered that this book is a gentle but powerful reminder to shift readers’ perspective from focusing on what’s lacking to appreciating what’s present. What stood out to me most is how you don’t just talk about gratitude in theory, you share real heartfelt stories that quietly move readers and inspire reflection. It’s something readers can return to daily whether as a morning ritual or an evening reset. It’s beautifully suited for readers who enjoy mindful living, spiritual reflection, or self-help literature focused on emotional well-being.

“The true gift of this book is how it encourages readers to practice gratitude actively and consistently. In a world that often pushes us to chase more, A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude invites readers to simply stop and say, “Thank you.” I believe readers will walk away with a more grounded, peaceful mindset and a stronger urge to express thanks, both inwardly and outwardly.” 

Abbie was urging me to be more proactive in marketing my books to significantly increase sales. While I am grateful for her encouragement, the cost of doing so is prohibitive. I did not write these books with the intention of making money. I wrote them to simply share my own gratitude for the many people, gifts, and opportunities with which I have been blessed, and to encourage others to do the same. 

“The more you practice gratitude, the more you see how much there is to be grateful for.”  ~ Seneca

“Who is it that can
tell me who I am?” 
William Shakespeare

Meeting new people is a refreshing, energizing experience for me. I’ve always been outgoing, even at a very young age. Some might recall the title bestowed upon me by my elderly neighbor, Sam Young, when I was about ten years old: The Ambassador of 38th Avenue. It’s the title of one of my books. I’ve never been shy about introducing myself to people — that is, until I reached the age when, as a single young man, I was meeting women. For some reason, any self-confidence I had at that time abandoned me in those situations.

It is a strange thing that some of us need others to help us understand who we are. While I was unusually social for my age in my elementary school years, my self-confidence among my peers was non-existent. I’m at a loss to explain why. I could relate quite effectively with older kids, younger kids, and adults, but there seemed to be some kind of barrier preventing me from making healthy connections with kids my own age.

When I got into high school, things were different. It seemed easy for me to relate to my peers. It was one particular teacher, however, who saw something in me that I did not see in myself. Though it was totally undeserved, he invited me to join him, and one of my classmates, to spend the summer working in Jamaica. I met someone there who, three years later, offered me (and the student I was with in Jamaica) a full-time teaching job in a respected Catholic high school in the Bahamas. When I returned to the United States, I was offered a position teaching two classes per day at Bellarmine College Preparatory in San José while I completed my undergraduate studies at Santa Clara University.

While working my first local full-time teaching job, at Saint Christopher School here in San José, my principal urged me to pursue a Master’s degree in school administration, telling me that I had excellent leadership skills, of which I was unaware at the time. During my years in the Master’s program at the University of San Francisco, I needed a job to finance my way through the second year of the program. When I walked into Kennedy Business Machines in San José to get my typewriter fixed so that I could update my résumé, I was unexpectedly offered a position as Operations Manager for the company. The owner, who I had met while teaching at Saint Christopher School, had recognized something in me I had not recognized in myself. He told me that I had excellent organizational skills, which was exactly what the job required.  

It was only through the observations of others that I came to recognize some of the strengths with which I had been blessed. 

Of course, the response of one of my elementary school teachers, when she learned that I was a teacher, was to burst out laughing. She simply could not imagine me managing a classroom full of students, much less having anything of value to teach them. This is precisely what Africa Brooke is referring to in the quote above. 

People who know me today, and did not have the opportunity to know me when I was younger, might be surprised to hear that I had a quick temper. I lacked patience in certain situations. In fact, I removed myself from coaching due to my inability to respond appropriately to questionable officiating. Even as a parent watching my kids play sports, I was a less-than-ideal role model for my kids and the community when I over-reacted to situations on the court or field. I’m not proud of this past, but it is a part of who I am. 

For those who do remember those days, they might be shocked to realize that today, I am calm, content, peaceful, and an excellent mediator in conflict situations. It would be nice if those individuals could lose all recollections of the confrontational person I once allowed myself to be. 

Irish writer Oscar Wilde reminds us of something we should always remember: “All saints have a past, and all sinners have a future.”