Still Doing Fine

Honoring Grandpa Ray, the meaning of Memorial Day, and the strength in daily presence

Every year, Memorial Day arrives with more than just a long weekend. It is a built in moment to stop and reflect. A time to remember those who gave their lives in service, and to honor the people whose lives quietly shaped ours.

But let’s be real. For a lot of folks, the meaning has gotten lost. Memorial Day has turned into furniture sales, car specials, and beach trips. And sure, rest and celebration have their place. I’ll be spending time with friends, enjoying the moment. But somewhere along the way, the depth of the day has gotten drowned out by the noise.

Not for everyone, though. For some of us, this day still holds weight.

For me, it always lands close to home. Literally. It falls near my birthday, and every year it nudges me to pause. To think about the passage of time. To remember the people and moments that built the foundation I am standing on. And I always come back to my grandfather, Grandpa Ray.

He grew up in South Texas and served in World War II. Like a lot of folks from that generation, he saw more of the world through the military than he ever expected. After the war, he moved to Chicago for work, and eventually returned to South Texas to live out his days.

He had his struggles, like all of us. But what I remember most is his rhythm. No matter what was going on, he made time for two things: his morning exercises and his guitar. If you asked him how he was doing, he would say, “I’m doing fine.” And it was not just a phrase. It was a way of being.

I still have his old guitar. A 1970s lawsuit-era Lyle Dove acoustic that sits by my couch to this day. It was not some collector’s item when it came into our family. Grandma Lupe found it at a garage sale in Chicago in the early 80s and bought it for $20. But it became something far more valuable. It is not just an instrument. It is a reminder. Of who he was. Of the daily rituals that anchored him. Of how music and movement kept him grounded, even after all he had seen.

I will share more about the guitar in a future post. It deserves its own story.

The Power of Remembering

Memorial Day asks us to pause and remember the people who made sacrifices far bigger than most of us will ever be asked to make. It also asks us to think about how we remember. Not just those in uniform, but the family members, mentors, and everyday legends who handed us pieces of who we are.

For creatives and entrepreneurs, that kind of remembering is often the missing ingredient. We are wired to chase the next thing. But remembering brings us back to why we started. It connects us to lineage. It reminds us that legacy is not just about scale, it is about spirit.

The Practice of the Pause

We live in a world that does not make much room for silence. But Memorial Day invites us to step out of the rush. Not because there is nothing to do, but because what we do next will be richer if we remember where we have been.

So this holiday, I will think of Grandpa Ray. I will play some music. I will be thankful. I will reflect on what has been built and who helped build it. And I will pause. Not because I have time, but because I need it.

Questions for the Journey

• What stories are you carrying that you have not paused to honor?

• Who taught you something important, not through advice, but through how they lived?

• How can remembering help shape what you are creating today?

If this day stirs up someone you remember, or a tradition you hold close, I would love to hear about it. Feel free to share a memory or reflection in the comments. Let’s honor those stories together.

Because every day is a celebration. And part of that celebration is taking the time to remember.

Astro Joe Garcia

Volver Volver - Vicente Fernandez

It’s a song about coming back, not just to a place, but to a feeling. To a version of yourself you thought you had moved on from, but realize you still carry deep inside. That’s what Memorial Day is, in many ways. A return. A return to gratitude. A return to memory. A return to the people who shaped us. When I hear that chorus swell, I can almost feel Grandpa Ray in the room, still saying he’s doing fine, still picking at that old guitar, reminding me that remembering isn’t looking backward. It’s coming home.