Definition of iUniversian

I grew up in Northern Illinois, listening to rock and roll and the Chicago Cubs on a transistor radio, building tree forts, riding motorcycles, playing neighborhood sports—just being a kid, right up until 1972. Even then, I was paying attention. Not in any formal way—just noticing how things worked, how moments felt, how people fit together.

Then my parents chased a dream, and we moved to Hollywood, Florida.
That move changed everything. I was thirteen—right at that formidable moment when childhood begins to loosen its grip and a young person starts becoming a man.

Hollywood is where I started high school and discovered tennis—lots of tennis. I played on my high school team for three years and won the state championship in my senior year. The game taught me far more than how to hit a ball. It taught rhythm, timing, patience, resilience, and how the smallest adjustments can completely change an outcome. I made lifelong friends, felt the freedom of South Florida, and learned what it meant to be fully alive in the present moment.

After graduation, I attended Southern Illinois University at Carbondale, where I played Division II college tennis for two years and had an absolute blast. While there, I had a dream: to bring the entire city and campus together for a community-wide cleanup. That idea became Carbondale Clean-Up Day. Thousands of volunteers participated. We collected over twenty tons of litter, received logistical support from the National Guard—trucks, jeeps, and manpower—and even designed the world’s largest broom, now featured in Ripley’s Believe It or Not. It was a powerful lesson in what people can accomplish when they move together with shared purpose.

Carbondale is also where I met my wife, earned a degree in Finance, and—through a series of unlikely turns—ended up teaching tennis for a living. I loved it. Still do. Teaching the game meant teaching people, and teaching people meant listening, adapting, and understanding that no two minds—or swings—are ever the same.

Today, I live with my wonderful wife, Bonnie, as we begin our retirement years together. Life remains challenging, but it is good. I’m grateful. Humbled. Still curious.

Life, after all, has a way of reminding you—just when things are going smoothly—that you’re not in charge of everything. She throws a curveball now and then, not to punish, but to recalibrate. To return you to balance. To invite reflection.

Looking back, I realize I’ve always been asking quiet questions about existence, connection, and meaning—shaped by lived experience and influenced by voices like John Lennon and The Beatles. Not in classrooms or journals, but in motion, relationships, music, sport, and service. That lifelong curiosity eventually found a name: iUniversian. Not as a doctrine or belief, but as a way of noticing the infinite individuality and shared belonging of everything that is.

The website. The writing. The music—including a song titled iUniversian—are simply expressions of that noticing.

An invitation, really.

When I’m not teaching tennis, I love writing songs, playing guitar (my wife jokingly calls it my mistress—lol), and recording music. Music has always been a place where curiosity, emotion, and meaning quietly meet for me.

In writing music, I was heavily influenced by John Lennon’s songwriting—especially the more cosmic and reflective aspects found in works like Nowhere Man, Across the Universe, and All You Need Is Love. Those songs changed the way I thought about music, humanity, and possibility. After his death, I found myself writing as if continuing a conversation—imagining what he might be exploring if he were still here. So I wrote it myself. My songs live on my YouTube channel, not as imitation, but as dialogue. That creative journey eventually opened the door to writing about the things I feel called to explore now in retirement, with the hope of making a positive difference in the world if I can.

I enjoy watching sports, especially championship moments—those rare intersections where preparation meets pressure and character shows itself. I also love feeding my mind continually, inviting neuroplasticity to do its work by watching science, cosmology, and personal-growth programs, reading books and blogs, and writing with friends.

For more than two decades, I wrote a tennis blog, sharing original tips each week with over six hundred of my students here in Atlanta. Along the way, I also wrote Grand Slam commentaries, which I published on my tennis Facebook page—using the game not just to teach technique, but to explore mindset, discipline, and the inner game we’re all really playing.

I love walking on the beach and through the forest—listening to waves, wind, and trees, taking it all in. In recent years, that connection has deepened through a new hobby: building and placing birdhouses and engaging in small acts of stewardship in the woods. It’s simple, grounding work—creating shelter, observing life, and being reminded that presence matters.

As a grandfather, I’ve learned just how central children are to our shared future. Their innocence, curiosity, and sense of wonder have sharpened my focus and deepened my sense of responsibility. That awareness first grew through the children I taught in tennis and has only expanded over time. Much of my writing today is grounded in honoring their wonder and protecting the future they will inherit.

I enjoy spending time with friends and family, good food, and the occasional glass of spirits now and then—just enough to lighten up and remember not to take life too seriously.

Above all, I remain a child in awe of Mother Nature, grateful for my own beingness in the place where we all came into being and continue to reside—Planet Earth. Each day, I make an honest attempt to be present, to appreciate what stands before me: the infinite ballet of iUniversians, thinking, moving, and quietly making it all happen.

Namaste.

Yes, I still dream—at the ripe old age of 167!! 😉

Since my college years, I’ve quietly grounded my life around a simple creed, one that continues to guide my steps and shapes what this site is all about. It isn’t a doctrine or a rulebook—just a compass. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.

“That human is a success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much;
who has gained the respect of intelligent men and women and the love of children;
who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;
who leaves the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul;
who never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty or failed to express it;
who looked for the best in others and gave the best she or he had.”
— Robert Louis Stevenson
 

Those words have long felt like the language of my soul’s journey. They’ve shaped how I measure success—not by accumulation or conquest, but by care, contribution, and gratitude.

As I’ve grown older—and especially as a grandfather—my dreams have widened in time. I find myself thinking more about the generations yet to come, about the kind of world we are quietly preparing for them. I’m drawn to the belief that if we look far enough ahead—seven generations or more—we naturally choose gentler paths. Paths that favor understanding over force, cooperation over conflict, and peace over violence whenever possible.

This website and blog are offered in that spirit. A place of reflection, reverence, and celebration—for peace, love, and harmony. Not the slogan kind. Not the nostalgic kind. But the deeper kind we all sense is possible, the kind we quietly hope for, and the kind worth dreaming toward together.