January 24, 2026
ADHD as a superpower

I’m in the studio tonight, watching the snow fall outside the window. We’re on the cusp of an extreme winter storm and I’m finding myself torn between tasks. It’s almost dinner time and we will be expected to be mostly on time, so I don’t have much time to do anything.

I’m editing tracks on our recording software, which really means I’m just listening to tracks and admiring everyone’s creativity and technical ability. In this instance, I’m working on a bass track my brother Billy played. He’s a veterinarian, and the farm’s main breadwinner, but he moonlights as a studio bassist.

Making Something Together

It puts me in mind of a conversation I recently had with our dad—one that I have been having with my wife for a few years—that basically amounts to the fact that I don’t really talk to my brother anymore.

I have known that was partially my fault. I have also known that it was irrelevant whose fault it was, and I have felt powerless to do anything about it. I’m sure it says more about how I see myself than it does how he sees me, in the end.

But regardless, we had no alcohol or other vices. We just had the bass and the fun of making something together. We overlooked each other’s annoying qualities (at least I hope we did), and it was great to do that together.

It got me thinking that the topic would make a great blog entry.

Distraction, Connection, and Time

As I consider that, I get a message back from our some-times drummer, Brack Allen, with his thoughts on the latest track. We start to jaw about our latest projects, and then I’m looking at the clock, the tracks, my open document, and my relationship with my brother and thinking: yep, I’m the problem.

ADHD as a Superpower

You can call it ADHD. It is. I know that. I know they medicate some folks for that. And if I were unlucky enough to need to function in the rigid structure of modern society, I would have to swallow that pill.

However, thanks to the family and community I have chosen, I get to stay home with my wife and kids, build our house, cut and split firewood, record music, write blog posts, and spend time with my brothers.

Someone contributes more money than I do to make that happen. In trade for that, they get me: the ADHD kid who now has the freedom to use what some might call a “disability” as a superpower.

I can lay flooring, write a blog post, engineer a bass track, replace a car thermostat, and cook restaurant-quality dinner. And that’s just scratching the surface.

Building a Place Where Strengths Matter

Imagine if you found yourself in an environment where the thing you think makes you weird—or keeps you from fitting in—becomes your greatest strength.

What would you do to stay there? Would you work hard to contribute what you could? Would you tell stories of that place and celebrate its accomplishments? Take photographs and videos?

Would you try hard to connect with the people you live with—the ones who make that place possible—even when you thought it was impossible?

Rethinking Work and Worth

Turn to those you love and realize that not everyone was born to keep a 9–5. Not everyone was born to bring in money. In fact, no one really is, and anyone who does is making a sacrifice that is as tragic as it is admirable.

Some people are meant to care for others. Some folks are gifted in working the land. Do not let unrealistic social and economic expectations interfere with their good work.

See where their strengths lie and build your community around their power.

From Mountain Roosters (Pine Row Press)

Nervous
Billy

The quiet determination that it took
to create for us a certain look.
The crook of the knee perched on his thigh,
his leg left hanging parallel.
He’ll only rest a spell.

I think Dad likes him better,
though he never did say —
but I think it anyway.
Plenty reasons you could find.

He’s unfettered by anger.
He never is a stranger —
not to anyone who needs
a keenly sharpened mind.

Bring the beasts back to life.
Bring them down with a knife.
There’s many times I admit that I
have wanted to be him.

But I’m myself and cannot be
a thing because I want to be.
I can see its pitfalls,
and I’ll be damned if I don’t know the flaws.

The wary eye that wanders.
The mind that’s plagued with fear.
The old lines that form
from worrying all those years.
Heaven help me recall them all.

He’s standing like a dogwood.
He’s taking on the weight
of every thought that we all think.
Every move he anticipates.
It must get mighty tired.
He ain’t a sapling long.

He’s an awful long sapling still.
I don’t think he’s ever wrong.
He’s aiming at sunshine,
but by God, he casts a shadow.

He says he ain’t so calm.
He ain’t right in the mind.
“Oh, I stay nervous,”
he says,
“just about all the time.”