A Masterclass in Surrender

Good evening dear readers,

I know it has been a while since I’ve written to you, and there’s a good reason for that. My life has been all over the place for the last month—one big storm if you will—and I am just now getting back to a point of being able to breathe, grieve, and process everything that has unfolded.

On Tuesday October 8, around 5:00PM, I got the call that my father had passed away. This was a kind of expected unexpected news for all of us that you can never really prepare for.

My father had weathered more than his fair share of health problems. He survived at least four major heart attacks, including a triple bypass at age 41 and a near-death-experience two years ago where he was gone for nearly 40 minutes. This event changed him physically and spiritually. His body was irreparably damaged and he struggled with most daily functions.

To add to his physical limitations, he experienced serious mental conditions throughout the last 25 years. He was diagnosed bipolar disorder, paranoid schizophrenia, and delusions of grandeur. (I almost wrote “he suffered from mental illness” but my dad wasn’t the one who suffered.) Even on his penultimate day (his birthday actually), he was happier than ever. Both thrilled and grateful to have been given another birthday, feeling healthy and strong as ever, and glad to have his white horse as Jesus2, the messenger of Source God of the Orion Star Belt, in our fight against Enemy Reptilians out to destroy the human race across the universe.

Yes, you read that correctly, and his “ark,” or “white horse,” was his book Rapture 2025. He even had a pretty sweet logo for it, if you ask me.

My dad was an interesting character, but he had an unshakable joy and a beautiful appreciation for simplicity and the life he had. He played the cards he was dealt to the best of his ability and stayed in the game as long as he could. And above all, he was happy.

During the visitation and funeral services, an unexpected recurring theme emerged as people talked about how happy he was. People who had only known him from afar or had a few chance encounters with him all expressed that not only was he a happy person, but that he made them feel happier after being around him.

There are few greater compliments that can be said of us after we pass than that we made others happier for having been in our presence.

My dad was an incredibly complex individual, and no two people knew the same Rich Flentge. Even my brothers and I have vastly different experiences with the man we all call Dad. Yet, we all loved him in our own way and I think this offers a valuable lesson about the nature of love.

We often think of love in very clean, concrete terms with straightforward definitions and neatly defined parameters. We quote passages from the Bible about what love is and what love is not, and we hold others to our standard of self love. We think we know what love is “supposed to feel like,” and we confidently place some things into the love bucket or leave others out. We might even try to give ourselves permission to love certain things!

I can love this because ______.

I can’t love that because ______.

Hippies are often chaffed for their ideas that everything is love, love is all around us, etc. and even though we poke fun at them a little, there is truth even without the long hair, tie dye, and peace signs.

Love is wild and sprawling and messy. Love presents itself in many forms. The way we love our dog, the sunshine and cool breeze, our friends and partners, and the way we love complicated people.

Loving someone both despite and because of their complexities might be one of the purest expressions of the sacred act, and the final lesson I believe my Dad taught us all. Even if he didn’t intend to, he showed us how to love someone who was often hard to love, to embrace what doesn’t make sense, and to find peace in the paradox.

My dad passed as he lived: on his own terms. He sat down in his favorite chair, on a porch he built with his neighbor, on a beautiful day, and excited for his best friend to come visit him. He closed his eyes, inhaled one final time, fully appreciating the beauty in the air, and as he exhaled he surrendered his spirit to the Universe, trusting whatever came next. His heart was full of joy as he quietly slipped into the next stage of his soul’s journey.

His life was in many ways as loud and chaotic as he was, and placid rest was his due. Though we could argue it was too soon, I believe his final act shows us how to rest, a masterclass in surrender. And I hope that when my time comes, I can sit down in my favorite chair, in front of my favorite view, on a beautiful day, and release my contented spirit to the ether.

Another silver lining from this event is the reconnection with my family. The last time I can remember seeing most of my cousins, including one of my aunts and her family, was in 2005, coincidentally was at my grandfather’s funeral. Death has a way of bringing us back to what matters most. Our connection, forgiveness, and the invisible threads of love that tie us together in ways that transcend lifetimes.

Despite the 20-year gap in our lives, after a few short moments and summary introductions, we were laughing and cutting up together as if no time had passed at all. I even have plans to visit my cousin in Alaska in June 2026! My Dad brought us all back together again, and I am deeply grateful for the time I got to spend with them.

Through it all, life has been demanding my surrender.

I won’t romanticize it.

It been difficult physically, emotionally, and financially. Travel is exhausting. I spent 15 out of 20 nights on a couch (none of which were particularly comfortable, by the way). I was away my partner, my dog, my work, and the gym for a lot longer than usual. Money is tight. This trip took a bold highlighter to my financial situation because, frankly, my business isn’t currently making any money.

There’s a lot that feels uncertain.

And if I’m being honest, there are lots of parts of me that feel very lost at the moment.

Surprisingly, though, I’m not afraid.

Because, for the first time in my life, I am taking fine-toothed comb through my life and critically evaluating parts of myself that I’d put on autopilot. This experience is teaching me to deeply evaluate what I value and to make decisions based on those values. It is teaching me to be the Universe’s humble student. Life is my classroom currently, and I’m having fun being a student again.

I once heard that the Universe doesn’t respond to the depths of your desires, it responds to the depth of your surrender.

It is not comfort that creates transformation. It’s surrender.

If you’re in a season of uncertainty, like I am, maybe your only job right now isn’t to fix it. Maybe it isn’t to bear down, dig in, or try and strong-arm life into doing your bidding. Maybe it is to rest and to listen.

Sit down in your favorite chair.
Take a deep breath.
And let go, even if just for a moment.

Peace is found when we stop running, not by running harder.

I’m less than 6 months into my entrepreneurial adventure, which I know is barely a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things, and I’m still figuring out what shape this will take. Each step and every pause is part of the path. Much like my dad, I am grateful for every day, and I get to make the most of each of them, completely uninterrupted.

I needed to sit for a while, but I’m excited to get back up, get back in the saddle, and start moving forward. I’ve got a book to write, a bus to buy, a Youtube channel to fill, and a message to share.

But today, I’m grateful to be here. Alive, sitting in my favorite chair, on a beautiful day.

Until next time, live uninterrupted.

~Coleman