Chelan David shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Chelan, a huge thanks to you for investing the time to share your wisdom with those who are seeking it. We think it’s so important for us to share stories with our neighbors, friends and community because knowledge multiples when we share with each other. Let’s jump in: What makes you lose track of time—and find yourself again?
For some writing is a chore: a means to an end – memos at work, reminder notes, shopping lists. For me, writing is something that bends time. Oftentimes when I work on a project, I find that hours have melted away, and day has quietly morphed to night.
My love for the written word began when I was a child. During my elementary school years, I could be found at one of two places: a sports field or the library. I discovered early on that words are not simply static symbols on a page, but keys to hidden universes.
As an adult, I strive to inject passion and purpose into every sentence that I write. Writing provides me with a quiet joy, verbs and adjectives unfolding like a giant puzzle. I find the outside world stands still: chores left half-finished, meals barely touched, emails left unanswered. The only true measure of time is the developing arc of the story. Writing provides me with a sense of accomplishment – time may slip away unnoticed, but the completed pages before me deliver a delightful reward.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I majored in Journalism at the University of Kansas. However, I’d never had an article published until I was 30 years old. While I always pursued writing as a hobby, I had never had a piece appear in print, not even in a high school or college newspaper.
This changed when I opened my eyes and learned to view every event, no matter how mundane, as a possible story idea. I found that sometimes the most interesting topics are right under your nose. In other words, write about what you know. My work began to be published in numerous publications and I even embarked on a successful freelance writing career.
One of my bucket list items was to write a book at some point, although it always seemed like a pipe dream. Two years ago, I published Beautiful States of Mind: A Father and Daughters’ Pilgrimage to all 50 States.
I hadn’t originally planned on writing a book about our travels. However, after my two daughters and I had visited about half of the states, I thought it would make an exciting book. It started as a parent travel guide. Then I decided I wanted to make it more personal, so I wove in stories about my childhood, particularly about my parents’ divorce and growing up in a single-parent household.
My most recent book, Stories from the Phog: Forty Years of Kansas Basketball, is also about a topic that I know well. A native of Lawrence, Kansas, I have a unique bond with Kansas basketball. Some of my earliest memories emanate from fabled Allen Fieldhouse, a limestone theater filled with tradition, pageantry, and ghosts of former Jayhawk greats.
As part of Jayhawk Nation I’ve united with fans across the country, forming friendships for a lifetime. It’s a disparate group. Liberal and conservative. Young and old. Various races, gender identities, and socioeconomic backgrounds. We all have one thing in common: a love for Kansas basketball.
Thanks for sharing that. Would love to go back in time and hear about how your past might have impacted who you are today. What’s a moment that really shaped how you see the world?
Following my graduation from the University of Kansas in 1994 I lived in New York City for a couple of years. Several of my friends worked in the Battery Park area. I would meet them for drinks in the Financial District, the twin towers serving as my compass to the southern tip of the borough. Once we took the elevator up to the observatory. I clearly recall the city stretching out below us like a Monopoly board on steroids. It seemed invincible, much like my youth.
Fast forward to September 10, 2001. My ex-wife and I were traveling on a Greyhound bus from her sister’s place in Jacksonville, North Carolina. We were scheduled to arrive in New York City the morning of September 11. The plan was to enjoy a day in Manhattan before flying out on September 12 and taking an extended trip to Europe, fueled by Eurail passes and hostels.
As the Greyhound bus approached the Lincoln Tunnel entrance, I awoke with a jolt as bellowing honks from frustrated commuters pierced the quiet of the morning ride. Smoke was billowing from the top of the World Trade Center. Other passengers began to stir, and soon everyone had their necks craned towards the giant summit of smoke. As we peered towards the buildings a plane inched into our sightline and appeared to be heading straight for the twin images of our nation’s financial fertility. In slow motion, the plane knifed through the side of the tower, and from our vantage point, appeared to plow completely through the structure. The image – much like the carnage many people watched on live television – has been burned into my mind for eternity.
Our bus was rerouted to a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike. There, people desperately tried to reach their loved ones, some who worked in the Financial District. A line snaked around the phone booth while cell phone users cursed their providers. All circuits in New York City were busy, making it virtually impossible to reach anyone for several hours. From our vantage point it looked like someone had dropped a bomb on lower Manhattan. All one could see was a giant plume of smoke.
Ten days later we were among the first guinea pigs to test the tepid airwaves following the deadliest attack in American history. As bad as the memories I have of September 11 are, I will always have wonderful memories of our jaunt through the great cathedrals, museums and restaurants of London, Paris, Amsterdam, Zurich, Rome, and Barcelona. At the gift shop of one cathedral in Paris I flipped through a book and noticed the following passage, written by Max Ehrmann: “You are a child of the universe and whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive God to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.”
It was as if Ehrmann had witnessed a destruction similar to what I had seen and penned these beautiful verses to enlighten the masses. In the same way as the deceased author, I have pledged to be a good-will ambassador: someone who is always at peace, someone who explores the world and reaches out to others to prevent intolerance and misunderstanding. It might sound idealistic, but these are my aspirations. The tragedy still haunts me, but it has made me determined to do all I can in the years I am given, because as my author friend said, “It is still a beautiful world.”
What have been the defining wounds of your life—and how have you healed them?
When I separated from my ex-wife I never thought I’d struggle so much transitioning to my next phase of life. More than anything I felt like a colossal failure. I didn’t want my kids to experience the same parental discord that I had growing up; my parents separated when I was very young and never got along with each other.
Fortunately, a few months after the divorce we reached an amicable agreement to split custody of the children 50/50. Gone, however, were the carefree spur-of-the-moment weekend trips. Usually, I had a 24-hour window before I had to drop off the kids. Struggling to adapt to being single, starting a new job and making the most of my time with the kids, travel – which used to be a means for family bonding – was put on the backburner.
In January of 2014, I took my first solo flight with my two daughters: to New York City for a week-long trip. The trip was the first step to fulfilling a pledge I had made when I was granted equal custody. I wanted to visit all 50 states with them before they graduated from high school. In the fall of 2022, we completed our mission by visiting our final state: Hawaii.
On the road and at home, we have accumulated a trove of memories and a foundation of values they can draw upon when needed. Whether it be divorce, death, or distance, I’ve learned that separation can be bridled. Sometimes it requires time. For me it has also required exploration. In the process, I’ve developed a loving relationship with my new wife Isabel, who joined us on our last several trips. Through travel I have come to peace with my past and am ready to embrace my future, whatever that may hold.
Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. Whom do you admire for their character, not their power?
Bill Self is recognized as one of the greatest coaches of all time. During his 22 years at the University of Kansas he’s won more than 800 games and boasts a winning percentage of nearly 80 percent. Last year he passed Phog Allen as the winningest coach in program history. When I asked him about breaking the coaching legend’s record Self said while it was a nice accomplishment he wouldn’t think about it for long. He attributed breaking the record to the fact that teams play more games than they used to and his longevity.
Widely celebrated for his achievements, he remains grounded, focused on mentoring young athletes and helping them reach their potential. His enduring legacy is a testament to the power of character over celebrity—a true Hall of Fame coach whose modesty inspires those around him.
Okay, we’ve made it essentially to the end. One last question before you go. What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?
I imagine when people talk about me after I’m gone, they’ll mention three things: my love for my children and wife, Isabel, my love for travel, and my love of the Kansas Jayhawk basketball program. One moment encapsulates all three of these penchants.
I was fully intending to watch the 2022 Final Four from the comforts of my suburban basement. Then fate intervened. I received a late-night text from my former boss just a few days before tip-off. He knew I was a huge KU fan and asked if I would be interested in a pair of tickets, his treat.
My initial reaction was hell yeah! Then reality set in. Would I be able to take off work, who would I go with, where would I stay, how would I get there? Ultimately, I had to find a way. Watching KU win a national championship in person is a bucket list item that doesn’t present itself very often.
First, I asked for a couple of days off work. Isabel wasn’t able to go so I asked my oldest daughter Neah, a huge basketball fan, if she would like to accompany me. She eagerly accepted. On Friday after work, we started the 13-hour drive to New Orleans. On the first night I drove nine hours, nearly nonstop. We arrived in New Orleans on Saturday, about three hours before the start of the Kansas vs. Villanova game.
In the semifinal game, Kansas triumphed over Villanova. Then, in the championship game against North Carolina, the Jayhawks fell behind by 15 points at halftime. Following an extraordinary comeback, KU led 72-69 with less than five ticks left. North Carolina had the ball. It was the longest five seconds of my life. The Tar Heels’ final shot failed to draw iron and bounced out bounds as the clock expired.
I’d watched each championship game over the past forty years. I knew exactly what to expect. Still, the next few moments were surreal. Coaches and players on the winning side looked for people to embrace. Coaches and players on the losing side consoled each other. Confetti streamed from the rafters. And then it hit me. The Jayhawks were the national champions. They had just completed the greatest comeback in championship history. I had watched something in person that I had waited my whole life for. And I had done it with my daughter.
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