If It's Worth Doing, It's Worth Doing Wrong

The title of this entry is not a typo, but a restatement of an idea from G. K. Chesterton. He said, “anything worth doing is worth doing badly." He (and I) aren’t suggesting you set out to fail at life. No, the idea here is to free yourself from the tyranny of failure. And you might remember some of this logic from my earlier post Fuck up, but don’t be a fuck-up. Maybe I’m repeating myself, but one, I’m pretty sure that’s what parents do, two, this is a different twist on that idea, and three, let’s see you come up with a completely original piece of advice every week for a year without repeating yourself.

The G.K. Chesterton society wrote “Chesterton’s advice is not an excuse for poor efforts. It is perhaps an excuse for poor results. But our society is plagued by wanting good results with no efforts (or rather, with someone else’s efforts). We hire someone else to work for us, to play for us (that is, to entertain us), to think for us, and to raise our children for us. We have left ‘the things worth doing’ to others, on the poor excuse that others might be able to do them better.”

And while that’s a great message, my take on this concept is slightly different. While you should not set out to fail, what if fear of failure keeps you from setting out at all? While “anything worth doing is worth doing well” is an admirable aspiration, do you really have the time and energy to do everything well? <Spoiler alert> No. You don’t.

For example, let’s say you want to get swole, but don’t have time to lift for two hours every day. You could tell yourself that you’ll never be able to get “24-inch pythons” like Hulk Hogan and never start lifting weights. “Why bother, if I can’t do it well?” you might say. Or, instead of getting caught up in the idea of creating the perfect exercise plan, you might find a way to lift for 20-30 minutes a couple times a week. And while that won’t get you front row tickets to the gun show, it’s better than nothing.

Sometimes, nothing is the alternative, and doing something wrong is often better than not doing it at all. Not always, mind you. You wouldn’t pick a heart surgeon, an auto mechanic, or an airline pilot who just wants to do their best, even if it’s not quite up to standards. These somethings have life and death consequences for being done badly. So, if doing it wrong would mean killing hundreds of people, or even killing one people, you can tell me and Chesterton to kiss your ass.

But, if doing it wrong means you don’t achieve the ideal result, but you’ll get a better result than doing nothing? Go right ahead and do it wrong. See sex, pizza, and dancing with a pretty girl. Even done badly, they’re still pretty damn good.

But sometimes, doing it wrong leads to doing it right. And if you’re so afraid of failure that you never try, you’ll never give yourself the chance to get there.

Please note that this advice does not apply to mowing our lawn. That is a thing that must be done, and done well. When the time comes for you to take on that task, rest assured that I, (just like my Dad did for me), will help ensure you do it well.

Let’s go back to Chesterton. He later quoted his own advice in “When Doctors Agree” in the collection, The Paradoxes of Mr. Pond (1937). “...In defense of hobbies and amateurs and general duffers like himself: ‘If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.’”

Before you become an expert at anything, you must be an amateur. You know who generally does things badly? Amateurs. We bumble, fumble and fail, learning as we go. A few of us go on to master skills like playing an instrument, a sport, or smoking brisket. Most of us continue to suck, and find that even if the brisket is a little overcooked, it’s still brisket, which even in its inferior forms, is still damn delicious.

So, what if you don’t have time to apprentice under pit masters who’ve smoked hundreds of thousands of briskets over multiple decades? I didn’t. I had enough time to watch some videos and read some articles. And while I’ll never be a barbecue pitmaster or open my own restaurant, I will be full of brisket, whenever the hell I want it.

Okay, so if you’re on board, how do you enjoy doing something badly? Learn to enjoy the doing as much as the result. Sounds easy, yeah? It’s not. Our default is to focus on the end of a task, of what it produces. But if you focus on the task itself, you’ll find you can enjoy the doing, but you can enjoy it even if the result isn’t perfect. Back to the brisket: it’s a time-consuming process, but includes being outside, drinking cold beer, and enjoying the smell of smoking meat. The process is no brisket sandwich, but it’s a damn good time.

Here’s the sneaky gold nugget hidden in this pile of “go and do things badly”: If you’re going to excel at anything, you’ll need to practice. (Unless you’re Alan Iverson) If you love the doing, not just the state of having done, you’ll look forward to practice. And that energy and enthusiasm will help you improve your skills. Whether it’s cooking a brisket or riding a bike, practice makes you better. Add practice to doing something badly, and eventually, you’ll do it better and better until someday, you’ll find you’re doing it well, or at the very least, not so badly.

I wish for you the courage to go and try all the things you want to try, to stretch yourself without the fear of failing, and the self-confidence to try and try again, even when you do things badly. The world offers you an unbelievable amount of things to try and do, so don’t let a fear of doing things badly stop you from doing them all.

I love you,

Dad

Don't Force It

If I were to condense all of my Dad’s fatherly advice during my childhood to one sentence, it would be “don’t force it.” He usually meant it literally; if I was putting something together or taking it apart and something got stuck or wouldn’t fit. “Don’t force it,” he’d say, and every time I strip a screw or snap a piece of plastic in half trying to put something together, I hear that in my head. Dammit, Dad, I forced it.

Remember that every time you’re turning a wrench or driving a screw and you’ll break less stuff.

But the saying is also useful outside the garage. In that sense, it means almost exactly what’s on Charles Bukowski’s grave. Bukowski’s version says, “Don’t try.” And rather than put words in a dead man’s mouth, I’ll use his words to explain. Bukowski said, “Somebody asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?" You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks, you make a pet out of it."

And just like Bukowski’s maxim, my Dad’s “don’t force it,” isn’t an admonition to not apply yourself. It’s a reminder to use the right amount of effort at the right time.

Making new friends? Don’t force it. Everyone needs human connection. It’s a universal human drive. So, when you’re in a new group of people, you’re going to want to make new friends. That’s good. But if you force it by acting overly needy, possessive, or demanding that everyone be your friend? You’ll find nobody wants to be friends with you. That’s bad.

Instead, be patient and have confidence. But like everything, don’t force that confidence. Confidence is great, but too much of it turns into arrogance. Arrogance makes you an asshole, and the only people who like that are other assholes. So, lest you become an asshole who’s only friends with other assholes, sprinkle that confidence with some humility. Everybody’s shit stinks, even yours. Trust me, after two and a half years of changing your diapers, I know.

Finding real friends takes patience, but when you click with someone you won’t need to force it, you’ll just know. And don’t take this as me telling you to not be friendly. You can be friendly to everyone without being friends with everyone.

What about romantic relationships? Again, don’t force it. Love isn’t always easy, but it’s also not supposed to be that hard. My friend Dan said that to me once, years after we’d both finally figured that out. And it may be a lesson you need to learn on your own. I didn’t know that in my 20’s and 30’s, and I spent too much time in relationships that just weren’t right. The misfit can be personal or situational; you might not be ready or the other person might be an asshole, either one can make it not work. I either finally figured it out when I met your Mom, or she was the reason I figured it out. Either way, for the first time, it really worked.

Career choices? This one’s harder, but still, don’t force it. Finding the right career and deciding what you want to do is an overlap between having the right opportunity and having the skills and desire to make the most of that opportunity. Just like you can’t play in the NBA if you don’t know how to dribble a basketball, you can’t get a job as an accountant if you don’t know anything about math.

It can be frustrating, and it certainly has been for me, but if the opportunity isn’t there, it doesn’t matter how much you want it, there’s no forcing someone to hire you. What you can do is work on your craft, prepare for your opportunity and be sure that when the opportunity does show up, you have the skills you need to make the most of it.

So whether it’s Cadillacs, creation, immortality, or making new friends, finding love, and finding your career, don’t try and don’t force it. When the fit is right and the opportunity makes itself clear, make the most of what’s there. You’ll break less stuff and kill more bugs.

I love you,

Dad

Sportsmanship Advice From a Reforming Poor Sport

I hope that you win with class and lose with grace. Congratulate the other side when things don’t go your way, and be a kind and graceful winner when they do. That’s a big wish, but most of all, I hope you don’t inherit my temper and the urge to break things when you lose. It’s embarrassing, expensive, and even at 44, when your Uncle Drew outdrives me and I duck hook one into the woods, I still have to talk myself out of snapping a golf club in half.

But first, let me clarify: I’m talking sports and sportsmanship, but like much of what happens on the field, this translates to the rest of your life.

Let’s do winning first, mostly because while winning isn’t easy, winning with grace is way easier than losing with class. Not that I have a championship trophy from the time I was kind and graceful after dropping 40 points on a crosstown rival, but I do know how to win without making the other guy feel like shit. And while winning well is much easier than losing well, there are plenty of shitty winners.

I like the sports cliche “when you get to the end zone, act like you’ve been there before.” It’s a nice way to frame being a graceful winner; it encourages restraint. Celebrate with your teammates, congratulate your opponent on a well-played game, and demonstrate some humility in victory. It also shows an an unspoken kindness to the losing side.

When you win, it’s easy to forget how bad it feels to try your hardest, give everything you have, and still lose. Winning with grace means remembering the pain that comes with losing, and if you’ve forgotten, that shit hurts. It hurts like being stabbed, so don’t make your victory about pouring salt in someone else’s wound, especially while it’s still bleeding.

To be clear, I’m not telling you that victory celebrations are inherently wrong. Why? I think the ideal of the stoic sportsman could have problematic roots. As I articulated why I believe what I do about sportsmanship, I considered how much of it comes from my own (white) cultural norms. And that, coupled with the fact that non-white athletes were excluded from professional and college sports for much of the last century got me thinking.

Is the ideal of the stoic sportsman based on white norms of sportsmanlike conduct from an era of all white athletes? Maybe. I’m no cultural historian, but maybe. If it is, I’d be perpetuating a racist cultural stereotype if I told you exuberant celebrations are inherently wrong. I’m not saying it is or isn’t, because I don’t know the answer. But it is worth considering.

In the same vein, I want to avoid the idea that a man’s only feelings should be quiet victory and ejaculation. That rubs up against a type of toxic masculinity I don’t subscribe to and don’t intend to lay on you.

Cultural norms evolve, and so have people’s beliefs about what is and isn’t an appropriate celebration on a baseball diamond, football field, basketball court, etc. Bombastic bat flips, choreographed end zone dances, and sideline shenanigans would have once gotten you ejected. Now? You see them every day.

It’s easy to assume intent. That holds true everywhere, and it’s always a bad idea. Someone cuts you off on the highway and you assume they did it on purpose. And maybe they did. Or maybe they’re late for work, just got dumped, or headed to the hospital with something stuck up their butt. You can’t know what’s on other people’s minds, in their hearts, or up their butts.

Same thing holds true for sports. You see a player dancing on the sidelines with a teammate and think they’re disrespecting you. Maybe they’re just hyped and excited. Maybe that was their first career touchdown. Maybe they sat on a kicking tee.

That said, this isn’t just about sports. I’m talking about winning and losing beyond the basketball court. Like, in a real court, or in a conference room, or anywhere in life. Remember that this applies anywhere you compete with others, where the outcome is unknown, and you can succeed or fail.

When your victory means someone else’s loss, keep some compassion for them in your heart. Treat them with respect and kindness, however you choose to celebrate.

Unfortunately, you can’t always win, and you won’t always win. Sometimes you lose, and you need to be able to lose with grace. There’s a kind of sportsmanship that I’ve always aspired to. Watch Andrew Luck getting sacked. He played quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts, and regularly congratulated opposing players after they sacked him. He doesn’t even wait until he’s off the ground. 300 pounds of defensive lineman laying on top of him, Luck slaps him on the helmet and says, “ooh, nice hit, man!” or “Way to get after it!” He even calls out the other players by name, “Good tackle, Bruce!”

That’s an extreme, but I think there’s real power in that example. Not only is it kind, but it’s as if he’s unaffected but the setback. That’s part of what I find so appealing about the behavior, it says, “I may have lost today, but I remain confident about my chances tomorrow.”

Unfortunately, I haven’t always shown that kind of grace. I once broke my own ankle with a tennis racquet. I was frustrated with my partner in mixed doubles and aiming to emphatically knock clay off my shoe, but still, I had to cover my face after I typed that. That was 20 years ago, and I like to think I’ve matured, but that temper still pops up.

Here’s how I deal. First, congratulate the winner. Great game, good win, nice job. That kind of stuff, but be sincere. Second, you might be tempted to blame someone or something for your loss. Don’t. Nobody wants to hear why you shouldn’t have lost or how you were robbed. Not only is that a weak attempt to discredit someone else’s win, but it makes you sound like a brat.

Third, go feel your feelings. Losing hurts, and I don’t expect you to be okay with it. You can feel angry, sad, and dejected, but rather than emotionally castrating yourself and denying that pain, you’re better off embracing it, dealing with it, and finding an outlet for those emotions. You might need to grieve for a minute. That’s okay. Once you have, that pain makes great motivational fodder. Pour it into your preparation for the next challenge. Just try not to break anything, and if you have to break something, make it something cheap.

One last thing. Your Mom and I will feel your wins and losses too. If you need someone to help celebrate a win or suffer through a loss, your two biggest fans are always ready to go.

Game on and I love you,

Dad

When your Heroes Have Halitosis

“Don’t meet your heroes,” goes the old saying. Why? Because there’s a good chance you’ll be disappointed, that’s why. And what then? What if they’re not as great as you thought they were? Will they still be your heroes? The sad truth is, you don’t have to actually meet your heroes to be disappointed. I’ve never met a rapist comedian, a doping cyclist, or a legendary football coach who covered up the sexual abuse of young boys. And yet I’ve been disappointed by all three.

Should you have no heroes? Seems awfully cynical. Especially since some people do mind-blowing shit that’s completely awesome, if not inspiring. Seeking role models and heroes is a part of growing up and a part of being human. Instead, I say go right ahead and meet your heroes, warts and all. Just be prepared for them to be human, to fail, and for them to not meet all your expectations. Because humans are messy, flawed creatures who all make mistakes.

Here’s a better adage about heroes. “Be careful who your heroes are, and why. Adjust your expectations accordingly.” You might admire your pastor because of their moral leadership, empathy, and virtuous lifestyle. Would you also expect they’d be able to rain threes and dunk a basketball? I hope not, because that’s a good way to get your pick-up team crushed at the Y. Conversely, if you admire someone because of what they can do on the basketball court, maybe don’t make assumptions about their moral leadership and virtuous lifestyle. The truth is, until you know a person, you don’t really know them. And that goes for celebrities, professional athletes, and even the kid down the street.

The difference with celebrities, musicians, and professional athletes is that we think we know them. We can read their bios, watch their interviews, see them in commercials, and cruise their socials. We buy into their public persona. We see who they are on the court, field, or pitch and then believe this is who they are all the time. And then, when they come up short of our expectations, we feel like they’ve failed us. You could argue that it’s unfair to them, but I’d argue that it’s unfair to you.

You’ve set yourself up to be disappointed by assuming your hero is a good person. Or, flipping it around, you might assume someone is a complete douchebag because they showboat in the end zone, yell at reporters, or stomped on another player’s chest in the NCAA basketball tournament. While I’m not condoning any of those actions, they’re not always indicative of of who these people really are. It’s possible that your hero hits his kids and cheats on his wife while the person you hate gives back to his community and takes care of his Mama. I’m not saying it’s true, just that it’s possible. My point is that until you know, you don’t.

That’s not to say people with exceptional skills don’t deserve respect and admiration for those skills. Just don’t assume that their exceptional skills make them exceptional people, and don’t shit your pants if they end up just being regular-ass imperfect humans like the rest of us.

My point is to be careful who you idolize, who you look up to, and why. When you don’t see the entire person, it’s easy to fill in the blanks with answers that make you comfortable, that fit the narrative you want to believe. If you can realize this about your heroes, you can realize it’s also true for everyone else around you. The people you fall in love with, your friends, and especially the people who raise you. None of them are perfect.

The key to accepting and understanding this imperfection comes in how you measure a person’s failures and how you reconcile those failures with your image of that person.

Take me and your Mom, for example. We’re going to make mistakes. We’ll lose our tempers, fail at parenting, and let you down. As much as it pains me to write that, I know it’s true. I don’t want it to be true, and we’re both going to try our damndest to make it not true, but it will happen. What then?

Since this is advice, I’ll tell you what then. You set expectations for how people handle their mistakes if they want to stay in your life. And since we want to stay in your life more than pretty much anything on this earth, this is what you can expect from us.

Step one - demand accountability. Expect the imperfect friends, family, and parents in your life to be accountable for their mistakes, to own their messes. And while owning it doesn’t clean it up and make it right, it’s the first step. So, when someone screws up, expect them to admit it.

After accountability comes step two, which should be an apology. If you want to get picky, step one and two could happen together, as good apologies include accountability.

Side note: Some apologies don’t include accountability, like “I’m sorry you were offended when I sent you a picture of my testicles,” or “I regret that mistakes were made when your dog was run over.” These are bullshit apologies that dodge accountability. Call that shit out for what it is; narisisstic garbage.

Step three should be making it right, either cleaning up a mess, correcting a mistake and/or taking steps to make sure it doesn’t happen again. And as the person who was wronged, it’s up to you to say when there’s been enough of steps one, two and three.

Step four is on you, and that’s forgiveness. Don’t rush this one. You need to feel your feelings, express and let go of your hurt. But, don’t be a dick about it. If the offending party has owned their mistake, apologized, and made an honest effort to make it right, and you’re still not ready to forgive them, you’d better have a good reason. Those reasons exist, just make sure you understand why you’re holding onto that resentment.

Back to the heroes we weren’t supposed to meet. You can apply these four steps to their failures, and expect the same accountability, apology and actions to make it right. And while Pacman Jones might not call your cell phone after he gets in another bar fight, you can look for their public statements and actions to judge whether or not they deserve your forgiveness.

Whether they do or they don’t, I’d suggest you not become too invested in people you don’t actually know. Easier said than done, I know. And I’m as guilty as anyone else; I want to believe in the athletes I cheer for and the comedians and writers who inspire me. It’s okay to be disappointed when they fall, but don’t let it crush you.

It’s hard to remember that despite what we see on a screen, read online, or hear in a podcast, many of the people we call our heroes aren’t the people we think they are. It’s harder to remember that none of them are perfect, but it’s worth reminding yourself that neither are you. So, if your hero forgot to brush their metaphorical teeth the day you get their autograph, cut them a little slack. Maybe even pass them a mint. Because as far as I know, most of us roll out of bed with some stank on our breath.

I love you,

Dad

Do you smell updog?

If you remember nothing else from this entry on how to greet people, remember this quote from Mr. Miyagi, the fictional karate master of "The Karate Kid."

“Look eye, always look eye.”

And whether or not you know who Mr. Miyagi or Daniel-san are, that’s lesson one. When you meet someone, look eye. Always look eye. It projects confidence, gives you an initial read on this new person, and gives them your full undivided attention, even if just for a few seconds.

Giving someone your full, undivided attention demonstrates that you respect them and shows good manners. And until they prove otherwise, everyone you meet deserves your respect and best manners. Everyone. It doesn’t matter what they do, who they are, or how they’re dressed. Treat everyone you meet the exact same: with respect and your best manners.

Eventually, this will benefit you, as people will assume positive things about your character and kindness, but that’s not why you do it. Do it because it’s the right, and good, and kind thing to do. Consider whatever benefits this earns like a good person rewards club, except without a stupid barcode you have to put on your keychain. I’m doubling up on the dated references today, not sure if they’ll have barcodes, keychains, or Netflix when you’re an adult. Google it. If there’s still a Google.

Anyway, in a day and age (today) where everyone’s attention is fragmented by their phone, their smartwatch, and whatever social media site beckons, your undivided attention is a gift. And we all have the same amount of attention to give.

Everyone gets 24 hours a day, to use as they will. No more and no less. Your time and attention are a finite resource; once it’s gone, you can’t get it back. You can’t buy, make, or borrow more. That also means that everyone else’s time and attention are as valuable as yours. Respect other people’s time and demand they respect yours.

By the time you’re an adult, I’d guess this gift will only become more rare and precious, like a pitcher throwing a perfect game, or peace and quiet in a house with children. I have no idea what else will be dividing your attention; digital implants feeding you a constant stream of information seem as likely as a swarm of miniature drones flying around your head. And however ridiculous my predictions look with the benefit of hindsight, you’ll still be able to give someone the gift of your undivided attention by setting these fancy-ass technologies aside. Make that part of your routine when meeting new people.

Lesson two: Technically, this should be lesson zero, as this action starts before lesson one, but I wanted to start with Mr. Miyagi. Before you get to “look eye,” stand up. This is another sign of respect. It also puts you on the same level as the person you’re greeting, so you don’t have to look up to them and they don’t have to look down on you. Examples: You’re sitting at a table at a restaurant and someone comes over to say hello. Stand up to greet them. You’re sitting on a sofa at a party and someone approaches. Stand up to greet them. You’re anywhere not already standing up... and I’m pretty sure you get it by now.

So, you’re standing up and looking eye. Normally, this is where you’d shake hands.

Normally.

Currently, we’re in the middle of a pandemic. And in this pandemic, shaking hands and hugging are about as popular as asking people to “pull my finger.” We bump elbows, fists, or just wave at each other from a distance. Most of us, that is.

Some of us are still shaking hands. Some of us are also refusing masks, avoiding vaccinations, and calling science fake. Side note: if there’s a pandemic in your lifetime, expect a significant portion of the population to not believe in it and willfully infect themselves and others. I don’t know why. Some people suck. Anyway, if people are shaking hands again when you’re an adult, here’s how you do it.

Extend an open hand to the other person and push the webbing between your thumb and pointer finger into the same part of their hand. Squeeze with a firm but not vice-like grip. Up and down once or twice, say your name, then let go.

For some people, the handshake is a power game, a chance to make you look weak or demonstrate their grip strength. They’ll turn their hand so theirs is above yours, or grab your fingers before you can get your hand in and try to grind your knuckles into chalk. They might pump your arm like an Amish man churning butter who just found out his wife is zipper-curious. They might try to yank you off balance. These people are dicks. Avoid them when possible.

I’m not saying the handshake is an end-all measurement of personal character, and I’m sure there are good people who shake hands like assholes. But shaking hands like that is a bit like sticking your finger in someone’s eye as you say hello; it’s a shitty way to start a relationship.

In more casual settings, you might find yourself slapping hands, fist bumping, or doing some combination of handshake and one-armed hug (a.k.a. the bro-hug.) All fine. Also fine to hug people if that’s your thing. Be aware though, that hugging is not some people’s thing, and don’t assume it’s okay to invade their personal space without asking. I learned this one the hard way after I was stiff-armed while attempting to hug a distant family member. Lesson learned. You could open your arms and say, “hug?” It gives people who don’t like to be or aren’t comfortable being touched an out.

And while any of the greetings I just listed are fine in casual settings, you should know how to formally greet a stranger, (and take the first steps to making them a friend.)

Why?

You don’t bro-hug to start a job interview. First time meeting your girlfriend’s parents? Slap them five up-high, down-low, and too slow and she might not be your girlfriend much longer. And if you ever need to meet with foreign dignitaries at a formal state dinner, you should really have a good handshake.

While much of this advice is applicable in many cultures, some of it is very specific to the American culture where I grew up. If you end up in another part of the world, adapt and adjust. Don’t be so rigid about greeting others in the ways that feel familiar that you overshadow the intention of those greetings. Bows, forehead touching, and air kisses are all valid traditions in other countries. Here’s hoping you get to visit and learn about all of them.

With love,

Dad

P.S. Here’s what smells like updog.

How to deal: Grief, loss, and funerals

Grief is hard. Funerals are hard. Unfortunately, you can’t avoid the first and you shouldn’t avoid the second. I’m going to tell you why using a specific example; as I’m writing this, I’m grieving for a friend I loved and cared about very much. This wasn’t easy to write, and might be hard to read. But, it feels like I should write this down to both capture the immediate feelings and someday, help you deal with yours.

I’ll start with grief and loss. When someone you love dies, it’s hard to know what to do, what to say, what you should be feeling. And while I wish I could tell you there was, there isn’t a perfect way to deal with those feelings; it just takes time. Know first that it’s okay to not be okay. Give yourself the time and space you need to feel the grief you need to feel.

My friend who died was my little brother through the Big Brothers program. He was 16. We met in 2016, and had stayed in touch after your Mom and I moved to Cincinnati. I’m incredibly grateful for the time I got to spend with him, his younger brother, and his mother. I am honored that she trusted me to be a mentor to him. When I think back to our time together, a thread of joy runs through each memory. Even though I know the Big Brothers program was for him, I swear I had as much fun as he did. Whether we were playing golf, racing go-carts, going kayaking, or just getting dinner, we always had a good time. I cherish the time we had together and the role I had in his life.

In the first two days after he died, my pain was raw, overwhelming. You don’t think you’ll ever see over grief like that. It towers over your world, casting a seemingly never-ending shadow. Losing someone reminds you how temporary and ephemeral our lives are. Suddenly, life felt like a wine glass balanced on the edge of a counter, just a breath away from destruction.

I hugged you tighter, held you longer, and couldn’t help but think about how I’d feel if it had been you. I’ve also become close with my little brother’s Mom and every time I imagined the pain and loss she was feeling, I found myself slipping into her shoes and crying very real tears. For her, for her family, for my little brother, and for myself.

But eventually, you run out of tears. The grief comes, submerges your life, and then, inevitably, washes back out to sea. You can stand on the shore and see the damage it left behind, how it rearranged your emotions, wrecked your state of mind. But as it recedes, it leaves an unavoidable and sometimes unexpected gift: acceptance. Whether you like it or not, this part has to come next. Life doesn’t give you a choice.

It can take days, weeks, or months to get to acceptance. And unfortunately, feeling it once doesn’t make it stick forever. The grief will return, and it might hurt as much as that first day. A memory might bring it back. An object might remind you. Whatever the cue, don’t be surprised if you find yourself overwhelmed again.

Hang on. Breathe in and breathe out. Go back to giving yourself the time you need to process that grief. Like the first time, it will pass.

And eventually, it won’t hurt as much. You’ll see the grief coming, you’ll be aware of what triggers it. And more importantly, as that grief comes and goes, life goes on.

Here’s the practical advice in the middle of an emotional explanation. Life will continue, whether you like it or not. As inexorably as the sun rises and sets, life will go on. Make sure you let it.

Let that sink in.

Some days the grief will weigh so much you won’t be able to move. But other days, when it’s not so heavy, you might actually forget it’s there, just for a minute. Before, I told you to let yourself feel the grief. But now, between the waves of sadness, when life resumes its regular rhythms?

Allow yourself to not grieve. Joy, happiness, curiosity, even inspiration wait in the interim. You may be tempted to re-open that wound, to submerge yourself in the grief you think you should be feeling. Let that go. You don’t owe the rest of your life to the people you’ve lost. Don’t let guilt drag you backwards into suffering you’ve already suffered through.

Let the moments of peace lead back to acceptance, to accepting that life goes on, and to knowing that you have to go with it. It’s okay to let the chill of sadness fade and the warmth of affection suffuse your memories of someone you loved. I promise, it’s really okay.

And that’s how you get through it. It won’t be easy or fast, but you will get through it.

Funerals are an important part of getting through it. Show up for the people involved in these services. Funerals can feel awful, like you’re pulling the wounds open again, but the rituals and ceremony of these services can help you find closure and peace.

Whether your connection is to the person in the casket or the person carrying it, try hard to be there. And to be clear, when I say try hard, I’m not talking about driving across town or moving a meeting. I’m talking about driving to another state or getting on a plane. And life happens; sometimes you won’t be able to actually go. If not, send flowers, send a meal, make a real effort to reach out to the person who’s hurting. These gestures will mean more than you realize.

When the person you care about is in the casket, you go to the funeral not only for them, but also for yourself. Because as much as a funeral is about the person in the casket, it’s not for them.

Funerals are for the living, for the ones left behind. They honor the lives of loved ones and help us collectively make sense of the gaping hole they left in the world. They give us the opportunity to share the emotional burden of a loss, and you have to be present to do that.

A co-worker died of cancer when I was in my 20’s, and I skipped the funeral. I couldn’t drive at the time, (see Fuck up, but don’t be a fuckup for why), but honestly, I didn’t want to go. Funerals are hard. Grief is hard. Facing the grieving family of someone you knew and cared about and trying to express your condolences is really, really hard. Important, but not easy. And that day, I didn’t feel up to it. I should have gone anyway. She was incredibly kind and sweet, and I wish I’d said goodbye. Don’t make the same mistake.

Can’t find the right words? When faced with a grieving friend or family member, it’s okay to not know what to say. Sometimes the right words are no words at all. You don’t need words to be present. Show up and listen. Give a hug, get somebody a cup of coffee, sit down with them and drink a beer. Your job is not to make them feel better, it’s not to explain away their loss.

The best way to help a grieving friend is to recognize their grief, to acknowledge it, and share their sadness. Be with them. This animation How do you help a grieving friend? further explains this idea, copyright Megan Devine and Refuge in Grief.

Grief doesn’t arrive when it’s convenient. It’s sloppy, unpredictable, and it will hit people when they least expect it. Grieving people will try to understand, to find meaning or logic in the random and meaningless. And if it helps them, then let them do it. But death isn’t fair, it isn’t kind, it’s only certain. Help the grieving carry that weight as best you can.

Finally, and I don’t intend this to be melodramatic, but I’m going to offer you some advice for my funeral. If you’re not ready to read this yet, you can stop here. But someday, decades from now when you need it, it’s here for you.

Remember my life, the things I loved, and the time we had together. Enjoy the spread. Have some barbecue, a bourbon, and a cigar. Hug your Mom, (of course she’ll outlive me), and lean on your friends. Know that I made the most of the time I had.

I was blessed with a loving family, incredible opportunities, and the love of your Mom. I had great friends, was privileged enough to travel and see the world, and most importantly, had the chance to be a father. Know that you brought me endless joy, unimaginable pride, and more love than I knew I could feel. Being your Dad was the best job I ever had, and better than any I could imagine.

Someday, your grief will give way to better memories. I’m sorry I’m gone, but wherever I went, wherever I am, know these two things: you carry a piece of me in your heart, and I will always, always love you.

Always,

Dad

Be a lover, not a hater

I want you to see the positive in others, in situations, and in yourself.

I want you to be kind when you criticize, season your scepticism with hope, and help people climb higher instead of knocking them down.

I want you to see and think about things and people this way, even thought it won’t always come naturally or be easy to do so. I know from experience, it’s something I still struggle with every day.

We won’t start with Theodore Roosevelt, but I’ll get to the quote you might suspect is coming. First, I want to tell you a story about a classmate I met in grad school. I’d gone home for the summer and my roommate (Sam) spent much of it hanging out with a guy who’d just started school. We’ll call him Alex. That’s not his name, but we’re going to call him that. I met Alex at at flag football game and couldn’t believe how excited he was about everything. And I mean everything. 

Alex was fast, strong, and looked like a college athlete. He could outrun almost anyone, but was still somehow terrible at flag football. It was as if he’d never played sports before. He would drop almost any ball you threw him, and yet somehow never get down on himself. He had such a positive outlook, he was for sure going to catch the next one, every time. And when he dropped the next one, he was going to catch the one after that. And so on and so on. He never caught the next one, but he also never gave up thinking he would.

After the game, Sam and I wondered how someone so athletic could be so bad at flag football. We talked about how amped he’d been about everything, and I wondered aloud if he was always like that. Sam said something like “Alex isn’t like you. You’re a hater. He’s a lover.” And by that he meant that Alex saw the positive potential in situations, in others, and himself. Conversely, he also implied something about me.

20 years later, I still remember that conversation. It turns out that Sam didn’t mean that I was cruel, or that I hated people. Rather, when I asked him about it, he said, “You are a funny person...and calling out flaws and things people would term as "hating" on them can be quite funny.” So I didn’t hate people, but I hated on them.

Which is true. We’ll get to the idea of hating as being funny below. But there’s another truth here that Sam touched on without realizing, and that’s best captured by Gore Vidal. He said, “Every time a friend succeeds I die a little.” I’m pretty sure that’s true for everyone, or at least for anyone that has any aspirations of their own. And as ashamed as I am to admit it, it’s certainly true for me. Because while Sam might have intended his comment only in reference to quips and jokes, I also died a little every time my friends succeed. 

And as your friends find success, you’ll also feel that stab of jealousy. The key is to realize it, feel it, and then deal with it and go love and support them. That’s what I’ve tried to do. And I encourage you to do the same. Cheer them on, even if their victory means you don’t win, especially when their victory comes at a cost to you. Your friend might take your starting spot on a team, their contest entry could beat out yours, or the girl you’re crushing on might like them instead of you. Cheer for them anyway. Celebrate their happiness as if it’s your own. Because in celebrating their victory, you’ll feel like you’ve also won.

And here comes the Teddy Roosevelt. “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

The doer of deeds deserves the credit and your respect. Especially when that person is your friend. I also hope that you find yourself in that ring, doing deeds and valiantly striving. But that also means you’ll sometimes fail. Don’t be a dick about it when you do. If you fail and find that celebrating someone else’s success is too hard, start with acknowledging their victory. Then try congratulations. Work your way up to celebrations. You’ll get there. 

What about throwing shade? This isn’t a column where I lie to you about who I am, so I’ll admit that I still hate a little. As much as I try to love everything my friends do, support their creative endeavors, and be excited when they succeed, some people do silly things. Or some things they do seem silly to me. And when someone does something like that, I struggle to bite my tongue.

I shoot for somewhere between getting a laugh (in good fun) and hurting feelings (because I’m not a monster). But as much as I try to save the sharpest barbs for the thickest skin, I have misjudged how well some people could take a joke. Be careful with your words; they can cut deeper than the switchblade your grandmother wouldn’t buy me when I was eight.

But on that subject, is mocking others a personal shortcoming? Does that count as hating? I started with maybe, but as I’ve written this entry, I’ve decided it is. And I can’t tell you something is wrong if I intend to keep doing it. 

To be fair to myself, I’m not out there spewing the kind of hatred and vitriol you find in the darker corners of the internet. I also plan to raise you better than that and don’t expect I need to tell you not to threaten people you disagree with, insult their mothers, or call them (or their mothers) cocksuckers.

I’m talking about a kinder kind of hating. Again, between getting a laugh and hurting feelings. Still, as I’m writing this advice for you, I’m also writing a note for myself. On my list of 2021 goals, I added a 5a: Hate softer, love harder. Because I’m not going to give up talking trash about dumb things, but I’ve never intended to bring others down or hurt their feelings. I’m going to make a conscious effort to go easy on people, poke fun a little easier, and make sure I’m loving on my friends a little harder. Your Dad’s not perfect, but he’s out here trying his best.

So, love as hard as you can. Hate as gently as you can. And try not to  call people “cocksuckers.”

I love you,

Dad

I have no idea what I'm talking about

Seriously. I’m making most of this up as I go along. The truth is, we all are. From the Pope all the way down to the guy who empties the Port-A-Jons, nobody really knows what they’re doing. Which is why you should never believe anyone who tells you they have it all figured out. They’re even more full of shit than the rest of us.

See, while most of us don’t know what we’re doing, most of us are doing our best to figure it out. We try some things, and maybe they work. Suddenly, we feel like we do know what we’re doing. We might even have some expertise in a specific area, like Vatican history or not getting poop on our shoes. But sooner or later, something new happens. When that does, we’re back to not knowing anything at all.

Does that feel vague? Here’s an example of figuring it out as you go along. In my mid-twenties, I wanted a job in advertising. I had an MFA in film production, a Bachelor’s degree in Communication, and no experience in marketing or advertising. Even in the pre-Great Recession era of jobs for everyone, I was a mediocre candidate. But eventually, after dozens of applications and some help from a family friend, I found a job at an agency doing client service and strategy work as an assistant account executive. This was not the job I wanted, it was the job I could get.

I had 2 years of experience as a project manager at a credit card company. My new boss saw that and figured I’d be organized, able to manage logistics, and good with numbers. And while I wanted to be on the creative side of the business and actually write the ads, I saw this as my in. Never mind that it paid less than the job I’d gotten out of college and the job I’d gotten out of graduate school. It paid more than the unemployment that had just run out, so I was thrilled to have a foot in the door.

An important side note: If you’ve never worked in advertising, people don’t usually move from the client side to the creative side or vice versa. The two skill sets are different, and while it does happen, chalk it up to the right brain / left brain stereotype; people are usually better at one or the other. Also, most creatives think the account people suck and most account people think the creatives are a pain in the ass. It was going to be an uphill battle.

I did my best at the job I had, built a portfolio of spec ads on nights and weekends, and tried to learn as much as I could. I looked for people who did not suck and could help me get to the creative side. When it didn’t look promising where I was, I interviewed at other agencies. And from the outside of every creative department looking in, everyone seemed to have it all figured out. They had what I wanted, and I didn’t understand why nobody could tell me how to get to where they were.

What I couldn’t see? They all had their own struggles, their own shit to deal with, and were doing their best to figure out their lives and jobs in an evolving agency landscape. While they knew more about their discipline and craft than I did, and all had more experience than I did, none of them knew the best path to get from where I was to where I wanted to be.

Why? None of them started where I was. I had to take what they could teach me and go figure it out for myself. It took three and a half years. I could look back and tell a different story that draws a straight, certain line in permanent ink from grad school to working as a copywriter at an ad agency in Cincinnati, but that’s not how it went. I second-guessed myself, struggled with anxiety and depression, and often wondered if I’d ever get where I wanted to go. It’s only looking back on the whole path that I can see how my choices led to where I am.

It’s like that with careers, with relationships, with almost everything in life. Change is the only constant, and while you can be flexible and adapt to change when it comes, no one ever actually knows what’s coming next. So, when someone tells you with complete certainty that they do, you can be sure they are full of shit.

I’m not telling you this to scare you. Rather, I hope it frees you from feeling like you need certainty and stability. More importantly, I hope it inoculates you against buying a bullshitter’s bullshit. I hope that someday, when faced with uncertainty, a new challenge, or a situation where you don’t know what to do, it gives you the fortitude to say, “fuck it” and figure it out yourself. Because while there will always be people who know more than you, there’s nothing you can’t learn.

Take you, for example. When you were born, I didn’t know anything about raising a child. I’d read a few books and watched some friends around their kids, but yours was the first diaper I ever changed. I didn’t know how to feed you, get you to go to sleep, or even hold you right.

But, if you’re reading this, I managed to figure it out. How? I asked people who knew more than I did. I talked to family who’d already been there, your grandparents, your Aunts, and your Uncles. I admitted I didn’t always know what I was doing. And I listened.

To be fair, there were times I pretended I knew what I was doing, and some of those worked out well. Teaching you how to ride a bike went like that; you picked it up quick. Some, like potty training, didn’t go well at all. That worked out in the end, but not until after some very shitty days.

There’s a natural inclination to look at people who’ve succeeded and think they know everything, especially when you’re young. It feels that way from the outside looking in. Some people who will contribute to that feeling and tell you they know everything, even to a fault.

I knew a guy like that in college, he seemed to know everyone in a fraternity I wanted to join. What I didn’t realize until later was that no one in that fraternity actually liked him. Rather than spend his time getting to know people, he spent all his time telling everyone how many people he knew. His goal at every party was not to blow off steam, have a good time, drink beer, or hook up, but to speak to everyone he could, and make sure everyone saw him talking to everyone else. This sucked and was no fun. Thankfully, I made other friends and joined a different fraternity, but that’s not the point. My point is that sometimes people who seem to have it all together actually don’t. Like, not at all.

Life is going to throw lots of things at you that you won’t know how to handle. Sometimes you’ll be able to pull from previous experience, but until you have those experiences, you won’t know what you’re doing. In those cases, look to people who might be able to help. Don’t be afraid to admit what you don’t know, but realize that the person you ask might not know either. And always, always beware the ones who have all the answers.

Sometimes, you’ve gotta make your best guess, put your head down and learn as you go along. And you can always ask me. If I don’t know, we’ll figure it out together.

I love you,

Dad

Try not to be a dick

It seems simple, right? I’m not even asking you to not be a dick, I’m only asking you try not to be a dick. Unfortunately, this will be much more difficult than it sounds, not due to your shortcomings, but because it’s really hard to not be a dick all the time. Sometimes, everyone acts like a dick. And I mean everyone; Mother Teresa, The Dalai Lama, Jesus, all your heroes, and yep, your Mom and Dad.

The hardest part of this one is looking at your actions from someone else’s perspective. It forces you to consider how your words and actions appear to and affect those around you. That’s the thing about life, if you stay focused on yourself all day, never thinking of how the things you say and do will seem to others, you’ll inevitably dick someone over. I’m not saying you’ll intend to give someone the shaft. I’m saying that by virtue of not giving a shit, you just might be a dick to someone without realizing it.

Problem is, focusing on yourself is the default state of existence. Everyone is the star of the movie of their life, and it can be hard to realize that the bit players in your life have entire three-part trilogies based on theirs. But that’s the truth. Every single person you meet faces challenges you’ll never know and is fighting battles you’ll never understand.

But, like your balls after 40, that’s low-hanging fruit. I’m not discounting the value of not being a dick on accident, but that’ll be easy compared to the next part.

Some people suck. These people will be dicks to you. You’ll want to return the favor and they’ll deserve it. That’s where I’m only asking you to try. Realize that people don’t suck for no reason. Consider what happened in their lives to make them suck, and ask yourself how you would feel in their sucky-ass shoes.

Maybe they don’t have shoes, or they didn’t have shoes growing up. Maybe their parents used to beat them with shoes. Maybe, just maybe, their parents were both clowns who used to parade them around the mall in floppy shoes while the other kids called them BingBing and Buttplug. You can’t know what someone else has been through to turn them into the people they are.

While I’m not making excuses for their dickishness, it makes more sense when you realize that people are rarely terrible with no reason. And if you can try to give them enough grace that you don’t reflect their failings by being a dick right back, then you’ve got something to be proud of.

I’m not suggesting you let someone attack, abuse, or hurt you. Always stand up for yourself, and no, this won’t be easy. But you’ll be amazed how often kindness can break through anger, or even flip it completely. In David McRaney’s book You Are Now Less Dumb: How to Conquer Mob Mentality, How to Buy Happiness, and All the Other Ways to Outsmart Yourself he writes about “The Benjamin Franklin Effect.”

While he was running for his second term as clerk of the Pennsylvania general assembly, a colleague disparaged him while speaking out against his election. Dick move. As much as Franklin might have wanted to be a dick right back, the colleague was rich, powerful, and well-educated. So, “Franklin set out to turn his hater into a fan...without “paying any servile respect to him.” Franklin’s reputation as a book collector and library founder gave him a standing as a man of discerning literary tastes, so Franklin sent a letter to the hater asking if he could borrow a specific selection from his library, one that was a “very scarce and curious book.” The rival, flattered, sent it right away. Franklin sent it back a week later with a thank-you note. Mission accomplished. The next time the legislature met, the man approached Franklin and spoke to him in person for the first time. Franklin said the man “ever after manifested a readiness to serve me on all occasions, so that we became great friends, and our friendship continued to his death.”

I’m not implying you can turn every dick into a friend by being nice, but you’ll be surprised how far it will get you.

Lastly, there will be days when you’ll swear God is pissing on your head, and on those days, you’ll want to take it out on someone. I wish I had some wise words to explain why these days or weeks are what they are, but just like some people suck, sometimes life sucks. You’ll want to scoop it up and pass it on, and I get that. When you’re getting the shaft, dicking over the next guy in line can seem like a good idea.

Thing is, they don’t deserve it anymore than you do. And while being a dick to them might feel good in the moment, it will eventually rot you from the inside out. Everything gets easier with practice, ideas become habits, and when you start being a dick to people for no reason, you end up being a dick all the time. And unless you’re a sex toy or a guy named Richard, that’s no way to go through life.

So, the next time you’re having the worst day imaginable, remember this: It might get worse and it might get better. You might not have much say which way it goes. The one thing you can always control is how you react. If you do your best to not be a dick, no matter what situation you find yourself in, you’ll make yourself happier in the long run, you might turn your enemies into friends, but you’ll definitely make your Dad proud.

Go forth and try your best not to be a dick.

Love you buddy,

Dad

When Love Stinks

Someday, somebody’s going to take a dump your heart, and it’s gonna suck. The first time it happens, you’re not going to know what to do, how to handle it, or if you’ll ever fall in love again. You’ll wonder if love is even real and maybe swear it off forever.

This is me telling you when it does happen, take a deep breath keep your chin up. It’ll get better, you’ll feel better, and yes, it’s worth the pain.

Falling in love is amazing. It’s all consuming, exciting, and completely intoxicating. But going the other way, when you’ve been dumped, or someone’s broken your heart? That feels as bad bad as falling in love felt good. Even more so, because you probably trust this person now, and you can’t understand why they’ve become such a shit.

My first chunk of advice is all practical. Not how to feel, or what to think, rather, what to do. It’s a list of things I learned the hard way. That is, in most cases, I did the opposite of what I’m suggesting and made it worse. Or in a few cases, I stumbled upon these things and was amazed that they made it better.

First, take it easy on the drinking. It’s a depressant, and a little will take the edge off, but a lot can send you into a doom spiral that ends up with you crying on on your ex’s front porch. It’s not going to win them back, and even if it manages to win them back for a few hours, you’ll feel like a schmuck in the morning.

Second, lose your ex’s number. Don’t call, don’t email, don’t text. Don’t “drop by”, don’t FaceTime, don’t do whatever new laser hologram they have when you’re old enough to be in this situation. If you see them out somewhere, smile, wave, and go the other way.

You need space to get over a breakup, and the more space you get, the faster you’ll move on. At first, you’ll be all, “but I don’t want to move on, I just want to get back together with this person I love,” or something along those lines. I’m embarrassed to admit some of the whiny drivel that came out of my mouth the first time I was in this situation, so I won’t. It was lame.

You won’t be the first or the last to feel this way, but you’d be wise to move past those feelings. I speak from first-hand experience; I’ve been dumped, and I’ve wallowed in a pit of misery and self-pity for months. It was not pleasant. We even got back together, and that was even less pleasant.

This is one of those practical actions that will force you in the right emotional direction. Give yourself the space to fill the void this girl* (see hold on to your asterisk) left in your life. As I write this, there are 328 million people in the US, and 7 billion in the world. There are other options. You won’t believe me, and it’s hard to feel that way, but look at it like this: all the things you disliked about her? You can go find someone who doesn’t do that stuff. No more whatever bad habit drove you nuts. Whether she wore patchouli or was mean or couldn’t eat pizza because it gave her explosive butt poops, she wasn’t perfect. You get a chance to go out and find someone else who’s imperfect in other ways.

A related aside: There’s no perfect person for you. No such thing as “the one.” There’s more right and less right and the best you can do is pick someone who’s more right and work at it. More on this in another entry.

Third, get busy. You’ll find yourself with more time than you know what to do with, you’ll be replacing all the time you spent with your ex. You know all those friends you’ve been neglecting? Call ‘em up. Try new things. Pick up a new hobby. Staying busy is the best way to get over a breakup. While you need the time and space to be sad, you don’t have to be miserable while you’re doing it, so go out and find something fun to do.

No, it won’t be fun at first. You might find yourself moping around the neighborhood in your flying car or not enjoying yourself on your hoverboard. Your challenge is to find the balance between wallowing in your misery and ignoring it completely. Admit it exists, reckon with its existence, but then go out and pretend you’re having fun.

That’s right, pretend you’re having fun. Fake it until you make it. Somewhere along the line, you will have that first moment where you forget about your ex and start enjoying yourself. Then, you’ll remember her and you’ll feel guilty. That’s when you ignore that guilt and keep on keeping on. Get back to what you were doing and leave that guilt behind.

Eventually, you’ll have the space to see the whole relationship from a distance and take it (as everything should be) as an experience to learn from when you find someone new to love.

A final word: you might break someone’s heart someday, and if that happens, I encourage you to be kind when you do. If you decide to end a relationship, be sure to give her the space to do the things I’ve suggested for you.

Even if you don’t feel kind, be kind. Imagine yourself in her shoes. Have the hard conversation, have it in person, and be as fair as you can. Be honest, be direct, and be a gentleman. Treat her the way you’d like to be treated when the shoe’s on the other foot. Because one way or the other, it eventually will be.

I love you,

Dad

Hold on to your asterisk

An important asterisk on gender and sexual orientation

I’m a straight cisgendered man. And my life experiences are those of a straight, cis man. Statistically speaking, you will probably be a straight, cis man. But, if you’re not, please don’t throw my advice out with the bathwater. (As an aside, your mother decided it was time to start potty training when you stood up and pissed in your own bathwater while laughing like a maniac.)

I might use the wrong gender or pronouns or talk about you loving people of the wrong sex. I’m trying to use gender-neutral pronouns to make this advice relevant no matter how you mature, but I’ll miss some, I promise.

Know this: I don’t care how you identify or who you love, I’ll always love you. Right now you’re two, so we have no idea how those things will shake out. Just please remember that any mistakes are innocent and not intended to injure.

I love you,

Dad

F*ck up, just don’t be a f*ckup.

You’re going to fuck up, and plenty. And that’s okay. What will not be okay is letting those fuck ups make you believe you are a fuckup. Take it from me, I’ve fucked up lots.

The thing is, fucking something up is one of the fastest ways to learn. You try, you fail, you do better next time. Experience and failure are great teachers; seek experience without fearing failure. But also, prepare. Learn how to  open your parachute before jumping out of a plane. The more you know to begin with, the faster you’ll catch on, and the less you’ll die.

Let’s start with well-intentioned fuckups. Sometimes, a lack of knowledge or experience leads to failure. And these are the ones I’d tell you to embrace. Fall off your bike. Embarrass yourself at a talent show. Start a business and fail. It’ll suck, but you’ll learn. Give yourself the freedom to try and fail. 

If you’re so afraid of failure that you never try new things, you’ll never try new things. If you’re okay with never trying new things, I am a fuckup of a father and you should disregard everything else I’ve written here. Go out there, get after it, and fail your way forward. Try, fall, get up, and try again. For more on this kind of grit, read Angela Duckworth’s Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance.

Assuming you’re still with me, let’s talk poorly-intentioned fuckups. Ones where you knew better and did it anyway. These can be single choices or systemic life mistakes. And with these, the difference between fucking up and becoming a fuckup is whether or not you learn from these mistakes. 

When it comes to fuckups like these, if you find yourself making the same mistake over and over, you need to get your head out of your ass and figure out what you’re missing. I got a DUI the week after I turned 30. I had one drink too many, was driving a couple friends home from a bar, and was just over the limit to drive. I blew a .09 in a state with a .08 limit. While this sounds like bad luck, I couldn’t have been luckier if I’d blown a leprechaun. 

See, it wasn’t an innocent mistake, and it wasn’t the first time I’d done it. It was just the first time I got caught. My head had been planted firmly in my ass. It cost me several thousand dollars in legal fees and fines, I had to spend most of a night in jail, lost my license for a year, and did an assload of community service. But nobody died. No idiots were harmed in the learning of this lesson, (myself included). And as ashamed as I am of that fuckup, I learned from it. That was a mistake I have not and will not make again.

It’s possible to fuckup on a larger scale, possibly altering the course of your life. My freshman year in college was not spent studying. Rather, I spent my time pledging a fraternity, sleeping (both in my bed and in class), and drinking too much Busch Light. The magnitude of my fuckup didn’t really hit home until that summer when my second semester grades landed in the mailbox. I’d aimed for mediocrity and missed. I had a 1.75 GPA for the Spring semester. This was after an underwhelming 2.5 from my first semester, and I got the talking to from your grandparents I well deserved. They also pointed out that their very generous funding of my college education would end after 4 years, whether or not I’d graduated. 

Credit where it’s due, that ultimatum helped change my attitude; I got my shit together and graduated in 4 years with honors. Even when you’ve systemically fucked up and made multiple mistakes that have left you well behind, it’s possible to get your shit together and do better. I was lucky enough to have great parents who were there with a boot in the ass when I needed it. And I can promise your mother and I will be right there behind you if you need the same.

Doing better means learning from your mistakes and not letting them define you. And believe me, I could go on and on about all the ways I’ve fucked up along the road to becoming your Dad, but at some point it stops being a lesson and turns into me thinking of myself as a fuckup. Which would be a pretty fucked up way to end this bit of advice. 

To recap, try new things, don’t be afraid to fail, and keep trying if you do. When your failures turn into fuckups, figure out what you did wrong and stop doing it.

I love you,

Dad

What’s with the advice?

It started with a nightmare. When you were about two, I dreamt I had brain cancer. In my dream, I had months to live. As in, less than 12.

“Damn,” I thought. “Who’s going to teach Sam all the important shit he needs to know about being a man?”

A side note on “being a man” I’m not talking about punching people in the dick and not having feelings. Hopefully, you’re not burdened with that kind of toxic masculinity. Rather, my hope is that you grow up to be someone who’s kind, tough, caring, persistent, courageous, gritty, and empathetic. The kind of person who only punches bullies in the dick, and only in the defense of yourself and people who can’t protect themselves. And for fuck’s sake, feel your feelings. Real men can cry.

Anyway, while I did wake up from my bad dream relieved that I didn’t actually have brain cancer, I’m not going to live forever. And we’re also right in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, so while death isn’t knocking on our door, I’ve seen him driving up and down the street more than I’d like.

Right now, you’re too young for most of life’s important lessons. Your Mom and I are working hard on making you feel loved and getting you to shit in the toilet, but beyond that, most of this will go over your head for a few years. So I imagined an adult version of you and wrote these missives to him. That way, when the situation in question arises, if I’m not there to point the way, you can still get some advice from your old man.

And look, I don’t expect you to take this as gospel. Experience is a better teacher than I’ll ever be, and the odds are good that by the time you’re old enough to start reading and understanding these, you might think I’m an idiot. I’m aware that might sound sanctimonious, but kids in their teens sometimes think their parents are morons. I did, and by the time I was 18, I was convinced your Papa and Nana didn’t know their asses from a hole in the ground.

Thankfully, they figured it out. They’ve gotten smarter as I’ve gotten older. Maybe you’ll think different, but I’m not holding my breath.

Take what you can from what I’ve written. Use it to help point the way when you’re not sure which path to take. Disregard the advice that doesn’t fit, and ignore the parts that don’t make sense. This is my attempt to always be there for you, even when I’m not.

I love you,

Dad