Give the suck a hug
Embrace the suck.
It’s a military phrase, origin unknown.
Slightly more polite, unlike the NSFW “FUBAR” and “SNAFU”.
My personal favorite in that genre has long been “BUFF,” an Air Force-ism describing the B-52 Stratofortress.
Halfway through a round of burpees, I wasn’t thinking about airplanes or the acronyms service members have used to describe ineffective leadership.
I was just wanting to get done.
So I slowed down.
Didn’t squat as deep.
Raised my arms a little less.
Took a little more time to get down in the pushup position.
The coach running the session, I’ll call him Satan’s Stepbrother, saw me.
Made eye contact on the next round of my trying to remember what lungs do.
“Don’t cheat yourself!”
Asshole.
Wasn’t wrong.
Most of us, when it sucks, just want to get to the other side.
Seeing only the destination.
And ignoring what we’re learning on the journey.
By doing that, we cheat ourselves.
Instead, we need to embrace the suck.
Find out what the pain has to teach us.
The ride is the education, not the end.
Same pack, different mountain
I like kettlebells.
Have since the lockdown.
Let me rephrase that.
I hate kettlebells.
I like what they can do for me.
And no this isn’t a link to my YouTube or TikTok or course how you too can get shredded in just 270 minutes a day using my 32 point easy to follow likely to cripple you program.
This is about mountains.
And packs.
The things we carry.
Today’s workout was a bigger mountain.
Took more effort than normal.
20 rounds instead of the usual 5.
The kettlebells?
Weigh the same.
I’m just moving them more.
It’s not the mountain that’s the problem.
We climb each one the same way.
One step at a time.
It’s about how we packed for the trip.
It’s the same bag.
Just a different mountain.
So take that rest.
Small mountain.
Big mountain.
You’ve still got baggage.
It’s ok to put that down once in a while.
Momentum
I keep wanting to not do this.
Because I have this vision of myself.
That version of me?
Quits things.
Mainly because he gets scared.
Worried that it’s not going to go as planned.
So he stops.
Midway through starting.
But something about this little blog-a-day habit is chipping away at that.
I’ve set daily word goals for this.
They’re supposed to be like 500 now.
Yeah, that’s not happened.
Probably won’t.
And I’m OK with that.
Because this is for me, not you.
Or it is for you, reader.
Both of us.
Because if I keep building this, I maintain momentum into things less navel-gazey.
Wedding bells & burros
Went to a wedding this weekend.
The usual things were in play:
- Bubbles
- Beer
- Burros
OK, that last part was something new.
Neville the Burro was part of the reception festitivities.
A very chill little guy with beer coolers strapped across his back.
At one point during the ceremony he tried to object.
Or maybe he was talking to the other donkey who lived across the fence.
Either way, they were kind of a fun band.
The world is full of wonders.
Learning to like me
Love your neighbor as yourself.
Since most of us hate ourselves, that’s working out fine, Jesus.
Not sure the Son of God was advocating hate.
Probably not, because of the love thing.
It’s the second half of the sentence that’s the hard part.
Love myself?
Most days I don’t even like me.
Seeing myself through the wrong lenses.
Like money made.
Degrees earned.
Accomplishments achieved.
Stuff accumulated.
Hard to change that perspective.
Find a new narrative.
To see me as someone likable.
At least some of the time.
Stand and deliver
I’ve been shopping for a standing desk.
We’ve been told that sitting is the new smoking.
The solution?
Stand while you work.
You know who’s not shopping for standing desks?
Construction workers.
Electricians.
Firefighters.
Doctors.
Nurses.
Teachers.
The sitting?
Not the problem.
The standing desk answers the question, “How can I be better at staying at my desk?”
Or: “How do I make abject misery less so?”
Instead: “Why am I spending so much time at my desk?” The answer is going to be something about your job. What role you play at work. How your cog fits into the machine that helps you keep the lights on.
Our need for a standing desk is a direct correlation to how useful we are, whether to a society, or a system.
The lawn at the end of the world
America has a lawn problem.
Nothing against lawns.
But when fully 1/3 of all residential water use goes to landscape irrigation?
That’s a problem.
9 billion of them.
And it’s decorative.
That’s all.
Some badge of suburban accomplishment.
A thing to show the neighbors you care.
Because we don’t use our lawns for anything.
They’re a great place to put the kiddie pool.
But then then it gets too hot for that.
And those kill the grass.
And then we’re back to the lawn problem.
Which is really a different problem.
That we don’t know another way.
We’ve been told by Big Landscaping, which in 2022 had 129 billion reasons to get us to water the lawn, that we need that grass.
That xeriscaping just isn’t for the cool kids.
So we fire up the mower, shake our heads at our water bill, and do it all over again.
To mollify the HOA.
Make our family happy.
Appease that voice in our head that tells us we don’t have much to show for our years on earth, but we do have that lawn.
Preach on
When we’re indoctrinated, it’s hard not to preach.
About our god.
About our politics.
About our WOD (I see you, Crossfitters).
Because the Kool-Aid?
It’s good.
Better than good.
It gave us purpose.
Muted our self-doubt.
Told us we didn’t need introspection.
Turn your eye to the gym.
To the podium.
To heaven.
Anywhere but inward.
Because without…
- God
- Government
- Gym
…well, what are you?
Nothing.
Or that’s what they’d have us believe.
That inner journey is the hard road.
The long path.
Finding self in the midst of all that’s not-self.
Seeing our worth, ourselves.
And not reflected in some one/thing else.
Faking it
Fake it ‘til you make it.
What then?
Can we stop faking it?
Because we had to fake it to get there.
No reason to stop now.
Then just be yourself.
Unless that self makes the others uncomfortable.
Then we just have to fake it some more.
Play the game.
Be the authentic us that meets their approval.
Pickled
Played pickleball for the first time today.
Not sure why that feels like the whitest thing ever.
Probably because the court’s in the middle of a gated community with two golf courses, two airstrips, and the couple in their 60s on the walking trail that runs by the court were bickering over whether he should walk in the mud to get more poop bags for the dog.
And there’s definitely something about pickleball that feels like it was invented by people who weren’t that good at either tennis or ping pong.
It’s not a bad thing, because sometimes when you’re not good at one thing, you get good at something else.
Same joy, different approach.
And you end up doing something you might like.
I’ve never been much of a racket sports guy, and as a Man Of A Certain Age, I’m aware of the injury statistics because people like me decide later in life to take up vigorous sport.
Still.
Nice to be outside.
Is it love?
I eat McDonald’s about once a month.
The nearest one is 20 minutes away.
So going there is a trip.
Not quite an adventure.
But a break from the ordinary.
A step outside routines.
This morning it was in the 70s.
Windows down, feeling the breeze.
The Golden Arches want our love.
“Love” isn’t the word.
I like their food, but love?
Not sure I’m ready for that much commitment.
Trivial pursuits
I’m a trivia fan.
Friend of mine calls them “crap facts”.
They’re also a fan.
Not everyone is.
That’s meant a lot of awkward moments at parties when, in the interest of keeping the conversation going, or connecting with people, I shared some crap fact that was at least tangentially connected to the topic under discussion.
Yes, I use words like “tangentially” unironically so you know when I got picked for kickball.
I’d argue that I know these things because they’re important pieces of information.
That other people should know them, too.
And by sharing them with the world I’m making it a more enlightened place.
That’s not what’s happening.
I’m trying to learn your language.
Find a way to communicate.
Connect.
Belong.
Of course I’m going to share with you that Wichita, Kansas is the “Air Capital of the World” thanks to its connection to brands like Cessna and Beechcraft.
That’s my neurodiversity in full effect.
Everyone does it, just you neurotypicals do it differently, rubbing your antennae together while the rest of us NDs stand one the edges of the nest waving our antennae in the hopes someone picks up on the frequency.
We all want to be seen.
Heard.
Nothing trivial about that.
Appease me, please me
They said they’re a people pleaser.
Except they’re not pleasing anyone.
What they want to avoid is conflict.
Appeasement.
To hear the emperor say, “This pleases me,” and maybe they get to keep their head a little longer.
Stop trying to make people happy.
It won’t work for the unhappy ones.
The happy few don’t need your help.
Find your flock
Took a walk this morning.
Saw an Egyptian goose on a rooftop.
Not a typical roosting spot.
Then it started honking as a pair of Canadian geese flew by, and the Egyptian lumbered into the sky and followed them, honking the whole time.
They never honked back.
Probably because they’re Canadian.
More polite.
Or they don’t speak the same language.
They all sound the same to me.
Then again, no ornithologist here.
I’m that geese some days.
Most days.
I’m using the right words, or think I am.
Working at finding the tribe.
Or the flock.
Making the same sounds they do.
It never works that way.
Trying to sound like them, I just sound like them.
I’m not them, and they’re not for me.
It’s when I hear the echo.
Someone using words that make sense to me.
Summing me up.
Otherwise, I’m just honking from a rooftop.
Finding the right side
The wrong side of the bed.
I don’t really have any other option.
It’s just the one side, and that’s it.
But the routine was off this morning.
Set myself up to be out of sync.
Out of whatever worn groove I have that helps me get into the morning, into the day:
- Woke up later than planned
- Had to move my morning routine around
Then I start my computer, and there’s an issue.
One I can fix, most likely, but, I have a choice now.
Make this event the day.
Start stacking all the bad.
Seeing everything that’s coming through that lens.
“It’s just one of those days”.
Thank you, Mr. Durst and Co.
Nothing wrong with having a “day”.
But I do get decide what kind of day it is.
It’s either a bad day, or a good one.
A great one, even.
No matter what comes.
The day is neutral.
Switzerland, but didn’t bring the chocolate.
Where the sides get chosen is in how I see the day.
True, some days will be better than others.
There will be events that mark the days.
Times we will always remember, good or ill.
So finding the good then?
Takes a little more work.
Maybe the only thing that’s good is that there’s a bed to crawl back into.
A job that you can avoid for a while.
Even then.
As someone brilliant showed me, “It’s a great day to have a great day”.
Might end up back in bed anyway, though.
Got choices?
When it all feels like a dumpster fire, it’s hard to see over the sides.
We end up waiting for The Moment.
That crack in the wall.
The sun shining through.
A lucky break that will free us.
When the truth is that The Moment is made of other moments.
Decisions.
Choices.
It’s a collective, not a singular event, built of all the branchings we took to get to where we are.
And to where we’re going.
It’s not about finding the key that unlocks the future.
It’s about making the key.
Like most good things, it’s simple.
Just not so easy.
And we’re not always afforded that choice.
But.
If you have a choice?
You’re still here.
Still in it.
Of course AI is smarter
We’re worried, rightly, that AI will replace us.
That we’ve created a species smarter than us.
Except.
We’re the ones that came up with Ted Cruz.
JoJo Siwa.
Kid Rock, who’s alt right now, apparently?
AI won’t be the smartest species.
Just the one that’s smarter than us.
Think about that the next time:
- You can’t get napkins out of the dispenser because some kid put too many in there and you’re turning napkins into hamster bedding material on your way out of the Chipotle
- Dad tells you colloidal silver will cure cancer and bring on the Rapture
- Uncle Mike tells you he “did his own research” and pulls up YouTube videos “proving” the earth is flat
Of course AI’s going to be smarter.
It’s not a high bar.
Help me?
You think I don’t want help.
Not true.
It’s the help that’s on offer.
The one that assumes.
Doesn’t ask.
Won’t adapt.
Just gets to work.
We’re not all nails.
Stop showing up with a hammer.
Can you see me?
Do you see me?
Am I being seen?
Does it matter?
And what does it mean?
YouTube’s algorithm decided this morning that women getting out of cars in Monaco would enrich my life.
That’s visibility.
Voyeurism.
Because they weren’t famous.
Whoever’s filming?
Not paparazzi.
Just some cameraman (of course it was a man) across the street from some hotel.
Posting a video to LinkedIn of you crying when your latest entrepreneurial venture failed because it turns out that marmots aren’t “the next chinchilla” isn’t being seen, either.
That’s performative self-promoting content creation.
Being seen is when halfway through apologizing because you’re sure your explanation of why the popularity of Power Slap is more worrying than whether we’re going to have to choose between the dictator or the dotard in November is going too long and they tell you there’s no need to apologize.
And then.
Tell you that they understand why you feel the need to apologize.
And that the apology’s OK, too.
That?
Is being seen.
And it feels like.
Coming home.
Equalized
Equality.
Hear it a lot, probably use it a lot.
Think we know what it means.
This country’s founded on the ideal.
“All men are created equal.”
Sounds nice.
Except that most of the men in that room?
Owned slaves.
Got around that equality problem by declaring that those slaves weren’t people.
Problem solved.
When we talk about American values, American ideals, American greatness, we gloss over the messy bits.
We’d rather pat ourselves on the back than take the time to unravel what it is about this country that makes us problematic.
Give us a parade.
Leave the thinking to the next guy.