Bar Stool Confessions and Why People Tell Their Life Story to the Bartender

It’s been said that you tell your bartender or taxi driver more of your life than you do to your shrink. After all, for the most part, they are a captive audience. And in the case of the bartender, it all starts with the first drink. During my busy travel days of yesteryear, when I often stayed in hotels, I frequently saw this while eating a meal in the restaurant. I glanced at the bar portion, and the bartender became a temporary therapist to whoever sat there. We’ve all seen it, and some of us have been it. One moment you’re making small talk, and the next you’re unloading the story of your divorce, your estranged sibling, your job and boss you hate, your fears about turning 40 or older. Whatever it is, you’re saying it out loud, often to someone you’ve only just met. And somehow, it makes sense. 

This happens because the bar serves as a neutral ground and a place where you can be anonymous, even while being seen. The bartender isn’t your best friend, your parent, or your spouse. They’re a professional listener with just the right distance to make you feel safe. There is no judgment or obligation: just a nod, a pour, and a knowing look.

Something about sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers rather than face-to-face makes people open up. Maybe it’s the low lighting, the ambient noise, or the feeling that time slows down for a while. Or perhaps it’s the alcohol loosening lips and lowering defenses. Whatever it is, bars have always been confession booths minus the priest, kneelers, and rosaries. 

Bartenders have heard it all. They’ve heard about cheating spouses, lost jobs, secret dreams, major regrets, serious health issues, and life-altering mistakes. They’ve listened to wedding plans, divorce plans, chatter about your children, job promotions, and your latest round of golf. They’ve heard the same story told five times by the same customer, and they’ve listened every time as if it were new.

For many people, the bar is the only place where they can honestly talk. Not everyone has a strong support system, and not everyone has access to a therapist. Some people just need to be heard and say the things out loud that have been bouncing around inside their heads. Most bartenders don’t offer much advice unless asked. What they do offer is presence. A real-time human connection in a world that increasingly runs on screens. They’re part drink-schlepper and part sounding board while knowing when to listen and when to redirect before things go too deep or too dark.

It’s also why bartenders have some of the best B.S. detectors around. They know when someone’s exaggerating, or when a regular’s story changes every time they tell it. But they don’t always call it out. Sometimes, letting someone talk is more important than correcting the facts. Sometimes, it’s about allowing people to unload the weight they’ve been carrying, even if it is only for an hour.

Of course, not every story is welcome, and there’s a time and place. Bartenders are not obligated to absorb your pain or solve your problems, but the good ones will lend an ear when it counts. And they’ll remember your story—so next time, you don’t have to start from scratch.

So if you ever find yourself telling your life story to someone behind the bar, don’t be embarrassed. You’re not the first and won’t be the last. There’s something strangely human about trusting someone in a place where people come to unwind, unplug, and be real for a while. The fact is, sometimes the best therapy costs less than $200 an hour, and it comes with a lemon wedge on the rim.

Let Go of What You Can’t Control And Take Action on What You Can

One of the great things about having a public forum like this blog is that it can sometimes be cathartic and sage advice for me, addressing my many flaws, as much as it (hopefully) is time well spent for the audience. So, without further delay, let’s get going.

We all do it, even though we say we don’t and know we shouldn’t, because it doesn’t solve anything. And what do we all do? We worry. What if this situation happens? What if that happens? I want to start a business, but what if it fails? What if … ? What if . .. ? What if … ?

How many times have you lost sleep over something that never actually happened? I have many times. How many times did you worry about a job interview or getting that new client you want, only to get the job or the client. I have. Or stressed over a conversation that went fine but you played it over and over in your mind, looking for something, anything, to critique. I have. Or spent hours imagining worst-case scenarios that never materialized. I … well, you know what I’m going to say.

Most of us, including me, do this more often than we’d like to admit. Our brains seem wired to anticipate real and imaginary problems, but we usually waste energy on things outside our control. Worrying doesn’t prevent bad things from happening, but it does steal our time, drain our energy, and keep us stuck.

However, we can fix our wiring by focusing on what we can control and letting go of the rest. More importantly, we need to stop overthinking and start doing.

The Illusion of Control
We like to think we have control over more than we do. We plan, prepare, prepare some more, and stress, hoping to prevent disappointment, a few detours, or failure. But here’s the hard truth:

We can’t control what other people think of us.
We can’t control how the economy shifts.
We can’t control and change the past.
We can’t control every outcome, no matter how much we plan and execute.

Yet, we let these uncontrollable things dictate our mood, confidence, and willingness to take consistent action.

What if, instead of worrying about things we can’t change, we focused on what we actually have power over? What we do have power over is doing something. Think about the biggest things holding you back right now. Are they real obstacles, or are they merely fears of things that might go wrong and then what do we do? Most of the time, it’s the latter. We hesitate, overthink, and stall, going down the black hole of paralysis by analysis, convincing ourselves we need more thinking time, more information, or the “perfect” moment to act. But perfect conditions don’t exist. The solution is to start anyway do something, anything, every day. Granted, we will take more action on some days than others, but so what? At least you’re moving forward. So, send the resume for a new job, make the contacts, write the article or novel you’ve wanted to write for years (and for crying out loud, don’t edit as you write. You can do that later), make the sales calls, go into the gym, and don’t worry about what everyone else is doing when you are there.

Just do it, and things will fall into place. If you wait until you feel ready, armed to the teeth with information and “All-determined up” as a friend says, you’ll wait forever. How often have we started what has been nagging at us and how do we feel as we move things along? Pretty darn good. How many times have we awakened and not felt like doing anything, but instead, we got started and felt so much better? I’m thinking it’s every time. Instead of all of these things doing laps in your mind, you just begin even if it’s a sheer act of will start, and then before you realize it, you are on a roll, and it gets easier and even fun.

A big part of overthinking and not acting comes from wanting guarantees. We want to know exactly how things will play out before we commit. However, life doesn’t work like that. No one has it all figured out. The most successful people aren’t the ones who made perfect plans; they’re the ones who took messy action, maybe stumbled out of the gate, fell in the mud a few times, got back up and adapted as they went. You and I can do the same.

The Digital Soapbox and Why Some Can’t Resist Commenting (and Arguing) Online

Do you want another avenue of insight, entertainment, and maybe even enjoy a few laughs? Do a deep (or shallow) dive into an online comment section where the forum ranges from insightful comments to a sparring match with more punches thrown between combatants than every Rocky movie combined. The digital landscape has irrevocably changed how we interact with information and with one another. The days of passively consuming news or sports reports are now a thing of the past. Nowadays, nearly every article, blog, highlight package, YouTube video, and opinion piece is an invitation – a digital soapbox beckoning us to step up and share our two cents even if our opinions are presented as facts until someone comes along and questions them. Why do so many feel compelled to comment, dissect, and sometimes descend into the digital trenches for an online argument with someone named “CyberHelmet” (I made that name up for this article) for the third time this month?

This urge to comment stems from a fundamental human need: the desire to express ourselves and be heard. We are social creatures, wired to share our thoughts, reactions, and interpretations of events around us. When we witness a significant moment, whether a game-winning goal in triple overtime, a controversial political decision, a tragedy, or a heartwarming human interest story, it often evokes a strong emotional response. The comment section provides an immediate and readily available outlet for these feelings. It’s a virtual town square where we can collectively process and react to the events presented before us.

Think back to the pre-online world. Our avenues for public expression were limited mainly to conversations with family and friends, a protest down Main Street, calling in to a radio show and hoping we got through, and perhaps a letter to the editor, a far more considered and delayed form of engagement. The internet shattered these limitations, offering an instant platform to connect with a potentially vast audience. This accessibility is a powerful draw because now our opinions, no matter how fleeting or deeply held, can be broadcast to a community. 

Beyond mere expression, commenting is often intertwined with a desire for validation and a sense of connection. When we post our thoughts, we put ourselves out there, even if it is under “MidnightRogue.” See the CyberHelmet reference. A thoughtful reply, a like, or even a counterargument serves as an acknowledgment that our voice has been heard and that our perspective resonates (or at least provokes a reaction) with others. In a world increasingly characterized by digital interactions, these online engagements foster a sense of belonging and being part of a larger conversation. Even disagreements can, paradoxically, create a connection through shared opposition.

For some, the comment section becomes an arena for intellectual sparring, a digital debate club. They genuinely enjoy the process of constructing arguments, presenting evidence (or at least their interpretation of it), and engaging with opposing viewpoints. It can be a stimulating exercise, a way to sharpen their critical thinking skills and refine their own understanding of an issue. Of course, this ideal scenario often morphs into less productive and more emotionally charged exchanges, particularly when anonymity and the lack of face-to-face interaction lower inhibitions.

The anonymity afforded by the internet plays a significant role in the intensity and persistence of online arguments. The digital veil can embolden individuals to express strong opinions or engage in confrontational behavior that they might otherwise avoid in real-life interactions. The lack of immediate social cues and consequences can lead to a sense of detachment, making it easier to fire off a sharp retort and then return repeatedly to see how the battle unfolds. The perceived distance can, unfortunately, amplify negativity and escalate disagreements, potentially leading to violations of submission guidelines and banishment. Of course, “Midnight Rogue” will eventually be reinstated, but will now go by “SaturdayBeerKeg.”

In a world where individuals may feel powerless to influence events, the ability to voice an opinion online, even if it reaches a relatively small audience, can be empowering. It’s a way to feel like one’s perspective matters, that it contributes to the collective understanding or debate surrounding a particular topic.

So, while the seemingly endless back-and-forth between “MidnightRogue” or “SaturdayBeerKeg” and “CyberHelmet” might appear befuddling from an outside perspective, it is usually fueled by a complex interplay of human needs: the need to express, to connect, to feel heard, and sometimes, simply the urge to engage in a digital swordfight. It’s the modern evolution of public discourse, for better or for worse, a testament to the desire to participate in the ongoing narrative of our world, one comment at a time. The digital soapbox is always open, and the allure of having our say, even if it’s just to complain about a missed penalty call in the fourth quarter that affected the outcome, remains a powerful draw.

The Unchained Columnist and Why I Visit Every Horizon

A good friend and I were chatting about everything a couple of weeks ago and, naturally, my blog came up in the conversation. He asked me why one day I’ll write about Pickleball, the next about the loudmouth at the bar, the next about the Great Lakes weather effect, and another about adult siblings drifting apart. I said because the tagline is, The News According To Me. Emphasis on Me.

“Why write about everything, though?” he countered, his brow furrowed in marketing-minded concern. “You’d be better off finding your niche, establishing your authority, and catering to a specific audience!” Well, the fact is, I do ghostwrite blogs, social media posts, lengthy thought leadership pieces, newsletters, market research documents, whitepapers, and plenty more for others, and I’m okay with someone else’s name going on it, or no name. When I did daily reporting for the professional golf tours, my writing went on the wire services under the wire service banner like CP (Canadian Press) and AP (Associated Press), and under “Tour Communications” on the Tour websites. Yet, everyone knew who was writing it and who to call, email, or text when they wanted to set up an interview with a golfer, commissioner, or me. And yes, I am undertaking a second blog on Substack (which may also run here) that contains my observations on the sporting world, which goes live May 5, 2025, and will run weekly. The advice from my friend is well-intentioned, echoing the strategies that often dictate success in the online world. And in the digital landscape, where niche blogs reign supreme and the gospel of targeted content is preached with fervent conviction, this corner of the internet might seem like an anomaly, despite many subscribers.

Yet, my blog, The News According to Me, remains deliberately, joyously, unbounded by the shackles of silos. It reflects a mind that resists feeling hemmed in, a spirit that thrives on intellectual wanderlust, and a conscious choice to embrace the expansive landscape of the human experience, among other subjects, which I find oh so fascinating. It’s a chance to eventually write about my trip to Bayou La Batre, Alabama; another trip to Clarksburg, West Virginia, or that creepy ghost town somewhere in Canada – places most don’t include in their travel agenda and fewer write about. It’s about the people I have met, my experiences and battles (sometimes thinly disguised in an entry), and anything I feel like writing about. Ideas may spring up from seemingly nowhere, then evolve into a first draft and eventually a publishable version. I may look out at the lake, just steps from my door, and watch a boater go by, waving to me, which inspires me to write about boating, as I did last year. I know I won’t knock it out of the park every time. Not every song or album an artist records will top the charts. 

After years spent navigating the defined corridors of the corporate world, which I enjoyed and where expertise was often equated with specialization and knowledge was compartmentalized, the freedom to explore a multitude of subjects feels like a liberation. Restricting my writing to a single theme feels akin to voluntarily stepping back into those self-imposed boundaries. My blog is my sanctuary, an escape from what I must write (happily) to what I want to write. It is a space where I can follow the threads of my curiosity wherever they may lead, unburdened by the demands of a specific target demographic or the pressure to become a singular authority. Why didn’t I do this years ago? Your guess is as good as mine, but I do know that I am thoroughly enjoying it, and the words are pouring out of me like a faucet drawing someone’s bath.

I see myself not as a niche blogger, but as a columnist in the truest sense of the word. Like the seasoned voices of newspapers and magazines past and present, both online and offline, I aim to offer my perspective, analysis, and engagement with the world in its entirety – beautiful yet messy. My reading habits are voracious and wide-ranging; my interests span from history to the latest news (in moderation), from the beauty of art to mental health to sports to geography to almost everything, for that matter. To confine my writing to a single subject would be to silence a significant part of who I am and how I engage with the world around me.

The endless list of topics that spark my interest is not a liability; it is the very lifeblood of my writing. Each new subject offers another way to view the world, a new set of ideas to explore, and a new opportunity to connect seemingly disparate concepts. The cross-pollination of ideas from different fields often yields unique insights and perspectives that are overlooked within the confines of a niche. By allowing my fingers to dance across the keyboard and visit every horizon, I aim to offer a richer and more dynamic reading experience for those who choose to join me on this journey.

This broad approach fosters a different kind of connection with my readers. Those who resonate with The News According to Me are likely individuals who share a similar intellectual curiosity, a willingness to explore diverse subjects, and an appreciation for personal observation and experience that weaves through various themes. Our connection is not based on a singular shared interest, but on a shared way of engaging with others, with open minds and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. 

The News According to Me may never earn me six figures on its own, nor will it likely earn me any awards. I doubt I will ever hit one hundred thousand subscribers or even twenty thousand. If there is a downside to it, and I use that term loosely, it’s that I am constantly filling what seems like a bottomless barrel with ideas, and I have to decide which one gets written and published next. I am continually thinking of a new blog series with four or five entries each, and while that is a nice problem to have, it can be hard to shut things off at the end of the day when my head is filled not only with paid work, but next month’s blog entries to upload. Thank goodness for my notebook and online bank of ideas. I once said I have published thirty percent of my writing, which holds true with the blog. 

Ultimately, my blog is a reflection of my belief that life is multifaceted and interconnected. To silo my interests and my conversations is to diminish the richness and complexity of human experience. By embracing the endless possibilities of topics that come to mind, I am not just writing; I am engaging in a continuous act of learning, exploring, and sharing my unique perspective. 

The News According to Me is not about being an expert in one thing; it’s about being an engaged and thoughtful observer of everything. And in that endless exploration in this space, I find a freedom and a fulfillment that no niche could ever offer.

The Bartender’s Sixth Sense of Reading the Room Without Saying a Word

There’s something uncanny and intriguing about a seasoned bartender. They’re not just slinging drinks and wiping down counters like in a film noir. They’re watching, listening, and reading the room without ever letting on. To the untrained eye, they’re just moving fast and pouring accurately. But to anyone who’s worked in the business or sat at the bar long enough, it’s clear: bartenders have a sixth sense. It’s not supernatural; it comes with the territory.

Spend a few years behind the bar, and you develop a sense of what’s going on with people. Not in a nosy way, but a blend of the professional and personal. The shifts in tone and atmosphere, the tension in someone’s shoulders and face, the look in someone’s eyes just before they say something inappropriate or something that could escalate into a “situation.” 

They know when a first date is going well (easy laughter, close body language, shared appetizers) and when it’s tanking (nervous sipping, forced questions, one person suddenly looking around a lot or becoming obsessed with their phone). Bartenders know when someone’s celebrating something special in their life versus when someone’s masking their pain with a few beers. They can tell who’s there to drink quietly and who’s there with an agenda. Bartenders see it all. And they see it first because they are trained to do so. 

Before you even order, they’ve probably sized you up. Not in a judgmental way; just training and instinct. They’ve seen your type before. They clock your energy, your tone, and the way you glance around the room. Are you here to flirt with the staff or others at the bar? To vent? To be left alone or to be the center of attention? They know. And if you’re a regular, they knew before you walked in the door.

Their ability to read the room isn’t just a skill; it’s their superpower. It keeps customers safe, prevents fights, calms down rowdy groups, and even gets someone home before they do something they’ll regret or that may involve the law. A bartender might catch the signs of someone spiraling before their friends do. They might steer a would-be flirt away from someone uncomfortable with the attention. 

They also know when someone’s about to stiff them by walking out without paying or leaving a microscopic tip. The body language and the shifty glances give it away.

And don’t underestimate their emotional memory. The best bartenders remember not just your drink, but your stories. They remember who you came in with last time, that your mother was in the hospital, that your friend is battling a loathsome disease or suffering from depression, that you’re job-hunting, or that your beloved dog passed away. It’s not just good service; it’s emotional intelligence. And if you are a regular who treats them well, they genuinely care about you and wish you only good things. 

However, perhaps the most remarkable thing about a bartender’s sixth sense is how often they have to pretend they don’t know. They notice the tension between a couple but stay neutral. They recognize when someone has had too many, but phrase it gently to avoid conflict. They do, after all, have the authority to cut people off. They know who’s lying, who’s posturing, who’s silently falling apart—and they offer whatever help they can without pushing too far.

The bar is a place where people often let their guard down. And the person pouring your drink is not just making cocktails; they’re managing energy while maintaining the peace.

So the next time you’re sitting at your favorite spot and your bartender seems to know exactly what you need, or steps in just before something goes downhill, or gives you space when you didn’t know you needed it, thank them and don’t forget to tip them well and respect them.

Understanding Our Fear of Hope

Hope is a powerful force. It drives us to keep going when things feel impossible, offering a glimpse of a better future, even in our darkest moments. But paradoxically, hope can also be something we fear. For many of us, the idea of hoping for better things can trigger anxiety, disappointment, and vulnerability. What if things don’t improve? What if we set ourselves up for failure once again? So, instead of allowing ourselves to hope, we resist it, protecting ourselves from the potential pain of unmet expectations. But this fear of hope will hold us back from healing and moving forward.

One reason we may fear hope is because it requires us to be vulnerable. To hope, we have to open ourselves up to the possibility of both joy and pain. If we’ve experienced repeated disappointment or loss in the past, we may have learned to guard ourselves against the emotional rollercoaster that hope can bring. In this way, it can feel safer to suppress our hopes and dreams, avoiding the risk of future heartache. But by doing so, we also block the possibility of experiencing joy and fulfillment.

Another reason we may resist hope is that it can highlight our fear of failure. When we hope for something, we set ourselves up for the potential of not achieving it. If we’ve failed before, we may convince ourselves that it’s better not to hope at all, as it seems easier to avoid disappointment than to face the pain of unmet expectations yet again. However, this mindset prevents us from taking the necessary risks to create positive change. Without hope, we lack the motivation to strive for something better and remain stuck in a cycle of inaction and fear.

Hope can also feel overwhelming when we’re faced with circumstances that seem unchangeable. If life feels out of control, it can be difficult to believe things can improve. The weight of our struggles may make the idea of hope seem naive or unrealistic. We may even feel guilty for hoping when others are suffering or when we think we haven’t done enough to improve our situation. However, hope doesn’t require us to ignore our struggles—it simply asks us to believe that change is possible, no matter how small or gradual.

We may resist hope because we fear it will lead to unrealistic expectations. We worry that if we allow ourselves to hope, we might create an illusion of what’s possible, only to face the harsh reality when things don’t turn out as we imagined. But hope isn’t about expecting perfection or immediate results—it’s about fostering the belief that progress is possible even in the face of setbacks. It’s about taking small steps forward, even if those steps don’t immediately lead to the outcome we desire.

Hope is not a guarantee that things will always turn out the way we want them to, but it’s a necessary part of the process. Hope gives us the courage to keep going, even when the road ahead is unclear. It reminds us that we have the strength to weather the storms and that change is possible, no matter how daunting it may seem. Without hope, we lack the energy to push through the tough times and the resilience to try again after setbacks.

To embrace hope, we must first acknowledge and address our fears. Understand that it’s okay to be afraid of disappointment, but don’t let that fear paralyze you. Instead, choose to believe that even if things don’t turn out exactly as you envision, hope can guide you through the journey. Start small—hope for something that feels achievable, and let that spark grow into a more expansive belief that better things are possible. Surround yourself with people who uplift and encourage hope, and avoid environments or thoughts that reinforce negativity and doubt.

Hope doesn’t mean living in denial of your struggles; it means recognizing that your struggles are not the end of the story. By allowing yourself to hope, you invite the possibility of change, growth, and healing. The fear of hope is real, but it doesn’t have to control your life.

Bleeding the Team Colors and the Psychology of the Rabid Sports Fan

It’s playoff season in the NBA and NHL, and the passion of those fans whose team qualified for the postseason has escalated into the stratosphere. The roar of the crowd, the sea of team colors, the elaborate costumes – for those outside the fervent world of die-hard sports fans, the intensity surrounding the major professional leagues, especially at playoff time, can seem, well, a little over the top. We understand the jerseys, caps, and hoodies as a subtle nod of support. But the painted face and all exposed skin, the dyed hair in the team colors, the Stanley Cup or slab of cheese perched precariously as a hat – this level of dedication often raises the question: what drives this seemingly all-consuming devotion in otherwise rational adults? After all, it’s only a game. 

Although its original meaning is obscure and debatable “fan” is, according to many historians, rooted in “fanatic,” and religious zealots were saddled with this pejorative. It is this connection that offers insight when talking about faithful followers of “My team.” For these individuals, their chosen team transcends mere entertainment; it becomes deeply intertwined with their sense of identity and a feeling of belonging. Social Identity Theory provides a powerful framework for understanding this phenomenon. Humans derive a big part of their identity from the groups they identify with. For the intensely devoted fan, their team becomes a pillar of their public persona. The team’s triumphs are their triumphs, their defeats are felt with a personal sting, with the occasional “Fire the coach; he’s lost the room” during a lengthy slump. Donning team colors, engaging in rituals, and passionately supporting their players is a visible declaration of this deeply held affiliation.

This fervent support also fosters a powerful sense of community. Game days become shared experiences, uniting friends and strangers in the stands from different backgrounds under a common banner. The elaborate displays of fandom – the face paint, the costumes, the cheese hats – serve as visual markers of this shared identity, strengthening the bonds between fellow fans. Whether at the arena, a local sports bar, or even online communities, these outward expressions create a sense of solidarity, a feeling of being part of something larger than oneself. The collective energy and shared emotional rollercoaster of a season forge strong connections among the faithful. Watch the local team win a playoff series from the local bar, and it’s Mardi Gras, watch them lose, and the air goes out of the place, with the silence deafening. 

Tradition plays a major role in maintaining this intense level of fandom. The specific jerseys worn on game day, the pre-game routines, the chants, and cheers – these become ingrained practices, passed down through generations of fans who remember the team’s last dynasty twenty years ago as if it were yesterday and could probably name every player from the glory years. These actions provide a sense of continuity and connection to the team’s history and legacy, reinforcing the fan’s identity as a long-standing and dedicated supporter. Think of the tailgating parties in the NFL or the specific cheers and songs that reverberate through hockey arenas – these are more than just customs; they are integral parts of the fan experience.

Sports fandom provides a powerful outlet for emotional release and catharsis. The highs of a crucial victory and the lows of a heartbreaking loss evoke strong emotions. For the deeply invested fan, these outward displays of support – the enthusiastic cheering, the frustrated groans, even the seemingly aggressive act of pounding the glass – serve as a way to process and release these powerful feelings. The shared emotional experience, whether elation or disappointment, further strengthens the bonds within the fan community.

Let’s not underestimate the element of escapism and entertainment. Immersing oneself in the world of their favorite team, complete with the associated passionate displays, can provide a welcome distraction from the everyday stresses of life. It’s a chance to fully embrace something they love and to lose themselves in the drama and excitement of the game. The elaborate costumes and face paint can be seen as a form of playful self-expression, adding to the overall enjoyment of the experience.

The concept of “Basking in Reflected Glory” (BIRGing) also contributes to this phenomenon. When a beloved team achieves success, fans often experience a boost in their self-esteem through association. Displaying team colors prominently, celebrating victories with fellow fans, and even boasting about their team’s accomplishments can be a way to vicariously share in that glory and enhance their sense of self-worth.

Ultimately, while the painted faces and Stanley Cup hats might seem extreme to the more subdued fan or detached observer, they represent a deeply personal and often socially enriching experience for the rabid fan. It’s a visible manifestation of their loyalty, their sense of community, and their emotional investment in something they care about deeply. As long as their passion doesn’t turn to verbal abuse or violence against a fan wearing the opposing team’s jersey, it’s harmless fun and a vibrant and sometimes quirky expression of the human desire to belong, to celebrate, and to embrace something that brings them joy and connection. The intensity doesn’t resonate with everyone, but for those who “bleed the colors,” it’s an integral and meaningful part of their lives.

The First-Timer versus The Regular and Learning the Unspoken Rules

Every bar or restaurant has its rhythm, cast of characters, and unwritten rules. You won’t find the rules posted on the wall or printed on the menu, but break one, and you’ll feel it in the sudden silence or the cold glance from a regular who is perched at their sacred spot.

Walk into a local watering hole for the first time, and you’ll either blend in like you belong or stick out like someone wearing a winter jacket on a hot summer day. That’s because regulars have spent months, sometimes years, mastering the subtle nuances of the place. And the first-timers? They’re just trying to figure out if they should order at the bar or wait for someone to seat them.

Let’s start with seating, a topic we discussed in detail in another blog entry. Regulars don’t just have a preferred seat; they have a spot. And it’s not just about location. It’s about history, comfort, and unspoken ownership. Newbies who unknowingly plop themselves down in “Jim’s seat” might notice a few side-eyes or hear a “Someone’s in your spot today, Jim” when Jim walks in. The tone is lighthearted, but it cuts to the chase. If they’re lucky, the rookie will be gently nudged to move along. If not, well, lesson learned for next time. 

Then there is the ordering process. Regulars usually don’t even speak when they order because the bartender just slides them their usual with a nod. A first-timer, meanwhile, might ask for a drink that requires six ingredients, a blowtorch, and three kinds of bitters nobody has. Heads turn. Time seems to move in slow motion, and the regulars eye you like What the hell? Here’s a pro tip: keep it simple the first time out – a beer, a rum and Coke. Read the room, then order accordingly.

Another rule is not to over-introduce yourself. Regulars didn’t earn their stripes by shaking hands with every table and every person at the bar. They got there by showing up, shutting up, and tipping well. The first-timers who come in loud, overly familiar, or worse, try to take over a conversation that doesn’t involve them are remembered. And not in the way they’d hope. Again, read the room and don’t talk too much, but at the same time, be friendly. Answer the usual questions, such as who you are and where you are from, but refrain from telling your life story or lamenting about the trials you are going through, or being negative.  

Regulars also have an internal clock and monitor. They know when to talk and when to leave people alone. A new person might try to strike up a chat during someone’s post-shift wind-down beer and not realize that silence is the sacred part of that ritual. Or they might ask a server personal questions three minutes into meeting them, thinking they’re being charming when they’re really just being intrusive and too personal far too soon. 

But here’s the good news: bars aren’t closed clubs. First-timers can become regulars. In fact, the best regulars were once clueless too. Everyone starts somewhere. Most people behind the bar are happy to guide you if you’re respectful, pay attention, and act like a decent human. And nothing earns goodwill faster than a good tip, a genuine thank-you, and not acting like you own the place after one visit.

It’s the little things that earn you your place: remembering names, not snapping fingers or raising your voice for service, not overindulging, not lingering past close, and treating your server as a server, not a servant. It’s the quiet acknowledgment that the bar existed before you and will exist after you. Learn the flow and notice who the real regulars are. 

Eventually, if you show up enough and act according to the unwritten rules, someone might say, “Are you coming in again tomorrow?” That’s when you know you’ve graduated. You’re not just a first-timer anymore. You’re part of the scene. 

How to Forgive Yourself and Let Go of Guilt

Forgiving yourself can feel like one of the hardest things to do, especially when you’re burdened by guilt or shame. Before we go further, it should be noted that regret, which we discussed a few weeks ago, and forgiveness are two different things. If you are like me, you may have moments when you dwell on the mistakes you made, even decades ago, and wish you hadn’t done certain things or engaged with certain people because it brought you down. We all make mistakes, but sometimes, they can feel like they define us. The weight of not being able to forgive yourself can make it seem impossible to move forward. But to heal and grow, you must find a way to show yourself compassion and let go of the self-judgment that’s holding you back.

The first step in finding self-compassion is acknowledging the pain you’re feeling. Whether it’s guilt over a past action, regret for a missed opportunity, or shame over something you’ve said or done, it’s important to sit with those feelings without immediately trying to push them away. Ignoring or denying the pain only prolongs the suffering. Recognize that it’s okay to feel bad about your past actions, but don’t let those feelings define who you are today. Feeling guilty doesn’t mean you’re a bad person—it simply means you’re human.

Next, step back and try to view the situation from a place of understanding. Often, we’re our own harshest critics, holding ourselves to impossible standards and beating ourselves up over every misstep. But forgiveness is about seeing things with a kinder, more balanced perspective. Ask yourself what you would say to a friend in a similar situation. Chances are, you wouldn’t berate them but rather extend compassion and a listening ear. Extend that same kindness to yourself.

It’s also important to recognize that you did the best you could with the knowledge and resources you had at the time. Hindsight may allow you to see what you would have done differently, but in the moment, you acted based on your understanding, emotions, and circumstances. This realization doesn’t excuse harmful actions, but it does help you understand that you’re not defined by one mistake. You are capable of growth, learning, and change, and your past does not have to determine your future.

Another essential part of self-forgiveness is making amends, if possible. If your actions hurt someone else, take responsibility for them. Apologize sincerely, not because you owe it to them, but because it’s a step toward healing for both of you. If you can’t directly apologize, or if the person is no longer part of your life, consider finding another way to make peace—whether it’s through journaling, prayer, or speaking out loud to that person without them being present. Taking these steps can release some of the emotional burden and help you start the process of moving on.

One of the most critical practices in self-forgiveness is reframing your narrative. We all have a story we tell ourselves about who we are, and when we hold on to guilt, it can become a dominant part of that story. But you are not your mistakes. You are not your failures. You are someone capable of learning and growing. Start rewriting your story by acknowledging your mistakes, taking responsibility, and focusing on how you can improve moving forward. Allow yourself the space to grow beyond your past actions.

Self-compassion is a practice. You cannot force it overnight, and it won’t always come easily. But every small act of kindness toward yourself—whether it’s giving yourself a break, practicing forgiveness, or acknowledging your progress—is a step toward healing. It’s about shifting your mindset from one of harsh self-judgment to one of understanding and self-love.

You deserve forgiveness, not because you are perfect, but because you are human. The most important thing you can do for yourself is to give yourself permission to heal, and become a better version of yourself, free from the weight of guilt and shame.

A Writer’s Guide to Taking Feedback Without Falling Apart

Professional writers are a sensitive and protective lot, and there’s nothing quite like the gut-punch of an email that says, “We made a few edits.” Even after decades of writing and editing, I still feel it sometimes—that little flutter of anxiety, the subtle sting to the ego. For most of us who take pride in our work, it’s not just about the words being changed. It’s about what it feels like those changes imply:  “You weren’t good enough.”  “You missed the mark.”  “You didn’t get it right.”

And when you’re already feeling uncertain or trying to rebuild after a rough stretch, as I am, those edits can feel deeply personal. Why does it feel so personal even when it shouldn’t? Writing is vulnerable work, especially when it’s for clients or corporations. You are putting your judgment, creativity, and professionalism on the line with every submission. And when you’ve been through a series of hardships such as downsizing, financial instability, and health issues in rapid succession, it’s easy for even a small critique to echo with a much louder message. But here’s the truth: the edit isn’t about you. It’s about the work.

When I made the leap from the golf writing world into the corporate space years ago as my main gig, I experienced this in a big way. One of my first assignments at Christie Digital came back riddled with red markup. I remember thinking, Well, that’s it. I blew it. It’s time to look for another job. But I hadn’t. I just hadn’t learned their style yet. Soon enough, the markups were fewer. Then, I was the one editing other people’s work. Before long, I became the go-to when someone needed a piece turned around fast and clean. It didn’t happen overnight, but it did happen. 

The same thing is playing out now with one of my new clients. A few edits came back from an external partner, and even though I knew better, I felt that familiar pang. Did I mess up? Are they second-guessing me? Will they regret hiring me? But then I remembered: this is just part of the process. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that edits are not rejections—they’re conversations. And when you’re working across international borders, industries, or brand voices, they’re also a sign of alignment in progress.

I’m writing for a European audience with this new client. Their tone, structure, and expectations are a bit different than what we see in North America. That difference doesn’t mean I wrote it wrong; it just means I need to calibrate. When I used to edit content coming out of European and Asian offices, I saw the exact same thing in reverse. Here are a few reframes that help me, and I hope they help you, when edits hit a nerve:

  1. They’re not editing me. They’re refining the message.
  2. If they didn’t trust me, I wouldn’t have been hired—or rehired.
  3. This isn’t failure. This is alignment.
  4. Everyone needs an editor, and even Pulitzer Prize winners get edited. So do I.

When I take a breath and look at things clearly, a lot is going right: I am delivering on deadlines and usually before, I’m giving my best effort and self-editing, proofing for flow, and checking for tone before I send it off; I am getting new assignments from this client and others, I am learning and adapting, and I am staying open, not defensive. All of that matters more than a few suggested changes. Building confidence with new clients takes time and a few, or even many, red mark-ups along the way. However, it also comes with growth and a deeper appreciation for the work. 

A Note to My Fellow Writers

If you’ve ever felt your stomach drop at the sight of track changes … you’re not alone. Been there. If you’ve ever spiraled into self-doubt after a “revised version attached”… Been there. But the fact that you carefully massage and rework your first draft and feel it means you’re taking the work seriously. And that matters. The goal isn’t to never feel the sting. The goal is to learn to keep going anyway. So when the next round of edits lands in your inbox, take a moment. Breathe. Don’t write a narrative that isn’t there. You’re not being dismissed. You’re being refined. If you’ve been through a stretch where your confidence has taken a hit—whether from layoffs, a serious car accident that turned your life upside down, burnout, rejection, or just the daily grind of freelancing—I get it. This blog entry isn’t just about edits. It’s about remembering that your work still matters, even when you are second-guessing every sentence. Keep showing up. Keep refining. The confidence will catch up.

If you’re a writer or creative who’s felt this, too, I’d love to hear your story. Drop a comment to remind each other we’re not alone in this.