The Perils of Living In A Basement Apartment

Many people, including me, have lived in basement apartments at one time or another. And with people seeking second incomes in these tough times, several people are renovating their basements to generate a few extra bucks. If you are looking for a place to stay, I can say from experience: avoid a basement, if possible, at all costs. Living down there will suck the soul out of you. Even as I write this and think of the last basement I lived in, I cringe and get an uncomfortable feeling. 

Living in a basement apartment will present numerous challenges and potential health risks, both physically and mentally. While these spaces can be affordable and offer privacy, the trade-offs often include conditions far from ideal for healthy living. Here, we delve into how basement apartments will negatively impact physical and mental health.

Basement apartments often suffer from inadequate ventilation; there is no breeze to air things out. The air stagnates. This will lead to a buildup of pollutants and allergens, such as mold spores, dust mites, and radon. Mold, in particular, thrives in damp, dark environments, which are common in basements. Mold exposure can cause respiratory issues, allergies, and, in severe cases, toxic mold syndrome. Radon, a naturally occurring radioactive gas that can seep into basements from the soil, is a known carcinogen linked to lung cancer.

They can be noisy as hell. Those who often refurbish a basement to rent it out usually forget a key factor: noise from the stomping that goes on upstairs. I experienced this once when the person above tore out the thick, sound-absorbing carpets and decided to put in hardwood floors. He then delayed putting in the hardwood floors, so all I heard was STOMP STOMP STOMP, and every conversation he had was as if he and whomever were ten feet away. I quickly moved out as the noise was unbearable, and I didn’t sleep much thanks to him stomping to the bathroom at 2 a.m. every night to do his business.

Natural light is crucial for maintaining physical health, particularly in regulating the body’s circadian rhythms, which affect sleep patterns. Basement apartments typically have small or nonexistent windows, leading to insufficient exposure to daylight. Lack of sunlight will result in Vitamin D deficiency, essential for bone health, immune function, and mood regulation. During my basement years, I consumed vast quantities of Vitamin D to compensate for the lack of natural light, but the overall environment and small windows limited its effectiveness. I was rarely there, except to sleep, because of the minimal light. This also left me in a state of constant exhaustion. 

Basements can be challenging to heat and cool efficiently. Compared to above-ground living spaces, they are often colder in the winter and warmer in the summer. These temperature extremes can be uncomfortable and may lead to health issues such as colds, flu, or heat exhaustion. Additionally, using space heaters or inadequate cooling systems can pose fire hazards.

Basements are typically closer to utility rooms and mechanical systems, leading to increased exposure to noise and vibrations from HVAC units, water pipes, and other machinery. Prolonged exposure to such noise can contribute to hearing loss, increased stress levels, and sleep disturbances. 

Then there are the mental health challenges of living in a basement.  Living in a basement will create a sense of isolation from the outside world. Limited windows and natural light, combined with feeling “underground,” can contribute to a sense of confinement, claustrophobia, and disconnection. This isolation can exacerbate feelings of loneliness and depression, particularly for individuals who already struggle with these issues. While others talk about their big bay windows and a nice breeze coming through several open windows, you’re down in a health hazard, slowly unraveling. 

The lack of natural light in basement apartments will contribute to the development of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), a type of depression that occurs at certain times of the year, typically in winter. Reduced sunlight can disrupt the production of serotonin, a neurotransmitter that affects mood, and melatonin, which influences sleep patterns. Symptoms of SAD include low energy, difficulty concentrating, changes in sleep and appetite, and feelings of hopelessness. This will affect you even in the summer, and while SAD lights may help, nothing beats a flood of natural light coming into your home. 

The physical conditions of a basement apartment, such as dampness, mold, and poor air quality, can cause chronic stress and anxiety. Constant worry about potential health hazards and physical discomfort will take a toll on mental well-being. Additionally, the sense of isolation and confinement will heighten anxiety, particularly in individuals prone to claustrophobia. One will often get a sense of, I’ve gotta get out of here, not just for the day, but permanently.

The isolated nature of basement living can limit social interactions. Being physically removed from communal areas, the natural comings and goings of neighbors, and life in general can reduce opportunities for social engagement. Social interaction is vital for mental health, providing emotional support, companionship, and a sense of community.

Overall, the combined physical and mental health challenges associated with basement apartments will lead to a lower quality of life. The constant exposure to suboptimal living conditions will diminish overall well-being and happiness. Individuals may find themselves struggling to maintain a healthy lifestyle, both physically and mentally, in such environments, knowing that at the end of each day, they have to walk downstairs and deal with the numerous challenges of living in a basement. 

Rant No. 5: Why Are You Breathing On My Neck? The Checkout Line Invaders

Personal space matters. Especially in line. Especially when you’re at the grocery store, minding your own business, trying to keep it together in a world that already feels like it’s on fast-forward. In North America, personal space is considered 18 inches to four feet.

So why do certain people feel the need to stand inches behind you at the checkout? Not a respectful three-foot gap. No. These are the people whose breath you can feel on your neck. The ones who get so close, you start to wonder if you accidentally got married in the produce section, and they are coming home with you. 

I’m talking about the Checkout Line Invaders. The people who treat the express lane like it’s a full-contact sport. They inch forward every time you blink. You move a few inches to create some space and they’re practically climbing into it. You take out your wallet and suddenly, they’re right behind you, looking at what credit cards you have and the contents of your wallet. 

This is not about being antisocial, overly sensitive, or grumpy. This is about basic courtesy and respect. The same kind you give when you’re driving and don’t tailgate. The same kind you (hopefully) show when someone’s having a quiet moment and you don’t blast music beside them. It’s about space.

What exactly do these people think will happen by standing so close? Are they hoping I might abandon my groceries and flee, and they’ll get to jump ahead? Are they hoping proximity will make the line go faster? Do they think my bag of apples will magically check itself out if they apply pressure?

Some will say, “Oh, come on, what’s the big deal?” And to that I say: try doing this in reverse. Stand inches behind them. Breathe just a bit louder than necessary and maybe cough some. Watch how fast they glance over their shoulder or try to increase the space. Because it’s usually the ones who crowd who hate being crowded back.

Remember the pandemic era? Remember that beautiful time when floor stickers told people where to stand? When space was enforced? When we all had a common agreement that six feet wasn’t just a measurement—it was bliss? I miss that. Not the fear, masks, or lockdowns, but the mutual understanding that crowding a stranger was just plain rude.

It’s even worse when it happens during a stressful day. You’re tired. You’ve worked. Maybe your back hurts, and you didn’t sleep well last night. You just want to get in and out and not feel like you’re being hunted through the checkout jungle. But there they are; so close you’re basically sharing a vegetable tray. If you’re one of these people—and maybe you don’t realize it—take this as your gentle (okay, not-so-gentle) nudge: back it up. Give it space. The five seconds you might “save” by inching forward aren’t worth the social anxiety you’re creating.

To those who respect space? Thank you. You get it. You are the heroes of the checkout line. You make the world a slightly more breathable place. And to the rest? Next time, if you’re that eager to get through the line, try self-checkout. It’s faster, there’s no one in front of you, and you won’t have to breathe down anyone’s neck but your own.

When Being the “Go-To” Person Becomes a Trap

I’ve always taken pride in being the guy people could count on—Mr. Reliable, the calm in the storm, the one who didn’t flinch when a deadline loomed or something needed to be done on short notice. I never minded being that guy. I still don’t, at least when it comes to work assignments. I get a rush of adrenaline when someone needs seven hundred words of clean, self-edited copy by 5 p.m. and it’s 3:45. 

However, that attitude (mine) can sometimes manifest outside of work, and that is when and how I have come to realize there is a fine line between being dependable and being used. And once that line gets crossed, it’s hard not to feel like the safety net people remember only when they’re falling. Lately, that realization’s been sitting with me a lot as I continue reflecting and recalibrating several things in my life. A guy texted me and asked to borrow $100 this week. I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no either. I asked a few questions, offered some alternatives, and suddenly he vanished. This wasn’t the first time he asked to borrow money (so far, he has a perfect record for quickly paying it back when he said he would). What I did notice is the amounts were getting larger: first it was $10 (no problem) then $20 (okay, but internally I knew I wouldn’t do it a third time because he was asking for the second straight week and I was getting jittery), then it became $50 the very next week (a pattern has developed and I said no), and now we were up to $100, which is getting into some serious coin. If I said a definitive yes, at this rate we’d hit $200, $500, and eventually $1,000. The other thing I noticed and that pissed me off was the presumption that I would do it. I need to borrow $100 this week; my rent went up, and I’m between paychecks LOL. You’re a good man for doing this. No ask, just the expectation along with false flattery, and that annoying LOL; like hitting me up for another loan was amusing. You’re a good man for doing this. Nice try. So, I am not a good man if I don’t do this? This is when I suggested alternatives such as a credit line, borrowing on his credit card that I know he has (yeah, that sucks with the instant interest but so be it), and asking someone else. 

People will find you if you’re naturally helpful, easygoing, or just not in the habit of pushing back. They’ll show up when their backs are against the wall or when they want to avoid responsibility and frame it as a need. But the problem isn’t always the request itself. It’s the expectation and attitude that you’ll say yes, again and again, because you usually have. And if you stop, they try to make you feel like you’re the selfish one. At first, being the “go-to” feels like a compliment. You’re trusted. But give it enough time, and it starts to feel like you’re a spare tire—forgotten until the flat.

Here’s what happens when you’re always the “yes” person: You get tired and frustrated.
Eventually, you get angry at the people taking advantage of you and yourself for letting it happen. You start resenting the very people you once wanted to help. You stop answering texts and dread unread messages. You flinch when someone says, “Hey, quick favor …” And you realize, painfully, that being nice isn’t the shield you thought it was. Sometimes, it’s a target. It took me years to unlearn the reflex to say yes and to realize that I could still be a good, reliable person without being available 24/7 or a walking bank. Now, I ask myself a few things before I respond to a request: Is this a real emergency, or just someone else’s lack of planning? Am I the only person who could help, or the easiest one to ask? Will helping leave me resentful or drained? And if the answer leaves me unsettled, I don’t rush in. Not anymore. I’m still reliable but on my own terms.

If you’re the one people turn to when their world’s on fire, don’t lose that part of yourself. But don’t burn out trying to put out every flame, either. Some people don’t want help—they want relief from the consequences. And they’ll drain you dry if you let them. Help when you can, but set boundaries when you must. And remember: you don’t owe anyone your peace just because they’re loud about their panic. You’re not selfish for saying no. You’re just finally taking care of yourself.

The Wall Behind the Smile And Why I’m Friendly But Guarded

Most people would probably say I’m a nice guy, polite, friendly, easygoing, and good at conversation and meeting new people. I have been told I’m a good listener and approachable, with a good sense of humor, and I make myself easy to be around. And yet, if I dig deeper for a few minutes, there’s a steel wall not far behind the surface. It’s not visible to everyone, but it’s there and rigid, deliberate, and built over time. It keeps people far enough away that they don’t get close enough to cause damage. I will let them in if and when I am comfortable, and slowly, methodically. I don’t play the victim card because I am not one, but I am careful with people and more cautious than I have ever been. And, I like it that way. 

Suppose you’ve lived through betrayal, slander, brutalization, dehumanization, manipulation, or the slow erosion of trust by people who claimed to care about you. In that case, you probably have your own version of that wall. Mine wasn’t built in a day. It went up piece by piece—through whispered slander that found its way back to me and deeply damaged my reputation among a peer group, and obligations that felt more like guilt traps than genuine relationships, and through the gut-deep realization that the more I opened up, the more some people used it as leverage, not connection. It went up from doing too many favors for people way above and beyond the call of duty because I felt bad karma would strike me if I didn’t. Curiously, they never reciprocated in any way but wanted more favors and more often. And when I finally started saying no, they raged and I was the bad guy. It went up through things I won’t get into here. Not now. Maybe not ever. It went up trying to explain to people what I do for a living and have done for many years. They inexplicably still think I am some guy trying to sell articles on spec to literary magazines for $25, as one person said. They tell all their friends that I think I want to be some sort of writer, and wonder when I will get a real job. I rarely hear from those people now that I have relocated, but if they text, I direct them to my blogs and LinkedIn profile if they ask about work. I never do the initial contact and rarely say much back. Being in touch with them still makes me uncomfortable because their slander caused considerable damage as the falsehoods spread and took on a life of its own with all the embellishments.

There’s an inevitable fatigue that comes with constantly trying to be understood. You think, maybe this time I’ll explain myself better. Maybe if I give people more context—why I made that choice, why I said no, why I need time to myself—they’ll get it. But often, instead of empathy, what you get is advice laced with control. “You should do this.” “What you really need to do is that.” And their version of your life is always better aligned with their comfort than my truth.

After a while, I stopped oversharing and stopped seeking approval (a by-product of growing up in an alcoholic environment). I still smile and do it more than ever. I still love people and do things for them, like holding the door open and greeting them with a warm hello. However, I keep my deeper self under lock and key, not because I’m cold or uncaring, but because I’ve learned the cost of being vulnerable with the wrong people. It’s not bitterness, but it is boundaries and caution. 

And yes, boundaries can look like distance. They can look like someone who’s friendly to everyone but deeply private about their pain, their dreams, their inner life. This isn’t about blaming others for my guardedness, either. At some point, I had to own that I let the wrong people in. That I chased validation instead of peace, and that I mistook connection for obligation. It’s taken me years even to start unlearning that. I have my flaws, believe me, yet I look back and wonder why I let certain people into my life as much as I did, and why I didn’t stand up for myself a lot earlier. I’m a work in progress. 

I used to think I owed people explanations, that if they asked a personal question, I was being rude if I didn’t answer, that declining an invite meant I had to offer a compelling reason or else face judgment, and that setting boundaries made me difficult or selfish. However, I’ve realized something simpler: I don’t owe anyone access to the parts of me that are still healing or have already healed. There’s a quiet strength in showing up as kind without being consumed and in saying “no” without a speech. In listening and taking a genuine interest in people without feeling pressured to spill my own story in a lot of detail. Some walls aren’t built out of bitterness or anger but out of wisdom. And here’s the twist: often, the people most offended by my boundaries are the ones who benefited most from me not having any, or few. They want me to go back to my easily-manipulated, lay a guilt-trip on me; I’ll give in and do it, self. So yes, I’m nice but no longer wide open and the person I used to be. And that’s not a flaw. Will I ever deconstruct that wall and allow people in? Yes, I am doing it slowly one small piece at a time and when I am ready.

Rant Rant No. 4: The Tailgating Speed Demon Who Thinks They’re On The NASCAR Circuit

You’re driving a few miles over the speed limit, safe enough not to be a danger to anyone. You just passed the police with their radar out, but you don’t get pulled over because you’re driving responsibly, keeping up with traffic, and unless you are in a school zone, which you are not, they always give you some leeway. A good song or podcast keeps you company, the coffee in the holder is still hot, and everything feels like it’s moving in rhythm.

Then the bumper bully shows up; the tailgating tyrant who thinks staying two feet behind your car on the three-lane in each direction freeway is a good idea that will get them to their destination faster, fix their life, and maybe fix the budget deficit while they’re at it. First off, no, I’m not crawling along in the left lane five miles per hour under the speed limit, I’m in the middle lane cruising six miles per hour over the limit. I am not a hazard, and I am not in your way. I’m in my lane, and everyone but you is okay with how things are going.

So why are you so close that I can read your VIN in my rearview mirror? If I even sneeze and accidentally tap the brakes a bit strong, our next stop is the hospital or the morgue, along with several others on this busy stretch of road. And for what? Do you think I’ll magically speed up out of fear or obligation if you get close enough? Sorry to disappoint and not cater to your ego and idiocy but not only do I have to consider the car in front of me and stay a safe distance, your aggressive tailgating isn’t going to open a portal to another dimension where all cars part like the Red Sea and you’re suddenly king of the highway and the only one on the road.

This isn’t a video game; this is real life. And you’re playing chicken with someone who wants to arrive at their destination with the least amount of stress. And here’s the kicker — you could literally just change lanes. You have choices, especially on a multi-lane road. There’s a whole other lane over there with no one in it. But instead, you choose to tailgate, as if your purpose isn’t about speed but control. You don’t want to pass. You want to push and feed your ego. And that’s not safe driving — it’s just obnoxious and dangerous behavior with a steering wheel in a moving weapon. 

Let’s be clear: tailgating doesn’t make you early. It makes you stressed and reckless, and puts everyone at risk. Studies show you might save a handful of seconds. Still, you’re trading those for a higher risk of an accident, a potential ticket, or a ride in an ambulance. And if you think flashing your high beams adds weight to your cause, it doesn’t. It makes you the jackass tailgating and blinding the person ahead. I’ll move if and when it’s safe, not before then. I’m not sideswiping someone because you are an idiot and don’t think logically. Aggression behind the wheel doesn’t make you bold; it makes you selfish, stupid, and dangerous. What if you kill or injure someone? How good will you feel then about your NASCAR imitation? 

So the next time you feel entitled to creep up on someone’s bumper like life revolves around you, take a deep breath, ease off the gas, give people space, and remember that you will eventually rear-end someone if you keep doing this. Guaranteed. We’re all trying to get somewhere. But we want to arrive without anxiety, whiplash, or a trip to the emergency room or worse.

Do Bands Get Bored Playing Their Biggest Hits?

Imagine being a chef and having to cook your signature dish, which made your restaurant famous every night for decades. While the applause and full plates are gratifying, wouldn’t a part of you yearn to experiment with new flavors, try out different cuisines, and push your culinary boundaries?

For iconic bands who have been touring for forty, fifty, or even sixty years, a similar dynamic likely exists with their biggest hits. These “warhorses” – the anthems that ignite stadiums and define generations – are often mandatory in their setlists. Think of U2 needing to deliver the soaring emotion of “With or Without You,” the Rolling Stones unleashing the raw energy of “Satisfaction,” or Bruce Springsteen igniting the crowd with the rebellious spirit of “Born to Run.”

However, the law of diminishing returns is a persistent force. After countless repetitions, night after night, tour after tour, does the magic begin to fade for the musicians themselves? Can the intricate guitar riffs, the soaring vocal melodies, and the driving rhythms that once felt vibrant and alive start to feel routine? Consider the sheer physicality of performing these songs. Muscle memory becomes ingrained, and the stage cues become automatic. While this allows for a polished and professional performance, it can also lead to a sense of detachment. The creative spark that fueled the song’s inception might feel distant, replaced by the mechanical execution required to deliver it flawlessly. This is why you sometimes hear the expression, They just mailed it in last night.”

Furthermore, musicians are artists. Their creative spirits thrive on exploration and novelty. Being perpetually tethered to their past glories might feel creatively stifling. Imagine having a wellspring of new ideas and musical directions you’re eager to explore, but knowing that fan expectations already predetermine a significant portion of your setlist. Is it any wonder members of veteran bands put out solo material and perform on songs by other artists?

So, do bands get bored? It’s a delicate balance between honoring your legacy and nurturing your artistic growth.

The connection with the audience is a powerful antidote to monotony. Moving an audience with your music must be an absolute rush as you see the smiling faces, the sing-alongs, and fans jumping up and down when that oh-so-familiar riff is unleashed on twenty thousand people. The opportunity to subtly reinterpret arrangements or inject new energy into familiar tunes can also help. I’m a big Stones fan, and I’ve heard numerous versions of their classics in person or on audio and video. Compare Satisfaction from 1965 to 1969, the soulful version of 1971 at the Marquee Club, the sped up 1981/1982 version, the 1989 version, and since then. 

While the biggest hits are often staples, many bands will rotate other songs in and out of their setlists to keep things interesting for themselves and the hardcore fans who attend multiple shows. Most established bands intersperse their classic hits with newer songs from their latest albums. This allows them to stay current creatively while still satisfying audience expectations. While there might be internal groans occasionally, the connection with the audience and the recognition of the songs’ importance usually outweigh the potential for boredom. 

Yes, after decades in the spotlight, the potential for a weariness with the constant repetition of their biggest hits is undoubtedly a reality these legendary artists have had to navigate. For many touring musicians, playing the hits is part of their profession. They understand that these are the songs that brought them their fanbase and continue to draw audiences.

Rant No. 3: When The Internet Can Teach You Anything … But Some Still Won’t Learn

We live in the most information-rich era in human history. You can learn anything with a few clicks — fix a leaky faucet, figure out spreadsheet formulas, speak Tagalog, or replace your brakes. There are step-by-step videos, forums, blog posts, Reddit threads, and entire communities built to help you solve problems for free.

And yet … we all know people who still treat the simplest tasks like climbing Mount Everest along the most dangerous route in the dead of winter. No, it’s not because they can’t learn; they don’t want to learn. You and I know the type: “I’m not good with computers and hate technology.” “Can you just come over and help me (do it for me)?” “I don’t have the time to learn it.” Hmm, but you have time to watch three NHL games every Saturday, followed by Sportcenter before calling it a night.

These aren’t the occasional requests from someone truly in a jam. These are the go-to lines for people who have made a lifestyle out of avoiding basic skills and leaning on others to bridge the gap. I’ve heard these and other excuses more times than I can count. And usually, it’s from the same folks asking for help configuring their new laptop, making a hyperlink (no, I am not kidding), installing their new printer, or because their Word or Google doc mysteriously acts up every time they use them. I already said No to your request several times, what part of No don’t you understand? 

The thing is, it’s not about intelligence or age; it’s about attitude, entitlement, and laziness. After all, why should Person A figure out how to do something when he can call or text resourceful Person B to come over and do it? There’s a big difference between not knowing and refusing to learn. Many of us didn’t grow up with this stuff either. We weren’t born with tech chips implanted in our brains or receive a magical knowledge download. What we did was Google things, watch tutorials, click around and read, and fail and frustrate our way into understanding so well that it became second nature. Was it fun? Not always. Was it intuitive? Rarely. Was it doable? Absolutely.

For many things, we no longer live in a “call someone” world; we live in a click-and-figure-it-out world. If you want to stay functional, personally and professionally, you have to learn how to do things. You don’t need to be a coder with twelve certifications after your name or a social media wizard, but learn how to use technology to benefit yourself and troubleshoot thoroughly at least twice before sending a panicked text to someone else. 

This isn’t about snobbery or tech elitism because I have taken numerous courses, read online articles, and watched several videos when I want to learn something. It’s about frustration with people who are otherwise completely capable but have chosen helplessness and expect others to drop everything and come running each time their printer goes offline or they can’t, I mean won’t, figure out how to change their delivery address for Best Buy or Amazon. Yes, totally serious on that last one because people have texted me for just such things. We all have gaps in knowledge, and that’s fine. But what’s not fine is treating those gaps like permanent barriers instead of temporary learning curves. I’m not expecting everyone to be a digital genius, I’m certainly not one, but when someone’s had twenty years to learn something that should be common knowledge by now, it’s not about ability anymore. It’s about unwillingness, laziness, and a dependence on others who long ago had enough. The internet has made it possible to learn anything, but it can’t make you want to learn.

We all deal with a fear of looking foolish, getting frustrated, and failing the first couple of times we try something. However, the difference between staying stuck and moving forward is the decision to try anyway because you will eventually get it. The most powerful thing you can do in this age is to stay curious, not perfect, just curious.

Putting the Past Behind You and Moving Ahead, And What That Really Looks Like

You’ve heard the advice a hundred times and maybe even here a few times. Let it go. Put the past behind you. Move forward. Move on. It sounds clean and empowering—like something you’d see on a motivational poster or hear in a graduation speech. However, that advice is useless if it doesn’t come with a “how.”

You don’t just decide to move on from trauma the same way you decide what to have for dinner. The past doesn’t stay buried just because you tell it to. If it did, we’d all be emotionally light, free of baggage, and sleeping soundly. Instead, most people carry their past like a ghost in their backpack that is present, invisible to others, and far heavier than it looks. The thing with emotional trauma is that others can’t see it. It’s not like a broken leg where you are hobbling along on crutches for a few weeks. Everyone sees that. Only you can “see” emotional trauma within you and how it may affect you to this day. 

How do you actually put the past behind you and move forward? Here’s a roadmap. It’s not linear, and it’s not magic. But it’s real.

Stop pretending it didn’t happen. One of the most common coping mechanisms people adopt is denial. “It wasn’t that bad.” “I’ve moved on.” “Other people have it worse.” But trauma doesn’t disappear because you downplay it. It waits. And it leaks into relationships, decisions, employment, habits, moods, and even physical health. Ignoring it only delays the healing. The first step isn’t about moving on. It’s about looking back honestly without sugarcoating or comparing your pain to other people.

It’s about looking back without judgment and acknowledging that it hurt and it did shape you, and you may still carry all or at least part of it. It’s a wound, or wounds, you have to look at before treating it, just like a physical wound. 

Grieve what was lost. Trauma often comes with loss; not just of people, but of trust, identity, innocence, safety, and dreams. And you have to grieve those things before you can move forward. Grief isn’t a one-day process and doesn’t stick to a schedule. On that last point, don’t ever let anyone tell you that you should be over something by now, according to their timetable. I had one jackass tell me that after a traumatic event and I’ve barely spoken to him since. Trauma doesn’t always involve tears. Sometimes grief shows up as numbness, burnout, anger, apathy, depression, anxiety, poor sleep, procrastination, fatigue, frustration, or withdrawal. Sometimes all of those at the same time, or one right after the other. Let yourself feel it. All of it, right down to the core you, the deepest part of you. And understand that grieving doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human. It means you’re clearing space. Without suffering what was, you can’t fully embrace what could be.

Name the impact. Ask yourself: How has this trauma affected me? Do I struggle to trust people? Do I avoid closeness? Do I overwork to distract myself? Do I sabotage good things? Do I blame myself for things that weren’t my fault? Write it down. Say it out loud. Talk it through with someone you trust, whether that be your concept of a higher power, a close friend, or both. Naming the impact doesn’t reinforce victimhood; it reclaims power. It makes the invisible visible. And once you know what’s broken, you can start to rebuild.

Choose healing over numbing. Moving ahead doesn’t mean stuffing the pain down and distracting yourself with productivity, achievements, or addictions (yes, even “good” ones like work and fitness can be used to avoid healing). At some point, you have to choose healing over numbing. That could mean therapy and journaling. It could mean trauma-informed coaching, group support, EMDR, or just carving out time every week to check in with yourself emotionally. Yeah, it will feel awkward and even self-indulgent. But it’s the difference between surviving and truly living.

Let go of the timeline. You don’t heal on a clock, yours or anyone else’s. You don’t “get over” betrayal or abuse or abandonment in six weeks. Some wounds take years to scar over. Others never disappear entirely—they just stop bleeding. Release the pressure to be “done.” The goal isn’t to forget. The goal is to live fully what happened, not because of it, nor in spite of it, but with it as part of your story. This isn’t a sprint or even a marathon. It’s a lifelong practice and a series of choices. And you don’t have to, and won’t, get it perfect to make progress. 

Redefine yourself without the trauma. Eventually, you reach a place where you get to ask: Who am I without this pain as my primary identity? For a long time, your trauma might have defined you. And in some ways, it may have even protected you. But healing means growing past it, not staying trapped in it. Start small: What do I value now? What brings me joy? What do I want my future relationships to look like? How do I speak to myself now that I know better? You’re not erasing the past—you’re integrating it. You’re making peace with it so it doesn’t write your future chapters for you.

Build a life that supports you because this is the practical side of healing. Once you’ve done the inner work, you have to align your outer life with it: Set boundaries with people who re-trigger your pain, you may have to cut them off for your protection; leave environments that keep you stuck; pursue work, hobbies, and relationships that reflect your growth; let yourself have good days; allow laughter; welcome peace, even if it feels unfamiliar. Don’t just “move ahead” in theory, build ahead in practice.

You deserve a future that isn’t held hostage by your past. The past may have shaped you and done some severe damage, but it doesn’t get to own you. You can put it behind you. Not by forgetting it and not by pretending it never happened. But by facing it, processing it, grieving it, learning from it, and then, slowly but surely, choosing something better every day. You’re allowed to move forward and don’t have to carry the whole weight with you when you do.

How to Get Unstuck From Overthinking, Overplanning, and Underdoing 

Have you ever spent hours, days, or even months planning something, only to realize you haven’t started, or if you have, you haven’t done all that much? Maybe you have a dozen notebooks filled with ideas, A Word or Google doc of tasks, or a list of goals so long and detailed that it feels overwhelming to look at it. If you do, you’re not alone. Overthinking and overplanning often disguise themselves as productivity, but they’re actually just mental roadblocks. They create the illusion of progress while keeping us stuck in the same place. And yes, I am writing from experience. The real challenge isn’t coming up with ideas—it’s executing them. So, how do we get unstuck? How do we break free from analysis paralysis and take meaningful action?

One of the biggest traps of overthinking is wanting to do too many things. You might have ten different goals, all equally important in your mind. You may want to start a new business, write four books, lose 60 pounds or more no matter how old you are, travel, relocate to a warmer and sunnier climate, and learn a new language, all at the same time. But trying to do everything at once leads to decision fatigue, frustration, and ultimately, inaction. Instead of spreading yourself thin, prioritize. What’s the one thing that matters most right now? Not forever; just right now. Ask yourself: What will impact my life most if I start today? What is truly urgent, and what can wait? What excites me the most? Choose one primary focus, and let the rest sit on the back burner. Once you gain momentum, you can tackle other goals.

The problem with overplanning is that it makes things feel bigger than they are. A goal like “write a book” or “start a business” can feel massive and impossible. Instead of looking at the entire mountain, take the first step. Set a rule: Break every goal into the smallest possible action you can take today.

Momentum builds from small wins yet the hardest part is often just starting.

Planning is proper, but only if it leads to action. If you find yourself constantly refining your plan, researching endlessly, or waiting for the “perfect moment,” set a time limit. Decide: I will spend no more than [X] hours planning before taking action. Give yourself one week to research a project and then start. Allow 30 minutes to plan your day and then execute. Spend one hour outlining your book and then write the first page. The key is to make planning a tool, not a crutch.

One of the biggest reasons people get stuck in overthinking is the fear of failure. What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s not good enough? What if people judge me? Nothing will be perfect on the first try. No book is flawless in the first draft or even the fourth. No business launches without hiccups. No fitness journey is mistake-free. You’ll never start if you wait until you have all the answers. Take sloppy, imperfect action. Learn as you go. The faster you start, the quicker you can adjust and improve.

Most people set outcome-based goals, like: “I want to lose 50 pounds.” “I want to write a best-selling book.” “I want to make $120K this year.” However, outcome-based goals don’t tell you what to do today. Instead, set execution-based goals: Instead of “lose 60 pounds,” → “I will eat less, and exercise for 30 minutes daily.” Instead of “write a book, → “I will write 500 words every morning.” Instead of “make $120K, → “I will pitch three clients per week.” Execution-based goals give you control. You can’t control the outcome, but you can control your effort.

It’s easy to procrastinate when no one is watching; the antidote to this is to create accountability: Find an accountability partner who will check in with you. Announce your goal publicly– Social (media) pressure can be motivating, but remember not to overdo it. Use a habit tracker; seeing your progress visually can keep you going. When others expect you to follow through, you’re less likely to make excuses.

Overthinkers tend to say, “I’ll start tomorrow” or “next Monday will be better.” But waiting doesn’t make things easier. Yesterday was the best time to start, and now is the second-best time. When you catch yourself hesitating, ask: “What small action can I take in the next five minutes?” “If I had to start right now, what would I do first?” “What’s stopping me from taking action today?” More often than not, the answer is simple: nothing but fear or perfectionism. You don’t need the perfect plan; you just need to start and take it one day at a time. What’s one small step you can take right now?

Rant No. 2: The People Who Sit Right Next to You in an Empty Restaurant

It’s time for my weekly rant, which, like all the others in this series, is based on experiences I’ve had more than once over the years.

On my way back to the hotel from a day of sightseeing during a two-week vacation, I parked my rental car and walked into a quiet, seat-yourself restaurant for dinner. There were twenty-four booths, a bar, and zero customers because it was still too early for the dinner crowd. I figured I would have at least twenty minutes to myself; it was peaceful, and I was looking for solitude and pre-hotel room unwind time. I slid into a booth at the far end of the establishment with my back to the entrance, ready to enjoy my beverage, my chicken salad wrap and soup, and some time for reflection.

And then … they arrived. A group of four walks into the restaurant, and out of all the booths available, they choose the booth right behind me. Out of all the real estate they could have claimed, including at least a dozen booths with a better view, they decided: Right. Behind. Me. Why? Just … why? They had options. They had a sea of clean, untouched booths, a corner booth on the vacant other side, or four tables on the empty, small patio on a deliciously warm and sunny afternoon. But no. They saw a lone diner at the back and collectively thought, That’s the exact proximity we want. Close enough to share germs and body spray molecules and close enough so that the lone diner can hear us eating our chicken wings like pigs and slurping our beverages. 

This isn’t assigned seating; it’s common sense and universal. The rule is simple: maximize the space. We’re not in a mosh pit. You won’t hear any secrets from my booth because I am dining alone. Somebody’s head is now a foot from mine.  Your group sat down, and suddenly my personal space shrinks by 84 percent. A laminated board and a thin layer of regret separate us. If I lean back, my head touches someone’s backwards cap. I now know who uses Axe Dark Temptation body spray; frankly, I didn’t need to.

You’re not just too damn close — you’re annoyingly loud. You didn’t come in for a relatively quiet dinner, or even a moderately noisy one. No, your group is loudly and proudly sharing every lip smack, every detail of a root canal, co-worker drama, new girlfriend someone finally slept with, and vacation photos and videos. Meanwhile, I’m trying to enjoy my meal without learning about the unfortunate shape of your cousin’s latest tattoo. Were you folks hoping to engage in conversation with me? Maybe you saw me and thought, He must want company. I don’t. And it’s too late to move, nor should I have to. I’m sitting where I am and with my back to anyone who comes in because I want to just relax and eat before the evening rush. I’m in a great mood, at least I was until you sat where you did, but if I wanted a community dining experience, I’d be at a food court. If I wanted conversation, I’d chat with the bartender. I came here for a booth to myself, and possibly even dessert. Not for your group to narrate your lives and loudly suck on your fingers near my ear canal.

There is a reason the server looked at you funny. They saw your group bypass every other booth like you were on a mission, and they saw me roll my eyes with a You gotta be kidding me! look and sigh when you sat down. They’ve seen this before and they know better. Your group? You’re new to the game or just ignoring the playbook completely. Give me a two-booth buffer; three or four is better. Give me and us a neutral zone and a personal-space demilitarized zone. You wouldn’t park beside someone in an empty lot or use the urinal next to a guy when there are eight empty ones in the same row. The rules are the same here. 

So the next time you walk into a quiet and nearly empty restaurant and have, besides my booth, your pick of the place, remember: just because I’m here doesn’t mean I want to guess your shampoo brand in five whiffs or less. Sit somewhere else and remember the buffer zone.