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Watching the Slow Fade in a Barstool Life And Then Some

I wrote this entry in one creative burst, something I rarely do in a piece this long, with barely an edit except for the odd typo. The roughly 1,600 words that follow are raw and visceral at times, and I likely could have written more … maybe in a part two if I’m so inclined. And while the overarching theme may be personal, it might appear ironic or even hypocritical to write these words because I worked (note the past tense, which we’ll get to) from a bar/restaurant a few days a week and am writing a series of blogs about the bar life. However, water and coffee are my beverage choices, maybe a Diet Pepsi or two, and most of the time when I was there, I was pounding away on my laptop’s keyboard in a corner booth as I nibbled on a light lunch, taking advantage of the excellent Wi-Fi, the view, and the energy this space gave off. When finished working, I walked the twenty minutes home, or first sat at the U-bar by the POS system (John’s former spot) and unwound, or chatted a little with those nearby. Staff and regulars know I’m quiet and low maintenance, and we respected each other’s space.

That addressed, it’s not the dramatic kind of drunk that gets talked about in headlines or rehab commercials. It’s not the one where someone’s sprawled out on the pavement, slurring apologies or wearing smelly clothes and unshowered for a week. It’s not the one who goes on a bender once and has to be helped into a cab since he can barely walk. He or she does that one night, but then returns to a manageable two drinks a week. That kind of drinking is explosive and easy to spot, easy to distance yourself from, and easy to criticize.

What was harder to watch were those who arrived daily, usually at the same time, consuming five or six beers and a couple of tequila shots, maybe more. A gradually louder tone soon started with a dollop of profanity making its presence as did the stories that begin halfway coherent and trail into nonsense and maybe even shouting to emphasize a point. The people, a few, not all, came not for a social hour or a celebration, but for a four-hour sedation. It’s a numbing habit and maybe an addiction because they came in for the buzz that never really ends.

I saw it slowly take over as one drink became two and three. The fourth beer or mixed drink glass hits the counter louder than the first or second. So does the drumming on the counter. By hour three, they were not there in a sense; they were still laughing and talking, sure, but louder than only thirty minutes before, and some took the inebriated step into recalcitrant. The F-bombs became more frequent. The eyes slowly narrowed, and some females became especially touchy-feely. Their light behind their eyes began to dim; not all at once, but progressively over weeks, months, and years. It doesn’t happen to all of them, just some. Yes, I know they are sitting at a bar and that is what people do there, consume alcohol. But bear with me.

I watched this unfold where I had been working from, but not anymore. I planted myself more permanently at the library today. It’s the same scene on repeat where I was, and I needed to get away from it, maybe for a month or two, probably longer. I needed to because lately, besides inspiration, I felt something between sadness and exhaustion whenever I saw it. Because I know this story and I know it very well. I grew up in it. Both of my parents were alcoholics who kept their addiction to the home front. My siblings have wrestled with the bottle in their own way. And me? I consider myself a teetotaler. Maybe once a year, twice every five years, I’ll have a beer or a rum and Coke. That’s it. Not because I’m holier-than-thou or above it, but because, frankly, any more than that scares me. I also like being in full control of my faculties and never worrying about a DUI or some other negative event influenced by alcohol consumption. I saw what alcohol abuse did, and I felt the peer pressure to consume more after I made that decision. I saw what it kept doing to people. I can’t and don’t expect to avoid every place that serves alcohol, including people’s homes. That is unrealistic. But I’ve decided to greatly reduce my exposure to it for reasons discussed in this piece. I have also seen what alcohol could have done to me had I let it.

I was working my way through college, and one Saturday morning, I was expected to be at my retail job extra-early to do some duties with my colleagues. I never showed up because the night before, I partied hard into the early hours with some buddies and slept (maybe I passed out, which is a much more serious condition) until 1 p.m. or so. One of those guys I partied with was also expected to be there the next morning. He was wiser than I was and checked out of the party early, with only a buzz going. Me? I could barely walk after downing twenty-six ounces of rum straight up, and don’t remember most of the night, who took me home, any part of the ride, or how I got into bed. I don’t know why I went on that bender, especially knowing I had to be at work by 7:30 a.m. When I woke up, there was a pile of vomit next to me on the bed, that I somehow didn’t choke on it in my state. I shudder when I think of it as I write this. Naturally, my manager was livid and wrote me a warning when I was coherent enough to come in and face the music. I was a good and trusted employee, but I had let everyone down, including my friend, and their respect for me took a nosedive. I got a few side lectures from co-workers about responsibility in the ensuing days that I didn’t want to hear, thinking they were overstepping their boundaries, and thinking my supervisor’s discipline and talk were sufficient, but I deserved every one. It took me a while to rebuild my reputation and longer to forgive myself. My manager asked if alcohol was a problem; she knew I was a stereotypical weekend partying college student (no drugs of any kind), but it never affected my performance or my attendance until that fateful morning. I said no, but my parents, both still living at the time, were alcoholics, and maybe I’d better watch this. That was the day, way back in the mid-1980s, that I said enough was enough and quit drinking, except for that rare one.

Alcohol, in my experience, and let me emphasize that, my experience, isn’t a casual friend. It’s a thief that destroys, not only brain cells, but lives. It steals clearheadedness, potential, connection, time, and money. It shatters relationships, sometimes permanently, and I don’t just mean someone getting killed or maimed. It turns rooms that could be full of possibility into places where stories die the same way they’re told: slowly, messily, and without an ending. Depending on the personality type, alcohol abuse can turn decent people into loathsome, despicable, manipulative, fear-inducing, entitled, respect for no one, physically and emotionally abusive, repulsive assholes. Harsh words and too many adjectives? No, and I stand by them because I (and maybe you) have experienced it up close.

What I saw at the place I used to work from, a lot wasn’t villainy — it was resignation. They weren’t raging (well, maybe one was) or aging well. They’re fading. Punching the clock on their days with several pints, a shot or two; a ritual. Possibly dulling the edges of disappointment and maybe trying not to feel the sharpness of a life that didn’t go where they thought it would. Sometimes, it’s easier to pour something into a few glasses than to pour yourself into change.

But it became hard to watch and listen to, even as background noise that normally didn’t bother me, especially when you’ve seen where alcohol abuse leads. I’ve seen the vacant expressions, the tension in the shoulders, and heard the forced laughter. They have good hearts, and I’m not speaking of all of them here, but I’ve seen how the first drink is a relief, and the third, fourth, and fifth are a need. I’ve heard the same conversations told by people who, deep down, are begging not to feel anything at all and masking pain. So I sat there, working quietly in the corner, but now saying, especially come afternoon when they began filtering in, I can’t be here anymore, and what the hell am I doing here? I didn’t feel this way two weeks ago, but now I do, and it’s not a fleeting thing. Perhaps this place served its purpose when it came to inspiration. Believe me, it opened the door to more than just the bar series. Maybe the kegs of afflatus there ran dry. I am not judging (well, perhaps a bit. I’m human); I am just observing. Observing possibly, but I doubt it, with too fine a sensitivity needle because of my own choice when it comes to alcohol, how I grew up with it casting a massive shadow over the family, and the repercussions that can still be felt to this day. Because this isn’t about a night out for those few but rather a pattern. A loop and a trap disguised as comfort.

It’s a reminder of everything I’ve walked away from. Everything I’ve chosen to break free of, even when it would’ve been easier, far more socially accepted, just to join in. I don’t hate bars or hate drinkers. I was at that place, wasn’t I? And tacitly spoke well of most. I just know what this kind of drinking does. And I know that some people don’t realize how far they’ve sunk until the buzz is the only thing keeping them upright. I know once beautiful people, inside and out, who are no longer either. It’s not because of aging, but because of a nasty drinking habit.

It’s been said that Leo Tolstoy was inspired by the people in the village square who unwittingly helped him write. But for now and likely for a while, I’m moving to the library for most of the day and leaving this place behind. I like these people, including the amazing staff who let me work out of here. I will miss some of them and the view of the lake this place affords me, but the library is only two blocks farther down the road.

Why the Bar Regulars Get Away With Almost Everything (and Shouldn’t Always)

If you’ve spent any time at a local bar or restaurant, you’ve probably noticed something curious: there’s a small group of customers who seem to play by a different set of rules. They order off-menu, say things that would get anyone else kicked out, and somehow still get a warm hello, their drink poured before they sit down, and a laugh from the staff even after nearly crossing the line. They’re the regulars—and yes, they often get away with more than most customers.

To the uninitiated, this can be baffling. How and why does that guy get to act like that? Why is the bartender tolerating her interrupting service for the fifth time? Why didn’t the manager say something when the regular started loudly critiquing the new staff or leering at them lasciviously, even if the customer is old enough to be the newbie’s father? The answer isn’t always fair, but it’s pretty simple: time and money.

Regulars have history. They’ve spent years (or what feels like it) filling bar stools, filling the coffers, tipping decently, weathering the highs and lows of ownership changes, menu revisions, new staff rotations, and slow nights. They’ve seen it all—and for better or worse, they’ve become part of the place, like the neon beer sign still hanging on the wall, even though the brand was discontinued during the Reagan administration.

In many cases, they’ve earned that loyalty. They’ve supported the place during tough times, such as the non-tourist season, brought in friends, or even helped out in a pinch, like holding the door for the manager bringing in a cartload of booze, or fixing the TV reception. They may have been around longer than the current staff. Their presence is comforting to some and nostalgic to others. So when they bend a few rules, staff might look the other way—not because they want to, but because it’s not always worth the confrontation.

But here’s the thing: just because someone’s a regular doesn’t mean they get a free pass forever. There’s a big difference between being familiar and being entitled. When regulars start to believe the bar exists for them—and only them—things go downhill. They expect special treatment, monopolize staff attention, cut in line (figuratively or literally), and treat new customers as an intrusion or staff as if they managed them. And that’s when the good kind of regular becomes the bad kind, even leading to their expulsion for a set time because management realizes their attitude is bad for business, and a temporary banishment will teach them who really runs the place.

For new customers, this dynamic can be off-putting. It creates a feeling of “this isn’t your space.” And in hospitality, that’s poison. A good bar or restaurant should feel welcoming, not like you walked into someone else’s living room without an invitation. When the regulars run the show, the place becomes insular, cliquey, and closed off, making it harder for the place to increase revenues and draw new customers, and good reviews. It should be noted (sometimes verbally to the regulars) that they once walked into the place for the first time; strangers in a strange land.

For staff, managing this balancing act is delicate. Challenge a regular and you risk a scene, a bad Yelp review, or a regular who tells everyone “This place is going downhill fast,” even when it isn’t. However, enabling bad behavior is just as risky. It drains good employees, creates uneven standards, and can drive away better-paying, more respectful customers.

The best regulars know the difference and understand that familiarity is a privilege, not a license to be careless. They lead by example, not ego. They respect the staff and make room for new faces, warmly welcoming them. They know what it was like to walk in for the first time and not know the unwritten rules. And they help preserve the vibe, not hijack it.

So, here’s to the regulars who don’t abuse their status and treat staff with respect and everyone like they are welcome. Being a regular is about what you give, such as your loyalty, patience, and, yes, your tips. As for the others? Maybe it’s time someone gently reminded them: no one is too important not to get cut off or tossed out, not just for the night, but permanently.

Benefits of Regular Journaling for Writers

Professional writers can enhance their creativity and freedom by incorporating regular journaling into their routines. Your journal is a space for unfiltered expression, so it can be as neat or messy as you want. No one is grading it, so you can structure it however you want (like this blog entry) and write more formally or in a stream-of-consciousness style. It’s yours to do as you please, allowing you to explore your thoughts and ideas without the pressure of perfection. Should you worry about typos, syntax, editing, etc.? I don’t, for the most part, but it’s up to you. Here’s a breakdown of the advantages of journaling and guidance on how much to write:

Enhanced Clarity and Focus: Journaling helps you declutter your mind, allowing you to identify and prioritize your thoughts, ideas, and concerns. This mental clarity can directly translate to more focused and effective writing sessions.
Emotional Processing and Understanding: Closely tied to No. 1, writing about your feelings and experiences can provide valuable insights into human emotions, enriching your character development and storytelling. It can also help manage stress and anxiety and improve your overall emotional well-being. Consistent journaling allows you to track patterns in your thoughts, behaviors, and reactions. This self-reflection can lead to a deeper understanding of your own perspectives and biases, which can inform your writing and make it more authentic.
Tracking Progress and Growth: By revisiting past entries, you can your identify recurring themes or challenges, and acknowledge your achievements. This can be highly motivating and provide a sense of accomplishment.
Idea Generation and Brainstorming: Your journal can become a dedicated space for brainstorming new story ideas, plot points, and character sketches. Regularly jotting down thoughts, even seemingly random ones, can spark unexpected creative connections.
Strengthened Writing Skills: Like any skill, writing improves with practice. Regular journaling provides a low-pressure environment to hone your writing voice, experiment with different styles, and build fluency.
Overcoming Writer’s Block: When facing a creative block, reviewing your journal entries or simply writing freely about the blockage can help unlock new perspectives and break through the impasse.

There’s no one-size-fits-all answer to how long or how many words you should write in your journal. The most important aspect is consistency, but notice I didn’t say daily anywhere. For some folks, that works. However, every few days works better for many. That said, here are some general guidelines and factors to consider:

Time-Based vs. Word Count: Some people find it easier to set a time limit (e.g., 15-30 minutes), while others prefer a word count goal (e.g., 300-750 words). Experiment to see what feels more sustainable and less like a chore.
Start Small: If you’re new to journaling, begin with a smaller commitment. Even 5-10 minutes or a few sentences can be beneficial. Try gradually increasing the duration or word count as you build the habit. However, there are no hard and fast rules; writing 37 words on Monday, 985 on Tuesday, and 102 on Wednesday is fine too. Don’t feel pressured to hit a rigid target.
Quality Over Quantity: Focus on writing genuinely and thoughtfully rather than just hitting a word count. The value of journaling lies in the process of reflection and expression.
Consider Your Goals: If you’re using your journal for idea generation, you might focus on jotting down bullet points and quick thoughts. If you’re processing emotions, longer, more descriptive entries might be more helpful.
Research Suggests: Some research indicates that journaling for 15 minutes a few times a week can have positive effects on mental and physical health. Aiming for daily practice if that works for you, even for a shorter duration, can enhance these benefits.
Online journal or handwritten: Ah, the ongoing debate. Do I journal in Word, Google Docs, or some other electronic form, or do I use a handwritten journal such as a Moleskine or any other notebook? My answer is both. My hand gets sore before my thoughts end, so I switched to the cloud a few years ago. However, I have a notebook by my side to jot down ideas, and it’s a sprawling mess I wouldn’t have any other way. What about privacy? If I croak tomorrow, someone will find my handwritten journals anyway (I wish I had kept them all). I participate in nothing illegal or inflammatory, so Google or Microsoft can read what I wrote now and when I am gone, and I don’t care if they do.
Famous Writers’ Habits: Some well-known writers use specific daily word counts in their professional work (e.g., Ernest Hemingway aimed for around 500 words and Stephen King shoots for 2,000). However, your journal is personal and outside the famous writer’s word goal, and the pressure should be lower.

Aiming for a regular journaling practice that feels manageable and beneficial for you is key. It shouldn’t be a grind. Start with a realistic time or word count goal and adjust as needed. Make it a consistent habit to reap the numerous rewards for your well-being and professional writing career.

When Life Flips on a Dime And You’re Left Reeling

You can be riding high one minute and knocked flat on your ass the next. That’s the nature of life; not just unpredictable, but often indifferent to your plans, years of loyalty, or even the carefully curated image you’ve projected to the world.

I’ve seen it happen several times in the last year. A friend who worked for nearly two decades for a respected European publication just got downsized. Nineteen years of showing up, putting in the work, and being dependable were gone with a single decision.

After four years at his post-Christie job, another former work colleague was just downsized. He is one of the nicest people you could ever meet. Before he was with us at Christie Digital, I had the chance to interview him at his then-employer for a Christie installation, and he couldn’t have been a better interview. Curiously, the afternoon I was set to interview him for a Christie feature when we were both there, I was let go in a major restructuring. It would have made a great story about his naval background and business expertise, but I had to text him that I was no longer with the company and couldn’t do the feature.

These are only two of several I could put into this blog entry. It’s easy to think that if we do all the “right” things—work hard, stay loyal, buy the house, build the life—that we’re somehow shielded. That the bottom won’t fall out. But these stories, and my own, say otherwise.

I know this because I’ve been through it too. Downsized. Disoriented. Disconnected from the routine that had once defined me. You start questioning everything: your worth, your choices, your faith, and your next move. And then, after the initial shock wears off, comes the sobering realization that you must pick up the pieces and move forward, and it’s not always the direction you think it will be.

But here’s what I’ve noticed. When life strips away your titles, your salary, your comfort zone, it also gives you something: clarity. It may take a long time, longer than you initially thought, to reach this point, but you do. It’s a hard-won, battle-scarred, emotional rollercoaster of clarity, sure, but clarity nonetheless. You begin to see what matters, not just what looks good on LinkedIn or gets Likes on Facebook.

You remember how to live lean and how to walk with humility. You remember that your value isn’t tethered to your job title, your square footage, or what kind of car you drive, and you remember that you’re not the only one going through it. Everyone is carrying pain of one sort or another.

A strange sort of fellowship forms between people who’ve had the rug pulled out from under them. Whether you were let go after 19 years or four or lived modestly or in a larger place, the common thread is the reminder that we’re all vulnerable—and that none of this is permanent.

So what do you do? You reach out. You send the text of support because you understand and have been there. And maybe, just maybe, you take what you’re learning and build something better. Not necessarily bigger. But better. And what do you become, battle scars and all? You become more grounded and more resilient.

Life will flip again and again because it goes in cycles. You will have some great years and some years where you feel you are stuck in the mud or worse, sinking in the mud. But remember that people do care about you, and while they may not always be able to help, they are thinking of you and pulling for you.

May Is The Month That Can’t Make Up Its Mind

As I wrote about last year, living near the Great Lakes brings all sorts of weather, sometimes all four seasons in one day. That said, one of the craziest months is not March, when the weather can be miserable but spring officially arrives; it is May. Living near the Great Lakes in May is like dealing with someone charming, unpredictable, moody, and just a little unstable. One day, it’s 27°C (81°F), the sun’s out, the hornets are hanging around, the birds are singing, and you’re sitting on a patio in shorts, quaffing your beverage of choice and wondering if it’s too early to declare summer is here even though the calendar says later in June, at least officially Then, BANG! The next day, it’s 10°C (50°F), raining sideways, and the wind feels like it has a personal grudge. It says, “Oh, you thought the warm and sunny days were finally here? We’re not done with the crappy weather yet.”

May, especially the first week or even the second and third, is when you can get sunburned on a Tuesday and chilled to the bone by Thursday with a few flurries. On another day, the forecast might say 23°C, but if there’s dampness in the air and a wall of clouds overhead, it somehow feels like 13. The temperature might say one thing, but your body says, “Nope, it is definitely hoodie weather, but it’s okay to wear shorts.” There’s no logic to it; you have to experience it to understand that strange weather phenomenon.

This meteorological moodiness is a well-known reality for anyone living near a Great Lake or two. Try living within a two-hour drive of three of them, like I used to do. I’m down to one now. The sheer size of the lakes creates microclimates and unpredictable shifts. One area gets socked in with fog and drizzle, and 20 minutes down the road, it’s sunny with only a few clouds and 26°C. You often hear, “No, we didn’t get any rain in our area.” Winds off the lake can turn a pleasant afternoon into a jacket-worthy affair in minutes. Cold fronts linger and warm systems fizzle. The only consistent thing about May is its inconsistency.

And still, we fall for it every year. We gamble with gardening too early, put away our heavy jackets too soon, and plan barbecues like the weather owes us something. After all, “It’s May for crying out loud!” We’ll believe summer has arrived because the tulips are up, but then get a frost warning for tonight so we better cover the tomatoes.

May brings shorts and flip-flops, but sometimes fleece. It brings a summery gin and tonic one day on the patio, and a bowl of comforting beef barley soup the next day to warm us up. It brings us sunglasses one day, and maybe even a windshield scraper the next morning. One day you’re on a dock or boating on the lake, and the next you’re lighting the fireplace. And yet, we embrace it because after the long gray stretch of winter and early spring, even May’s unpredictability feels like progress.

It’s not summer. It’s not quite spring. It’s just May; moody, unpredictable, a little ridiculous, and essential after a cold, damp winter and the lead-in to summer, where we’ll probably complain about the heat and humidity for three months like we always do and, despite the beauty surrounding the Great Lakes, declare that we’ve had it with damp winters and unpredictable May, and are moving to the Caribbean. That is, until we realize how much we will miss the change of seasons and maybe even May.

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.