Onto The Next

When Cohiba and I moved to Ohio this fall, I said, when we get there, I’m going to give writing a more serious go. I have always really wanted to do it and now we have someone to be with Wee One. I meant to do more on this blog, which I am, but also in fiction.

For the first time today, I submitted my first piece to several competitions/publications.

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Did You Know Santa Wrote Letters?

Since I had Wee One, Santa has been a problem. By which I mean, should I tell her he exists? Am I lying to her? Am I fooling her? My large concern is if I am hurting her, of course, and I’ve struggled to find a way to share this with her without hurting her.

I’ve asked folks what they have done and how they see it, and surprisingly, have gotten some ugly comments, defensive and sometimes insulting. People are really defensive about Santa.

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Knock That Shit Off


I was reading an article about marital unhappiness from a behavioral economics perspective, that many people are unhappy in marriage because they are looking out. A “grass is greener” kind of thing. (Behavioral economics is about how people make choices, and is fascinating.)

After I shared article, a wise friend commented, “Compare and despair. You’ll never be “happy” with anything If you keep living life using the picture in your mind of how things should look.”

How simple and obvious, and how bad I am at it.

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A Bullshit Artist With An Attentive Eye

I’ve been thinking lately about if and when I want to go back to work, and what I would even want to do, and I’m struggling. I don’t know if I want to be in direct practice anymore, and I don’t think I have the patience to work with addicts or mentally ill people anymore.

Most of the time in my old role, I felt like an imposter.

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A World-Pivoting Moment

Earlier this week, I wrote about when I was in undergrad, about guys asking if my name had an H or not and how it felt like a world pivoting moment.

I haven’t articulated this to anyone before (not really even admitted it to myself,) but  I’m going to be honest here: When I was that age, I would watch everything happening to me as I lived it. Like, I would visualize it all happening in a story as it was happening to me. So the man behind the counter, more beautiful and completely different from any other man I had ever known, was asking to know me better. Across the dark counter with the rain misting the windows, the street lights shining in the puddles. In the movie in my head, the world was pivoting around that moment.

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