Well, How Did I Get Here?
Letting the days go by... Plus, a disturbing and necessary new documentary
Sometimes I forget.
Sometimes, when I’m riding the subway to work or sitting in a crowded waiting room or in line for a coffee, zoned into a playlist or a podcast or a book, amongst a crowd of people, I forget.
I forget that I’m not 25 anymore. I forget that I’m an adult. I forget that I’m officially—no two ways around it—middle-aged. I forget that when someone sits next to me on the F train or gets behind me at Starbucks, they don’t see an annoyingly young, enviously handsome kid with few responsibilities and a limitless future and instead see me as I actually am, as I still struggle to see myself: a tired, beaten-down, middle-aged man.
Sometimes, I even forget that I’m a parent. And I wrote a book about being one!
Calm down, it’s only momentary.
When you’re a mom or a dad, it’s impossible to forget it. You’re lucky if you do!
You’re lucky if you’re able to commute to work or go to the gym or walk the grocery store or get a colonoscopy and get a few minutes without someone pawing at you, talking at you, or asking you for something, or without worrying about them and considering what they need, what they want, what you can and must do for them. And even then, even if you do have a split-second of fleeting bliss, it’s not long before something reminds you of the children that you’re working to provide for, working out to stay in shape for, shopping to buy food for, or making sure you’re staying healthy for.
Once you become a parent, parenthood becomes integral to, and inseparable from, who you are and what you do. It informs every single aspect of your life and personality, for better and worse, and you wouldn’t change that. I wouldn’t change that. (Despite what my Instagram may lead you to believe. Jokes are confusing!)
But sometimes, once in a blue moon, just for a moment or two, when I’m lost in the haze of a half-awake commute and the din of whatever Spotify playlist I’m listening to, I forget that I have kids. Plural! Two kids, one already a teenager, the other growing up so fast I try not to think about it. And I try not to think about how fast I’m getting—and have already gotten—old.
I’m not sure I’ve ever grown—or will ever grow—up exactly, but I’ve definitely aged up, into aches and pains and gray hair and crow’s feet and out of knowing who that is at the Grammy awards and prized advertising demographics and easy hangovers and carefree financial decisions. And nothing has made me more aware of my increasing age than having two little kids grow up around me. (Except maybe the back pain.)
It’s hard for me to believe that I’m in my forties with two children. The current state of my life doesn’t always feel real, and it definitely doesn’t feel planned (not that my kids were accidents; mistakes, maybe, but not accidents!).
It often feels like I’ve been on a treadmill, led by a carrot, “encouraged” by a stick, slowly but surely making my way to checkpoint after checkpoint, landmark after landmark, until I suddenly became a so-called adult, somehow nearly 50 years old. All those checkpoints and landmarks are in the rearview mirror, bunched together in nostalgia, at best, and regret at worst.
None of it feels particularly earned. Least of all the kids.
Anyone who has them knows that you don’t earn your children. And you certainly don’t deserve them. There is no barrier to entry, no qualifications to meet, no tests to pass, and nobody makes sure you’re ready and able be a parent. There’s no way to be ready, and god knows I wasn’t able, not when my 13-year-old was born, and not five years later when my youngest arrived either. (The scary, reassuring fact is: you don’t have to be ready and able; all you have to do is try.)
Even today, nearly a decade and a half into the crucible that is raising kids, I still have no idea what I’m doing. And I don’t think I’m alone. I’m willing to bet that many parents feel similarly, whether they say it out loud or not. It’s why I’ve been lucky enough to accrue a following on Instagram, and to publish a book about parenting, and to earn 19 dollars a month from paid subscriptions to this newsletter despite the fact that I have no idea what I’m talking about.
I am not an expert, or a professional, I’m just a guy muddling through middle-age and fatherhood, wondering how I got here. But, I have gotten here! I’ve managed to survive. Sometimes I’ve even had fun! Most importantly, I’ve managed to help my kids, or allow them to, survive. (At least physically. The jury is still out on the rest.)
Maybe you feel the same way as I do, maybe you don’t. But either way, if I can make it this far, you can too.
Whether you like it or not.
Social Media Round-up
Pop Culture Stuff
Last night, Mom and Buried and I watched a new documentary on HBO called “The Truth vs. Alex Jones”.
It is not a fun movie.
The doc covers the lawsuits filed against Jones as a result of his despicable crusade spread vicious lies about the mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012. The first 30 minutes is nearly unwatchable as it recounts in agonizing detail the events of the massacre in Newtown. It’s heartbreaking and sickening and awful and it should probably be required viewing for anyone who refutes the events.
Mercifully, the documentary moves on to Jones’s co-option of the tragedy almost immediately after it happens and then delves into the corruption inherent in InfoWars’ business model, and the relentless attempts, by Jones and his cohort of conspiracy theorists, to disprove the tragedy, primarily by posting bullshit on YouTube and harassing the bereaved families.
For over a decade, Jones and his fellow pieces of shit at InfoWars have been profiting off of baseless conspiracy theories and nonsensical speculation that the shooting didn’t happen, that the kids weren’t killed and/or never existed, that the grieving, traumatized parents and entire community were either paid actors or complicit in the deceit. A deceit he claims was, of course, a “false flag” perpetrated by the “establishment" and was designed to provoke the government into taking away everyone’s guns. As we all know because of the decade of shooting-less calm we’ve all experienced since December 14, 2012, that definitely, 100% happened!
All of this is infuriating, not merely because Jones has made a fortune spewing this garbage—just today he was tweeting about a nefarious conspiracy behind the bridge collapse in Baltimore—but also because so many people (according to the doc, 24% of the country!) believe it. Which is indicative of the ignorance and delusion that plague the country to this day and, unfortunately, do not come as a huge surprise to anyone who spends any time online.
I see it in my comments every time I post something slightly controversial or political. People bend over backwards to ignore logic and embrace insanity—whether it’s about guns or vaccines or secret baby-eating demon cults—all in the name of validating the hatred and bigotry and fear being fed into them not just by Alex Jones but by all the right-wing media outlets AND the Republican candidate for president. Anything to keep the people cowed and compliant.
The documentary shows the human, personal impact of those conspiracy theories we see on Facebook and YouTube every day. It shines a spotlight on one of the most craven profiteers of what’s become an industry of lies, and it forces us to reckon with the cruelty and utter dissolution of empathy that such disinformation engenders in people who fall prey to it. It’s not an easy watch, but it’s an important one.
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