There are rare moments in life when you hear, read, or see something something truly poignant; something that shifts your worldview perhaps providing renewed purpose. For many (if not most) of us, one such moment occurred in 1987:
It’s that time of year again. Kids are returning to school, the temperature’s dropping, and presidential campaign’s heating up. My daughter is going to school… Read More »The great peanut butter debacle of 1985
A magical event happens each year in March, something with which I am afraid far too many people are unfamiliar; a holiday that brings us together and fills our hearts with wonder and anticipation. I am not referring to the overly-commercialized holidays like National Frozen Food Month or Peanut Butter Lover’s Day.
This is actually the seventh time I have written this blogpost. The original post talked about how I used to write songs when I was in a band. I was in a band. A very sexy, cool band with a horn section. We were super cool. Lots of women were attracted to us. It’s hard not to picture how amazing I looked on stage:
There is a horrible idea out there perpetuated by romantic comedies. The idea of a soulmate (or in this case, one perfect campsite that was meant for me). I know this sounds horribly unromantic of me (especially after such a romantic blog), but there is no such thing as a soulmate, at least not as we know it.
When people first find out I am a marriage and family therapist, they tend to assume two things: 1.) I am analyzing everything they do as a couple and parent, and 2.) I have a perfect marriage/family. I feel now might be a good time to publicly address these rumors.
I’ve been bothered lately by the idea of anonymity. Why is it that I can’t read something on the internet or listen to music without Facebook telling everyone I know about it, but I can spend three hours on an airplane farting and no one is the wiser?
I love movies. I want to start a movie club. The problem, apparently, is that movies (the cinematic arts, to the high-brow among us) are for dummies, the uncultured and uncivilized.
I’ve had a problem with expectations since the 8th grade PE with Coach Rock. Our class was rotating through sports and had just wrapped up softball, where I really shined. I was catching everything. I was pulling Derek Jeter’s into the stands. I was eating onions; I was spotting dimes.
Sometimes I wonder what I am doing in the therapy field. I think I’m a pretty normal guy. I like to watch movies, I go running, I took a modern dance class…you know, normal guy stuff. I don’t come from a difficult background (although my mom is Canadian), but it seems like that is a prerequisite for being a therapist. Come from a difficult background…and be weird.
