I met a guy who achieved some great success about 40 years ago and he couldn’t tell me much about himself beyond that moment. It was very sad.

His achievement was pretty impressive, so I can understand why he was proud of his accomplishments. Certainly, he was more famous than I’ll ever be and he has fascinating stories to tell about reaching to top of his profession. And yet, he has lived more than half of his life in the afterwards, apparently unable to appreciate what’s happened since his apotheosis.

I tried to draw him out about his life today, his interests and his activities, and it turns out he’s doing some good in his current journey. By many measures, he’s doing more to make the world a better place today, to improve the lives of the next generation, than was the case when he was at the public apex of his career.

He didn’t seem to see it that way, and it’s probably understandable. The spotlight, the adoration of the public, the accolades…it must all be intoxicating in a way that becomes addictive. It must be difficult to give it up, to accept that the moment is gone and never to return. I’ve written before about how difficult it is for normal people to move on, to redefine themselves after their everyday careers. It must be even rougher for people who have scaled the peaks.

As sad as that is, though, it’s even sadder for those who cannot get past the nadir of their lives, the moments of defeat that become the frame for viewing everything that follows.   We all know someone who defines themselves in terms of the almost, the didn’t, the couldn’t. In the never-ending loop of memory, everything returns to the time when they weren’t enough, the time that convinces them they cannot become enough. At least my new friend was fixated on a major success.

People who say they have no regrets in life are absolutely not paying enough attention to their own actions. Regret is evidence that we have a conscience and a concern for others. Regret is proof that we are learning from our missteps, that we’ve crossed one more error off the list of things we plan to avoid in the future.

Whether our regrets stem from our failures or our successes, though, they’re the speed bumps that block our growth, our progress, our opportunity to build a future. Memories are a great place to visit, but a terrible place to live.

Yes, I’ve been waiting 70 years to use the word apotheosis in a blog post and now my life is complete. But I’m moving forward in life, as you’ll see in future weeks after you click here to subscribe.
 
 
 
 
 
 

The best dinner, stud fees, and the times I bring joy to the repairmen in my life, all from a deep dive into the shallowest of minds…

1. I really feel sorry for the straw that broke the camel’s back. Why does the last straw take all the blame and every other straw gets a free pass?
   
   
2. Whenever you open a new account anywhere, you can be assured you’ll receive two emails. The first will say, “Your information is 100% safe.” The second will say, “Oops.”
   
   
3. Speaking of which, isn’t it amazing how many incompetent hackers break into bank servers and get nothing of value? Every time there’s a data breach, you get a letter that says, “Yes, they got past our defenses, yes, they spent hours unchallenged as they rifled through our files, and yes, nobody has been arrested yet. Don’t worry, though, because they didn’t do any real damage.” Seriously, all these letters read like Fox News describing January 6.
   
   
4. I had a great dinner the other night. The waiter didn’t tell me his name, he didn’t tell me where the asparagus was sourced, he never referred to the cook as Chef, and he didn’t ask if he could “tempt you with dessert.” Best of all, I still have no idea whether my entrée was an excellent choice or his personal favorite.
   
   
5. I know a guy who sells beer at $18/bottle and I met a woman whose champion horse gets a stud fee of $50,000 for its, um, services. Clearly, there are worlds I have never known and I cannot afford to live in any of them.
   
   
6. It’s so encouraging when the repairman shows up, takes a look at the problem, and all he says is, “Wow.” I’m always happy when I can make someone else’s day more enjoyable.
   
   
7. If you had the choice between one and another, but not both, would you rather be right and mostly ignored or wrong and highly influential? Would you rather have three close friends or 300 amiable acquaintances? Would you rather be self-aware or oblivious? Some management guru is going to make a billion bucks with an assessment based on these questions, so I am preparing the record for when I sue her for plagiarism. Because I’d rather be lazy and whine than do the work without complaining.
   
   
8. On a similar note, would you rather find a solution to the problem or find someone to blame? No need to answer that one, since this is America.
   

 
Not only is this America, but it’s also the internet, where you can get a free subscription to Dad Writes simply by clicking right here.

In a few of my prior lives, I worked on a documentary about autism, headed up a large theater company in Chicago, and defrauded my home state. Too many details to describe in just one blog post, but all of these journeys into other people’s lives have changed my perspective about my own existence.

In my tiny corner of the world, I’m pretty well informed, open to conversations with strangers, continually looking for new insights, and generally aware of my surroundings. Still, there are parallel universes just down the street, or down the hall, that I will never enter and will never really know.

I live in a big city, for example, and I like to think it looks like America. We have rich and poor, multiple races and religions, and more sexual orientations than letters in the alphabet. Some days, I feel pretty smug about my great insight into the huge stew that is my kinda town.

If you’ve always lived in the same small town, though, America can look much different, and it’s presumptuous to see the rural experience as less than my own. There’s an intimacy and comfort that small-town life offers, along with different challenges and fears to keep people up at night.

It's almost instinctive to feel superior about our enlightened world view, whether it’s based on big-city congestion or small-town intimacy. We all end up proud of something and fearful about something else, and most of our perspectives are shaped by where we are, not who we are.

Well, that’s probably not correct, because who we are is determined in large part by where we are, what we see, whom we meet, and all the other experiences of our lives. We’re all alike at birth, but nature and nurture divide immediately and, after a decade or two, it can be hard to discern that we all started with practically identical DNA. 

It’s easy to think we live in different worlds, not just different corners of the same universe, but that’s a mistake. The people you meet at the tattoo festival and the locals you run into at the train station have the same needs and drivers, the same humanity, as the people we meet in our echo chambers. After a few minutes of conversation, the common links emerge and their strangest traits shrink into a facet, but not an identity.

After enough visits into different dimensions, I’ve changed my questions about other people. Instead of asking how it’s possible for someone to believe things that are so incredibly stupid, I wonder how their reality led them to their conclusions. Quite often, I end up with a better understanding of their place in the world and, even if I will never agree with their position, it’s easier to recognize their humanity.

If the statute of limitations ever expires, I’ll be writing about that whole defrauding the state thing. Subscribe now and watch this space.

Be very afraid.

All the Republican politicians and Fox News pundits are 150% right when they call Chicago a crime-infested, corrupt, leftist, sleazebag hellhole. And it’s even worse in the summer, when we’re even sleazier and hellhole-ier, so definitely stay away right now if you value your life.

I pity people who come to visit over the summer months, because everything the right-wingers say about us is true, true and true. Every single person living within the city limits is killed each night and we just ship in new people to be killed the next night. Every black person is a murderous gang thug and every homeless person is planning to burn down the next building they see. And don’t think you’ll be safe around the white people, either, because they’ll grab your children and make them gay or trans or bi- or tri- or quadruple.

We completely de-funded the police and we give looters frequent flier miles for the value of their stolen goods. Nobody speaks English, of course, because the only people you’ll find out in public are illegal aliens who would steal all our jobs, if we had any businesses that were still operating.

Apologists for the city will claim that it’s really safe here and tourists should come and visit in the summer. They’ll try to lure outa towners with stories about outdoor dining and neighborhood festivals and zoos and culture. They’ll brag about restaurants with Michelin stars and the highest-rated museums in the world. They'll try to trick you with baseball and hot dogs—the real ones, not those skinny tubes of fat they sell in New York—and all that other claptrap.

They might even try to confuse you with "facts" and "truth," but don't be fooled. It’s a crime-infested, corrupt, leftist, sleazebag hellhole here and it’s especially dangerous now that there’s a fatwa against suburbanites who venture east of Harlem. (Especially you, Schaumburgians!!)

There’s a bounty on the heads of all the conventioneers who get lost in the most-logical street grid on earth and there’s a shoot-on-sight order for anyone who comes for that stupid NASCAR thing over Fourth of July weekend. It’s a combination of The Purge and Saw, but all day every day, all summer long.

Whatever you do, stay away from Chicago this summer. No matter how careful you are, you will absolutely be murdered, assuming you weren’t carjacked and left for dead on the way into town.

If you’re still feeling lucky, punk, you should definitely wait to come here after Labor Day, or maybe November, just to be safe. By then, all the gang leaders will have moved down to their mansions in Cuba and the immigrants will be at their vacation homes in Texas and Florida. Businesses will be operating again and we’ll have at least 50 people on the police force. Granted, all of them will be named Fife, but we do the best we can. According to the actuaries, you’ll have a 74% chance of surviving your visit here if you show up after summer is over; and up to 78% if you don’t leave your hotel room.

Just remember, you’ve been warned. There’s nothing worse than being a tourist in Chicago in the summer, so stay out of our toddlin’ town if you know what’s good for you. Those of us who already live here will try, ever so bravely, to make the most of our summertime agony, and we’ll let you know when/if it’s safe to pay us a visit. Definitely not until after Labor Day, though. We'll let you know.

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