Before I ever heard Michael Jackson on the radio, I met him as a cartoon.

Jackson 5ive was a Saturday‑morning animated TV series that ran for two seasons in 1971 and 1972. I was six years old. My parents controlled the car radio, and it only played country music. Votes from the back seat were not allowed.

Michael wasn’t part of my soundtrack yet. He was a moving, singing cartoon character who somehow still felt real. A few years later, he showed up again. This time on TV during prime time.

In 1976, The Jackson 5 launched a short‑lived variety show that later became The Jacksons. It only ran for a dozen episodes, but it placed Michael squarely in the center of a television tradition that had been shaping entertainers long before MTV ever existed.

The variety shows of the 1970s followed an entertainment formula that dated back over a century to vaudeville. Fast‑moving mixes of comedy, music, dance, novelty acts, and short sketches designed to capture and keep the attention of the whole family.

The Jacksons were made for that stage.

Their precision, polish, and charm translated instantly to television, and Michael especially absorbed everything. Show after show, he was learning stage discipline, camera awareness, and how to forge an emotional connection with millions of unseen viewers at once.

Before music videos were a thing, Michael was being trained, almost accidentally, for a medium that didn’t exist yet.

And then MTV arrived.

And when Thriller began airing, the world finally caught up to what Michael Jackson had been preparing for all along.

Thriller

When Thriller hit MTV, it wasn’t just another three‑minute song accompanied by a video. It was an event. You stopped whatever passive listening activity you were doing and paid attention.

During the next fourteen minutes, the boundaries between film, music, and television disappeared. Michael Jackson transformed MTV, turning what was once promotional filler into something cinematic, unforgettable, and impossible to ignore.

In that moment, he stopped feeling like just a gifted human being to me. He became a superhero whose power was movement, timing, and the ability to make the entire world lean forward at once.

As someone who had admired Michael’s music for most of my life, missing this movie was never an option. I loved his artistry deeply, even while being dimly aware that his childhood, especially his relationship with his father, had not been an easy one.

I walked into the theater expecting nostalgia and perhaps a restrained portrayal of family struggle, neatly culminating in Michael’s success.

Yet, not long into the movie I realized (much like Ola Ray did in the Thriller video), that I was about to get more than I bargained for. What followed focused on a childhood I wasn’t prepared to sit with.

Another Part of Me

Almost immediately, I realized this story was going to linger in places I usually avoid.

Early in the movie, we see a young Michael being whipped by his father, Joe, with a belt for not wanting to practice because he was tired.

Hearing Michael, played so vividly by newcomer Juliano Valdi, screaming and crying was almost more than I could stand.

The scene was difficult to watch, not because it felt exaggerated, but because it felt disturbingly believable.

Joe Jackson is portrayed as a man driven by a fierce desire for excellence, convinced that relentless discipline was the only way his children could survive and succeed in a harsh world. That ambition deeply shaped Michael.

From an early age, Michael was different. Gifted, sensitive, and self-aware, he carried the weight of expectation in ways his brothers did not.

Practice was constant. Mistakes were costly. Approval felt conditional. Love, when expressed, was tightly bound to performance.

The movie suggests that Michael found ways to escape the pressure he could not control. Imagination became a refuge. Fantasy offered relief when reality felt unsafe.

Animals provided companionship and comfort long before fame gave him the means to create an entire world of his own. Long before Neverland, the film portrays Michael keeping a llama, a giraffe, and his monkey Bubbles while he was still living at home.

These were not indulgences. They were coping mechanisms. Safe places carved out by a child who needed room to breathe.

As Michael grew older, his talent flourished spectacularly. Discipline produced precision, mastery, and brilliance unlike anything the world had seen.

His success made him visible everywhere. His performances inspired awe, admiration, and global devotion. But visibility is not the same as invulnerability.

The world celebrated what Michael became, while the pain formed early remained largely unseen and unresolved. His achievements did not reach backward to undo what shaped him.

Talent does not compensate for trauma, and success does not heal what was wounded early.

Man in the Mirror

Watching Joe physically discipline Michael was painful. I found myself asking a simple question. How could a father strike a child so gifted and gentle for being tired?

What surprised me most was where my mind did not go.

It didn’t return to the times I felt I had been over‑disciplined as a child. Instead, I was carried back to moments from my life as a father. Times I disciplined my daughter and son with a swat or a spanking.

As tears welled up, I remembered a few moments when that discipline came from anger rather than love. The weight of that realization settled heavily on me.

For a brief and deeply uncomfortable moment, I felt as though I had stepped into Joe Jackson’s place, hearing the cries I never wanted to hear again.

Fortunately, the violence itself was only briefly revisited, though its presence lingered. What became clear was that Michael carried this tension with his father for years, long after the bruises faded.

I don’t pretend to know the burdens Joe Jackson carried or what shaped him into the parent he became. Sitting in the theater, I had to ask myself a harder question. What unexamined baggage did I bring into my own parenting?

Choices I made while trying to be a “good” parent have haunted me for years. Was it time for me finally to deal with that pain and move on?

I have good relationships with my adult children now. Why do I struggle with something they’ve put behind them?

Insight may begin in stillness, but it rarely ends there. Something in us wants to move once the truth is seen.

Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)

Michael found it difficult to remain still when he was recording. From Berry Gordy to Quincy Jones, producers often reminded him to stand still behind the microphone. He allowed the music to flow through his entire body.

Without formal dance training, he became one of the most influential dancers the world has ever seen. Rather than being defined by his pain, Michael chose expression.

He turned discipline into movement and giftedness into entertainment, using his body to say what words could not.

The film took us back to 1983 and the making of the Beat It video. I realized I could not keep my own feet still. My legs moved instinctively during those scenes, and I wondered if I was bothering the stranger sitting next to me.

Michael’s music stirs something physical. It makes you want to move, shout, and celebrate. At this point in my life, though, I suspected if I tried to shake my body down to the ground, I might not get back up.

We revisited the 1984 Pepsi commercial accident where Michael suffered second‑ and third‑degree burns after a pyrotechnic malfunction. During his recovery, we see him visiting other hospital patients, offering encouragement while still healing himself.

Michael later donated the full settlement he received from Pepsi to the hospital where he was treated. Over time, generosity became part of who he was.

In 2000, Guinness World Records recognized him as the pop artist who supported the most charities, thirty‑nine in total.

Michael did not erase his pain. He transformed it into beauty, expression, and joy. From the rewards of his success, he repeatedly reinvested in people.

His story does not show what is guaranteed. It shows what is possible. You do not have to be healed to be helpful. You do not have to be whole to create something good.

Watching his story, I realized this was not just about him anymore.

You Are Not Alone

No one’s life is perfect. Every one of us encounters pain, trauma, or hardship. While pain may shape us, it does not have to define us. Much of the pain we carry comes from earlier chapters of our lives, yet we still walk around carrying the emotional shrapnel they left behind.

The question is not whether we have pain. The question is what we will do with it.

For me, this movie helped me see unresolved pain connected to the parental choices I made when my children were younger. Awareness was the first step. Until something is named, it cannot be handled honestly.

Ignored pain does not disappear. It gets transferred. It shows up in our reactions, strains our relationships, and quietly creates patterns we never intended to repeat.

Healing is not only about reducing pain. Healing happens when we expand our capacity for joy, connection, and presence.

Sometimes that looks like stillness and reflection. Sometimes it looks like movement. Dancing. Shouting. Even shaking our body down to the ground.

The good news is this. Pain does not have to stop with us. All of us can choose to redirect what hurt us toward creativity, kindness, discipline, and intention, outward for the good of others.

And if you are carrying something heavy, know this. You are not alone. You are not the only one sorting through the past. You are not the only one wondering how to turn pain into something meaningful. You are not behind, broken, or disqualified.

So here is the simple question I will leave you with. What are you going to do with the pain you carry? Will you let it quietly shape your reactions, or will you choose to turn it toward something that brings life to you and to others?

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“That’s BULL$#1T!”

It’s a phrase yelled at me twice a week. I host two trivia shows at a local bar that serves patrons 21 and older. It’s noisy, unfiltered, full of wildly inappropriate team names, and just chaotic enough to feel like home.

But every once in a while, something happens that cuts through the noise.

One night after a show, as I moved from table to table collecting pens and visiting with each team, the woman of a husband-and-wife team asked me, “Do you know my story?”

I didn’t. But what she shared reminded me of something bigger than the game, something I’ve watched unfold for four years: people finding connection in the most ordinary corners of their lives.

We were made for community. And sometimes we find it in places we never would have expected.

1. Community Can Be Found in Unexpected Places

Every Wednesday and Thursday night, I sit behind a microphone surrounded by the smell of delicious hot wings, the clatter of pint glasses, and team names that would get me fired anywhere else.

My job is simple: read questions, play music, keep the game moving. But somewhere between the jokes, the heckling, and the ritual of picking up pens and visiting with each team after the show, something bigger has happened.

These people have become my people.

For four years now, I’ve watched people walk through the door: engineers, teachers, retirees, bartenders, blue-collar, white-collar, and “I-don’t-think-they-own-a-collar,” people.

Politically, spiritually, and culturally, we’re all over the map. In any other setting, half of us would avoid the other half. But on trivia night, none of that matters.

We’re just humans sharing the same space, the same music, the same collective groan when someone yells, “That’s BULL$#1T!” after I reveal an answer they were absolutely sure was wrong.

There’s an honesty in a bar that doesn’t exist in most of life. The team names, the banter, and the laughter are all part of a weekly rhythm that has somehow become sacred.

From the outside, it appears to be a simple game. But inside that one hour and fifteen minutes, strangers become acquaintances, and acquaintances become friends.

In a world where we divide ourselves by everything from beliefs to newsfeeds, trivia night is one of the few places where people keep showing up to the same table simply to be together.

Every time I move through that room, passing out answer sheets or collecting pens, I’m reminded that community is usually found where we least expect it. Sometimes it’s waiting in the corner of a noisy bar on a random weeknight.

2. Small Gestures Can Make a Big Difference

One night after a show, while I was making my usual rounds collecting pens and chatting with teams, the woman from the quiet husband and wife duo looked up at me and asked, “Do you know my story?”

I didn’t, and the question caught me off guard. You do not expect something heavy to land in the middle of a bar.

I told her no and tried to stay calm while my mind ran through a dozen possibilities. Then I stopped overthinking and just listened.

She took a breath. “The first time we came here was the day we dropped our son off at college. I was a wreck. I told my husband I needed a drink, and we ended up here.”

As soon as she said it, the memory came back. I had walked over that night and asked if they wanted to play. I never assume people want to participate because I hate having things pushed onto me. So I always ask.

She continued. “We were sitting there trying to adjust to the quiet that comes after raising a kid. You asked if we wanted to play, and we thought, why not. I was missing my son so much.

But we played that night and had the best time. It was the first time all day I wasn’t thinking about him leaving.”

Then she said the line I will carry with me for a long time.

“For the next six weeks, we came back every Thursday. Trivia was my therapy. You asking us to play that first night helped more than you know.”

I stood there holding a handful of pens, realizing that something small to me had landed at just the right moment for her.

A simple invitation. A brief connection. A little reminder that she was not alone while navigating a major life transition.

They kept coming back. They became part of the community. And now I see them every week, not as strangers but as people whose story now overlaps with mine.

It reminded me that we almost never know how much a small gesture can matter.

Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is simply ask someone if they want to be part of something.

3. Community Creates Space for Healing, Joy, and Connection

By now, most people who come to trivia each week know something important:
it is never just about the game.

The questions are fun, the competition is lively, and winning a gift card never hurts. But none of that is what keeps people showing up. What brings them back is the feeling of belonging.

It is the comfort of a familiar table, the laughter that breaks up a long day, and the simple joy of being around people who remember your name.

I have watched players walk in carrying all kinds of weight. Some are navigating big life transitions. Some have had a long week. Some are holding quiet heartbreaks that no one else notices.

And again and again, I have seen trivia night become a small anchor. A routine that restores a bit of normalcy. A short break from the noise. An hour and fifteen minutes where life feels lighter.

What I did not expect when I first started hosting is this:
I am not just running a game. I am creating space.

A space where people feel seen.
A space where connection happens naturally.
A space where strangers sit together long enough to become something more.

Trivia might look like pure fun from the outside, and yes, it is fun. But for many people, it becomes something deeper.

It becomes a weekly reminder that joy often comes from the simplest moments shared with people who, not long ago, were complete strangers.

Your Invitation

We were never meant to live life alone. Each of us needs a place where we feel known, where someone is glad we showed up, and where the small moments of life are shared with people who care.

Maybe trivia has already become that space for you. Maybe it has added a little laughter, comfort, or community to your week. If it has, I would love to hear your story. Share it in a reply to this newsletter.

And if trivia is not your place, that is perfectly fine.
Find the corner of the world that fills you up.
Find the people who make you feel welcome.
Find the community that reminds you that you are not walking through life alone.

It might be a book club, a church, a gym class, a volunteer group, or a random hobby you decide to try. What matters is not the setting.

What matters is that you allow yourself to show up and be part of something.

So here is your invitation:
Take the next step toward connection.
Find your people.
Let them find you, too.

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The Countdown to Adulthood

When you’re a kid, life feels like one long countdown.

You look forward to:

• growing up

• escaping discipline

• getting behind the wheel of a car

• making your own decisions

• tasting the freedom adulthood promises.

Here’s a potential problem. “Looking forward” can lead to “present paralysis.” It tricks us into thinking life starts later.

The future is shaped moment by moment, right here. It isn’t a finish line we eventually stumble into. And every time we postpone something meaningful, we quietly train ourselves to believe that now isn’t worthy, ready, or important enough.

That slow drift of hesitation is exactly how people lose years without ever noticing.

That illusion can be defined as “the myth of later.”

The Myth of “Later”

We live in a culture obsessed with planning, forecasting, and waiting for the “right time.”

We tell ourselves,

I’ll start when things settle down…
when I have more money…
when the timing feels perfect.

But wisdom rarely waits. It doesn’t shout from the mountaintops. It whispers in the quiet corners of our lives:

What about now?

“Later” is a seductive myth. It promises ease, but often delivers regret.

It convinces us that tomorrow will be smoother, that opportunities will stay put, that we’ll magically have more energy, clarity, or courage.

This present moment is the only time we’re guaranteed. And it’s packed with potential.

The myth of “later” doesn’t just live in our thoughts. It shapes our choices.

It whispers, “You have time,” and suddenly we’re postponing decisions, deferring conversations, and shelving dreams.

At work, we think, “I’ll get to that tomorrow.”
At home, “I’ll clean the dishes in the morning.”
With relationships, “I’ll call them later.”

But every decision we delay is a seed we never plant. Every risk we avoid is a story we never live.

The Danger of Delay

We delay decisions. We postpone conversations. We defer dreams. Why? Because we think we’ll be braver, wiser, or more ready tomorrow.

But tomorrow is a moving target. And wisdom doesn’t wait for readiness, it responds to reality.

Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring. — Ancient Proverb

Delay feels harmless in the moment, but it quietly compounds (just like interest).
Except this kind doesn’t grow, your life. It shrinks it.

And the dangers are real.

1. Delay creates emotional distance.

We tell ourselves we’ll text a friend tomorrow, check in next week, or repair a strained relationship “when things calm down.”

But with every postponed moment, the gap widens. Silence grows heavier. Reconnection grows harder. And sometimes the opportunity slips away entirely.

A classmate’s father passed away, and I didn’t reach out right away. With each day I waited, my stress level climbed.

When I finally called a day or two after the funeral, I was more anxious about making the call than the call itself. Isn’t that crazy? He’s a good friend, even if we don’t see each other often.

He was grateful to hear from me, and we had a warm, meaningful conversation. Looking back, I wasted time and emotional energy thinking about the call instead of just making it.

Even a quick voicemail would have meant more than my silent hesitation.

2. Delay drains our energy.

Unmade decisions create mental drag. We carry tasks in our heads instead of putting them in motion. We replay conversations we should have, instead of having them.

The longer we wait, the heavier it feels.

And we know this feeling. I lived it when I waited too long to call my friend after his father passed. Every day I didn’t call, the weight didn’t shrink: it grew. The stress wasn’t coming from the call itself… it was coming from the delay.

That’s what delay does. It turns simple tasks into emotional burdens, and small responsibilities into lingering background noise. It drains our energy long before we ever take action. Most of the time, the task isn’t hard.

Tom Petty was close when he sang, “The waiting is the hardest part.” But anyone who’s postponed a call, a task, or a tough conversation knows the real lyric should’ve been: “The delaying is the hardest part.”

3. Delay turns small problems into big ones.

A difficult conversation at work becomes a performance issue months later. A minor health concern becomes a major diagnosis because we “didn’t have time” to schedule the appointment.

A small cluttered pile becomes chaos because we kept waiting for the perfect Saturday. I’ll take time to wash clothes (hoping to score some points with my wife).

I’ll leave them in the dryer for three days, and by the time I pull them out, they are as wrinkled as my fingertips after two hours in the pool. Leaving no points scored with the wife. In fact, I may have triggered a point deduction review!

What We Can Do in the Present

If delay is dangerous, then the present is powerful. You don’t need a life overhaul to break the cycle of “later.” You need small, honest steps taken now.

Here are three simple ways to reclaim the present:

1. Do the next right thing.

Not the perfect thing. Not the entire plan. Just the next right thing.

We get stuck because we imagine life requires grand gestures with breakthrough strategies, twenty‑step systems, and airtight clarity. But almost nothing in the real world actually works that way.

Life moves in inches, not miles. And the present moment only asks for one thing at a time. Doing the next right thing is how we shrink life back down to human size.

That text you’ve been avoiding? Send it. That appointment you keep pushing off?
Schedule it. That five‑minute conversation that’s been sitting on your conscience for weeks? Have it.

Once you move even a little, something inside you wakes up. Momentum builds. Possibility expands. What felt like dread starts to shift into, “Okay… I’ve got this!”

You don’t need certainty, or even clarity, to make this move. You just need enough courage to take one honest step in the direction. When you take the next step (even an imperfect one), the path ahead becomes a little clearer.

Small decisions made today beat big intentions saved for someday.

I’ve seen this in my own life. I’ve fixed things I never thought I could fix: replacing the drive belt on my riding mower, swapping out an entire headlight assembly in one of our cars.

These may sound simple to anyone who’s mechanically inclined, but I’m mechanically declined, and yet I did them. Not because I had a plan. But because I made one small choice to start.

Those tiny decisions were the moments when real change happened.

So start now. Start small. And let the next right thing be enough.

2. Shorten your decision window.

Most delays happen because we give ourselves too much room to hesitate. I’m the “King of Hesitation!” When the window is wide, doubt has space to grow. But when the window shrinks, decisions get simpler.

We don’t struggle because things are complicated. We struggle because we start overthinking. “My name is Michael Hollifield, and I struggle with overthinking.”

Overthinking gives small choices unnecessary weight. Pausing too long turns simple tasks into emotional mountains. The longer we wait, the heavier everything feels.

So make your window smaller on purpose.

Try this:

• If something takes less than two minutes, do it now.

  • Send the confirmation.

  • Wash the dish.

  • Reply to the message.

Tiny wins stack quickly when you stop postponing what takes almost no effort.

• If it takes less than ten minutes, do it today.

  • Make the call.

  • Fill out the form.

  • Tidy the room that’s been silently judging you.

A small burst of focus with action can wipe out an entire category of low‑level stress.

• If it takes honest courage, do it sooner than you want.

Difficult decisions grow sharper, louder, and more expensive the longer they sit. Courage shows up when you choose to act.

Shortening your decision window simply reduces the distance between knowing and doing. It keeps fear, fatigue, and perfectionism from stretching that distance into days, weeks, or months.

I once read about a couple who handled major life decisions (things like where to live, or whether to make a vocational change) by giving themselves just 48 hours.

Not reckless, not rushed, but decisive. They did their research, talked it through, and made the call.

And it made me think: if they can make life‑shaping choices in two days, surely I can shorten my decision window on the far smaller choices I face every day.

3. Build a “Now List,” not a “Someday List.”

A “Someday List” is where dreams go to retire.
A “Now List” is where dreams go to live.

“Someday” is comfortable, but it’s also dishonest. It lets us pretend we’re moving toward something without taking a single step. A Someday List may create the illusion of intention, but it quietly gives us permission to delay what matters.

A “Now List” does the opposite. It pulls your attention into the present and forces you to engage with what you say you value.

Write down three things that truly matter to you.

Not: what should matter; what used to matter; what matters to the people around you.

Write down the things that rise to the surface when you’re honest.

Then ask one question for each item:
What’s one immediate step I can take toward each of these?

Not the final step. Not the biggest step.

The first step. The simplest, clearest, least avoidable next action that moves this from intention into reality.

Do that step today.

A “Now List” turns values into verbs, hope into movement, and desire into direction. Most importantly, it turns “someday” into “now.”

A simple truth to remember

The present is the only place where change actually happens.
It’s where:
- courage grows
- relationships heal
- creativity returns
- lives shift.

You don’t need more time.
You need more intention.

I used to wait for the “right moment” and never noticed that the right moment was already here. The present isn’t just a passageway. It’s also an invitation. A doorway. A sacred intersection between who you’ve been and who you’re becoming.

And the only way through that doorway… is to move.

So here’s the call: Take something out of someday, and place it firmly in now.

Pick one decision, one relationship, or one small action that matters and do something about it before the day ends. Not to finish it. Just to begin.

Because beginnings are what shape a life.

Reflection Questions

• What decision have you been postponing that needs to be made now?

• Who needs your attention, encouragement, or forgiveness today?

• What would change if you lived like now was sacred?

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When I started the job, I had no idea what I was doing. They promised me an office, but for the first year, I worked from home. My weekly task list? Two items. I could knock those out in a day, which left me with four other days to “fill.”

Meanwhile, my wife drove an hour to her real job, worked eight hours, and drove home only to find me in my pajamas, in front of the TV playing Nintendo. This was the early ’90s, and let’s say she didn’t find as much joy in that as I did.

By week one, I had already finished my tasks, so I went to the library and checked out a book about a legendary witch who lived near our town. Reading about witches might have been better than playing video games, but it wasn’t exactly work.

When you don’t have meaningful work, you’ll usually fill your time with things that do not move your life forward. (In this case, even meaningful work can lead to wasted time if you’re unsure what to do or how to do it.)

That’s why, as we head into 2026, I want to talk about work. Not just the kind that pays the bills, but the kind that builds the life you actually want. And to do that, I’ve got three ancient proverbs that will change your life.

Work Brings Profit, Talk Brings Poverty

New Year’s Resolutions are becoming a thing of the past. People made statements like: “I’m going to get fit,” “I’ll start saving,” and “This is the year I write that book.” They later realized these are wishes unless they’re backed up with action.

Oscar Wilde nailed it when he said:

Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.

A goal without a plan, and a plan without work = just a wish.

Work creates momentum. Even small steps compound over time, turning effort into results. The person who acts will always outpace the person who only talks about “getting around to it.” Action is the bridge between intention and impact.

When I’ve lost weight, it wasn’t magic. It was one meal at a time. When I’ve saved money, it was saying “No” to myself when I wanted something shiny.

Just last week, I tossed peanut butter cookie dough and mini Reese’s Cups into my cart, even though we had homemade cookies at home. Three steps later, I stopped and said:

Hey b#tth3ad, you don’t need these two items. You have desserts at home. Don’t spend this money! Your wife and daughter spent a few hours making those cookies, and you want to bring home these items just because you have a hankering for this crap?

That’s what action looks like: small, deliberate choices. If you’ve been saying, “I’ll start next week,” make today your “next week.” Talking feels productive, but only work brings profit. In 2026, let’s trade chatter for progress.

An Empty Stable Stays Clean, But There Is No Income From An Empty Stable

Clean is easy. Progress is messy. If everything in your life looks neat and perfect, chances are you’re not doing enough to grow. An empty stable is spotless, but also useless. Productivity often comes with clutter, noise, and a little chaos.

Starting a new project means papers on the desk, ideas scribbled on sticky notes, and maybe a few late nights. Building a business means learning new tools, making mistakes, and fixing them. Even getting fit means sweaty clothes and dishes from healthy meals. Growth leaves a trail.

If you’re holding back because you don’t want the mess, you are holding back the income, the progress, and the joy that come with doing something meaningful. In 2026, let’s embrace the mess that comes with movement.

A Hard Worker Has Plenty of Food, But a Person Who Chases Fantasies Has No Sense

Dreams are fine, but they don’t pay the bills. Hard work does. Chasing fantasies feels exciting because it’s easy to imagine success without effort.

But if all you do is scroll through “get rich quick” videos or wait for the perfect opportunity, you’ll end up hungry: figuratively (and maybe literally).

I used to watch the Powerball and Mega Millions drawing totals in my state. I kept a spreadsheet of how I’d spend the money if I hit “the big one.” It was exhilarating thinking through this list. Below is just the first section.

Not pictured are sections on what charities I’d donate to, how my wife and I would spend what was left, and what we’d leave to our friends and family.

Unfortunately, I never won. Fantasies promise instant results, but they rarely deliver.

Most worthwhile things take time: saving money, building a career, improving your health. Hard work may not be glamorous, but it’s the only path that guarantees progress.

Identify one fantasy you’ve been chasing. Maybe it’s the idea of overnight success or a “magic” solution, and replace it with a concrete, actionable step. In 2026, let’s stop chasing illusions and start building something real.

Make 2026 the Year of Action

Talk is easy. Work is hard—but it’s worth it. These three ancient truths remind us that progress doesn’t come from perfect plans or wishful thinking. It comes from rolling up our sleeves and doing the work that matters.

• Work brings profit, talk brings poverty – Resolutions without action are just noise.

• An empty stable stays clean, but there is no income from an empty stable – Growth is messy, and that’s okay.

• A hard worker has plenty of food, but a person who chases fantasies has no sense – Stop chasing shortcuts; start building something real.

If you want 2026 to look different, it’s simple: stop talking and start working. Progress comes from deliberate steps, not perfect plans.

If you’d like tips on how to make better decisions in 2026, subscribe to Disgustingly Simple Life Advice. Life is simple, but living can be a challenge.

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Hernia surgery at 15 months old!

Yes, I had been born with a hernia. My parents suspected something was wrong when I started walking with a limp. A doctor confirmed it and scheduled surgery.

Before the operation, he warned my parents that being in an operating room at such a young age, under all those bright lights might make me a nervous child.

Lights? Please. The lights were the least of my worries. Try strangers coming at me in masks with needles, and knives!

That experience, and my mother’s helicopter-level protection afterward, set the stage for a childhood full of fears. Not just of pain or hospitals, but everything and everyone.

My parents didn’t have to worry about me talking to strangers. I didn’t speak to anyone. I was as afraid of people as a snowflake is of a blowtorch.

Unfortunately my fears didn’t stop there. I was fearful of the people I could see, but I was even more terrified of three people I couldn’t see.

Childhood imagination is powerful but not always kind. In my life there were times when make-believe felt more frightening than fun.

The Tooth Fairy

My parents taught me about the Tooth Fairy when I was very young. Lose a tooth, put it under your pillow, and sometime during the night, a magical lady sneaks into your room, takes the tooth, and leaves money.

They never explained why she wanted my teeth. What kind of person trades cash for body parts? And why were my parents okay with someone creeping into our house, into my bedroom, while I slept? (Are these guys even my real parents? D@ng man!)

When I lost a tooth, there was no way I was putting it under my pillow and risking a midnight visit. If she had woken me up by sliding her hand under my pillow, I would’ve gone into shock. At my age, money wasn’t that important anyway!

So I had my dad put the tooth under his pillow. If the Tooth Fairy scared him during the night, that was his problem. The next day, he’d hand me whatever she left (after keeping a small percentage for his trouble).

If the Tooth Fairy gave me nightmares, Santa Clause was a full-blown horror movie.

Santa Claus

At least the Tooth Fairy only wanted one tooth. Santa wanted to break into my house, eat my food, and watch me while I slept. (Someone call the FBI!)

My parents once took me to a store in Asheville, North Carolina to see Santa. When we walked in, I wanted nothing more than to crawl up in his lap and tell him my Christmas list. The only problem? I was terrified of him.

There was Santa Claus: the all-seeing, all-knowing judge of naughty and nice. The man who could deliver gifts to every kid on the planet in one night. The boss of an entire workforce of elves at the North Pole. He was a big deal… and he was also big.

I asked my parents if they would give Santa my Christmas list. I thought they would just mail him a letter, but imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw Dad sitting on Santa’s knee!

That Christmas, I didn’t get what I wanted. But Dad? He scored a new bass boat, fancy fishing gear, and a shiny pickup truck.

For the next few years, he was very eager to “pass my requests on to Santa.” Eventually, I decided to deliver the list myself. Funny thing: my gifts got a whole lot better after that.

Santa only checked his list twice. But Jesus… He knew everything about me, all the time. Naughty or nice? He didn’t need a list. I was taught that He had the original internal (human heart) surveillance system.

Jesus

One Christmas, my first-grade Sunday school class planned a birthday party for Jesus. I thought it was a great idea, except I didn’t want to go because I honestly believed He would show up in person.

I’d heard sermons and Bible stories about Him, but what gift does a nine-year-old give Jesus? If He walked everywhere, He was probably in great shape. He didn’t need any exercise equipment so a ThighMaster was out of the question.

Clothes? I didn’t know His size. All the pictures showed Him wearing what looked like bedsheets. I considered giving Him mine, but Mom would’ve killed me.

And who would take Jesus seriously walking around in Evel Knievel bedsheets? Would He really want “Evel” printed across His outfit, even if it was spelled differently?

In the end, I was too scared to attend His party. I just hoped skipping it didn’t make Him mad. I’d heard He was forgiving, so I figured I’d be okay.

Adulting

These events may have been slightly embellished, but the gist is true. I was an emotionally fragile and fearful kid.

I did eventually grow up… at least physically.

If you’re carrying baggage from your formative years, I hope this gives you some encouragement. You’re not alone. I may be more messed up than you, so hang in there.

Here’s the good news. Try these three things.

1. Reframe the Story You Tell Yourself

Your past is a chapter, not the whole book. Instead of saying, “I’m broken because of what happened,” try, “I learned resilience through what happened.” Changing the narrative shifts your identity from victim to overcomer.

For example, I used to be terrified of people. Today, I’ll talk to anyone, anywhere. I actually feel energized by meeting new people.

2. Focus on What You Can Control Today

The past is fixed, but today is flexible. Ask yourself: “What’s one small decision I can make right now that moves me toward the person I want to be?” Consistent small choices rewrite your future.

When I left for college, I didn’t know a soul. I decided to come out of my shell and start talking to people. To my surprise, most were just like me—looking for friends. Sure, there were a few bad apples, but far more good connections waiting to happen.

3. Surround Yourself with Voices That Speak Life

Your environment matters. Spend time with people who see your potential, not just your history. Positive relationships help you build a new identity and reinforce growth.

Many of those people I built strong relationships with in college became my life-long friends. I ended up marrying one of them! Find a community that will encourage you and even challenge you to continue growing.

Your past may have shaped you, but it doesn’t have to define you. Every day is a chance to write a new chapter: one decision, one conversation, one connection at a time.

If you’re ready to keep moving forward with practical wisdom and a little humor along the way, I’d love to walk that journey with you.

Turn Your Past Into Progress

Life is simple, but living can be challenging. If you want honest stories, practical tips, and a touch of humor to help you make better decisions and live intentionally, subscribe to my newsletter: Disgustingly Simple Life Advice.

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Childhood Chills

Do you like scary movies? My love for them began when I was in elementary school.

Saturday afternoons were sacred thanks to a local TV show called Shock Theatre, where I met the classic creeps: Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, Dracula. These guys were my weekend buddies.

Sometimes, I’d spot a commercial for a horror movie airing in the evening and beg my parents to let me watch. “I won’t get scared,” I’d promise, with all the confidence of a third grader who clearly didn’t understand how fear works.

Spoiler alert: I did get scared. Every time. These were the early ’70s, so the movies weren’t exactly dripping with gore, but they were spooky enough to send me crawling back to my parents at bedtime.

My dad often ended up sleeping in my room, probably wondering why he didn’t just say no to the movie in the first place.

One night, I saw a commercial for a made-for-TV movie called Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell. The TV Guide teased it like this:

Mike and Betty. Just an average American couple. They have a house, a car, two kids, and one lovable dog — possessed by the Devil.

I mean, what could go wrong?

The Barry family thought they were just getting a cute new pup to fill the void left by their dearly departed dog.

Enter Lucky: a German Shepherd with a glossy coat, soulful eyes, and a résumé that includes being born in a full-blown Satanic ritual. (Not exactly something you find on Petfinder.)

At first, Lucky seems like a normal dog, but soon he’s less “man's best friend” and more “hell’s furry ambassador,” turning their suburban home into a supernatural circus.

My parents were great sports, but I’m pretty sure they regretted letting me watch that one. I didn’t even make it to bed before asking for backup.

Looking back, those Saturday scares were some of my first lessons in fear, and maybe even in courage. I didn’t know it then, but those monsters were teaching me something.

Why Do We Like Scary Movies?

Let’s be honest. There’s something weirdly fun about choosing to be terrified. Whether it’s a possessed doll, a haunted house, or a devil dog with glowing eyes, we keep coming back for more. But why?

Part of it is the thrill (or adrenalin rush). Scary movies let us flirt with fear in a safe space. We will watch a group of 20 to 30-somethings playing teenagers take a trip to Camp Crystal Lake, but we would probably not travel there in real life.

We know the credits will roll, the lights will come back on, and we’ll still be alive (hopefully with all our limbs). It’s like emotional skydiving without the parachute anxiety.

But there’s more to it. Horror taps into something deeper. It helps us explore the edges of our comfort zone, confront the unknown, and even laugh at our own reactions.

And let’s not forget the bonding power of a good scare. Few things bring people together like screaming in unison or clutching the nearest armrest during a jump scare. It’s group therapy with popcorn.

Horror gives us a safe space to feel fear, to process it, and to walk away a little stronger. It’s not just entertainment, it’s rehearsal for real life.

Is There Any Benefit to Watching Them?

So, we’ve established that scary movies are popular, but are they actually good for us? Surprisingly, yes. Watching horror can offer more than just goosebumps and popcorn spills.

Emotional Release

Horror gives us permission to feel fear, anxiety, and even grief in a controlled setting. It’s like a pressure valve for the soul. We scream, we gasp, we laugh nervously, and by letting off some emotional steam, we feel lighter afterward.

It’s a mental reset with a soundtrack.

Resilience

And let’s not forget the deeper layers. Horror is more than jump scares and creepy imagery. We it’s a mirror to our inner world. When we watch someone face down a monster, we’re reminded of our own battles.

The horror genre might be fictional, but the courage it calls out is real. Stephen King says, “We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.” That’s not only poetic it’s also practical.

Believe it or not, facing fictional fear can help us deal with real-life stress. Studies suggest that horror fans may be better at managing anxiety and uncertainty. Fear, when managed, can be a tool for growth, empathy, and even healing.

Empathy

Horror often puts us in someone else’s shoes (usually running from something with claws). We feel their panic, their desperation, their fight to survive.

We may scream at them “Don’t go into the basement!” Even though they can’t hear us and go anyway, we intuitively try to help them once they get down there. These are feeble attempts on our part.

These emotional connections can deepen our understanding of human vulnerability and courage.

Morality

Many horror stories are, at their core, tales of good versus evil. They remind us that darkness exists, but so does the light. Even when evil takes the form of a devil dog there’s always a choice to resist, to fight, to overcome.

Conclusion

Warning: Devil Dog: Hound of Hell spoilers ahead.

In the final act of Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell, Mike Barry realizes that bullets won’t stop Lucky. He isn’t just a dog, he’s a full-blown demonic entity.

After a desperate trip to Ecuador, Mike learns that Lucky is a Barghest, a hellhound that can only be banished by pressing a holy symbol to its eye.

Armed with this knowledge and a whole lot of courage, Mike returns home for a showdown that’s anything but ordinary.

Lucky, sensing the threat, unleashes his full power and grows to the size of a building. He was towering over Mike with glowing eyes and a snarling presence that could make Cujo whimper.

But Mike stands firm. In a moment of spiritual grit, he presses the holy symbol to Lucky’s eye, triggering a fiery explosion that sends the beast back to Hell for a thousand years.

The Barry family is freed from the dog’s dark influence, and peace is restored (at least until someone adopts one of Lucky’s siblings).

Mike courageously faced this hellhound to save his family. We can appreciate that kind of courage.

Most of us will never battle a supernatural beast, but we do face fears that feel just as overwhelming, whether it’s standing up for someone, making a hard decision, or confronting a personal struggle.

Even as an elementary school student, I saw Mike’s heroism and thought, “I want to be that brave.”

Brené Brown wrote, we can:

Feel the fear and do it anyway.

So here’s your challenge: The next time fear shows up, whether it’s a barking dog or a tough conversation, don’t back down. Face it with courage, even if your hands are shaking.

You don’t need a holy symbol, just a little faith, a little grit, and maybe a good friend nearby. You’ve got more strength than you think.

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I am so stupid.
Why do I even try?
I know I won’t be able to do that.

Sound familiar?

I have a bountiful supply of negative thoughts that constantly run through my head.

I’ve written before about my inner critic, that voice inside that turns a good day into a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad one. These thoughts don’t come from the outside. They form inside my head.

But what about the outer critics?

Other people add fuel to the flame with their unfavorable assessments. When we’re yearning for positive feedback, even neutral comments can feel like rejection. And intentional criticism? That’s a slap in the face.

You’re not very good at this, are you?
When you get old, you’re going to be a bald, fat man!
You are not the droid we’re looking for!

It’s not like we don’t already have enough to deal with: negative self-talk, low self-esteem, and imposter syndrome. Then someone else chimes in, and it gets worse.

An Unexpected Lesson from Formula 1

I live in the Southeastern U.S., where NASCAR is extremely popular. But I never became a true racing fan (of any kind) until I watched Formula 1: Drive to Survive on Netflix.

This docuseries takes you behind the scenes of the Formula 1 World Championship. It’s drama, comedy, adventure, and even horror all wrapped in ten episodes per season.

You get to know the drivers, the teams, the rivalries, and the pressure. And yes, the pit stops are insane: all four tires changed in just over two seconds!

One episode stood out to me: Season 3, Episode 3 — “Nobody’s Fool.”

Mercedes driver Valtteri Bottas is tired of finishing behind his teammate, Lewis Hamilton. He’s even been ordered to let Lewis pass him in races. Bottas wants to prove himself, not just to the world, but to himself.

Before the Russian Grand Prix, Bottas is having breakfast with his coach and a friend. He mentions seeing some unkind remarks towards him on social media the night before.

His friend responds with a Finnish saying:

The dogs are barking, but the train keeps going.

The meaning? The dogs can bark all they want, but it doesn’t stop the train. The train doesn’t slow down. It doesn’t bark back. It just keeps going.

Bottas channels that mindset, drives with precision, and wins the race. The episode closes with a quiet triumph: not just a victory on the track, but a personal win against doubt, distraction, and the critics (both internal and external).

Bottas’s quiet triumph reminds us that the loudest voices aren’t always the wisest. True strength often lies in moving forward, and not shouting back. It’s a lesson worth remembering, especially when criticism comes our way.

So how do we respond when the barking gets loud? Let’s look at three ways to handle criticism and how each one can shape your journey.

Three Ways to Handle Criticism

Whether it’s your own inner critic or someone else’s outer criticism, you have three choices in handling criticism:

1. Respond – React emotionally or take action.

2. Agree – Accept the criticism and move forward.

3. Ignore – Let the dogs bark. Be the train.

Respond

The Ryder Cup is a golf competition held every two years between teams from Europe and the United States. It’s known for its intense match play format and passionate national pride.

Played across three days, it features team-based matches including foursomes, four-ball, and singles, with 28 points up for grabs.

In the 2025 Ryder Cup, hosted at Bethpage Black in New York, Team Europe triumphed over Team USA with a final score of 15–13.

American fans were especially vocal toward European players—none more so than Rory McIlroy, the World No. 2. Several times, McIlroy stood over the ball, ready to hit, only to back off as fans heckled and shouted.

Eventually, McIlroy had had enough. On the 16th hole, after repeated interruptions, he turned to the crowd and shouted, “Shut the f*** up!” It was a raw, emotional response that made headlines.

But then, he stepped up and delivered a near-perfect shot, helping secure a key victory for Team Europe.

Sometimes, responding to criticism means reacting emotionally. Other times, it means channeling that energy into focused action. McIlroy did both, and in doing so, reminded us that while emotion is human, it’s what we do next that defines us.

Agree

Sometimes criticism stings because it’s true. In those moments, the wisest response isn’t defense, it’s humility. When we choose to agree with the feedback, we open the door to growth, improvement, and deeper self-awareness.

Accepting criticism doesn’t mean defeat. It means we’re strong enough to learn, adjust, and keep moving forward.

I remember a time when I was leading a department in a nonprofit organization. One of our volunteers and I had a disagreement, and I didn’t handle it well.

I was frustrated, and instead of listening, I reacted. Later, in a follow-up meeting, he calmly shared what he needed and how I could have supported him better.

He was absolutely right.

I had missed the mark, and I knew it. I apologized, and I learned. That moment taught me how to respond differently if I ever found myself in a similar situation again.

It wasn’t easy to hear, but agreeing with his feedback helped me grow as a leader and as a person.

Ignore

Not all criticism deserves your attention. Sometimes, the wisest move is to keep your head down and stay focused on your path. Valtteri Bottas faced a wave of doubt and online criticism before the Russian Grand Prix.

Instead of engaging, he ignored “the barking dogs.” Bottas let the noise fade into the background and focused on the task at hand, winning the Russian Grand Prix.

Ignoring criticism isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength in disguise. It’s the discipline to stay the course when distractions beg for your attention.

Criticism is inevitable. How we handle it is a choice. Whether we respond with emotion or action, agree and grow, or simply ignore the noise and stay the course, each approach has its place.

The key is knowing which response serves you best in the moment. Because when you handle criticism wisely, you don’t just survive it, you use it to move forward freely.

Now, let’s break it down into Disgustingly Simple Takeaways you can use today.

Disgustingly Simple Takeaway

You don’t have to silence the critics.
You don’t have to prove them wrong.
You just have to keep going.

Let the dogs bark.
Be the train.

Call to Action:

This week, when criticism comes your way: pause and choose your response.

Will you react, reflect, or release?

Pick the path that helps you move forward freely. Write it down. Live it out.

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Ben’s Rise: From Chaos to Control

Ben’s story didn’t begin in comfort. His birth was a result of a rape. His father was a murderer. His older brother died from a mysterious illness. He grew up in a dysfunctional, blended family, where conflict was the norm.

While his siblings fought each other and the world, Ben chose a different path. He was more of a lover than a fighter.

As an adult, Ben inherited the family business. His father had built it from the ground up, and Ben had always admired his strength and leadership. But now, standing at the helm, Ben felt overwhelmed.

The legacy was heavy, and he doubted his ability to carry it forward.

One night, Ben was speaking with a powerful and wise friend. The friend asked him, “If you could have anything in the world, what would you want?”

Ben didn’t ask for money, fame, or resources. He opened up about his insecurities, saying, “I feel like a child trying to run this business. I just want to make the right decisions and do the best job I can.”

Moved by Ben’s humility, the friend made a bold offer: “I’ll become your silent partner. My resources are yours. If you follow my guidance, you’ll succeed. You’ll have what you need: money, connections, respect, everything.”

Under this partnership, Ben thrived. His business grew. His employees flourished. His customers were happy, and his reputation soared. He became known not just for his success, but for his wisdom and insight.

Years passed. Ben built a life filled with achievement, family, and community impact. But one day, he hit a wall. Despite everything he had, he felt empty. A midlife crisis stirred questions he couldn’t ignore.

His silent partner gave him space to explore these feelings.

Ben began a personal quest to find meaning. He chased pleasure: food, drink, relationships, and entertainment. He had the resources to satisfy his every desire. But the s3x, dr#gs, and rock-n-roll didn’t satisfied him.

He turned to creativity and construction, building stunning facilities surrounded by gardens, parks, and vineyards. He hired the most popular bands and orchestras to fill his venues with beautiful music.

He became a collector of gold, silver, and other precious artifacts from all over the world. Still, his joy was only short-lived.

Ben had reached the summit and found it hollow.

He had wealth, influence, and admiration. His calendar was full, his properties were pristine, and his name carried weight.

But inside, something was missing. The thrill of success had faded. The applause had grown quiet. And this one question remained:

What’s the point of it all?

Ben’s Turning Point: The Search for Substance

He took a step back from the business. Not because it was failing, but because he was. He needed space, not to escape, but to examine.

Ben began journaling. He wrote about his childhood, his rise, his indulgences, and his emptiness. He read philosophy, psychology, and biographies.

He traveled: not to be seen, but to see. He met people who had little, yet seemed to have more peace than he did.

One day, while walking through a quiet park he had once designed, he sat on a bench and watched a father teach his daughter how to ride a bike. She fell. He encouraged her. She tried again. She laughed. He clapped.

Ben smiled. It was the first genuine smile he’d felt in months.

In that moment, Ben remembered what he set out to do when he took over his father’s business. It wasn’t to acquire stuff. It wasn’t to gain anything. It was to serve the customers.

He wanted to do the best job he could by loving and serving the same people his father had loved and served. How could he have gotten so far off track?

That realization hit him harder than any boardroom failure or personal disappointment. Somewhere along the way, the mission had been buried beneath ambition. The heart had been replaced by hustle.

He realized that meaning wasn’t found in building empires. Meaning was found in being present and contributing to something beyond himself.

We don’t know much about what happened to Ben after he returned to his business.

But I’m guessing when he returned to his mission with a new mindset, he simplified operations and gave more decision-making power to his team. I’ll bet he started mentoring young entrepreneurs (not to expand his brand), but to invest in theirs.

He probably spent more time with his family. He listened more. He spoke less. He gave generously, but quietly.

Ben never stopped being successful. But now, success looked different. It wasn’t about being the biggest or the best. It was about being real. Being useful. Being whole.

Reflection: What’s Your Version of Ben’s Story?

Ben’s journey is more than a story. It challenges us to examine our own lives

Maybe you haven’t inherited a business or built an empire, but chances are, you’ve chased something. Success. Approval. Comfort. Control. We all do it in our own way.

And like Ben, maybe you’ve reached a point where you’re asking:

What’s the point of it all?

This story invites you to pause and reflect: not with guilt, but with curiosity.

What did you set out to do when you started your career, your family, your journey?

Have you drifted from your original purpose?

What matters most to you now, and are you living in alignment with that?

Ben didn’t find peace in possessions or prestige. He found it in being present. In remembering why he started. In reconnecting with the people he was meant to serve.

You don’t need a crisis to make that shift. You just need a moment of clarity.

So take a breath. And ask yourself:

What would it look like to trade hustle for heart?

Here’s a Disgustingly Simple chart, to give you some examples of how this might play out in our lives.

You don’t have to overhaul your life overnight. You can start small: one decision, one conversation, one moment of clarity. Trading hustle for heart is deciding to do what matters the most to you.

So step back into your day and when you feel yourself start to hustle, slow down and remember to live with more heart.

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The Song That Took Me Back

Some songs don’t just play. They take you places. When I heard Scotty McCreery’s “Bottle Rockets,” a nostalgic anthem that captures the magic of a youthful summer romance on the Carolina coast, my high school years came flooding back to me.

The song is full of vivid imagery: bonfires, moonlit waves, and barefoot memories. Scotty McCreery’s lyrics paint a picture of a moment frozen in time, where love felt simple, wild, and unforgettable.

The mashup with Darius Rucker’s “Hold My Hand” deepens the emotional pull for me, turning the song into a heartfelt tribute to connection, longing, and the timeless power of music to transport us back to who we were and what we felt.

It’s a celebration of sentimentality: the kind that makes you smile, ache a little, and remember. Sentimentality isn’t a weakness. It’s a doorway to wisdom.

What Is Sentimentality, Really?

I am extremely sentimental. Sentimentality is the emotional weight we give to memories that matter. It’s the feeling that rises when a song, a scent, or a sunset brings back something deeply personal and something that shaped who we are.

It’s not only remembering. It’s reliving the emotion behind the memory. Sentimentality connects us to our past in a way that’s tender, meaningful, and often transformative.

But not all sentimentality is helpful. There’s a fine line between healthy sentimentality, which inspires and grounds us, and unhealthy nostalgia, which traps us in longing for what was.

Healthy sentimentality helps us reflect, grow, and make better decisions. Unhealthy nostalgia keeps us stuck, idealizing the past and resisting the present.

The key is learning to recognize when a memory is guiding us forward, and when it’s quietly holding us back.

I struggle with some memories that hold me back. One in particular comes from a time when I was given the opportunity to leave a job I once had. I knew that if I didn’t choose to go, the decision would eventually be made for me.

I’m genuinely grateful for that experience. It shaped me in ways I’m still discovering. But revisiting it can stir up a storm inside me. I find myself obsessing over details I can’t change, wishing I had handled things differently.

But that’s like trying to convince a squirrel to return a nut it buried last fall.

When I drift back to that time, my stomach knots up. My anxiety rises like a toddler in a toy store with no supervision. It’s irrational, but real.

That’s the thing about memories: they don’t always ask permission before they show up, and they rarely arrive quietly.

If memories are going to show up uninvited, we might as well learn how to greet them with wisdom and turn them into something useful.

The Disgustingly Simple Memory Code

Memories have power. They can stir emotion, spark creativity, and even shape our decisions. But without a simple way to work with them, they can also overwhelm us or keep us stuck.

That’s where the Disgustingly Simple Memory Code comes in. It’s a three-step framework designed to help you engage with sentimental memories in a way that’s healing, clarifying, and forward-moving.

1. Pause – Let the memory surface.

Sometimes, a memory shows up uninvited and can be triggered by a song, a scent, or a quiet moment. Other times, we go looking for it. Either way, the first step is to pause and let it rise.

Music is especially powerful here. A single lyric or melody can transport us to a bonfire night, a moonlit drive, or a moment of laughter with someone we miss. Instead of pushing the memory away or judging it, we simply let it surface.

Pause. Breathe. Feel.

This is not about fixing anything. It’s about honoring the emotion without rushing to explain it.

2. Name – Identify what the memory means.

Once the memory has surfaced, ask: What is this really about?

Is it about love?
Youth?
Freedom?
Connection?

Often, the imagery in songs: ocean waves, winding roads, shared conversations, points to deeper values we hold. Naming those values helps us understand why the memory matters. It’s not just nostalgia. It’s a clue to what we care about most.

When we name the meaning, we begin to reclaim the memory as something useful, not just emotional noise.

3. Choose – Decide what to do with the feeling.

Now comes the moment of choice. What do you want to do with this feeling?

Do you reach out to someone you’ve been thinking about?
Do you write, sing, or create something inspired by the memory?
Do you simply sit with it and let it remind you of who you are?

The goal isn’t to escape the emotion. It’s to engage with it. To let it guide you toward something meaningful.

When we learn to pause, name, and choose, sentimentality stops being something that weighs us down and starts becoming a source of strength.

Sentimentality as a Source of Strength

Sentimentality isn’t just about feeling. It’s about fueling. When we revisit meaningful memories with intention, they can become powerful sources of strength.

Boost Emotional Resilience

Memories remind us that we’ve been through hard things before, and we made it. They help us reconnect with our inner strength, especially in moments when we feel uncertain or overwhelmed.

A memory of love, laughter, or perseverance can be like emotional armor: soft, but strong.

I carry many memories of my parents and how they supported me through every stage of life. Though I miss them deeply, those memories remind me I’m not alone. They still give me strength when I need it most.

Strengthen Relationships

Shared memories are the glue of connection. Whether it’s a song that reminds you of your best friend or a story your family tells every holiday, sentimentality deepens bonds.

It helps us appreciate the people who’ve shaped our lives and sometimes nudges us to reach out, reconnect, or simply say thank you.

I have friends who’ve been with me since college, and even now, a single phrase or reference can send us into laughter. Those moments remind us not only of the good times but of how much we still matter to each other.

Do you have a significant other? If so, do you have a “special song?” My wife and I don’t have a “special song.” In fact, our musical tastes are so different that our common ground is how much we dislike each other’s favorite styles.

It’s oddly bonding, like emotional harmony through musical disagreement.

Inspire Creativity

Some of the most beautiful art, music, and writing come from sentimental sparks. A single memory can become a poem, a painting, or a business idea.

When we allow ourselves to feel deeply, we often create more freely. Sentimentality opens the door to imagination.

Many of my articles are born from both wonderful and not-so-wonderful memories.

One of my most-read pieces came from revisiting the experience I mentioned earlier: being asked to resign from a job I loved, just three months after having a heart attack.

It was a painful season, but writing about it helped me process what happened and connect with others who’ve faced similar turning points.

And the only song I’ve ever written was inspired by a memory from early junior high, when I met a beautiful cousin from Boston one summer. I haven’t shared it on Substack yet, but the title was My First Love.

That moment stuck with me. Not because of who she was, but because it was so much fun to meet someone from a world so different from mine. (Being related was a bonus.) It made the world feel bigger, brighter, and a lot more interesting.

Clarify Values

Memories reveal what matters most. The moments we return to are the ones that stir us. They often point to our deepest values: love, freedom, belonging, and purpose. When we pay attention to what moves us, we gain clarity about who we are and what we want to build.

The past is a teacher, not a prison. (Disgustingly Simple)

When we treat memories as lessons instead of limitations, we grow. We stop trying to relive the past and start learning from it.

Reflect With Intention, Live Better

Sentimentality isn’t just something we feel. It’s something we can use. When we engage with our memories intentionally, they become tools for emotional growth, deeper connection, and wiser decision-making.

Here’s a Disgustingly Simple way to start:

Write Down One Memory

Pick one memory that shaped you. It doesn’t have to be dramatic. It just has to be meaningful. Write it down. What happened? How did it make you feel? What did it teach you?

Putting it into words helps you see it more clearly and appreciate its impact.

Use That Memory Today

Ask yourself: What can I do today because of what I’ve lived through?

Can you reach out to someone? Make a better decision? Show kindness?

Let your memory guide you toward something good and something that reflects who you’ve become.

Maybe we can't change the world, but I wanna love you the best that, the best that I can.
— from the song that inspired this article

Sentimentality reminds us what matters most, and helps us live better. Disgustingly Simple

Sentimentality isn’t a weakness. It’s wisdom wrapped in emotion. When we remember with intention, we can live better.

Our memories can guide us, ground us, and help us live more intentionally. So make space for the songs, the stories, and the moments that shaped you.

They’re not just echoes of the past. They’re reminders of what still matters most.

"Bottle Rockets" by Scotty McCreery was co-written by Scotty McCreery, Brent Anderson, Derek George, Jeremy Bussey, Monty Criswell, Frank Rogers, Bobby Hamrick, and the members of Hootie & the Blowfish: Darius Rucker, Mark Bryan, Dean Felber, and Jim Sonefeld.

The song was inspired by McCreery's memories of carefree summers in the Carolinas and features Hootie & the Blowfish.

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Where does our money go?

“The drink machine took my money and didn’t give me a drink!”

A frantic teenager blurted this out during a weekend trip I’d taken with a nonprofit group.

I asked what she put in.

“A $20 bill.”

Wait… what? I wanted to ask if this was her first trip away from her parents.

Sometimes we throw our money away without realizing it. At other times, it just seems to vanish.

But we’ve all asked that quiet, persistent question:
Where does my money go?

It’s not just about dollars and cents.

It’s about the emotional weight behind every transaction, every decision, every sacrifice.

We swipe, we spend, we save, we stress.

And sometimes, we stare at our bank account, wondering how it disappeared so fast.

This article isn’t just about budgeting, or even financial advice.

It’s about the deeper story our money tells. What does it say about our values, our fears, our hopes, and the habits we’ve built around survival and success?

Let’s slow down and take a closer look, not at the numbers, but at the meaning behind them.

The Surface-Level Spend

Let’s start with the obvious.

House payments. Rent. Utilities. Clothes. Food.

These are the essentials: the things we plan for, budget for, expect.

But even here, money finds ways to slip through the cracks.

• A streaming subscription we forgot to cancel.

• An upgrade we didn’t really need.

• A convenience fee we didn’t notice until it was too late.

We spend to survive. But we also spend to soothe.

Sometimes we spend money on what we hope will make life feel a little easier, a little more bearable.

My closet is full of crap that I used once, or not at all, and now are dust collectors.

And this is where the surface-level spending becomes more than just numbers.

It becomes a mirror.

The Hustle and the Hope

Then comes the grind.

• Jobs

• Side hustles

• Savings

• Borrowing

We chase income.
We chase stability.
We chase freedom.

But sometimes, the chase becomes a trap.

We work harder, not smarter.
We save, but it never feels like enough.
We borrow, hoping tomorrow will be better than today.

There’s hope in the hustle. But there’s also exhaustion. We tell ourselves it’s temporary, that the breakthrough is just around the corner. And maybe it is.

Currently, I have a 9-to-5 job. I also work two nights a week on one side hustle, while I’m building another side hustle to support myself when I’m ready to quit my 9-to-5 job.

In the meantime, we’re tired. We’re stretched thin. We’re measuring our worth by our productivity and our peace by our bank balance.

It’s not about the balance in your account; it’s about the balance in your mind - Anonymous

And as one late, modern-day prophet warned us:

Mo money, mo problems. - The Notorious B.I.G.

This section of the journey is where many of us live: between ambition and anxiety, between striving and surviving. That is absolutely no fun.

The Emotional Toll

Money isn’t just math.

It’s emotion.

• Shock

• Denial

• Anger

• Bargaining

We grieve our financial mistakes like we grieve loss. Because in many ways, they are losses: of opportunity, of confidence, of peace.

We feel shame.
We feel fear.
We feel regret.

And yet, we rarely talk about it.

We carry the weight silently, hoping no one notices. We smile through the stress. We pretend we’re fine.

But behind the numbers is a story.

Behind the story is a person.

And that person deserves grace, not guilt.

In my lifetime, I’ve gotten into pretty serious debt - four different times. Each time it took almost acts of God to get me out. Now, it’s easy for me to look back on those times and beat myself like a punching bag in a financial gym.

During those acts of God (or tremendous blessings), how much better would those have been had I not been in debt? Those blessings could have gone for much more productive things than paying off my indebtedness.

That is the tame version. I can’t share my real discussion with myself.

This is the part of the financial journey that’s hardest to measure, but it’s often the most important to heal.

The Scramble to Fix It

• Debt consolidation.

• Better jobs.

• Yard sales.

• Cutting spending.

When the pressure builds, we scramble.

We try everything.
We get creative.
We get desperate.

We look for quick wins: anything to relieve the tension, to feel like we’re making progress.

And sometimes, those quick wins help. But often, they’re just temporary relief.

What we really need isn’t just another tactic. We need a mindset shift. A shift from panic to purpose. From reaction to reflection. From fixing symptoms to addressing the root.

Because when we change how we think about money, we change how we feel about money. And that’s where real transformation begins.

The Simpler Path

• Thrift stores

• Generic groceries

• Staying home

• Saying “No”

These aren’t budget moves. They’re boundary moves. They’re quiet decisions that say, “I’m choosing peace over pressure.” They’re small shifts that reclaim control one choice at a time.

Living within our means isn’t about deprivation. It’s about intention. It’s about choosing what matters most and letting go of what doesn’t.

When we stop chasing, we start choosing. And in that choosing, we find freedom. This is not just financial, but also emotional and spiritual.

The simpler path isn’t always easy. But it’s often the most honest. And it’s always available.

Final Thought

And still, the question lingers: Where does my money go?

Sometimes, we truly don’t know. But asking the question is the first step toward clarity. Toward peace. Toward a life that’s disgustingly simple, and beautifully intentional.

You don’t have to have all the answers today. But you can start asking better questions. You can start making decisions that reflect your values, not just your impulses, habits, or pressures.

So here’s your invitation:

• Take one step.

• Make one choice.

• Start one conversation.

And let that be the beginning of a financial life that feels less frantic and far more free.

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This morning, I created a mountain out of... nothing. Not even a molehill. Just thin air.
And I let it ruin my mood.

Here’s what happened:

I attended an optional online meeting of a non-profit organization. A few of my friends were already chatting, and I hadn’t seen some of them in a while. I unmuted myself and joined the conversation.

The host muted us.

I didn’t realize it was the host, so I unmuted again and tried to speak.

Muted again.

Then I saw the host shaking their head and texting on their phone. That did it. I allowed the moment to hijack my emotions.

I thought:

Who does this person think they are?
Why join a meeting if you’re not ready to meet?
Why not just mute your speakers (or turn them down) instead of muting us?

I stewed. I fumed. I thought, “Screw this,” and left the meeting.

The Real Problem? I Gave Away My Power.

I let someone else’s behavior dictate my emotional state.
And I do this more often than I’d like to admit.

When I finally cooled down, I replayed the situation in my head.
I realized that I didn’t act, I reacted.

And that’s a problem.

Reactions Are Often Thoughtless. Actions Require Intention.

I’ve tried to teach my kids that no one “makes” us mad. We choose how we respond.
But in moments like this, I forget my own advice.

So I did a quick self-check. Sometimes that means journaling for an hour. Sometimes it’s a 30-second mental reset. This time, I just asked myself:

• What was I feeling?

• Why did I let it escalate?

• What could I have done differently?

I answered these questions in my journal.

Here’s the Better Version of That Morning:

• The host mutes me.

• I notice it, but I don’t take it personally.

• I stay calm. I stay present.

• I make a choice to ignore it.

That version feels better. That version doesn’t leave me frustrated or embarrassed.

Why We Turn Molehills Into Mountains

We all do it. A small inconvenience becomes a personal insult. A minor delay becomes a crisis. A single comment becomes a character judgment. Why? Because we’re wired to protect ourselves.

Sometimes, my emotional alarm goes off when there’s no real danger.

A while back, I was in the drive-thru at my favorite fast food restaurant, McDonald’s. I ordered a meal. Drove to the first window, paid, and chose not to accept my receipt. (Big mistake.)

Getting to the second window, a new girl tries to hand me a medium drink.

“That’s not my drink. I ordered a large drink.” She quickly points at a monitor on the wall that I can’t see and says, “This says you ordered a medium drink.”

Imaginary flames of frustration started shooting out of my bald head like a cartoon character, triggered entirely by her tone and attitude. My first thoughts were: “Are you calling me a liar? I don’t give a d@mn what that monitor says, I said I wanted a large Diet Dr. Pepper into the speaker.”

Now, I was “pretty sure” I saw my drink displayed correctly on the order screen when I gave them my order. But I failed to get my receipt when I paid, so technically, I couldn’t prove it. D@ng!

I said (my voice level up just slightly), I don’t care what the screen says, I ordered a large drink. Most people would have set that medium drink aside and made me a large Diet Dr. Pepper. Not the new girl.

I can’t remember the words that were coming out of her mouth after that, but I heard myself say, “May I speak to the manager, please?”

We all have moments when our emotional alarms go off unnecessarily. The key isn’t to eliminate those moments.

We need to recognize them, pause, and choose a better response. That’s how we keep our power. That’s how we stop making mountains out of nothing at all.

Step on the Molehills Before They Grow

There’s something oddly satisfying about stepping on a molehill and pressing it back into the earth. You feel the power rush through your veins.

You’ve caught it before it had a chance to become a mountain. That’s the goal here: to notice the rise, pause, and flatten it before it escalates.

But how?

The trick is learning to pause and ask:

• Is this worth the energy I’m about to spend?

• Is this reaction helping me or hurting me?

These questions are deceptively simple. They don’t require a therapist, a journal, or a 10-day silent retreat. They just require a moment of awareness. Just a breath, a blink, or a beat before the reaction takes over.

Let’s be honest: most molehills don’t announce themselves. They sneak in disguised as annoyances, interruptions, or moments that just rub us the wrong way.

But if you train yourself to spot them early, you can stomp them down before they grow legs and start climbing.

What if I’d calmly answered the young girl at the second window with,

I’m sorry that says a medium drink, but I ordered a large drink at the speaker. Could you just change that medium into a large? I understand if you need to check with the manager. I’m not in a hurry.

Here’s a Disgustingly Simple strategy I have learned to use:

The Pause Practice

1. Feel the Rise
   That little surge of heat in your chest? The tightening in your jaw? That’s your signal. Don’t ignore it. Acknowledge it.

2. Name the Feeling
   “I’m feeling dismissed.”
   “I’m feeling disrespected.”
   “I’m feeling unheard.”
   Naming it helps tame it.

3. Ask the Two Questions
   Is this worth the energy?
   Is this reaction helping me or hurting me?

4. Choose Your Action
   Not your reaction. Your action.
   Maybe you speak calmly. Maybe you walk away. Maybe you laugh it off.
   Whatever you do, make it intentional.

The More You Practice, the Better You Get

Emotional discipline is like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it gets.

I’ve learned that when I react impulsively, I often turn molehills into mountains.
And sometimes, I turn nothing into mountains.

Molehills are annoying. Mountains are exhausting.
And nothing? Nothing should ever become a mountain.

Your Disgustingly Simple Challenge:

This week, catch one molehill before it grows.
Pause.
Name the feeling.
Ask the two questions.
Choose your action.

Then celebrate the win.

Every time you flatten a molehill, you reclaim your peace and your power.

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I had missed a deadline. No excuses. I messed up.

The person responsible for collecting registrations for a nonprofit conference was a friend of mine. That didn’t make it any easier. I was embarrassed and anxious about asking if I could still turn in my forms late. I had let others down, and I knew it.

At one of our regular gatherings, I saw her and realized I couldn’t put it off any longer. Trying to lighten the moment, I asked, “How much do you love me?”

I braced myself for a sarcastic reply. Something like, “What do you need?!” (I’ve shamefully used that line myself when people ask me loaded questions.)

Instead, she simply said, “A lot.”

Her answer humbled me. I asked if I could still submit my registration. She smiled and said, “Of course.” I knew it would mean extra work for her, but she didn’t hesitate. She showed me grace. She showed me kindness.

Kindness is one of the few things in life that costs little to nothing, but can change everything. It doesn’t require money, a budget, a perfect mood, or even a job.

Simple acts of kindness, whether shared with strangers or loved ones, can ripple outward, creating joy, healing, and even unexpected returns.

The Cost of Kindness

Kindness is often mistaken for weakness or dismissed as something reserved for people with extra time or emotional energy. But kindness doesn’t cost money. It costs intention.

Slow Down

Kindness isn’t rushed. It asks us to pause in a fast-paced world, to resist the urge to hurry past people and moments that matter. Slowing down gives us space to be present and intentional.

Notice Others

Kindness begins with awareness. We have to look beyond ourselves and recognize the needs, emotions, and presence of those around us. Noticing others is the first step toward making a meaningful connection.

Have Compassion

Kindness chooses compassion over convenience. It means choosing to care even when it’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, or time-consuming. Compassion asks us to prioritize people over our own comfort.

I host two weekly trivia shows. One night, a man walked up to my table mid-game, wanting to join. We were nearly halfway through, and I was focused on keeping the pace.

I’m not proud of my first thought:

“Dang man, we’re halfway through. You’ve never played, don’t know the rules, and now you’re grabbing stuff off my table?”

Thankfully, none of that came out of my mouth. I made sure he had what he needed, and he returned to sit with his wife. I wasn’t rude, but I knew I could’ve been more welcoming.

After reading the next question and starting the song, I walked over to their table and explained how the game worked. I told them where we were in the round and encouraged them to jump in. They smiled and said, “Okay.”

They chose not to play that night, but after the game, I visited their table again. We spoke for a few minutes, and they told me they’d definitely be back.

I regretted not being more supportive at the start. It reminded me that kindness sometimes means slowing down and being more mindful of the people who show up.

Without them, there wouldn’t be a Trivia Night at all.

That moment reminded me that even small choices in how we treat others can echo far beyond the moment itself.

The Ripple Effect

Kindness doesn’t stop with the person who receives it. One thoughtful act can inspire another, creating a chain reaction that reaches far beyond the original moment.

Whether it’s holding a door, offering a compliment, or simply listening, these small gestures can change the atmosphere of a room, a workplace, or even a community.

Psychologists have found that kindness is contagious.

If you act kindly toward another, there's also a propagation effect—that person goes on to act more kindly. There's a profound contagiousness to kindness. - Tyler VanderWeele (Harvard)

This ripple effect is powerful, especially in times of stress or disconnection.

Research also shows that kindness boosts both mental and physical health. Acts of generosity have been linked to lower blood pressure, reduced anxiety, and increased happiness.

Even witnessing or recalling kind acts can elevate well-being and strengthen social bonds. Kindness not only helps others, it builds a healthier, more connected world.

The Reward of Kindness

Kindness doesn’t just benefit the receiver, it nourishes the giver. There is an old proverb that says,

Your own soul is nourished when you are kind.

That nourishment shows up in many ways: a lifted mood, a sense of purpose, and even physical health benefits.

Acts of kindness trigger the release of dopamine and oxytocin (chemicals that reduce stress and increase happiness).

Kindness also strengthens our relationships. It builds trust, deepens connection, and reminds us that we’re part of something bigger than ourselves.

When my friend answered my question about loving me with, “A lot.” I felt the dopamine and oxytocin, and was reminded of how much her and her husband meant to me and my wife.

Even small gestures like a smile, a compliment, or a helping hand can make us feel more grounded and fulfilled.

This is where kindness connects with the Disgustingly Simple mission: helping people make better decisions and live happier lives. Choosing kindness is one of the simplest, most powerful decisions we can make. It’s free, but it feeds our soul.

If kindness nourishes our soul, then the next step is simple. Start feeding it daily through small, intentional acts.

Kindness in Action

I’ve already mentioned several simple, practical acts of kindness. Kindness doesn’t have to be grand to be powerful. These small choices add up, and they’re available to us every day.

Let me insert something important here:

Kindness should be given freely, regardless of whether the recipient is grateful.

We’ve already discussed how the giver benefits from being kind. That’s reason enough to keep showing up with compassion.

Here are a few practical ways to show kindness:

• Listen fully when someone speaks.

• Hold the door for someone.

• Compliment a coworker or a stranger.

• Offer help without being asked.

• Let someone merge in traffic.

• Send a note of encouragement.

• Forgive quickly and let go of grudges.

Each act is a decision. It’s a moment where we choose compassion over convenience. When we choose kindness, we’re choosing a better version of ourselves.

A friend was worried about how a financial decision he made would affect the way others viewed him. I told him not to worry and reminded him that he deserved the benefits of his decision.

I shared with him a few personal examples I’d seen in his life that made me believe he was worthy of that blessing. I could see a weight lift from him as he teared up.

Now, don’t think I’m all that and a bag of chips. The reason I was able to encourage my friend is because someone once encouraged me in the same way.

Kindness ripples.

Call to Action

Kindness is free. It pays off in ways we often don’t expect. It nourishes the soul, strengthens relationships, and creates ripple effects that reach far beyond the moment.

Take a moment to reflect:
When was the last time you gave or received an act of kindness?
How did it make you feel?

I challenge you to take one small step this week. Choose one act of kindness, big or small, and do it intentionally. Then, if you’re willing, share your story. You never know who might be inspired by it.

Kindness is a decision. Let’s keep choosing it.

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Looking for a crowd-pleasing appetizer that’s easy to make and packs a punch? These Hot & Spicy Sausage Bites are a fiery twist on the classic sausage cheese ball, and they quickly became a favorite in our home.

Whether you're hosting a game night, a holiday gathering, or just need a savory snack, this recipe delivers bold flavor with minimal fuss.

Why We Love This Recipe

The original version of this dish calls for cheddar cheese and regular pork sausage. It’s a classic for a reason: cheesy, meaty, and satisfying. But one day, I decided to turn up the heat.

By swapping in pepper jack cheese and hot pork sausage, we discovered a whole new level of flavor. The result? A spicy, melty, slightly crispy bite that disappears fast from the serving tray.

And here’s a fun twist: because pepper jack melts more than cheddar, these don’t hold their shape quite like traditional sausage balls. Instead of perfect spheres, you get rustic, golden bites, hence the name!

NOTE: To my friends in the UK, you can purchase Bisquick from Amazon UK.

Ingredients

• 1 ½ cups Bisquick

• 1 lb pepper jack cheese, grated from a block (for best melt and flavor)

• 1 lb hot pork sausage (We love Tennessee Pride, but use your favorite!)

💡 Tip: Grating cheese from a block gives you better texture and melt than pre-shredded cheese, which often contains anti-caking agents.

Directions

1. Preheat your oven to 350˚F (175˚C).

2. In a stand mixer (or with your hands), combine all ingredients until the dough sticks together. It’ll be a bit sticky—that’s a good sign!

3. Scoop and roll into 1½-inch balls. A cookie scoop helps keep them uniform.

4. Place on a parchment-lined baking sheet, spacing them slightly apart.

5. Bake for 25–30 minutes, or until golden brown. (We like 28 minutes for that perfect crisp edge.)

6. Drain on a paper towel to remove excess grease.

7. Serve warm and watch them disappear!

Make It Yours

Want to experiment? Try mixing in a pinch of garlic powder, a dash of cayenne, or even a handful of chopped green onions for extra flavor.

Last year, my wife and son grew habaneros on our back deck. My son took several peppers and dried them out on a baking sheet in the oven at 104˚F (40˚ C) for 3-4 hours. After they cooled off, he ground them in a small coffee grinder.

His homemade habanero seasoning cranked up the heat way too much for me, but a total win for the deep-heat-spice fanatics! You can also serve them with a side of ranch or spicy mustard for dipping.

These spicy bites are proof that a small tweak can make a big difference. They are simple, satisfying, and just the right amount of bold. Whether you're feeding a crowd or just treating yourself, this recipe is sure to spice things up.

Kick Off the Season With Flavor

Whether you're tailgating, couch-gating, or just craving something bold, these Hot & Spicy Sausage Bites are your MVP snack. Try them out, make them your own, and let the flavor win the day.

Got your own spicy twist? Share it with us in the comment section. We love hearing how you make recipes your own!

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Labor Day Reflections

This Labor Day, I took a moment to reflect on my own journey through the workforce. From middle school to the present, I’ve held 27 different jobs that I can remember.

Each one shaped me in some way. Some were short-lived, others long-term. Some paid well, others paid in lessons. But all of them taught me something about effort, dignity, and the value of work.

Today, let’s pause and reflect on the work we do, but also on the systems and stories behind that work.

It’s a moment to honor those who labor, seen and unseen, and to ask ourselves how we can help build a more just and respectful culture around work.

The Overlooked Labor: Slavery in America

While Labor Day honors the dignity of work, it’s also a moment to acknowledge the labor that was never dignified: the forced labor of enslaved people in America.

For over two centuries, millions of African men, women, and children were enslaved and made to work without pay, freedom, or recognition.

Their labor built much of the early American economy, from plantations to infrastructure, yet their contributions were erased, exploited, and dehumanized.

This is not just a footnote in labor history. It’s a foundational truth.

Recognizing this overlooked labor doesn’t diminish the holiday. It deepens it.

It reminds us that honoring work means honoring justice, and that the value of labor must include the value of the laborer.

The Ongoing Struggle for Dignity in Work

Labor Day is more than a long weekend. It's a chance to think about what work means and how it’s experienced by people in all kinds of roles, all over the United States.

Dignity in labor isn’t automatic. Fair pay, safe conditions, and respect are still missing for many workers. The labor movements of the past made progress, but the work isn’t finished.

Today, some people are juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet. Others are doing essential work such as caregiving, driving, or delivering, often without recognition or protection.

And many still face discrimination that affects their income, their opportunities, and their sense of belonging.

Labor Day can be a reminder that every job deserves respect. Every worker deserves dignity.

As we celebrate Labor Day, it’s worth asking what kind of work culture we’re helping to shape. And more importantly, how we can make it better for everyone who shows up each day to keep things going.

Labor Justice: A Continuing Mission

Labor justice means more than having a job. It’s about fair pay, safe conditions, and real opportunity, no matter your background or birthplace.

We’ve come a long way since the days of child labor and 16-hour shifts, but the work isn’t done. Wage gaps still exist, and for many, especially immigrants and low-wage workers, the workplace can feel more like a tightrope than a ladder.

Migrant laborers keep our food supply running and our economy moving, yet many lack basic protections. Discrimination also persists, with Black and Hispanic workers facing higher unemployment and fewer chances to advance.

Still, there’s hope. In July, union members rallied in Atlanta as part of the AFL-CIO’s “Workers Over Billionaires” tour, calling for stronger protections and support for the Protect America’s Workforce Act.

Labor Day reminds us that justice at work is still a work in progress. Whether you’re voting, advocating, or simply listening, you’re part of the mission.

That’s worth showing up for, especially if we want workplaces that work for everyone, not just a lucky few.

The Call to Reflect and Act

Labor Day is a chance to pause, not just for a cookout or a nap in the hammock, but to reflect on the labor we benefit from every day. Some of it is visible, like the bartender who begins to make your favorite drink the moment they see you walk in the door.

Some of it is invisible, like the overnight cleaning crew who leaves everything spotless before you arrive.

Take a moment to notice. Who makes your life easier, safer, or more comfortable without ever being seen?

Today, consider one simple act of gratitude or support. Maybe it’s a sincere thank-you to a janitor, a tip with a note of appreciation, or a conversation with someone whose work is often overlooked.

Perhaps it’s as simple as choosing to treat every worker with dignity, even when you're in a hurry.

And if you’ve got a story about someone whose work made a difference in your life, share it. Stories have power. They remind us that behind every job is a person, and behind every person is a story worth honoring.

Labor justice begins with awareness, grows through action, and thrives in community. Let’s be part of that.

Happy Labor Day!

Introduction

Do I have value
to offer others who read?
Imposter syndrome

There’s a quiet but persistent question that many creators wrestle with:

Is what I have to share worth sharing?

It’s a question rooted in vulnerability, and often entangled with imposter syndrome. It’s that nagging feeling that we’re not good enough, not qualified, not truly creative.

For writers, artists, and anyone who puts their work into the world, the tension between creativity and self-doubt is a familiar one. We want to express something meaningful, but we fear being misunderstood, ignored, or judged.

For me, the act of publishing, whether it’s a blog post, a poem, or a social media update, can feel like standing on a stage with no guarantee that anyone is listening.

And yet, I have learned to publish anyway.

The Fear

Will they read my work
will they care for my writing
I’m scared to publish

There’s a vulnerability that comes with pressing “publish.” It’s not just sharing words, it’s exposing a piece of yourself. There is a quiet dread that often precedes a creative release.

Will anyone read it, or worse, will they read it and dismiss it?

Four years ago, I published something personal for the first time. I had no idea what I was doing. With only a few social media posts and a failed attempt at a WordPress blog site, I wrote an article about a cripple man and his experience with healing.

When I finally hit “publish,” I felt like I had walked into a room full of strangers without any clothes on. If I wasn’t crazy about the sight of me naked, what in the world would their reactions be?

The silence that followed was deafening. No likes. No comments. Just me, wondering if I had made a mistake.

That fear of judgment, rejection, or being ignored can be paralyzing. It whispers that your voice doesn’t matter, that your ideas aren’t good enough. And yet, the only way to silence that voice is to speak anyway.

Creativity demands courage, and publishing is often the first brave step.

The Courage

Though I am afraid
I will publish anyway
we’ll see what happens

Publishing despite fear is an act of courage. It’s not about being fearless. It’s moving forward even when fear is present. Imposter syndrome whispers, “We’re not ready, not good enough, not worthy of being seen.” Courage says, “Do it anyway.”

Courage is being scared to death… and saddling up anyway. - John Wayne

To publish is an act of trust. It’s trusting the process, trusting the reader, and most importantly, trusting yourself. It’s a declaration that your voice matters, even if it shakes.

Every time you hit “post” or “publish,” you’re choosing growth over comfort, authenticity over approval.

Will anyone read this article?
If they do, will they get any benefit from the time it took them to read it?
Will it apply to their life?
Does this article support my mission of being disgustingly simple?

As Brené Brown puts it, “Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.” That’s the heart of overcoming imposter syndrome, not waiting for perfection, but daring to be visible in the midst of uncertainty.

The Reality

Some people read it
others view and will move on
I’ve put it out there

I’ve been accused of struggling with control. That accusation is 100% true. Not being in control is uncomfortable for me. Publishing isn’t a guarantee of applause. It’s an act of release.

Once I hit publish, it’s out in the wild. I no longer have control. I’m learning to let go of the need for validation and trust that the right people will resonate, even if they never say a word.

Sometimes, a single comment or quiet ‘like’ means more than a thousand words. But I can’t live for those moments. Going viral is nice. Being visible is better. The real win is the growth that comes from consistently showing up.

The Growth

I will get better
I will work hard to improve
and keep publishing.

I will get better. I will work hard to improve. I will keep publishing.

Improvement doesn’t come from waiting. It comes from doing. Each time I write, I learn, and each time I publish, I grow.

The repetition builds not only skill but also resilience. Persistence is the quiet engine behind progress.

My writing may not be perfect today, but it’s better than it was yesterday. And tomorrow, it will be better still.

I’m learning that publishing is not just a means to be read, but a mode to “become.”

To become more honest.
To become more refined.
To become more courageous.

This is the practice. This is the path.

This is the way. - The Mandalorian

The Call

You’ve read my journey. It’s a journey through fear, courage, release, and growth. Maybe you’ve felt the same tension: the pull to create and the fear of being seen. If so, this is your call.

Publish anyway. Create anyway. Share your work anyway.

Not because it’s perfect. Not because it will go viral. But because it’s part of your becoming.

Your words matter. Your voice matters. Your creations matter. And someone—maybe just one person—needs what only you have created.

So create. Share. Show up.

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The Mystery of Everything and Nothing

Full fridge — nothing to eat.
Full closet — nothing to wear.
2000 channels — nothing to watch.

In a world overflowing with options, why do we often feel strangely unsatisfied? We scroll endlessly, stand in front of stocked pantries unsure of what we want, and flip through channels only to turn the TV off.

With so many options to choose from, people find it difficult to choose at all. And even if they do manage to choose, they are less satisfied with their choice than they would be if they had fewer options to choose from. — Barry Schwartz, The Paradox of Choice

This paradox of having everything, yet feeling like we have nothing, is a defining feature of modern life. It’s not just about indecision or distraction. It points to a deeper emotional state that many of us struggle to name: boredom.

One Friday, I was visiting a local high school on behalf of a nonprofit organization. I asked a student if he was excited about the weekend. He replied flatly, “No.” His tone was quick, almost irritated.

“They’re so boring,” he added. He preferred the weekdays. Being at school was better than being at home, likely alone, or at least alone in the interests he had amidst his family. He didn’t hate the weekends. He hated boredom.

I related to that feeling. As an only child, I sometimes felt the same. But weekends? Being away from school? Bring it on!

Understanding Boredom

Boredom gets a bad rap. We treat it like a problem to fix: grab our phone, grab a snack, turn on a show. But boredom is more than having nothing to do. It’s a quiet signal that maybe we’re not as engaged, present, or fulfilled as we’d like to be.

Psychologist Cynthia D. Fisher described boredom as:

an unpleasant, transient affective state in which the individual feels a pervasive lack of interest and difficulty concentrating on the current activity.

Let me rephrase that so people like me can understand it:

Boredom is that uncomfortable feeling when nothing seems interesting, even if there’s stuff to do.

When you were kids and told your parents you were bored, the first thing out of their mouths was: “I can give you something to do!”

You knew it was going to be work, so you quickly responded, “I’m not bored, I’m not bored,” then you and your boredom ran into your room, closed the door, and waited to see if you were followed.

In today’s hyper-connected world, boredom feels even more uncomfortable. We’re used to being entertained or at least distracted. When that stimulation fades, we’re left with a silence that can feel unsettling.

But maybe that silence isn’t a problem. It’s a prompt. A nudge to ask: What’s missing here?

That student I met who dreaded weekends wasn’t just bored. He was isolated. His boredom wasn’t about a lack of activity, but a lack of connection and meaning. I’ve felt that too. It’s the kind of boredom that whispers, “This isn’t it.”

Ironically, the more we try to escape boredom, the more it follows us. Because boredom isn’t always solved by doing more. Sometimes, it’s an invitation to pause, reflect, and reconnect with ourselves, with others, or even with nothing at all.

Pursuing Happiness

Author Kendra Cherry defines happiness as joy, satisfaction, contentment, and fulfillment. These aren’t fleeting experiences. They’re signs of a deeper, more grounded life.

We chase dopamine, mistaking busyness for a sense of purpose. Striving to fulfill a purpose is important, but happiness can also be found in doing less.

It is not daily increase but daily decrease. Hack away the unessential. The closer to the source, the less wastage there is. - Bruce Lee

Bruce Lee’s words remind us that clarity and fulfillment often come not from adding more, but from removing what’s unnecessary. What if happiness isn’t found in doing more, but in doing less?

My friend and favorite neuroscientist, Sabrina Ahmed, says:

"When your system is saturated, subtraction becomes an act of wisdom.”

Could “nothing” be the doorway to the kind of happiness Cherry describes, and the needed wisdom that Sabrina mentions?

Could “nothing” not be full of stuff and activity, but full of meaning?

The Beauty of “Nothing”

“Nothing” isn’t emptiness. It’s a space, a pause, a breath. When used as intentional stillness or mindful rest, it becomes a source of renewal.

Think of sitting quietly with a cup of coffee (or a 16.9 oz bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper), watching the sky shift colors, or walking without a podcast in your ears. These moments can be sacred.

Embracing nothingness in a world that glorifies hustle can be a radical act of self-care, reclaiming your time, attention, and even your soul. Spiritual clarity often emerges in silence (not in the noise).

Choosing nothing is also a choice to be in the present!

Conclusion

I think the answer isn’t more, it’s less, with intention. In a culture of constant motion, choosing stillness is countercultural, but it’s also healing.

Here’s your gentle challenge: Pick a day this week to do nothing. This is not an escape, but an invitation. Sit. Breathe. Be. And see what you find in the quiet, in the nothing.

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Introduction

Elton John sang about Saturday nights being alright for fighting. The Bay City Rollers turned it into a cheer:

“S - A - T - U - R - D - A - Y— NIGHT!” - written by Bill Marin and Phil Coulter.

Saturday nights are fun, sure, but for me, it’s not just the night. The whole day is a buffet of possibilities, and I’m showing up hungry.

Saturday has always been my favorite day of the week. It’s the one day that gives me space to breathe, to catch up, and to lean into the things that matter most.

It’s a day of freedom, rest, connection, and even productivity, but on my terms.

The Rhythm of Saturday

Typically, I don’t work my regular 9-to-5 job on Saturdays. I have the freedom to sleep in or get up early. That freedom is a luxury.

In my younger years, sleeping late was both a privilege and a sacred act. These days, I still occasionally stay in bed until noon with no regrets.

But when I choose to get up early, I’m in a great mood because I’m not waking up for work. I’m waking up for me.

Of course, like the rest of humanity, some Saturdays get scheduled by my wife or other family members. But when nothing’s on the calendar? That’s when the magic happens.

Those are the days that push my reset button. The pace slows just enough for me to catch my breath.

After I first take care of our two adorable fur balls, my options are as vast as the amount of glitter in a kindergarten art room.

I might throw a load of dirty clothes in the laundry, then make myself a bacon, jelly, and toast sandwich. (I love bacon.) Or I might pack up my laptop and headphones and head to my favorite fast-food spot: McDonald’s. It’s my kind of place, and they’ve got Wi-Fi.

I’ll get a Bacon McGriddle (I love bacon). The folded egg, cheese, and bacon, surrounded by maple-syrup-flavored griddle cakes, rocks my world.

With my stomach full and my soul caffeinated, I crack open my laptop and pretend I’m the CEO of an important company. One where the dress code is “whatever you woke up in” and the boardroom smells like hash browns.

Some people find being alone in a crowd depressing. Not me. I love it. I’ll go to movies by myself, eat in restaurants solo, and feel completely at peace.

My solitude within a crowd, in some weird way, brings me joy. There’s something comforting about solitude in the middle of motion.

So sitting in McDonald’s on a Saturday morning, surrounded by the hum of conversation while I read, study, or write, is as fine as a dad joke at a middle school talent show: questionable, but confident.

Sometimes I stay so long that I end up grabbing lunch before heading home.

Productivity At My Own Pace

Saturday gives me the space to dream and build. I like to write. I send out a weekly newsletter called Disgustingly Simple, and this article is part of that series. My goal is to help you make better decisions and live a happier, more intentional life.

I post regularly on the platform formerly known as Twitter (now called X) and the platform geared for business people called LinkedIn.

I also occasionally teach at a non-profit organization I belong to, so I’m always working on lessons and illustrations. I’ve been working on some ebooks and resources for that non-profit as well.

Family Time

My wife is also “off” on Saturday. I’m not a big fan of grocery shopping, but occasionally, on Saturday afternoon, I will accompany her to the grocery store.

With an extra set of hands, she gets finished quicker, so we can get home and get in front of the television.

Our family never feels guilty for watching TV together, but Saturday is especially a great day for us to lounge around and binge. We recently finished all five Godzilla and King Kong movies, collectively known as the Monsterverse.

We also loved the first season of a TV series called Monarch: Legacy of Monsters set within the same universe.

Recreation

Saturday is also a day for me to get some exercise on my terms.

My favorite recreational activity is playing a round of golf with my friends.

Golf allows me to get some outdoor exercise while stretching my patience like teaching a cat to fetch. It’s technically possible, but emotionally exhausting.

South African native Gary Player is one of the most accomplished and respected figures in golf history. He has nine major championship wins, and he completed a career grand slam (winning all four major championships) by the age of 29.

With all these accolades, Gary says:

Golf is a puzzle without an answer. I’ve played the game for 40 years and I still haven’t the slightest idea how to play.

Golf is a game that you can play pretty well, and pretty awful during the same round. Each time I play, I have had at least one decent shot where I will think, “That’s the shot I want to remember today. That one will bring me back to play again.”

So I can exercise my body and my mind on the golf course.

Reflection

Saturdays are more than just a break from the grind—they're a weekly invitation to live life on my own terms. Whether I'm writing, golfing, or just soaking in the quiet hum of a McDonald's morning, I feel most like myself.

It's the one day that consistently reminds me that rest and joy aren't luxuries, they're necessities. And in a world that rarely slows down, Saturday is my sacred pause.

Invitation

Let’s face it. Every day we wake up is a gift. It may not feel that way with life bearing down on us with pressures both real and imagined. Some of those pressures we’ve brought upon ourselves, and others we had nothing to do with.

It’s important to be able to withdraw from the madness and relax our psyche.

Take a moment to reflect on your own rhythms, and notice what brings you joy, peace, or purpose. Sometimes, the simple act of naming it is the first step toward living it more fully.

What’s your favorite day of the week and why? Drop me a comment or reply. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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“Music is a world within itself, with a language we all understand.”
— Stevie Wonder, “Sir Duke”

In our house, music wasn’t just background noise, it was the heartbeat of our family. My father sang bass in a quartet called The Pleasant Five, a group of four singers and a piano player who shared their harmonies with churches all over Western North Carolina.

As a kid, I watched them rehearse with admiration, preferring their upbeat songs and dreaming of joining in.

I couldn’t sing like they could, but I had developed a plan that included a cassette recorder, a drum set, and a wild imagination.

What started as an innocent attempt to contribute turned into a moment I’ll never forget. One that taught me about creativity, mistakes, and the unexpected joy of being heard.

My Musical Heritage

Our home was filled with more than just family and furniture, it was filled with harmony. Music wasn’t something we scheduled. It was something we lived.

The radio was always on in our home and our car. I also sang in the kids’ choir at church and played the bass drum in our kindergarten “orchestra.”

My father’s quartet practiced in our living room, their voices blended tighter than a pair of jeans after Thanksgiving dinner.

The vocal parts consisted of tenor, lead, alto, and my dad’s deep, steady bass, and their incredibly gifted piano player tied it all together like a one-man orchestra with lightning in his fingertips.

They weren’t famous, but to me, they were stars. I admired their dedication and how they carried themselves with purpose.

I didn’t just hear their music, I felt it. And somewhere between the verses and choruses, I started to imagine myself as part of it.

My Imagination (and a Drum Pedal)

One year at Christmas, I unwrapped a cassette recorder. To most kids, it might’ve been just another gadget, but to me, it was a doorway into the world of music.

I recorded everything: songs from the radio, to me and my friend acting goofy, singing made-up songs. My dad even used it to record his quartet songs.

The next Christmas brought the real prize: a drum set. Sure, it was a kid’s version, but it was mine. The kick pedal thumped like thunder, and the cymbals shimmered like they were in a competition with the Christmas lights.

With my new tools in hand, I saw my moment. I was a musician in the making. I grabbed one of Dad’s quartet tapes, cued up my favorite song, and hatched a plan.

I’d add drums to their performance, make it better. All I had to do was push “Play” and “Record,” step on the pedal, and let the rhythm fly. In my mind, I was elevating the music. In reality… things were about to get interesting.

The Remix No One Asked For

So I picked a fast song from one of Dad’s recent performances, fast-forwarded to the chorus, and hit record.

Showtime.

I stepped on the kick pedal with all the confidence of a seasoned studio drummer. BOOM, B-BOMB, B-BOOM BOOM! I was in the zone. I imagined the quartet nodding in approval, the piano player giving me a thumbs-up mid-riff.

I stopped the recording, rewound the tape, and hit play, grinning ear to ear.

And then… silence. The beautiful harmonies and piano cut off like someone had yanked the plug. Then came my solo: BOOM B-BOMB B-BOOM BOOM! More silence. Then the music returned, blissfully unaware of the percussive ambush.

My stomach dropped. I didn’t add drums, I erased part of the song. I stared at the cassette player like it had betrayed me. I’d messed up Dad’s tape. And I had no idea how to fix it.

The Hardest Beat to Drop

For a couple of days, I carried the weight of that drum solo like a backpack full of bricks. Every time I walked past the cassette recorder, I felt a pang of guilt.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I cued up the tape, found the spot, and with tears in my eyes, I approached my dad.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice shaking. “I just wanted to play along. I didn’t know it would erase the music.” Then I hit play.

First the music, then the silence came. My big solo: BOOM B-BOMB B-BOOM BOOM. Then more silence. I braced for impact.

But instead of anger, my dad burst into laughter. It was the kind that makes your shoulders shake and your eyes water. He wasn’t mad. He thought it was hilarious.

And in that moment, I learned something powerful: sometimes, the best music isn’t perfect. Sometimes, it’s the unexpected notes, the ones played with heart, that matter most.

Drumming Up a Little Wisdom

That moment with the cassette tape taught me more than any music lesson ever could. I learned that creativity comes with a few wrong notes, but that’s okay.

Mistakes, even loud, bass-heavy ones, don’t have to end in disaster. Love and laughter can turn even a ruined recording into a cherished memory.

My dad’s reaction that day didn’t just save me from a grounding. It gave me confidence. He showed me that trying, even imperfectly, was worth something.

That music wasn’t just about getting every note right, it was about heart, connection, and joy. To this day, whenever I hear a good drummer playing in a band, I smile.

Somewhere between the harmonies and the hiccups, I found my rhythm and a deeper bond with my dad that still echoed in every beat until he passed in 2017.

Choose Wisdom (Before You Hit Record)

Before you go remixing your own tapes or metaphorically stomping on life’s recordings, take a beat - literally. Wisdom doesn’t always come with age, but it does come faster when you’ve erased something important by accident.

Here is something to think about to help you drum up a little wisdom of your own. Hit the reply button and share your answers with me. I’d love to read them!

Has there been a time you tried to “add your own beat” to something and it didn’t go as planned? What did you learn?

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I kicked the hood of my car so hard, I left a dent.

Not my proudest moment. But it taught me something I still use today.

Ever been so frustrated that your body reacts before your brain catches up?”

Most mornings, I’d start my wife’s car so it would be warm for her hour-long commute. This morning? I was failing miserably.

Let me back up. I know nothing about cars. I wanted to learn in high school, but those classes always clashed with my music schedule. That’s another story.

Problem #1

We’d been having problems with the car for a couple of weeks. On cold mornings, the car was like a grumpy old man in winter: slow to wake up and quick to complain.

I didn’t know much about engines, but I knew enough to feel helpless. A mechanic in Clarksville, TN, showed me the culprit.

A tiny guide piece in the carburetor had broken off, messing with the gas flow to the engine.

He also taught me a workaround. It was a band-aid. Like most band-aids on engine problems, it required getting under the hood and poking around like I was auditioning for Mechanics: The Musical.

Problem #2

As if the carburetor issue wasn’t enough, the hood latch had a personality of its own. Sometimes it opened. Sometimes it didn’t. It was like flipping a coin, except the coin was frozen and stuck inside the engine bay.

When it didn’t open, the trick was to give the hood a firm thump with the side of your fist right over the latch. A little mechanical persuasion.

That morning, the hood wasn’t having it.

I pulled the latch. Nothing. Got out. Gave it the ol’ thump. Got back in. Pulled again. Still nothing. Rinse and repeat three, four, five times. Each failure intensified my frustration.

Finally, I snapped. I stepped onto the bumper, raised my foot, and brought my heel down hard on the hood.

Crunch. Dent. Still no release.

I slumped onto the front steps, angry and defeated. That’s when my wife came out.

She calmly walked to the car, pulled the latch, “click,” opened the hood, removed the air cleaner assembly, adjusted the lever, put everything back in place, started the car, and drove off like the boss she is!

Smoke was practically pouring out of my ears, but I was also grateful. The workaround worked for her. She even got to impress her coworkers once by doing the same thing in a parking lot after work.

Yes, she’s a keeper!

Problem #3

I have a shadow side. Only those closest to me have seen it.

It started showing up in elementary school. Where did it come from?

My parents? I don’t think so.

Friends? Maybe.

Relatives? Definitely.

My shadow side? Anger.

Sudden. Sharp. Sometimes explosive.

I can go from zero to volcanic in a split second.

When a few small irritations pile up, I get overwhelmed, and then I make a choice. I can choose to get angry, just like I can choose to stay calm.

That idea didn’t come naturally. I first heard it in a psychology class while working on my master’s degree. The professor said something that stuck with me:

No one can force you to get angry. You choose it.

That line changed me. But it also made people uncomfortable.

When someone says, “So-and-so makes me so mad!” I’ll gently offer:

May I invite you to say you’re choosing to get mad at so-and-so?

My wife does not love this phrase. Her response usually includes several words ending in “$m@rt@$$.”

Even though I know my triggers, anger still sneaks up on me. It hijacks my mouth, my body, my judgment. I say things I don’t mean. I do things I regret.

But that same psychology class gave me a tool: reflection.

Over time, I developed a set of seven questions that help me move from reaction to reason. From chaos to calm.

They’ve evolved over the years, but they’ve helped me avoid more outbursts than I can count.

The Process

I blew it that morning. I let my anger take the wheel, literally and emotionally.

But over the years, I’m getting better at pausing before reacting. I’ve developed a set of seven reflective questions that help me work through frustration, anger, or any unwanted emotions.

What follows are those questions, along with how I could’ve used them before I dented the hood of our car.

7 Questions

1. What am I feeling right now?
Identify your current emotional state.

“I’m angry because I can’t get the car started for my wife, and I want it to be warm for her long drive to work.”

2. What is causing this feeling?
Identify the situation causing this feeling.

“This car is an old piece of $#it! I can’t get the d@mn hood open so I can get this stupid-@$$ car started.

3. Why am I feeling this way?
Dig deeper. Is there a root cause for this feeling?

“I feel guilty for not getting the car fixed sooner. And I feel helpless because we don’t have the money right now to take care of it properly.”

4. What do I want instead?
Do I need to try something different?

“I want to be able to take care of our vehicles and have an emergency fund so we’re not caught off guard by stuff like this.”

5. What do I need to do?
Identify a solution to resolve this.

“I need to reach out to some friends and see if anyone knows a mechanic who can help us affordably, or maybe work out a trade. I also need to sit down with my wife and build a budget that includes saving for emergencies.”

6. Will I do it?
Decide to take action.

“Yes. I’m ready to take the first step.”

7. When will I do it?
Identify when, if not now, you will take this action.

“I’ll start looking for a solution as soon as I get to the office today. And I’ll talk with my wife tonight about creating a budget we can stick to.”

The Growth

I honestly hit my head on things all the time—door frames, cabinets, car roofs, walls... basically anything that stands still long enough. It can still be a major trigger for me.

Once, before I had these questions in my toolbox, I smacked my head on the sliding door frame of our old van. It was parked in the driveway, minding its own business.

I stormed into the garage, grabbed a baseball bat, and came back out swinging. I hit that door frame as hard as I could.

Thankfully, the only thing I damaged was my pride.

These days, when I feel that familiar heat rising, I pause. I ask. I reflect. And more often than not, I choose not to get angry at all.

Grab the 7 Questions Resource

Want a simplified version of these seven questions you can keep on your phone?

Click the link in the caption below the image, or scan the QR code below the link.

Once you request the “7 Questions Resource,” you’ll get an email to confirm.

After that, you can download the image, save it to your photos, and mark it as a favorite for quick access whenever you need a reset.

https://disgustinglysimple.kit.com/1ebd628e15

If you have any trouble accessing the resource, please don't hesitate to contact me, and I’ll ensure you receive what you need.

I had a dream so strange, vivid, and so layered with meaning that I woke up thinking,

D@NG, that was either a message from the universe or the result of eating leftover pepperoni and sausage pizza too late.

In this dream, I was in Texas, staying with a wealthy family in a mansion so big it had conveyor belts running under the main floor like a luxury Amazon warehouse.

I cruised around on a motorized wheelchair through the winter snow, into a Mall, a game room, and even a strip club.

It was weird. But it was also revealing.

This article isn’t just about a dream. It’s about what happens when we stop ignoring the strange stuff our minds are trying to tell us and start listening.

A Dream So Weird, Freud Would’ve Asked for a Refund

I was staying with a very wealthy family in Texas. I knew this family, but in real life, I have no idea who this family was. They lived in a huge house. They also had a very large gathering of individuals and families of all ages.

Luxury, Luggage, and a Large Electric Bill

In one of the largest rooms, there was a four-foot-deep pit in the floor with four conveyor belts running in a circle beneath the house. This was their storage area, filled with luggage and random items, endlessly rotating 24/7.

I remember asking someone, “What’s the electric bill like for this place? Do those belts run all day?!”

Lazily Rolling Through Life, But Making It Look Cool

Even though I could walk, I chose to roll around in a motorized wheelchair that looked normal but moved on its own. I had mastered popping it up on its big wheels and cruising around like a pro.

It was fun. It was also a little too on-the-nose.

The Mall, Snow, and Unexpected Detour

Across the street was a massive mall. We all headed over together, me rolling through the snow like it was nothing. Inside, we entered a huge game room, like a dream version of Dave & Buster’s. Everyone split up.

I wandered into the next room without realizing it was a $tr!p club. I panicked. There were kids in our group! I made a beeline for the door and escaped into the mall hallway unscathed.

Left Behind at the Crosswalk

Later, a small group gathered to head back to the mansion. An older man told me he was going to the restroom. Later, I thought I saw him rejoin us, but I was wrong.

As we crossed the street, I got separated, waiting for traffic. Funny how I didn’t have that issue on the way over.

The Stuffed Animal Incident

Back at the house, the man from the restroom was annoyed I hadn’t waited. Turns out, the guy I saw wasn’t him. Oops.

Then there was a woman arguing about the price of a stuffed animal. She refused to pay what it was worth and hurled it into the conveyor belt pit, where it disappeared between two belts. (I didn’t know the host’s stuff was for sale.)

That made me sad. Someone was going to have to crawl under there to retrieve it.

Dreamland Slumber Party

The dream ended with a group of guys, maybe from the family, maybe not, lying out sleeping bags and getting ready for bed. Was this a sleepover party?"

What Could All This Cr@p Mean?

How much faith do you put in dreams?

Are they just mental static, or is your subconscious trying to send you a message wrapped in weird symbolism and the occasional conveyor belt?

I’m not sure I have the answer, but this particular dream felt like it had something to say. When I shared it with a friend who does put a lot of faith in dreams, he offered his take—and I agreed. Here are a few things I need to work on:

1. Worrying About Money

I was worried about the electric bill. That shows I’m too concerned with money. Add in the lady who thought the stuffed animal was overpriced, and that’s two money moments in one dream.

Money is a tool we use to exist. Sometimes there’s too much month left at the end of the money. But worrying doesn’t magically make more of it appear.

Budgeting and living below my means is the most practical path to financial peace of mind.

2. Practicing Gratitude

I felt like the dream took place in Texas. I’d recently gotten a small raise at a part-time job I love. The owner’s name is a city in Texas.

Even though the raise wasn’t much, I love that job, and I should be celebrating the raise. Gratitude beats grumbling about what I don’t have.

3. Respecting Others and Paying Closer Attention to People

I try to remember names by writing them in my phone, but I need to do better at respecting and noticing people.

I forgot the man who said he was going to the bathroom. I thought I saw him rejoin the group, but I was wrong. I hadn’t paid close enough attention to recognize him.

4. Laziness, Pride, and Humility

I’m lazy and don’t get enough exercise. Even in my dream, I chose a wheelchair over walking.

And the wheelies? That’s me wanting to be seen. I need to be okay with being in the background. It’s not about me.

I tell my wife I don’t care what people think, but I do (and she knows it). I like attention. I want people to like me. And I struggle with being a people pleaser.

What about you?

Each part of the dream, from the vivid to the ridiculous, held up a mirror to something real in my life. Turns out, my subconscious had a lot to say (with the subtlety of a marching band).

Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something as well. What would happen if you stopped brushing off your dreams and started listening, even to the weird ones?