The Best Things In My Life Are The Things I Don't Have To Think About

 

One of the strangest things about life is that some of the most valuable things we have are the things we rarely think about.

Not because they aren't important.

Quite the opposite.

We don't think about them because they're doing exactly what they're supposed to do.

I don't think about my refrigerator very often. I open it, my food is cold, and I move on with my day.

I don't think about my internet very often. I turn on my computer, it works, and that's the end of it.

I don't think about my car very often. I get in, start it up, and it takes me where I need to go.

I don't think about the electricity in my apartment. 

I flip a switch and the lights come on. 

I charge my phone. 

I heat up leftovers in the microwave. 

Everything works exactly the way I expect it to.

The moment any of those things stop working, however, they immediately become the most important thing in my life.

It's funny how that works.

We tend to focus on the things we don't have, the things we want, or the problems we're trying to solve.

 Meanwhile, some of the biggest blessings in our lives are quietly sitting in the background doing their jobs so well that we hardly acknowledge them.

The older I get, the more I realize that a large part of happiness isn't found in gaining something new. It's found in appreciating the things that are already working.

A reliable vehicle.

A stable job.

A roof that doesn't leak.

Hot water.

Food in the refrigerator.

Friends who answer the phone when you call.

Family members you can count on.

These aren't exciting things. 

Nobody posts on social media because their refrigerator successfully kept their milk cold for another day.

Nobody takes a picture of their water heater and says, "Still working. What a blessing."

Nobody brags that their car started for the 1,847th consecutive day.

But if you've ever gone without any of those things, you know just how valuable they really are.

The same idea applies to our health.

Most of us don't spend much time appreciating the ability to walk across a room. 

We don't celebrate being able to bend down and tie our shoes. 

We don't wake up every morning grateful that our body is functioning the way it's supposed to.

Why would we?

It's normal.

Until it isn't.

That's the challenge with gratitude. 

The things that deserve our gratitude the most are often the things we've become accustomed to.

We adapt quickly.

The new car becomes just a car.

The promotion becomes just a job.

The apartment becomes just where we live.

The healthy body becomes something we don't even notice.

What starts as a blessing slowly becomes the baseline.

Think about the things you once desperately wanted.

The apartment you hoped you could afford.

The car you hoped would last a few more years.

The job you hoped would call you back.

The friendships you hoped would stand the test of time.

Chances are, at least some of those things are part of your everyday life now.

That's how quickly blessings can become expectations.

Then we move on to chasing the next thing.

I've done it. Everyone has.

We're constantly looking ahead at the next goal, the next purchase, the next achievement, the next milestone. 

There's nothing wrong with having goals, but sometimes I think we forget to look around and take inventory of everything that's already going right.

Because for many of us, there is a lot going right.

The lights come on when we flip the switch.

The car starts when we turn the key.

The paycheck shows up when it's supposed to.

The water is hot.

The refrigerator is cold.

The people we care about are still here.

Those things may not feel extraordinary, but they are far from guaranteed.

One thing I've noticed is that we often judge our lives based on what is actively demanding our attention.

If your car is making a strange noise, that's what you're thinking about.

If you have a bill coming due, that's what you're thinking about.

If you're dealing with a health issue, that's what you're thinking about.

The problem is that our attention naturally gravitates toward what is wrong, not what is right.

If ten things are working perfectly and one thing isn't, guess which one gets all of our focus?

The one thing that's broken.

That's understandable. 

It's human nature.

But it can also create the illusion that everything is going wrong when in reality most things are going right.

Think about your average day.

You wake up in a bed.

You have running water.

You have a hot shower.

You have a toothbrush.

You have access to food.

You have climate control.

You have transportation.

You have the ability to communicate with almost anyone in the world from a device that fits in your pocket.

A hundred years ago, some of those things would have been considered luxuries. 

Today they're so common that we get annoyed when they're slightly inconvenienced.

The Wi-Fi is slow.

The drive-through line is long.

The package is arriving tomorrow instead of today.

The restaurant just ran out of your favorite dish.

That shirt you really wanted doesn't come in your favorite color.

You didn't get your first choice of seats when you bought concert tickets.

I could go on forever.

I've caught myself doing it too.

A lot of these have been rightfully categorized as "First World Problems".

Sometimes I think we've become victims of our own success.

Life has become so comfortable and convenient that even minor inconveniences feel like major problems.

We aren't upset because life is hard.

We're upset because life is usually so easy that anything less feels unacceptable.

It's amazing how quickly convenience becomes expectation.

I think that's why gratitude requires intention.

Nobody accidentally becomes grateful.

Complaining happens automatically.

Comparison happens automatically.

Taking things for granted happens automatically.

Gratitude is the thing that requires effort.

You have to deliberately stop and say, "Actually, a lot of things are going pretty well right now."

Not perfect.

Not problem-free.

Not exactly the way you want them.

But pretty well.

That's an important distinction because gratitude isn't pretending that problems don't exist.

You can be grateful and still have concerns.

You can be grateful and still have goals.

You can be grateful and still be working to improve your situation.

The two are not mutually exclusive.

In fact, I think gratitude becomes even more meaningful when it's practiced in the middle of life's imperfections.

Anybody can be grateful when everything is going their way.

The real challenge is recognizing the good things that are already present while you're still dealing with the less-than-ideal parts.

Maybe that's why it's worth taking a few moments every now and then to appreciate the things we don't normally think about.

Not because something went wrong.

Not because we were forced to.

Just because they're there.

The best things in my life aren't always the things that make the most noise.

More often than not, they're the things quietly working in the background, asking for nothing, demanding no attention, and making my life better every single day.

The funny thing is that if all of those things disappeared tomorrow, I'd notice them immediately.

So maybe the goal is to notice them today instead.

Before I have a reason to.

Life can become predictable, even mundane.

Appreciate all of it.

Embrace the mundane.

Your "mundane" could very well be someone else's dream.

Stay grounded.

Stay grateful.

As always, thank you for taking the time to read this, until next week!

I'm Not Anti-Social, I Just Don't Like Everyone

 

This is one of those statements that sounds much harsher than it actually is.

When people hear someone say they don't like everyone, they immediately assume that person is anti-social, bitter, unfriendly, or somehow difficult to get along with. 

In reality, I've found the opposite to be true.

I believe every person deserves to be treated with respect and dignity. 

Every single one. 

Whether you're my best friend, a coworker, a stranger at the grocery store, or someone I've known for five minutes, you deserve a baseline level of kindness simply because you're a human being.

What I don't believe is that I'm obligated to like everyone.

Those are two completely different things.

Somewhere along the way, it feels like society started treating respect and friendship as if they were the same thing. 

They're not.

Respect is mandatory.

Friendship is optional.

I can be polite to someone without wanting to spend my free time with them. 

I can wish someone success without wanting them in my inner circle. 

I can hope that good things happen in their life while simultaneously having no interest in building a relationship with them.

That isn't hatred.

That isn't being anti-social.

That's simply recognizing that not every person is meant to occupy the same space in your life.

As I've gotten older, I've become much more selective about who gets access to my time, energy, and attention. 

Not because I think I'm better than anyone else, but because all three of those things are finite resources.

Every hour I spend dealing with unnecessary drama, negativity, or chaos is an hour I'm not spending with the people who actually make my life better.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned is that there are people who bring peace into your life, and there are people who bring complications into your life. 

The older I get, the more I find myself gravitating toward the first group and quietly distancing myself from the second.

That doesn't mean I dislike the second group.

It just means I don't need them sitting at my table.

I think a lot of people struggle with this concept because they've been taught that if someone isn't your enemy, they should automatically be your friend. 

But life isn't that simple. 

There is a massive middle ground between friendship and hostility.

Most people I meet fall into that middle ground.

They're perfectly fine people.

I wish them well.

I simply don't need them in my life.

The funny thing is that when I was younger, I probably spent far too much energy trying to make everyone like me. 

I think most people do. 

You want to fit in. 

You want to be accepted. 

You want to be part of the group. 

So you spend time chasing approval from people who were never going to be your people in the first place.

At some point, though, I realized something.

Not everyone likes me either.

And that's perfectly okay.

I once read a quote that said "You might be the sweetest peach on the tree, but some people just don't like peaches."

That perfectly sums it up.

There are billions of people on this planet. 

The idea that every one of them should enjoy my company is ridiculous. 

So if I'm willing to accept that not everyone is going to like me, why would I feel guilty for not liking everyone else?

The goal isn't universal approval.

The goal is mutual respect.

That's a much more realistic standard.

I've also noticed that many people confuse boundaries with hostility.

I have plenty of coworkers that I always have a nice conversation with.

When we're at work, we enjoy each other's company.

But are we ever going to hang out in a non work setting?

I doubt it.

And that's perfectly fine.

There's no hard feelings.

There's also no forced expectation of anything needing to happen outside of work.

It's just fine as it is, where it is.

It could even get to the point where said coworker says "Hey, a bunch of us are going to do (insert social activity here) after work if you'd like to join us."

That's where you can make a decision, do you want to spend time with them outside of work?

Maybe you do, maybe you don't.

It's your decision, and neither one is wrong.

Where it can get murky is if you decide not to go, and now you might be hit with the "anti-social" label.

If you decline an invitation, you're anti-social.

If you keep your circle small, you're anti-social.

If you prefer a quiet night at home over a crowded social event, you're anti-social.

No, maybe I just know what I enjoy.

Maybe I've reached the point where I'm comfortable admitting that not every social opportunity is actually an opportunity.

Sometimes it's just an obligation disguised as one.

I've met people who seem to collect friendships like they're collecting trading cards. 

Every person they meet immediately becomes a close friend. 

Every acquaintance becomes a best friend. 

Every interaction becomes another social commitment.

That's never been me.

I don't need 1,000 friends.

I'd rather have 10 people I can trust than 1,000 people I feel obligated to keep up with.

In fact, some of the happiest periods of my life have coincided with having a smaller social circle.

Fewer misunderstandings. 

Fewer obligations. 

Less drama. 

More genuine relationships.

Trips to Taco Bell after wiffle ball, just eating and talking, telling stories.

We were never trying to impress each other, we just loved Taco Bell, and the conversation came naturally.

Times like that are the true core memories I hope to be able to hold onto forever.

Quality has always mattered more to me than quantity.

And that brings me to something I've realized about myself over the years.

I need genuine sincerity.

Not the obligation to attempt to be sincere.

There's a difference.

I've never been particularly interested in relationships that exist because people feel they're supposed to maintain them. 

The relationships that matter to me are the ones where people genuinely want to be there in the first place.

Not because social convention says they should.

Not because somebody told them they have to.

Not because they're trying to keep up appearances.

Because they genuinely care.

I certainly hope that the people that are in my life are here because they genuinely want to be.

Because I can assure you, if I've become a part of your life, in whatever big or small way that it may be, know that it's because I genuinely want to be there.

I think that's why performative behavior has always felt strange to me. 

If someone tells me I have to react to something, part of me immediately questions whether the reaction is even authentic anymore. 

If someone is only saying something because they feel obligated to say it, how much meaning does it actually carry?

For me, sincerity has always mattered more than appearances.

I'd rather receive a simple message that someone genuinely meant than a perfectly crafted message that exists only because they felt required to send it.

I think sincerity is also what separates an acquaintance from a friend.

Every meaningful friendship I've ever had started the same way. 

Not with some grand moment, but with small interactions that gradually became bigger ones.

It starts with a simple:

"Hey, how's it going?"

Then maybe a few weeks later, it becomes a slightly longer conversation.

Then you start learning things about each other.

You discover common interests.

You share stories.

You exchange opinions.

Eventually, one of those conversations turns into:

"So what are you up to this weekend?"

And before you know it, you're making plans outside of the environment where you originally met.

That's how bridges get built.

Not through obligation.

Not through social expectations.

Not because somebody told you that you should be friends.

They get built through genuine interest in another person.

The strongest friendships I've had were never forced. 

Nobody assigned them. 

Nobody required them. 

Nobody sat down and decided we were supposed to be friends.

We simply enjoyed each other's company enough that we kept choosing to spend time together.

Over and over again.

Until one day we realized we had become friends.

Another thing I've come to accept is that not every friendship is meant to last forever.

That sounds depressing at first, but I don't think it is.

Think about how many people you've met throughout your life. 

School friends. 

Former coworkers. 

Teammates. 

Neighbors. 

People you saw almost every day for years.

 At one point, those people were a regular part of your life. 

You knew what was going on with them. 

They knew what was going on with you.

Then life happened.

Someone moved away.

Someone got married.

Someone had kids.

Someone changed careers.

Someone got busy.

And before you know it, the person you used to talk to every day is now someone whose name pops up once a year because Facebook reminded you it was their birthday.

They write "Happy Birthday."

You click "Like."

A few months later, they do the same for you.

And that's the entirety of the relationship now.

What's interesting is that I don't view that as a tragedy.

I don't view it as a failed friendship.

I don't view it as evidence that somebody did something wrong.

It's just life.

For a certain period of time, our paths crossed. 

We shared experiences. 

We created memories. 

We helped shape each other's lives in ways that were meaningful at the time. Then our paths diverged.

There was no fight.

No betrayal.

No dramatic falling out.

Just two people continuing their journeys in different directions.

I think social media sometimes tricks us into believing that because we still have access to people, we still have relationships with them. 

Those aren't necessarily the same thing.

Being connected isn't the same as being close.

And that's okay.

Relationships don't have to last forever to have value.

Some people are with us for a reason.

Some are with us for a season.

Very few are with us for a lifetime.

That doesn't diminish what they meant to us.

It simply acknowledges reality.

As Gotye famously sang, sometimes they're just somebody that we used to know.

Not because of bitterness.

Not because of sadness.

Not because of regret.

Just because life goes on.

One of the most freeing realizations I've ever had is that not every relationship requires a grand conclusion. 

Sometimes people simply drift apart. 

Sometimes they move in different directions. 

Sometimes you realize you have less in common than you once thought.

That isn't failure.

That's life.

At the end of the day, I don't think being a good person requires you to like everyone.

I think being a good person requires you to treat everyone fairly.

Those are very different standards.

One demands emotions.

The other demands character.

And character is something you can choose every single day.

So no, I'm not anti-social.

I enjoy good conversations.

I enjoy meaningful friendships.

I enjoy spending time with people I care about.

I simply don't believe that every person I meet is entitled to a permanent reservation in my life.

Respect?

Absolutely.

Kindness?

Always.

Friendship?

That part has to be earned.

Thanks for reading this folks, until next week!

The Friendship Speedrun

 

I've noticed something about myself over the years.

Whenever I meet somebody new and we start getting along, I feel this weird sense of urgency.

Not desperation. Not clinginess. Just urgency.

Like there's a clock running somewhere that only I can hear.

I don't think I was always like that.

When you're a kid, friendships just kind of happen. 

You sit next to somebody in class. 

You play the same sport. 

You live on the same street.

You both watch pro wrestling. 

Before you know it, you've been friends for five years and didn't even realize it.

Nobody is in a hurry because nobody is going anywhere.

As an adult, it feels completely different.

One thing I've learned working where I work is that people come and go.

Some people stay for twenty years.

Some people stay for twenty months.

Some people stay for twenty days.

You never really know.

I've seen people walk through the door, become part of my daily routine in one way or another, and then disappear, sometimes almost as quickly as they arrived.

Not in a bad way.

They got promoted.

Transferred.

Found a better opportunity.

Moved closer to family.

Life happened.

And honestly, good for them.

One thing I'll always do is wish the absolute best for anyone, wherever that might take them.

But it does something to the way you approach new friendships.

I think that's why I sometimes feel like I have to speed things up.

I'll meet somebody and catch myself thinking:

"I should really get to know this person."

Not because I'm trying to force a friendship.

Because I've seen what happens when you don't.

You spend months staying in the small-talk phase.

Talking about the weather.

Talking about work.

Talking about whatever game was on last night.

Then one day they announce they're leaving.

And suddenly you're wishing you had spent a little more time getting to know who they actually were.

The funny thing is that I don't even think this is really about friendship.

I think it's about opportunity.

Some opportunities come back.

A lot of them don't.

If somebody leaves, there's no guarantee you'll ever see them again.

Especially as adults.

When you're a kid, moving away feels like the end of the world.

As an adult, it's Tuesday.

People disappear into careers, marriages, kids, responsibilities, and geography.

Nobody means for it to happen.

It just does.

One of the strangest things about getting older is realizing that friendships don't end the way they do in movies.

There's usually no big fight.

No dramatic falling out.

No betrayal.

You just stop seeing somebody every day.

Then every week.

Then every month.

Then one day social media reminds you that you haven't talked in three years.

And you're left wondering where the time went.

I've also realized that every friend leaves behind a different kind of hole.

That sounds dramatic, but I don't know a better way to describe it.

Some friends are the people you laugh with.

Some are the people you vent to.

Some are the people you can talk sports with for three hours.

Some are the people who somehow make an eight-hour workday feel like four.

When they leave, it's not like replacing a light bulb.

You don't just go find another one.

People aren't interchangeable.

That's why certain friendships stay with us long after the circumstances that created them are gone.

There's another part of this that I've never really talked about much.

When you've had enough people come into your life and then leave, you start asking yourself questions that probably aren't fair to ask.

Questions like:

"Was I interesting enough?"

"Did I make enough of an impact?"

"Did this friendship mean as much to them as it did to me?"

I've always put a little extra pressure on myself when it comes to friendships.

I never want to feel like I'm wasting somebody's time.

I think that's why I sometimes feel this need to contribute something of value to every conversation.

To be funny.

To be helpful.

To have a good story.

To have something worth bringing to the table.

To say something "interesting enough".

To do something "interesting enough".

To be interesting enough.

Because somewhere in the back of my mind is this fear that if I don't, people will eventually realize they don't need me around.

Looking at it now, I know that's not really how friendships work.

The people who become your friends aren't keeping score.

They're not sitting there evaluating whether every interaction was entertaining enough to justify your existence in their life.

But knowing that logically and feeling it emotionally are two very different things.

The older I get, the more aware I become of how quickly time moves.

Maybe that's just part of getting older.

Maybe it's because I've watched enough people come and go.

Maybe it's because I've lost people.

Maybe it's because one day you wake up and realize years are starting to feel like months.

Whatever the reason, I don't take conversations for granted the way I used to.

I've stopped thinking I have unlimited time to foster these relationships.

Time is fleeting.

Life can pull people in every possible direction all at once.

Now I try to give every interaction the time and attention that it deserves.

I've started appreciating all of them.

The deep conversations.

The stupid conversations.

The five-minute conversations.

The random text messages.

The inside jokes.

The quick "How's it going?" as you pass somebody in a hallway.

The conversations where absolutely nothing important was discussed, yet somehow they still become part of your favorite memories.

When I look back at the people who have mattered in my life, I usually don't remember the huge moments first.

I remember the ordinary ones.

The conversations that weren't supposed to be significant.

The moments that seemed completely forgettable at the time.

Until they weren't.

I've also learned that I'm not somebody who opens up immediately.

Never have been.

If you've ever met me, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about.

I tend to take my time.

I observe.

I listen.

I figure people out.

Some people can walk into a room and become best friends with everybody in ten minutes.

I've always admired that ability.

I've also never been that person.

It usually takes me a while to warm up to people.

It takes me a while to trust people.

It takes me a while to decide whether I'm willing to let somebody see the parts of me that exist beyond sports scores, weather conversations, and whatever happened at work that day.

But once I get there, it means something.

At least it does to me.

When I let somebody into that circle, they're no longer just somebody I know.

They're somebody I care about.

Somebody whose successes I'm genuinely happy for.

Somebody whose struggles I genuinely worry about.

Somebody whose absence I notice when they're not around.

And maybe that's part of why people leaving hits me the way it does.

Because by the time I've reached that point, I'm invested.

And that's when the clock starts getting loud again.

Because I've lived it enough times to know that one day somebody is going to walk into work for the last time, and you won't know it's the last time until after it's already happened.

Maybe that's why I've become more intentional about friendships as I've gotten older.

Not because I expect every acquaintance to become a lifelong friend.

But because I've learned that time is a lot less predictable than I thought it was when I was twenty.

The people sitting around you today might not be sitting around you next year.

The conversations you're having today might become memories sooner than you realize.

The older I get, the less I care about how long a friendship lasted.

I care more about whether it mattered.

Some friendships last decades.

Some last a season.

Some last only as long as a particular job, hobby, team, or chapter of your life.

That doesn't make them any less real.

I don't need every friendship to last forever to appreciate that it existed.

I just need to know that for whatever amount of time our paths crossed, we made each other's lives a little better.

And honestly, maybe that's enough.

Maybe the friendship speedrun isn't really about trying to become friends faster.

Maybe it's about recognizing something that younger versions of ourselves never had to think about.

Time matters.

People matter.

And if you find somebody whose presence genuinely makes your day a little better, don't assume you'll always have tomorrow to get to know them.

Because sometimes tomorrow turns into a transfer.

A resignation.

A move across the country.

Or just life taking people in different directions.

And when that happens, you'll be glad you took the time while you had it.

Because in the end, maybe friendship isn't measured by how long it lasted.

Maybe it's measured by how much it mattered while it was there.

As always, thanks for reading!

Until next week!

Irreedeemable Foods

 

There are foods I don't particularly care for.

There are foods I'll eat if they're put in front of me.

There are foods that I understand why other people enjoy, even if they aren't for me.

This blog is not about those foods.

This blog is about foods that I believe have absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

Foods that actively make everything they touch worse.

Foods that I would remove from existence without a second thought.

And yes, I'm fully aware that some of you are about to be personally offended.

Good.

Let's begin.

Pickles are not food.

Pickles are vandalism.

You can hand me a perfectly good burger, a perfectly good sandwich, or a perfectly good chicken sandwich, and somehow a pickle finds a way to sneak in and ruin the entire experience.

And don't hit me with the "you just haven't had the right kind" argument.

I've heard it all.

Dill.

Sweet.

Bread and butter.

Half sour.

Full sour.

Those are just different names for the same mistake.

Pickles are what happens when a cucumber makes a series of poor life choices.

They are absolute hot garbage and they don't deserve to exist.

I never thought my mortal enemy would end up being a rotten cucumber, but here we are.

Olives somehow manage to dominate every dish they enter.

You don't eat pizza with olives.

You eat olives with pizza underneath them.

That's how powerful they are.

One olive can completely hijack an entire meal.

It's the culinary equivalent of somebody bringing an acoustic guitar to a party and refusing to stop playing.

Blue cheese feels like somebody looked at regular cheese and asked themselves how they could make it worse.

And then they succeeded.

Every fan of blue cheese spends ten minutes explaining why it's good.

That should tell you everything you need to know.

Especially when ranch is right there, yet you still chose to make the wrong decision.

Nobody has ever had to give a TED Talk about mozzarella.

Buffalo sauce has somehow convinced people that pain and flavor are the same thing.

They aren't.

Every buffalo sauce enthusiast eventually says something like: "You get used to it."

That's not a recommendation.

That's a warning.

You know what else you can get used to?

Traffic.

That doesn't make traffic enjoyable.

Avocados are the emperor with no clothes.

Every time somebody explains why they're good, they talk about texture.

Or health benefits.

Or versatility.

Nobody talks about the flavor.

Because deep down, they know.

If you picked up any other vegetable with that same texture, your brain would say "Nope. Rotten".

Yet somehow avocados get a pass.

"But what about guacamole?!"

The correct answer is salsa.

Cilantro doesn't taste like soap to me.

I'm getting the actual flavor.

That's the problem.

Cilantro has absolutely no understanding of its role in a recipe.

It's supposed to be a garnish.

Instead, it shows up and immediately tries to become the main character.

Every recipe treats cilantro like a supporting actor.

Cilantro treats cilantro like it's the star of the movie.

Somewhere along the line, somebody told cilantro it was much more important than it actually is.

Everybody else enabled that behavior.

That ends today.

Shrimp are basically sea bugs that somehow won a public relations campaign.

People wrap them in bacon.

Dip them in cocktail sauce.

Cover them in seasoning.

And then tell me how amazing the shrimp is.

No.

Shrimp have a brown line right down the middle.

Any guess what that might be?

I'll keep it civil.

Waste.

It's a line of waste.

And by "waste", I mean poop.

Oops.

What you're "describing" is how amazing everything surrounding the shrimp is.

Lobster suffers from the same problem.

If your entire sales pitch revolves around how much butter I need to dump on top of something, maybe the thing underneath isn't as impressive as you've been led to believe.

Lobster is proof that good marketing can accomplish almost anything.

It used to be the peasant food.

Now you need to refinance your mortgage just to get a spoonful on a stale hot dog roll.

Oysters are one of the few foods where people openly admit that swallowing them whole is the preferred method.

That's not helping your case.

Imagine trying to sell any other food that way. 

"Don't worry, you barely have to taste it."

Not exactly a ringing endorsement.

Let's stop pretending fancy names can save bad ideas.

Especially when we're talking about swallowing sea snots from seashells and calling it "fancy".

Calamari is squid.

You're eating squid.

More specifically, you're eating tentacles and suction cups.

Who looked at a squid and thought: "You know what? Let's bread that."

Who hurt these people?

At some point we collectively decided that if you fry something long enough, nobody asks questions anymore.

I refuse to be distracted by the breading.

I know what's underneath.

Scallops are one of the greatest scams ever perpetrated at weddings and corporate functions.

They wrap them in bacon just to get you to take one.

We all know what the best part is.

The bacon.

In fact, the only acceptable bacon-wrapped scallop experience is unwrapping the bacon, eating the bacon, and quietly placing the scallop back on the serving tray.

Then watching the next person discover it.

At that point it's not even about the taste anymore.

It's about sending a message.

Sauerkraut tastes like somebody accidentally left cabbage in a science experiment and then decided to serve it.

I don't care how traditional it is.

Being old doesn't automatically make something good.

It's "fermented", also known as rotten. 

I thought we threw spoiled things away.

They have expiration dates on foods for a reason.

Sauerkraut folks didn't get that memo.

Kale is always introduced with the exact same opening line: "It's really healthy."

Interesting.

Notice how nobody starts with: "It's delicious."

That doesn't seem accidental.

It tastes chlorinated construction paper.

If Popeye ate kale instead of spinach, he would have died in the first episode.

Coleslaw somehow manages to ruin both cabbage and mayonnaise at the same time.

That's actually impressive.

Every cookout has a giant bowl of coleslaw sitting there.

Nobody wants to be the first person to take some.

Nobody wants to be the second person either.

Tofu looks like plaque.

Actual plaque.

Not the award kind.

The dental kind.

Every tofu enthusiast eventually falls back on the same defense: "It takes on the flavor of whatever you cook it with."

That is not the defense you think it is.

Imagine introducing a friend that way. 

"He has absolutely no personality whatsoever, but he absorbs the personality of everyone around him."

That's not a compliment.

That's tofu.

Then there's beets.

Specifically canned beets.

As a kid, we'd occasionally have beets with beef stroganoff.

The beef stroganoff was fantastic.

The beets were not.

The texture was wrong.

The flavor was wrong.

The color looked like evidence from a crime scene.

Everything about them felt suspicious.

To this day, I have never encountered a beet that made me reconsider my position.

My mother was convinced that they were a good staple to have.

I never shared that sentiment.

I'll never touch another beet as long as I live.

Corned beef is salty.

Stringy.

Chewy.

And somehow flavorless at the same time.

I genuinely don't understand how that's possible.

It's like somebody challenged themselves to create the most confusing food imaginable.

Corned Beef Hash?

Corned Beef TRASH.

Much better.

Black licorice is one of the greatest unsolved mysteries in human history.

There had to be multiple opportunities for society to stop this.

And yet here we are.

Good & Plenty is still going strong, which means we have heathens out there keeping these alive.

Peeps survive entirely on nostalgia.

Nobody wakes up in the middle of July craving Peeps.

Nobody.

Peeps appear once a year, everybody pretends they're good, and then they disappear before anyone can ask difficult questions.

They also double as insulation.

The asbestos kind.

Cantaloupe is the participation trophy of fruit.

Nobody gets excited about cantaloupe.

Cantaloupe exists because fruit salad needed filler.

It's the cardboard packing peanuts of the produce department.

Honeydew somehow looked at cantaloupe and said: "I can be less exciting."

Honeydew tastes like somebody described fruit to a vegetable.

I've never once heard anyone say: "You know what I'm really craving right now? Honeydew."

Not once.

Horseradish is proof that somebody confused a dare with a recipe.

Every horseradish fan eventually says the same thing: "It really clears your sinuses."

That's not a food review.

That's a side effect.

Nobody ever talks about how good horseradish tastes.

They talk about the physical symptoms that occur after eating it.

If the primary selling point of your food is that it briefly turns your head into a pressure washer, we may have lost sight of the objective.

Besides, that's what ginger is for, and ginger is amazing.

Vinegar deserves its own section because it's the criminal mastermind behind half the foods on this list.

Pickles?

Vinegar.

Salt and vinegar chips?

Vinegar.

Malt vinegar on French fries?

Vinegar.

Buffalo Sauce?

Vinegar.

Every time I discover a food I dislike, vinegar somehow appears in the background like the final boss of the entire operation.

The first time I saw malt vinegar being offered for French fries, I questioned the judgment of everyone involved.

French fries are one of humanity's greatest achievements.

Why are we pouring sadness on them?

And don't even get me started on salt and vinegar chips.

Potatoes deserve better.

The smell of feta cheese alone should tell you something is wrong.

Most foods attempt to attract people.

Feta takes the opposite approach.

It walks into the room and immediately issues a challenge.

And somehow there are people who willingly pursue it.

The same way there are people who sleep in tents hanging off the side of cliffs.

I understand that these people exist.

I understand that they enjoy what they're doing.

I simply cannot relate to the decision-making process that led them there.

Mustard might be the most aggressively defended condiment in existence.

Every mustard fan immediately points out that it has almost no calories.

That's wonderful.

It also has almost no flavor worth having.

And eventually someone always says: "It's an acquired taste." 

Or then they'll say: "It grows on you."

You know what else grows on you?

Warts.

And nobody wants those either.

Not everything that becomes more tolerable over time is automatically good.

At this point, some of you are probably reading this while actively eating one or more of the foods on this list.

That's your right.

I support your freedom to make questionable decisions.

But understand something.

I'm doing all of you a favor here.

These foods have deceived all of you.

Maybe they even have something on you.

That would explain quite a bit.

I'd like to think that mist of you are eating these "foods" under duress.

Perhaps they made you sign an NDA.

These foods aren't being removed just because I dislike them.

They're being removed as a warning to all other "ingredients" that may one day decide to overestimate their own importance.

Let this serve as a message.

Don't.

Until next week folks!

Dear 10-Year-Old Me

 

Dear 10-Year-Old Me,

First things first: congratulations.

You did it.

Not only did you win the Woodland Elementary School Four Square Championship in third grade, but you successfully defended your title in fourth grade and are now the undisputed back-to-back champion of 1994 and 1995.

I know exactly how proud you are right now.

Thirty years from now, almost nobody will care about a fourth-grade Four Square championship. Most people reading this letter will probably laugh that I'm even bringing it up.

But here's the thing:

I still care.

Not because the title itself means anything in the grand scheme of life, but because of what it meant to you. It was something you worked for. It was something you earned. For a brief moment in time, you were the best at something in your little corner of the world, and nobody could take that away from you.

As you get older, you'll discover that life is full of accomplishments that matter only to you. They won't make headlines. Most people won't remember them. But that doesn't make them meaningless.

Sometimes the moments that shape us the most are the ones nobody else understands.

So enjoy this one.

You've earned it.

Just don't let it go to your head. Fifth grade is coming.

Actually, while we're handing out congratulations, there's one more accomplishment that deserves recognition.

All those rehearsals for The Nutcracker mattered.

Every lyric.

Every harmony.

Every song.

You memorized all of it.

That wasn't easy.

You should be proud of that too.

In fact, you're about to discover something about yourself that you're not quite ready to admit yet.

You actually enjoy singing.

A lot more than you're willing to tell anyone.

You're going to keep that fact hidden away for a very long time.

Very, very close to the chest.

But it's there.

And someday you'll realize that some of the things we love most about ourselves are the things we're initially the most afraid to share with the world.

Now that we've gotten the important business out of the way, there are a few things I want you to know.

First, start preserving your memories.

Keep a journal.

Nothing fancy.

You don't need to write every day.

You don't need to write pages and pages.

Just write things down.

Record dates.

Record events.

Record people.

Record the things that make you laugh, the things that make you angry, and the things that make you excited.

When something feels important, write it down.

When something feels ordinary, write it down anyway.

Trust me, thirty years from now you'll find yourself wondering exactly when certain things happened.

Those little journal entries that seem completely mundane today would become absolute gold.

Get yourself a camera, too.

A reliable one.

And use it.

Take pictures of everything.

Take pictures of your family.

Take pictures of your friends.

Take pictures with your friends.

Take pictures of your school.

Take pictures of your neighborhood.

Take pictures of places you visit.

Take pictures of the ordinary days.

Don't wait for special occasions.

The funny thing about memories is that you never know which ordinary day will become important thirty years later.

One day you'll create photo albums that tell the story of your life, and you'll wish you had even more pieces of that story preserved.

Take the picture.

Always take the picture.

And while we're talking about preserving memories, buy your yearbooks.

Every single one of them.

Middle school.

High school.

All of them.

You'll think they're expensive.

You'll think you'll remember everyone anyway.

You won't.

Faces fade.

Names fade.

Memories blur together.

Those yearbooks become time machines.

Trust me.

Buy the yearbooks.

There are also a few things about yourself that I want you to understand sooner than I did.

You're shy.

Not because you're unfriendly.

Not because you're angry.

Not because you're trying to avoid people.

I mean, sometimes you're definitely going to avoid people who you know will dirsupt your peace.

You're simply more comfortable listening than talking until you get to know someone.

Unfortunately, some people are going to misunderstand that.

They'll think you're upset.

They'll think you're standoffish.

They'll think you don't like them.

They're wrong.

You're not doing anything wrong.

You're just wired differently.

Don't spend years trying to become somebody else because you think that's what people want.

Be exactly who you are.

The right people will appreciate you for exactly who you are.

Some of those people you'll meet in fifth grade.

Some you won't meet until adulthood.

Some will still be in your life thirty years from now.

The people worth keeping around won't require you to become somebody else first.

And while we're talking about people, stop worrying so much about fitting in.

You don't need to fit in everywhere.

You only need to find the places where you belong.

There's a difference.

Another lesson that will save you a lot of frustration:

Don't concern yourself with the opinions of people whose advice you wouldn't seek in the first place.

Listen to people who genuinely care about you.

Listen to people who want to help you grow.

Ignore the rest.

Especially the people who start a sentence with, "No offense, but..."

The people who proudly describe themselves as brutally honest are usually much more interested in the brutal part than the honest part.

You don't owe those people space in your head.

There are also a few things I need to be completely serious about.

You're going to start developing an unhealthy relationship with food.

Not overnight.

Not all at once.

It's going to happen gradually.

The problem isn't that you'll enjoy junk food.

The problem is that you'll allow it to become too large a part of your life for too long.

So here's what I want you to do:

Eat the pizza.

Eat the ice cream.

Eat the birthday cake.

Just don't let those things become the foundation of your diet.

Eat more fruits.

Eat more vegetables.

Stay active.

Learn that moderation isn't the same thing as deprivation.

You don't have to eliminate the foods you love.

You just have to stop letting them dominate every decision.

And the moment you're eligible, sign up for floor hockey at the rec center.

Don't wait.

You're going to discover that you absolutely love it.

You're going to make friends.

You're going to create memories.

You're going to have a blast.

But for reasons I still can't explain, you're going to wait until you're thirteen before signing up.

Don't do that.

You're about to enter fifth grade.

You have the opportunity to get those two years back.

Take it.

One day you'll find your way back to the sport after many years away, and you'll wish you had started earlier and stayed with it longer.

Now for the part you're probably going to hate hearing.

Take care of your teeth.

Seriously.

I know.

You've heard it from parents.

You've heard it from dentists.

You've heard it from teachers.

And now you're hearing it from yourself thirty years in the future.

Brush twice a day.

Floss twice a day.

Every day.

No exceptions.

The reason every adult keeps repeating it is because they're right.

I can tell you exactly where this road leads if you don't listen.

Extractions.

Root canals.

Crowns.

Future You would very much appreciate avoiding as many of those as possible.

And while we're discussing dental matters, if somebody offers you the opportunity to deal with your wisdom teeth before they become a problem...

Do it.

Don't argue.

Don't procrastinate.

Just do it.

Some lessons in life are complicated.

This isn't one of them.

Take care of your body.

Take care of your teeth.

Future You will thank you every single day.

Now let's talk about something that will never really be a struggle for you.

Drugs and alcohol.

You're never going to be interested.

The opportunities will be there.

Nobody is going to force anything on you.

You'll simply never have any real desire to participate.

And from where I'm sitting thirty years later, I can tell you that you're missing absolutely nothing.

No one has ever told me a story about something they did while drunk that made me wish I had followed the same path.

Not once.

However, there is something important you need to understand.

Alcohol and drugs can change people.

Sometimes people you love.

Sometimes people you admire.

Sometimes people you never thought would change.

You're going to see that firsthand.

And it's going to hurt.

You'll learn that good people sometimes make bad decisions.

You'll learn that not every problem gets fixed.

Most importantly, you'll learn a lesson that applies to almost everything:

Life isn't fair.

Some people get opportunities others never receive.

Some people face battles others never have to fight.

Some people get outcomes they don't deserve.

Understand that now.

Not so you become bitter.

Not so you become cynical.

But so you learn gratitude.

Gratitude for the people who stay.

Gratitude for the memories you make.

Gratitude for the opportunities you're given.

And gratitude for the life you're living while you're still living it.

Speaking of people...

There are a few I need to tell you about.

Your oldest Uncle has passed away.

So has Grandpa.

I know that's difficult to hear.

But the good news is that Grammy is still here.

You still have time.

I won't tell you how much.

That's not the point.

The point is that you should treat every visit as if it could be the last one.

Go see her.

Sit with her.

Ask questions.

Ask what life was like when she was your age.

Ask about her family.

Ask about her parents.

Ask about recipes.

Ask about holidays.

Ask about memories.

Ask about everything.

One day those stories become treasures.

One day you'll wish you could ask just one more question.

Don't wait until then.

And there are a few things I can tell you now that will always remind you of her.

Christmas Eve.

Junior Mints.

And Chanel No. 5.

Trust me on that.

Now let's talk about your friends.

Some of your best friends are already in your life.

You have absolutely no idea how important they're going to become.

Many years from now, some of those same people will still be standing beside you.

Life will take all of you in different directions.

Different schools.

Different jobs.

Different chapters.

And somehow you'll still find your way back to each other.

Those friendships are worth protecting.

They're worth the effort.

At the same time, there are people you haven't met yet who will become some of your closest friends.

Some of them will arrive soon.

Others won't show up until much later.

And then there are people who are only meant to be part of certain seasons of your life.

That doesn't mean those friendships failed.

It doesn't mean anybody did anything wrong.

Sometimes people simply grow in different directions.

Sometimes the chapter ends.

And that's okay.

What's really going to surprise you is that years from now you'll reconnect with people you went to school with, and some of those friendships will become stronger than you ever imagined.

If I told you who those people were right now, you wouldn't believe me anyway.

Besides, you haven't even met some of them yet.

Even at forty years old, some of those friendships still don't feel entirely real to me either.

There is also someone you're going to meet during your freshman year of high school.

Eventually, you'll get to know their entire family.

From that point forward, they will become an important part of your life.

An incredibly important part.

As much as I would like to change one major part of that story, it isn't my place to do so.

Some experiences belong to the people living them, not the person looking back.

So instead I'll simply tell you this:

Keep the journal.

Take the pictures.

Foster the relationships.

Appreciate the moments while they're happening.

Remember that life isn't fair.

One day you'll understand why I'm telling you this.

And when that day comes, everything else in this letter will make a little more sense.

There are also some things coming that will change the world.

You will witness events that generations before you could never have imagined.

You will see moments that unite people.

You will see moments that divide them.

You will watch technology transform the world beyond anything you can currently comprehend.

You will live through historic events that people will be studying long after you're gone.

I could tell you what they are.

But I won't.

Part of the journey is experiencing them for yourself.

Some of those events will shape you.

Some will challenge you.

All of them will become part of the story that eventually leads you here.

And finally, I want you to understand something that took me a long time to learn.

You don't need to become someone else to have a meaningful life.

You don't need to be the loudest person.

You don't need to be the most popular person.

You don't need to impress everyone.

You don't need a perfect life.

You just need to keep growing.

Keep learning.

Keep loving the people around you.

Keep making memories.

Keep taking pictures.

Keep writing things down.

Keep showing up.

Thirty years from now you'll still have dreams.

You'll still have questions.

You'll still be working on yourself.

And that's okay.

Because the goal was never perfection.

The goal was growth.

And for the record, after all these years, you're still the two-time defending Woodland Elementary School Four Square Champion.

Nobody has taken the title away from you yet.

Sincerely,

You, thirty years later