This is actually the seventh time I have written this blogpost. The original post talked about how I used to write songs when I was in a band. I was in a band. A very sexy, cool band with a horn section. We were super cool. Lots of women were attracted to us. It’s hard not to picture how amazing I looked on stage:
There is a horrible idea out there perpetuated by romantic comedies. The idea of a soulmate (or in this case, one perfect campsite that was meant for me). I know this sounds horribly unromantic of me (especially after such a romantic blog), but there is no such thing as a soulmate, at least not as we know it.
I love movies. I want to start a movie club. The problem, apparently, is that movies (the cinematic arts, to the high-brow among us) are for dummies, the uncultured and uncivilized.
I’ve had a problem with expectations since the 8th grade PE with Coach Rock. Our class was rotating through sports and had just wrapped up softball, where I really shined. I was catching everything. I was pulling Derek Jeter’s into the stands. I was eating onions; I was spotting dimes.
Sometimes I wonder what I am doing in the therapy field. I think I’m a pretty normal guy. I like to watch movies, I go running, I took a modern dance class…you know, normal guy stuff. I don’t come from a difficult background (although my mom is Canadian), but it seems like that is a prerequisite for being a therapist. Come from a difficult background…and be weird.