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