Figure It Out

I’m tired. I’m cranky.

And, quite honestly, I’m 100% fed up with people.

So if you’re already rolling your eyes, you can probably stop reading now. This is my place. My little corner of the internet where I get to release some frustrations, say what’s on my mind, and hopefully walk away from the keyboard feeling a little better.

Today, I need a vacation.

And before somebody says, “Didn’t you just take one?”… technically, yes.

But here’s the thing about vacations when you own a business:

Sometimes they’re not vacations.

We closed the restaurant for a week so my family and employees could take some time off and enjoy their vacations. Normally, that would be enough for me. I’d consider it a sacrifice worth making.

Except I didn’t actually take a vacation.

I spent the entire week doing manual labor, fixing things around the house, taking care of household projects and doing all the things that apparently don’t magically disappear just because the restaurant doors are locked.

So, congratulations, me. I took a vacation from the restaurant so I could work at home.

Outstanding. And did I mention I’m tired? Because I’m really fucking tired.

Running a business is hard. Not the Instagram version of owning a business. Not the “Be your own boss!” motivational-poster version.

The real version. The version where the customer-to-employee ratio seems completely backwards.

Customers show up expecting everything to run perfectly. Meanwhile, I’m covering shifts, doing jobs that aren’t mine, fixing things that shouldn’t need fixing, and picking up the slack when somebody either can’t do something or simply doesn’t do it.

And eventually, that catches up with you. Down two cooks, a server and our dishwasher walked out mid-shift! Yeah, I’m wearing many hats.

I’m pretty resourceful. I’m pretty self-sufficient. If something needs done, I generally figure it out.

But there’s a problem with always being the person who can figure it out:

Everybody eventually assumes you’ll figure it out.

And when you’re constantly being pulled in three different directions, eventually there isn’t enough of you left to go around.

Then there’s home.

I’ve got a dog who is sick and requires medication, food and attention throughout the day. I’m literally going home every two hours to take care of him.

So my day isn’t just restaurant owner.

It’s cook. Manager. Maintenance man. Problem solver. Tech Support. Employee. Home repair guy. Dog nurse. Husband. Dad.

And whatever the hell else needs to be done that day.

At some point, something has to give.

I’ve been here before. In the past, when the stress and frustration started getting too heavy, I’d just leave.

Hocking Hills.

Atlanta.

Boston.

Vegas.

The destination was never really the point.

Sometimes I needed mountains. Sometimes I needed a city. Sometimes I needed lights, noise and complete sensory overload. Sometimes I needed absolutely nothing.

I’d pick a place based on what I needed at that particular moment, get away from everything, clear my head and come back ready to deal with life again.

And right now? I’m at that point. I’m ready to close it all down and walk away for a little while.

Before anyone panics, no… I’m not talking about permanently walking away from everything.

I’m talking about stepping away long enough to remember what it feels like to be a human being instead of the person everybody calls when something needs fixed.

And yes, I know everyone is stressed. I know everyone has problems. I know everyone is tired.

I’m not claiming that my problems are somehow more important than anybody else’s.

But here’s the difference:

You get to go home. You get to take your vacation. You get to have your time away.

And then there’s the guy who is still thinking about how can I cook, serve, wash dishes and take care of my dog while everyone else is relaxing.

The guy wondering who’s going to show up tomorrow or who isn’t!

The guy answering the emails.

The guy doing all the maintenance.

The guy filling the empty position.

The guy making sure the doors stay open.

And eventually, that guy gets tired too. So maybe it’s time I take my own advice.

My mental health is more important to me than your feelings.

That’s not selfish. That’s survival.

So when I decide it’s time to go, I’m going. Don’t panic. Don’t worry. Don’t ask where. Don’t ask when I’ll be back.

My goal isn’t adventure this time.

It’s peace.

Quiet.

Seclusion.

No schedule.

No problems that belong to somebody else.

No phone calls.

No texts.

No “Hey, real quick…”

No “Can you just…”

No “We need you to…”

Nope.

For a little while, I’m unavailable. If something goes wrong?

Figure it out.

If somebody needs something?

Figure it out.

If there’s a problem that absolutely cannot wait?

Well…

You guessed it.

Figure it out.

I’ll be back when I’m ready.

Because sometimes the person who spends all their time holding everything together needs to put it all down for a minute.

And maybe that’s okay.

Actually… Fuck it. I know it’s okay.

I just need to remember that I don’t have to be everything for everybody, every damn day.

So yeah.

I’m tired.

I’m cranky.

I’m fed up.

And I’m going to disappear for a little while. I’ll see you when I see you.

Until then…

Figure it out.

Welcome to Common Sense University

If I had unlimited money, I wouldn’t build another sports stadium or luxury resort.

I’d build a school. Not a school for children. A school for adults.

I’d call it Common Sense University, or CSU for short!

The admissions requirements would be simple: be over eighteen years old and be willing to admit that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have everything figured out.

The curriculum would be unlike anything offered anywhere else.

The first course would be called Decision Making 101.

Students would learn how to gather information, think critically, and make reasonable decisions without immediately consulting social media, a conspiracy theory website, or that one cousin who somehow knows everything despite accomplishing nothing.

Next would be

Efficiency and Effectiveness.

This class would teach people how to complete tasks without turning a five-minute job into a three-hour production. Topics would include planning ahead, basic organization, and the revolutionary concept of putting things back where you found them.

Then we’d move into one of the most important courses in the entire program:

Helping Others Before Helping Yourself.

Students would discover that holding a door, returning a shopping cart, helping someone carry groceries, or simply asking, “Are you okay?” does not result in personal injury.

In fact, they might learn that communities function far better when people occasionally think about someone other than themselves.

Another required class would be Perspective 201.

Before judging someone for being rude, distracted, or having a bad day, students would be taught to consider a radical possibility:

Maybe that person is going through something you know nothing about.

Perhaps they just lost a loved one. Maybe they’re struggling financially. Maybe they’re carrying a burden that would bring most people to their knees.

The lesson is simple: you rarely know the entire story.

Which brings us to the capstone course:

Kindness Without Conditions.

Students would learn how to be friendly when it’s easy and how to remain respectful when it isn’t.

They would practice smiling, saying thank you, showing patience, and treating people with dignity even when disagreements arise.

Graduation requirements would be strict.

Students must successfully navigate a grocery store without blocking an entire aisle for a 20 minute chat with a fellow shopper.

They must merge into traffic without causing a regional crisis.

They must survive a restaurant visit without treating the staff like personal servants.

And they must return at least ten shopping carts to their proper location.

Only then would they receive their diploma.

Of course, none of this school will ever exist. But maybe it should.

Because somewhere along the way, we’ve become highly educated in many subjects while remaining surprisingly uneducated in the simple skills that make society function.

A little more common sense. A little more patience. A little more kindness.

If enough people enrolled in those classes, the world might become a much better place.

The Sober Paradox: Healthier, Happier… and Bored Out of My Mind

Work a full week. Rinse and repeat.

Wake up. Follow the same routine. Put in the long hours. Count down the days until the weekend finally arrives. Then comes what should be the best part of the week: two precious days off.

But then what?

A while back, I made the decision to become alcohol-free. It wasn’t an easy choice, but it was the right one. After all I do work in a bar.

Today I’m healthier. I sleep better. I don’t wake up battling hangovers, regretting things I said, or did or how much money I spent.

By every measurable standard, life is better. So why am I so damn bored?

It’s a strange paradox. Society spends a lot of time telling people they should drink less, make healthier choices, and take better care of themselves. But once you actually do it, you quickly discover how much of modern social life revolves around alcohol.

Need something to do on your day off?Go to a bar. Meet some friends? Let’s grab drinks. Watch the game? Beer. Attend a festival? Beer tent. Go to a concert? Beer garden. Attend a cookout?Bring a six-pack.

At some point, it starts to feel like we can’t even watch grass grow without someone showing up with a cooler.

For the sober person, especially in a small town, the options can seem surprisingly limited. The world often feels designed around drinking, and when you remove alcohol from the equation, you’re suddenly left staring at a calendar full of empty space.

That emptiness can make a person question their decision. Did I make the wrong choice?

Would life be easier if I just went back to doing what everyone else does? Would it be simpler to stop fighting the current and just drift along with the crowd?

Those are honest questions, and I suspect many people who choose sobriety have asked them at one time or another.

But maybe the issue isn’t alcohol at all. Maybe the issue is novelty.

For years, alcohol wasn’t simply a beverage. It was the event organizer. It was the social connection. It was the answer to the question, “What are we doing today?”

When drinking is removed from the equation, something unexpected happens. The automatic answer disappears.

Suddenly, a Sunday morning arrives with twelve wide-open hours and no built-in plan.

That’s when many people discover that bars were never actually providing excitement. They were simply providing distraction.

The same people sit in the same seats having the same conversations week after week. The alcohol simply made it feel different.

Real excitement comes from somewhere else. It comes from adventure. It comes from learning. It comes from building something. It comes from creating memories instead of merely passing time.

The challenge is that meaningful experiences require effort. A beer takes thirty seconds. A mountain bike trip takes planning. A photography adventure requires packing gear and chasing the perfect shot. A road trip demands preparation. Building a business, writing a blog, learning a skill, or pursuing a dream takes work.

One offers instant gratification.

The other offers lasting fulfillment.

And that’s where many people find themselves stuck. They’re not missing alcohol. They’re missing purpose. They’re missing anticipation. They’re missing something on the horizon worth getting excited about.

Humans don’t just need entertainment. They need something to look forward to.

Maybe that’s a weekend mountain biking trip. Maybe it’s exploring a new city. Maybe it’s finally picking up that camera and heading somewhere beautiful. Maybe it’s creating something that didn’t exist yesterday.

The truth is that sobriety doesn’t eliminate excitement. It simply forces us to find excitement in places where it actually exists.

Maybe that’s the real challenge. Not learning how to live without alcohol.

Learning how to live with the silence that comes after it.

The truth is, I don’t have all the answers. Some weekends are great. Some weekends drag on forever. Some days I feel healthier, stronger, and more focused than I’ve ever been. Other days I wonder why society seems to have built an entire social structure around a substance I’ve chosen to avoid.

Maybe the answer isn’t finding a replacement for alcohol. Maybe it’s finding something worth getting excited about again.

Until then, I’ll keep searching.

Be Better, Not Bitter

Here’s a saying that’s a lot easier said than done. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

Somewhere along the way, people became more bitter toward one another and less compassionate. One of the best pieces of advice I was ever given was simple:

“Be the better person.”

Over the last several years, that’s exactly what I’ve tried to do.

Has it always been easy? Not even close.

But I can tell you this: being better instead of bitter is a much better way to live.

There are people from every walk of life. Some are different from you. Some may be wealthier. Some may have a better job, a bigger house, a prettier face, or a more impressive title.

So what?

None of those things give anyone the right to mistreat another person.

At the end of the day, we’re all human beings. No better. No worse. The only thing that changes that equation is when we start keeping score and comparing ourselves to everyone else.

And if you’re doing that, stop.

Throw away the comparison sheets.

Comparison is one of the fastest ways to rob yourself of happiness. There will always be someone with more money, a nicer car, a bigger house, or a seemingly perfect life. The truth is, most people are fighting battles you’ll never see.

Make today the day you choose to be better, not bitter.

Treat people better.

Treat people the way you’d want to be treated.

And when someone wrongs you, try something unexpected. Smile. Show them more respect than they showed you. Not because they deserve it, but because that’s the kind of person you choose to be.

A better household starts with one person.

A better neighborhood starts with one person.

A better community starts with one person.

Why can’t that person be you?

Kindness costs nothing, but its impact can be priceless. The day you start smiling more, showing patience, and treating every person who crosses your path with dignity and respect is the day you begin living a happier and healthier life.

If you’re still holding on to something from the past, remember this:

That moment already happened.

Hopefully it taught you resilience. Hopefully it taught you strength. Hopefully it taught you how to move forward.

But if you’re still carrying it everywhere you go, still reliving it every day, then the person you’re hurting most may be yourself.

While you’re holding on to bitterness, someone else is moving forward and living their life.

Choose differently.

Choose peace.

Choose kindness.

Choose to be better, not bitter.

Welcome… But Don’t Actually Talk to Me

While walking Coda today, I noticed something that’s become oddly common in neighborhoods everywhere: the decorative “WELCOME” sign.

You know the ones.

Mounted proudly beside the front door. Planted in flower beds. Hanging from porch railings like the homeowner is the mayor of Hospitalityville.

And yet…

These are often the exact same people who will avoid eye contact with you like you’re there to pass out Jehovah’s Witness pamphlets!

During dog walks, Coda and I pass plenty of these homes. The residents are outside doing yard work, checking the mail, unloading groceries, or just standing around pretending to be busy enough to avoid human interaction.

You wave.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Nothing.

Not even the awkward white-guy upward nod.

Just dead-eyed silence standing directly underneath a giant sign that says WELCOME.

Now listen… I’m not asking people to host neighborhood cookouts or become everybody’s best friend. But if your home is literally advertising warmth and friendliness, maybe at least acknowledge the existence of another human being standing ten feet away saying hello. After all, I did keep my dog from shitting in your yard.

At this point, I’m starting to think the signs aren’t for visitors at all. They’re more like neighborhood decorations people buy because everyone else has one.

Like suburban peer pressure.

One person buys a “WELCOME” sign and suddenly the entire street looks like a Hobby Lobby support group.

But honestly? Some people should probably skip the mixed messaging.

If you’re naturally grumpy, antisocial, or possess the emotional warmth of an unplugged refrigerator, maybe a more accurate sign would help everyone involved.

Something simple.

“Please Keep Walking.”

Or:

“Not Friendly But We Like Plants.”

Maybe even:

“WELCOME*
*Terms and conditions apply.”

At least then the branding would match the customer experience.

Because nothing is stranger than someone publicly presenting themselves as warm and welcoming while privately acting like saying hello might drain their life force.

Know thyself, neighbors.

And decorate accordingly.

Waiting in Queue of Life

You ever sit on hold during a phone call or stuck in a drive-thru line and start thinking, this is taking way longer than it should?

You check the clock. You shift in your seat. You start debating… Do I hang up? Do I pull away? Or do I just keep waiting?

Lately, that’s exactly what my life feels like.

Like I’m in a queue. Waiting.

Waiting on answers about my health. Waiting on doctors to decide what comes next. Waiting on someone else to come up with a plan for my life.

I’ve done everything I’ve been asked to do… and I’m still here.bStill waiting.

And then there’s the bigger question that creeps in when things get quiet…

Where am I actually going? How long is it going to take to get there?

And the one that hits the hardest… Do I ever get there at all?

Because I don’t mind working. I never have. I love cooking. I love creating. I love giving people something they enjoy.

But right now? I don’t get to do that.

And maybe one day I will again. Maybe I’ll get back to doing what I’m good at, what I love.

But until then… I’m stuck in the queue.

And the longer I stand here, the more I start thinking about everything I’m missing.

Not just retirement, that fantasy we all chase like it’s guaranteed, but the simple things: Travel. Time with people who matter. Sitting in a chair with a book and no interruptions.

I see people my age doing those things… and yeah, there’s a little jealousy there. I won’t pretend there isn’t.

Because while they’re moving forward… I’m still waiting for my number to be called.

They say timing is everything. That everyone’s opportunity comes at a different moments.

Maybe that’s true. But waiting has a way of messing with your head.

It makes you compare timelines. It makes you question your path.

And if you sit there long enough… it starts to break your faith in the whole process.

People love to say, “Be patient. Trust the process.” But what if the process never calls your name?

So then you start asking different questions…

Is this time supposed to be preparation? Am I building something while I’m stuck here?

Because if I’m being honest… I don’t feel prepared for some peaceful, easy life down the road.

And that’s when the hardest truth shows up. We love to blame external factors, bad timing, bad luck, things outside our control.

And sure, some of that is real. But not all of it. Some of the reasons I’m still in this line?

They’re mine. Bad decisions. Wasted money. Choices that felt small at the time but stacked up over years.

Nothing intentional. But real, nonetheless. And those things? They don’t just disappear.

They stand right in front of you… holding your place in line.

So for now… I stay on hold. In the queue.

Not because I love it. Not because I believe in it.

But because I don’t know what happens if I step out of it. And maybe that’s the real question… How long do you stay in line before you finally decide… to hang up?

Happy 2026.

I’ve never really been a “New Year’s resolutions” guy. I don’t love arbitrary deadlines or fake fresh starts wrapped in champagne and wishful thinking.

But this year feels different.

This year, I’m choosing to make healthier choices, not as a resolution, but as an act of survival. I want a life where my family and my friends still get me. Present. Functional. Here.

I took my chronic kidney disease seriously for almost a year. And then… I didn’t.

I got busy. I got lazy. I slipped back into old habits. Heavy habits. Unhealthy habits. The kind that quietly convince you that “later” is guaranteed.

It isn’t.

There are other layers too. The gym and jiu-jitsu, two things that keep me grounded, have been on hold thanks to neck and back injuries. No insurance means no easy fixes. Surgery without coverage feels like signing over a second mortgage, and that’s just not an option.

Mobility is everything to me. It’s tied directly to my mental health, my physical health, and honestly, my will to keep pushing forward.

As of today, January 1st, I am one day sober.

And that feels like a damn good place to start. Yeah, we’ve been here before… the addicts motto, right?

My kidney disease demands a better lifestyle, and that begins with cutting alcohol out of the equation completely. Next comes clean eating and fasting, something I know works for me. I used to do 20-hour fasts daily, with a 40-hour fast once a month. That routine brought me closer to my ideal weight and, more importantly, a clearer head and a happier place mentally.

The struggle will be real.

I work in a place where I’m surrounded by food….. food that absolutely does not appear on my nephrologist’s diet plan. Add to that the nonstop parade of sweets people generously bring in to share… and yeah, my discipline hasn’t always been stellar.

But I’ll do better.

Home has its own challenges. My family isn’t on a restrictive lifestyle diet, and they shouldn’t be. That’s on me, not them. I’ll eat when I need to eat, make better choices for myself, and stay out of the way of the foods my wife and kids enjoy.

One day at a time. That’s the goal.

Over the past few days, I’ve read and heard about several people passing away…. all my age. All seemingly living healthier lives than I have lately. It’s a reminder we never really know how much time we’re given. I can’t control the clock, but I can stop sprinting toward the finish line.

This isn’t a resolution. It’s a revelation.

Change is necessary. I know it. The people around me know it. But this is my responsibility, and I don’t expect anyone else to carry it for me.

Just know this, having water, coffee, or oatmeal doesn’t mean I can’t still laugh with you while you’re having a steak and a couple IPAs or bourbons.

Cheers to a new year.

And cheers to the uphill battle of resisting bad food, bad habits, and the lie that “I’ll start tomorrow.”

Tomorrow is today.

What Is Depression?

Depression is defined as a serious mood disorder marked by persistent sadness and loss of interest. It affects how we think, feel, and function. Fatigue. Sleep issues. Appetite changes. Hopelessness. Brain fog. Difficulty concentrating.

Cool. Clinical. Accurate.

And also? That definition describes a hell of a lot of us.

But here’s the real question:

Can you actually identify what depresses you?

For me, depression looks like losing a health battle I didn’t ask to fight. Kidney disease has a way of quietly rearranging your life while pretending it’s no big deal.

Change… yeah, change is depressing. Losing porch nights because life shifted. Losing control of my business while still being responsible for it. Teaching, explaining, demonstrating expectations over and over… only to watch nothing change.

Depression is living somewhere you hate.

It’s having a child who wants to live with you, and being powerless to change his current situation.

It’s making money you can’t enjoy or use.

It’s worrying about a future that keeps getting closer instead of clearer.

It’s going to bed at 5 a.m. and waking up at 7 a.m. like your brain hates you.

To most people, these things sound small.

To me, they stack up. They linger. They haunt.

Self-diagnosed? Sure.

Still real? Absolutely.

So how do you cure depression?

How do you shut down the brain activity that manufactures darkness no amount of light seems to touch? Is the answer the very thing that depresses me, change? Maybe. But where? How? How do you change things you don’t control?

Do you stop caring?

Stop showing up?

Stop listening?

I don’t have those answers. What I do know is this: I make micro changes. Probably the wrong ones sometimes. But they’re the ones that let me survive my days.

For years, I preached that mental health is no joke. That we all need to do better. Somewhere along the way while trying to be strong, helpful, responsible…. I lost sight of my own happiness.

Now I move through life like an invisible observer. Watching everyone else unfold while I hover quietly on the outside.

Depression is all of this. And more.

I don’t have control of it , but I tug at the shirt tails of the things I can reach.

So what depresses you?

Do you feel in control… or like it’s slipping through your fingers too?

Some days the fight feels heavy. Overwhelming. Endless.

When that happens, don’t aim for perfection. Aim for tomorrow.

Make micro changes.

Find small peace.

Push just far enough to get there.

And then do it again.

A Lifetime of Adventure, Comes With a Receipt

When it comes to life, I didn’t exactly play it smart. I didn’t save money. I didn’t pick a trade or rack up a skill set that would neatly line me up for a six-figure future. I kind of half-assed my way through it…. traveling, seeing the world, chasing experiences, and saying yes to life more than I said yes to responsibility.

There were plenty of highs and lows, and eventually, reality knocked. Hard. I had to hunker down and get serious. Later than most. With no formal education and no specialized skill, I landed a job I was qualified for simply because a city took a chance on me. It paid decently for the area, came with good benefits, and even had a retirement.

And guess what? I didn’t exactly crush that either.

Years later, I walked away. Instead of finding another “real job,” I did what I’d always done best, I left town, traveled, and lived without much care for tomorrow. Eventually, I convinced my family to buy a restaurant. I cashed out every dollar of my Ohio Deferred Comp to wipe out my debt. Then I poured my pension into getting that restaurant off the ground.

So here I am again. No trade. No degree. No formal skill. Just a bar and restaurant that does well enough to keep the lights on and the community happy.

The hard truth? I never set myself up for future success. Now I’m 53, married, trying to provide for my family, trying to buy or build a forever home. And it turns out, to afford a house today, you needed to start saving about 40 years ago.

There’s no usable property available. All we need is an acre or two. That’s it. And yet it feels completely out of reach. Really though, building is really out of reach! I don’t understand how others do it, especially when I look at salaries and realize I didn’t choose the “right” path. Hindsight, right? Maybe I should’ve gone into the medical field, everyone there seems to have what they need.

I’m tired and defeated. I’ve accepted that buying or building a house will never happen for us. I hate the house we’re in, it’s too small, we’ve outgrown it, and it doesn’t allow for the life we want to share with friends and family.

Maybe this is the price I pay for a wild, beautiful, irresponsible youth. Or maybe it’s just life being life.

So here’s my advice to anyone young and hungry for adventure: go explore. Live. See the world. But for the love of your future self, get an education, learn a trade, build a skill, invest something, save something. Set yourself up.

It’s too late for me.

But maybe my failures can still be useful to someone else.

What Sparks My Admiration

What is something others do that sparks your admiration?

There are a few things people do that hit me right in the soft part of my heart…. the part I pretend I don’t have, but we all know is there.

1. Family-Oriented People

Whenever I see those families out at dinner, laughing, talking, kids half-behaving and half-wild, I can’t help but stop and watch for a moment. There’s something about that tight-knit family energy that sparks admiration in me. Maybe a little jealousy, sure, but mostly admiration.

It’s that classic, picture-perfect “white picket fence” vibe, not because it’s perfect, but because it’s together. And even if I’ll never have that exact version in my own life, I love seeing people who do. There’s beauty in the simplicity of showing up for each other.

2. Humble, Successful People

Then there are the quiet giants… the ones who’ve built something, achieved something, earned something… and still treat everyone with kindness. The “treat the janitor the same as the CEO” kind of people.

Those people have my full attention. They’re the kind of people who remind me the world doesn’t need more loud victories, it needs more quiet dignity. I try to model myself after them, and honestly? I treat people with respect pretty damn well. Sometimes better than I treat myself.

3. Focused and Disciplined People

And finally… the focused ones. The disciplined ones. The people who hold their goals like a compass and somehow balance work, family, life, stress, and dreams without dropping everything on the floor.

Watching someone stay committed, whether it’s to their career, their family, or their own personal growth is inspiring. It reminds me that staying locked in is a daily choice, not a personality trait.