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?

Growth Over Ego

The moment you stop defending… is the moment you start improving

“I used to think being right meant I was winning. Turns out, it just meant I wasn’t learning.”

Back in the 90’s, my family owned a small dive bar in Follansbee, West Virginia. Behind the bar hung a simple sign:

“Politics, religion, and high school football are prohibited.”

Not because those topics weren’t important, but because they were guaranteed to turn a conversation into an argument, and an argument into something worse. Everyone had an opinion. More importantly, everyone believed theirs was the right one.

Looking back now, that sign wasn’t really about avoiding conflict.
It was about managing ego.

And ego shows up everywhere.

It shows up in business.
It shows up in leadership.
It definitely shows up when you’re dealing with people.

I’ve seen it firsthand with staff over the years. You can explain exactly how you want something done… clearly, repeatedly, and still watch people default back to their own way. It’s easy in those moments to think, “They’re not listening.”

But growth forces you to ask a harder question:
“Am I communicating this in a way that actually connects?”

Because leadership isn’t about being right. It’s about being understood.

Before owning a business, I spent time in law enforcement. And like a lot of people in that field, confidence comes with the territory. You have to trust your instincts and make decisions quickly.

But there’s a fine line between confidence and ego.

If I’m being honest, there were times I didn’t think I was wrong, often enough to cost me opportunities to learn. And I saw others take it even further, where being right wasn’t just a belief… it was their identity. And that’s a dangerous place to live.

Because the moment your identity is tied to being right, you stop being open to being better.

One of the best reminders I’ve come across didn’t come from business or law enforcement… it came from the mats.

At my jiu-jitsu gym, there’s a decal on the front door:

“Leave Your Ego At The Door.”

And inside one of my gis, it says:

“Flow without ego.”

You can’t learn if you’re trying to prove something. You can’t improve if you’re too busy defending yourself.

The mat has a way of humbling you real quick. It doesn’t care about your opinions, your past, or your excuses. It just shows you where you stand and where you need to grow.

That lesson applies everywhere.

In conversations.
In leadership.
In life.

There’s a quote from Charlie Kirk that fits this idea well:

“You should be constantly testing your beliefs against others. If your ideas are strong, they’ll hold up. If they’re not, you’ve just learned something.”

That’s the shift. Ego wants to win the argument. Growth wants to understand why it was wrong.

And the truth is, most of us walk around thinking we’re open-minded… until we’re challenged. That’s when ego shows up. That’s when we defend instead of listen. Someone once told me, “it’s hard to listen when your mouth is always open” They weren’t wrong.

But if you can pause in that moment, just long enough to ask, “What if I’m missing something?” That’s where real growth starts.

Not in proving a point. But in being willing to reconsider it. Because at the end of the day, being right doesn’t make you better.

Getting better does.

So the next time you feel the need to defend your position… ask yourself—are you protecting your ego, or pursuing growth?

If A Friend Asks For Help, You Help Them

Anyone who has watched the TV series Letterkenny knows the show is full of great one-liners. The kind that make you laugh, rewind, and repeat them for weeks, maybe even years.

But one line from the show has always stuck with me more than the others:

“When a friend asks for help, you help them.”

It sounds simple. Almost too simple. But the older I get, the more I realize how rare that mindset actually is.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I take certain things in life a little more seriously than most people. But when it comes to helping friends, acquaintances, or even complete strangers, if someone needs help, I get up and go.

I wasn’t always like this. Somewhere along the road of life, something changed in me.

I think a big part of that shift came after my best friend took his own life. Losing someone like that forces you to look at the world differently. It makes you pay attention to the quiet struggles people carry. It makes you realize how important it is to show up for people.

I know one thing without a doubt, Mikey was always there. No matter what, if anyone needed help, he showed up.

I just wish we all could have been there for him when he needed us the most.

That’s when I started my Acknowledge. Care. Tell. page and got my QPR certification so I could help others who might be struggling. Most of that work focuses on mental health, but the truth is helping people doesn’t stop there.

If someone needs help, physical, emotional, whatever…. I try to be there.

A best friend bought a new house and needed a massive stair chair lift removed. The kind of job that makes you question your life decisions halfway through it. Heavy, awkward, and absolutely miserable to move.

But he asked for help. So I showed up.

Another time a friend got his truck buried deep in a mud hole in the woods in Fernwood Forest. His call for help came at 2 a.m. Most people would roll over and let that phone go to voicemail.

Instead, I grabbed the keys to my old Toyota 4×4 and headed out into the forest to pull him out.

I even helped my brother-in-law shovel his deck after a snowstorm while I was still in a sling after surgery. Mostly so my sister wouldn’t be mad.

Because that’s the rule. When a friend asks for help, you help them.

Now here’s the part I’ve noticed over the years. Not everyone lives by that rule.

Some people won’t get off the couch. Some people suddenly become “busy.” Some people are great at accepting help but mysteriously unavailable when the roles reverse.

And I’m not saying that to complain. It’s just something you start to notice if you pay attention. You quietly keep a mental note of who shows up… and who doesn’t when the bat signal goes out.

But here’s the thing. You shouldn’t help people because you expect something in return. You help because it’s the right way to live.

And if there’s one piece of advice I can give anyone reading this, it’s this:

If a friend asks for help… you help them.

It might be inconvenient. It might be heavy. It might be 2 a.m. in the woods.

But showing up for people is one of the simplest and most powerful things we can do in this life.

Pride in the Small Things

I was watching a scene from A Memory of a Killer recently that stuck with me.

In the scene, a young guy finishes washing dishes and thinks he’s done. The boss checks them and tells him to do them again because they aren’t clean enough. The kid protests, saying someone else doesn’t even do dishes. The boss responds with something simple but powerful: when his own son had that job at the same age, the dishes were spotless because he had pride in his work.

When the kid shrugs and says, “It’s just dishes,” the boss gives the real lesson.

It’s not about the dishes.

It’s about being given a task and doing it right.

That scene resonated with me because it reminded me of something I learned long before I ever ran a business.

My first job started at midnight.

I worked for the city park and pool from midnight until eight in the morning. While most people were sleeping, I was cleaning bathhouses and helping with pool maintenance. It wasn’t glamorous work. Nobody was applauding the guy scrubbing floors in the middle of the night.

But looking back, those hours taught me something important: the size of the job doesn’t determine its importance. The pride you take in doing it does.

Later on, when I worked for a tree service, I learned the same lesson again. After the cutting was done, I was told to rake and sweep the yard and the street. Nothing fancy about that job either. But I made sure that place was spotless when I finished. The yard looked better than when we arrived.

That’s when it really clicked for me.

Small tasks aren’t meaningless. They’re where character is created.

Anyone can step up when the moment is big and everyone is watching. But the people who take pride in the small jobs, the unnoticed ones, the ones nobody brags about, those are the people you can trust with bigger responsibilities.

Great responsibility isn’t handed out randomly. It’s earned in the smallest tasks.

Because the way someone handles a simple job tells you exactly how they’ll handle a complicated one.

The task may be small, but the character it reveals never is.

Welcome to Social Media: Where Everyone Talks and Nobody Listens.

Social media is a lot like Peter Parker’s famous lesson, with great power comes great responsibility.

At least, that’s what it started as.

For me, social media was originally about connection. Keeping in touch with friends and family. Networking. Creating group pages where coworkers, relatives, and communities could actually communicate and help each other. It felt useful. Positive. Almost… wholesome.

Then the pages multiplied.

“I’m From This Town” groups. Neighborhood watch pages. Crime alert feeds. Jeep groups. Toyota groups. BMW groups. Hobby communities. Local discussion boards.

And honestly? Most of them began with great intentions. Need advice on a vehicle modification? Ask the group.
See a safety issue in your neighborhood? Share it.
Want to warn people about a hazard or help someone solve a problem? Post it.

Simple. Except somewhere along the way, the problem stopped being the platform… and became the people using it.

Now, genuine questions are labeled stupid. Helpful posts get mocked. Someone trying to inform others gets buried under sarcasm, criticism, and outright bullying. Half the comments are people tearing someone down, and the other half are arguing with those people.

We’ve somehow turned community spaces into digital food fights.

Tone doesn’t translate well online. Humor gets mistaken for insults. Sarcasm becomes outrage. Someone is always offended, someone else is always furious, and the modern battle cry has become “FAFO”, usually typed by someone who has probably never confronted anyone face-to-face in their life.

Let’s be honest: most keyboard warriors wouldn’t say a single word in public. The confidence only exists behind a screen, drinking a diet Dr. Pepper.

And yet, here’s the irony, we’ll all keep using social media.

Some of us use it for genuine connection. Some to share experiences, journeys, and photos. Some to learn. Some to help.

But understand this: even your happiest moments… your vacation, your success, your progress, will attract negativity.

Not because you did anything wrong.

But because jealousy and boredom are powerful motivators for people whose biggest adventure is scrolling through someone else’s life.

Social media didn’t change humanity.

It just gave everyone a microphone.

Things I’m Supposed to Accept… But Don’t

We live in a world where inconvenience is enforced immediately, but accountability moves slowly… or sometimes not at all.

There are things everyone pretends make sense, and I’m not buying it anymore.

Ladies and gentlemen, I keep being told everything I’m about to mention is normal. That it’s just how business works. Just how people are. Just how the world is.

Today I’d like to submit a simple argument: normal is not the same thing as reasonable.

Let’s start small.

It is apparently normal to drive fourteen miles down the interstate with your turn signal on, passing exit after exit, never turning. At some point you stop wondering if it’s accidental. Eventually, everyone else just adjusts, drives around the confusion, and moves on.

That’s what acceptance looks like. Not agreement …. exhaustion.

Now let’s talk about business.

Every business depends on basic services like trash pickup. You sign a contract expecting a service, not a lifetime membership. Shop around, find a better rate, try to make a smart financial decision, and suddenly leaving becomes nearly impossible.

Cancellation windows, automatic renewals, clauses buried deep enough to require a legal team and a flashlight. Contracts so complex David Blaine couldn’t escape them.

A service confident in its value doesn’t need traps to keep customers.

And then there are issues that stop being frustrating and start being serious.

We are told justice is blind. We are told accountability applies equally. Yet time and again, ordinary people face immediate consequences while powerful people seem protected by delay, influence, or silence.

Justice loses credibility the moment people believe status changes outcomes.

We fine ordinary people instantly.

We bind businesses with contracts they can’t escape.

We tolerate daily dysfunction without question.

And when accountability approaches the powerful, suddenly patience becomes endless.

Maybe the issue isn’t confusion.

Maybe we understand perfectly, and we’ve simply been told long enough to stop objecting. I don’t accept that anymore.

And if questioning that makes me unreasonable, then maybe reasonable isn’t the standard we should be defending.

The ABC’s of Baseball… and Life

For years, my son played travel baseball.

And during a few of those seasons, our travels took us to Aberdeen, Maryland.

What started as another stop on the travel-ball map turned into something much bigger. Not only did we face some seriously competitive baseball, but we also met a lot of great people along the way. One person, in particular, left a lasting impression on me, Billy Ripken.

Yes, that Ripken. Brother of Cal. But Billy wasn’t there to talk about stats, trophies, or highlight reels. He talked about something far more important: how to approach the game.

Billy introduced the players to what he called the ABC’s of Baseball… a simple framework, but one packed with lessons that went way beyond the diamond.

The ABC’s of Baseball

A – Abner Doubleday. The beginning. The game wouldn’t exist without him (1839).

B – Bunting. (1st learn how to hit)

C – Compete. Compete with yourself. Compete with teammates. Compete against the other team.

D – Drills. Do them right.

E – Errors. Make fewer errors than the other team and most of the time, you’ll win.

F – First pitch strike. Be ahead in the count.

G – Get better every day. Compete. Improve.

H – Hit… then hit some more.

I – Instincts. Pay attention. Learn the game.

J – Jump to the next level. Compete and get better—opportunity follows.

K – K’s. Don’t strike out. Stop swinging and missing.

L – Little things. Handle the little things and the big things take care of themselves.

M – Mistakes. Don’t make the same mistake twice. Learn from it.

N – Numbers. Play the game and have fun—don’t obsess over stats.

O – Outs. Make the routine outs.

P – Perfect practice makes perfect. Practice like a moron, you’ll play like one.

Q – Quick first step.

R – Runs. Score them or drive them in.

S – Simple. Keep it simple.

T – Thanks. Be thankful. You’re not entitled. Thank your parents, coaches, teachers.

U – Underhand flip.

V – Versatility. Learn as many positions as possible.

W – Walks. Be ready to hit, but take the bad pitches.

X – X-Factor. Give 100% honest effort. Work hard. Be thankful.

Y – Yell. Be loud. Communicate. Help your teammates.

Z – Zzzzz’s. Don’t fall asleep. Pay attention. Know what’s going on every inning.

During those long drives between tournaments, I’d go over these ABC’s with my son. Over and over. At the time, I thought I was helping him become a better baseball player.

What I didn’t realize was that these “rules” were teaching him how to be a complete competitor, on and off the field.

Then baseball ended.

High school wrapped up. Uniforms were hung up. And suddenly, real life was standing on the mound.

Fastballs came in the form of responsibility. Curveballs showed up as setbacks. And there was no coach calling time-out anymore.

But here’s the thing…

Just because baseball ends doesn’t mean the ABC’s stop applying.

Take a second look at Billy Ripken’s ABC’s, but this time, step out of the batter’s box and into the workforce. Into school. Into adulthood. Into life.

Compete.

Get better every day.

Do the little things right.

Be versatile.

Communicate.

Be thankful.

Give honest effort.

Don’t make the same mistake twice.

That’s how you earn a promotion.

That’s how you level up in school.

That’s how you grow as a person.

I relate these ABC’s to my life every single day. And my hope in sharing this is simple: maybe you take something from it. Maybe you apply it yourself. Or maybe you pass it on to someone who needs it.

Because after all—

life and baseball really do go hand in hand.

WV PEIA: Insurance That Doesn’t Insure Health—Just Delays Relief

Let’s get something straight right out of the gate:

WV PEIA does not insure health.

They insure hesitation. They insure delay. They insure the hope that if you wait long enough, you’ll either give up or learn to live with pain.

And honestly? They’re very good at it.

PEIA hates done care

Preventative care? Fine.

Routine visits? Sure.

But done care, you know, care that actually fixes a problem instead of endlessly managing it? That’s where PEIA starts clutching its pearls.

Spine surgery. Structural repair. Long-term solutions. Suddenly it’s all “Have you tried suffering longer?”

They love treatments that: Are temporary. Need to be repeated. Kick the can down the road.

Injections? Approved.

PT forever? Absolutely.

Actually fixing the problem? Whoa there, cowboy.

You’re discouraged from using the insurance you pay for. PEIA technically exists to provide coverage, but their real specialty is making you feel like you’re doing something wrong by asking for it.

Need advanced care?

You’ll be buried under: Prior authorizations. Documentation requirements. Appeals & Denials worded just politely enough to still feel like a slap.

The message is clear: “We’re not saying no… we’re just making this so difficult you stop asking.”

They make you feel guilty for being sick or injured

This one’s personal. If your condition is labeled “degenerative,” PEIA treats it like a character flaw.

Wear and tear?

Aging spine?

Long-term damage from physically demanding work or life?

Apparently that’s on you.

Never mind that:

Degeneration causes real pain Degeneration causes nerve damage Degeneration doesn’t magically stop because insurance says it’s “normal”

You’re made to feel like needing care is somehow indulgent…: as if you’re asking for luxury healthcare instead of basic function.

“Medical necessity” as a weapon. PEIA loves the phrase medical necessity the way villains love monologues.

They don’t use it to determine care. They use it to deny care.

Case in point: I was given five criteria to meet in order to appeal a denied surgery.

I met four out of five.

FOUR. OUT. OF. FIVE.

Denied anyway.

Among the criteria I did meet:

Proximity to provider. Established relationship with provider. Failed conservative care.

(And yes, failed care means PT, injections, and time. Lots of time.)

What did PEIA say? Nope. Still not good enough. So let’s be honest, this was never about criteria. It was about cost avoidance.

They charge you for “being insured” and then don’t count your payments

Here’s where it gets even more outrageous: I met my deductible 100%. I even have the receipts to prove it. Yet PEIA continued billing me, claiming I “didn’t meet my deductible.” Why? Because apparently, I was “technically in-network but out of state.”

Translation: all the money I already paid… doesn’t count.

Where did it go? Who cashed it? Certainly not toward the care I needed. Certainly not toward my deductible. Just vanished into the bureaucratic void, like some fancy magic trick.

This isn’t just incompetence, it’s a scam disguised as policy.

PEIA doesn’t insure health, they insure delay!

Here’s the truth no one wants to say out loud: PEIA’s model works best when:

People put off care. People manage pain instead of fixing it. People eventually stop trying.

They don’t measure success by recovery.

They measure it by how long they can delay paying for meaningful treatment. And for teachers, public employees, and families who depend on this coverage?

That delay isn’t abstract. It’s physical. It’s emotional. It’s exhausting.

Healthcare shouldn’t feel like a moral failing. Needing treatment shouldn’t feel like a negotiation.

And insurance shouldn’t act like it’s doing you a favor by barely showing up.

WV PEIA doesn’t protect health. It protects budgets. And the people paying the price?

They’re the ones just trying to feel normal again.

Where Did Public Etiquette Go?

I was sitting in a doctor’s office the other day. Large waiting room. Nearly 30 empty seats. Three people total, including myself.

Two more people walked in. They saw me. They had to pass me to check in.

While waiting, a woman across the room dropped her papers. She was in a wheelchair, so I got up to help her, because that’s what decent humans do.

I turned around to return to my seat and… it was gone.

The two new arrivals had taken it.

Not because there was no other option.

Not because the room was full.

But because awareness and basic courtesy seem to be optional these days.

I didn’t say anything. I sat elsewhere. But I wanted to say, I wasn’t aware we were playing musical chairs!

But the woman I helped made eye contact with me, shook her head, and said everything without saying a word.

Public spaces used to come with unspoken rules…. awareness, patience, respect for others. Somewhere along the way, those rules were replaced with entitlement and tunnel vision.

Kindness shouldn’t cost you your seat.

And decency shouldn’t be this rare.

The Importance of Taking (and Passing) the ASVAB — Even If You’re Not Joining the Military

The ASVAB, Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, often gets dismissed as “that military test.” You know, the one you only take if you plan on wearing a uniform and waking up before the sun on purpose.

But let’s be honest, based on what many of us see daily in the civilian workforce, maybe more people should take it.

Because if you’ve ever watched someone struggle to determine which end of a screwdriver actually does the screwing or how to work a tv remote … this conversation is for you.

What the ASVAB Actually Measures (And Why That Matters)

Contrary to popular belief, the ASVAB isn’t asking you to memorize fighter jet schematics or identify enemy aircraft from 30,000 feet. It measures basic, functional life skills:

Arithmetic reasoning – The ability to do math without staring at the ceiling like the numbers betrayed you. Word knowledge & paragraph comprehension – Understanding written instructions. Yes, the entire sentence. Mechanical comprehension – How things work. Or at minimum, which end of the screwdriver you should be holding. General science & technical reasoning – The ability to learn new systems without needing a tutorial video… every time.

None of this is military-exclusive. It’s adult-exclusive.

The Service Industry Reality Check

The service industry doesn’t need more “hard workers.”

It needs thinkers.

Because working a shift isn’t just carrying plates or pouring drinks…. it’s:

Making change without short-circuiting. Reading a ticket correctly the first time. Understanding that “medium rare” and “medium well” are not interchangeable concepts. Troubleshooting equipment without immediately declaring, “It’s broken,” five seconds in.

And yet, here we are… watching people aggressively attack the buttons on a remote control like it owes them money.

The ASVAB highlights whether someone can: Process information. Recognize patterns. Solve problems under pressure. Learn without being spoon-fed every step.

Which is wild, because those are the exact skills required to survive a Friday night rush.

Taking the Test vs. Passing the Test

Taking the ASVAB means you showed up. Passing it means you demonstrated baseline competence, the ability to learn, adapt, and function without supervision every 12 seconds.

No one’s asking for genius-level scores. We’re just trying to confirm that:

You can follow directions. You can problem-solve. You won’t attempt to fix equipment by hitting it and hoping for the best. (Although… that does work sometimes. But still.)

Why This Should Matter to Civilians

We trust civilians, especially in service industries, to: Handle money. Operate equipment. Represent businesses. Interact with the public.

Yet we act shocked when basic reasoning skills are missing.

The ASVAB doesn’t judge intelligence, it reveals readiness. And readiness is everything.

The ASVAB shouldn’t be viewed as a military gatekeeper. It’s a reality check.

If a test designed to place people in submarines, aircraft, and high-risk environments values comprehension, reasoning, and mechanical understanding… maybe civilian workplaces should stop pretending those skills are optional.

Because confidence is great…. but knowing which end of the screwdriver to use is better.