My Fucking Feelings
I’m not as vulnerable as a blogger as I thought I was, 90’s hair, and a new podcast that terrifies the shit out of me
11.13.20. 4:30am.
I just clentched my nose circulation-stopping tight to prevent a sneeze that would have surely woke up Vanessa, if the punching of these keys hasn’t already. She can hear a mouse thinking. Her hearing is so good it’s almost a handicap. I never want to hear that well. The world is too noisy. I need to be able to close some doors. Anyway, I may be stretching here but I think it’s proof that I have grown. I sacrificed something that feels amazing for someone else. I know it’s just a sneeze. But my sneezes measure on the Richter and feel like orgasms. I think people who take away your sneezes should be fined. Or shot. In the face. Like adults who tickle children that don’t want to be tickled. Or don’t stop when they should because they think it’s cute, without knowing they are taking the child’s voice away. I’ve had many steal my sneezes over the span of my life and it enrages me. How do you steal someone’s sneeze? You scare them right when they’re about to sneeze. Or you grab their nose and squeeze it, just like I just to myself. I never used to be like this. Selfless. Or considerate may be more accurate.
Speaking of orgasms, I got a handjob at 9:30am yesterday morning. I know that sounds crass but what else do you call it? Do I say my girlfriend masturbated me? Rubbed me out? That sounds weird. And I do have a few points here. She sacrificed something for me. She gave me a gift. It reminded me that love is about giving people little things that are actually big. Like a handjob at 9:30 am because you want to finish your partner after kissing him. It meant a lot to me. Or stopping a sneeze at 4:30am because you know it’s hard for your girlfriend to go back to sleep once a loud Korean with insomnia wakes her up.
I guess I’ll start with my revelation, which by the way is what we call the ending segment of our new podcast, “It’s Not Me, It’s You”. Wait. Put a bookmark there. Let’s back up a bit. It started as a casual conversation at Whole Foods while we were grocery shopping. Vanessa and I were talking about the misconception that therapists have their shit together and that they have perfect relationships. That lead to an idea of us doing a podcast where we pull the curtain back and talk about our own issues. Since we are technically both therapists. Although people keep asking me for proof. I had resistance for two reasons. One, I hate couples who talk about their relationship. It feels very preachy and like they have made it to the island and they’re trying to teach everyone else how to swim. Like when Dr. Phil grabs his wife’s hand at the end of his show and they walk together down the aisle into the imaginary sunset. It feels staged AF. The show should end with his wife standing up from the audience saying “When the fuck are you coming home?” And Dr. Phil saying his famous line, “You want to be right or you want to be happy?” Which makes no sense but that’s the point. He’s on autopilot. She gives him the finger and walks out by herself.
I don’t want to be that couple.
The other resistance was having to talk about my issues. And that was the revelation. Because one may think as a blogger I’ve been transparent, the “curtain” has been pulled back for over a decade now. And if no one thinks that, they’ve heard me announce it. Many times. Like it’s some kind of trophy. But have I really? Yes, I document my internal journey and I write self help articles for Psychology Today. But my internal journey is edited and those PT articles are listicles and how tos. I don’t go into my issues. I go into other people’s issues. I realized that I haven’t really shown myself. It made me feel like a fraud. Posting videos on Instagram doing touch and go squat cleans with my daughter instead of a barbell isn’t really vulnerability. That’s just me desperately asking for likes so my page keeps growing and I can keep tap dancing. And that’s why the idea of me doing a podcast with my girlfriend about our personal life terrifies me. I was actually surprised at my terrification. It didn’t make sense. I’ve been an open book for years now. Or have I?
So we come home and I ask her to go into the garage so I can Zoom her and we can give it a go. Without any plan or rehearsal, we turn on the mics and start talking. I start with “So the other night, I said I’m going to go buy you ice cream and then get behind you when I come home, and you said if you buy me ice cream, you’re not getting behind me.” After we went there, she asked me about my pattern of jumping ship after 3 years in relationships. This took me off guard. I wasn’t ready for this. She hit the ball back, pretty hard. And I gotta say, it was kind of hot. It’s something we never talked about before and now we were doing it on the internet.
Our first episode of “It’s Not Me, It’s You” launches next week. I’ll be honest. The podcast may only be one episode because I don’t know if I have the courage to talk about my issues. But that fear is that’s partly why I feel like I need to do it. I encourage my clients to do scary shit all the time. I don’t want to be a hypocrite. That’s gross to me and will make me feel like I’ve wasted the last ten years. I can’t be a fraud. Second, I haven’t done anything that has made me pause and step back in a very long time. Fourth, I don’t have time for another project. Or is that just an excuse? Fifth, it feels good to create something with my girlfriend, also something I have ‘t done in a long while. It adds another layer to the relationship. And layers deepen the relationship. So it’s not just about take out and handjobs.
I feel like the universe is testing me. Not just with personal projects. But events, new relationships, teams, opportunities, then seeing what I gravitate toward and choose. A chance for me to notice my anxiety and what comes up. What to put weight on. Am I still chasing? Am I running away from myself or toward? As I write this, a baby bobcat makes eye contact with me outside my window. No joke. I real fucking bobcat six feet from me, only separated by a thin piece of glass. I freeze. I’m afraid of animals. It’s followed by its mom — both heading toward the chicken cage on the side of our house.
Vanessa and I run out with broomsticks to scare them away. Is it coincidence a city boy scared of animals ends up in a house where bears dig through the trash and bobcats scale the side of the house at 6:20 in the morning?
Well, I hope you enjoy my new podcast because I choose not to believe in coincidences.
Oh, I forgot to talk about my 90’s hair.
Or many would argue, dad hair.
- Angry
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