And yes, I have an uncle who went down the Facebook rabbit hole and never really came out. Yes, we still love each other. And thankfully, yes, we still can connect during the holiday season and enjoy each other’s limited company. But it’s just… different. It’s more careful. It’s a little like a (friendly) poker game, where you’re keeping your cards close to the vest, but still sneak in some banter in between hands.

It’s not just my uncle. My mother went down it too, and became political in ways she never was before. The algorithm bubble that formed extended into real life. Now she wasn’t just lapping up misinformation or getting wound up by clickbait - she started attending events with “like-minded” people. Aggrieved groups of people who shared legitimate frustrations, enflamed and exaggerated by their shared digital bubbles.

My relationship with my mother has a longer history of careful love. This piece won’t get into that history - there will be a day. But regardless, seeing this manifest was equally sad and unsurprising. She is easily manipulated, too trusting, bright but uninformed, and experiences loneliness - so is desperate for a community. The social media burrowing happened rapidly, and she sought the personal connection with other burrowers soon thereafter.

To be clear: I see, and even sometimes relate to, the feelings of loneliness or frustration that magnetically draw people to these fates. But I also disagree with, and disavow, the prisons the algorithms have sent them to. They may not feel that way. In fact, they genuinely view these places as safe havens: places they can spew animosities or prejudices that, theoretically, aren’t “politically correct” in today’s society. While I may argue there’s good reason these biases shouldn’t be acceptable, our algorithms instruct us on our own version of reality. The combination of deep, often real feelings, a highly addictive “social” environment, and the relative cloak of anonymity that these platforms create is the recipe that has no trouble ripping families at the seams.

So, the question is: can we get back together? Is there a future where we can truly reconnect on a fundamentally human level? We have to start with this simple fact: social media isn’t going away. In fact, not only is it here to stay, but it’s likely just going to get worse. Maybe there will be a day when advertisers finally send some of us running in the way TiVo, and later DVR, did with commercials, giving us a reliable way to opt out of certain elements. But, there’s no getting away from the dopamine hook of social media without cutting it off at the source. That can be incredibly difficult for many of us, particularly those that actually like social media for its original intent: connecting with old friends and chuckling at cute cat videos.

I think there’s a way out, and it may take time. It’ll certainly take some baby steps. Here are 5 steps to meet our loved ones and reconnect as humans:

1. Make the first move. It is convenient to decide they are wholly in the wrong and that it is up to them to come to you. In many respects this is a smart and self-preservationist approach. In dealing with genuine addicts, it recognizes that they need to come to a place where they truly want change. And for the victims of an addict, it empowers them to find their own path, unmoored from the addict’s unpredictable whims and careless choices. This is responsible in many respects, but the social media environment creates an unavoidable variable: we’re (mostly all) sharing in its machinations. It’s just that we all can steer in different directions, largely based on a few semi-conscious clicks that set us on our path. In that sense, we’re all in this mess together, manipulated by outside factors, and in many cases, influenced by generational ignorance of the medium. Choosing to be the bigger person in deciding to reach out and simply say “Hey, I’ve been thinking of you.” takes guts to be sure. It can feel pointless. But, we aren’t giving up on our values. We are still accepting a lack of control over their decision-making, but we are taking control of our priorities and how we show our love without negatively affecting our psyche. This gives you the opportunity to set the tone, setting, and the boundaries.

2. Find neutrality. Both in where you connect and what you’re going to talk about. Be ready to control the conversation. By extending the outreach, you’ve shown your intent, so it’s best to follow this up with setting the narrative. Small talk can be brutal, but it can establish a tone. Asking about things like children, sports, work, even general health can establish that you care about what they care about and that it need not be a precursor to communication. This may me difficult. Their decisions of late may aggravate or offend you. But, by opening the door and setting the tone, you establish the jurisdiction of the dialog and your own integrity in the process.

3. Physical activity creates a distraction. There’s something about movement that, well, keeps things moving. If your family member is healthy enough to get around, consider a walk. If they’re even more robust, shoot hoops or play a round of golf - if you can tolerate them for a few hours (maybe keep it to nine holes or the driving range). It allows for a natural distraction, perfect for establishing space for a break in the action. It adds oxygen to the conversation, which gives things some levity. It allows for a place for your eyes to go now and then, away from an awkward stare, and a place for your reactions to filter through if you find frustration bubbling up. Even modest physicality releases endorphins that can improve the mood and create positive energy, and simply sharing in an activity you both enjoy, even if it is just a walk, creates a safe setting where connection can thrive.

4. Withhold judgement. The fact that you’re embarking on this reconnection already tells us that judgement has been thrown about already. And that’s normal. We can’t simply disregard our values or how we feel about the world, particularly when it involves a loved one - someone we probably had on a pedestal at one point in our life. But we can acknowledge disappointment in how things have unfolded and disagreement with some of their thoughts without going into a personal diatribe that can come across as belittlement. Generally speaking, people enter these places of detachment because of real, legitimate feelings, and social media creates an environment that allows for a sense of anonymity that hijacks the conscience. The resulting “bravery” of thought loses important context, expression, and personal values. We must regain those subtleties to establish common ground again. There’s no way to do this if we go in guns blazing.

5. Set expectations low. The chance of the entire experiment blowing up is not zero percent. The chances of a shared epiphany resulting in attending Thanksgiving dinner again isn’t one hundred percent. More often than not, the first shot across the bow can have mixed results, elicit complicated feelings, and perhaps feel like one big shrug. But it matters. Just seeing each other, hearing your voices together, sharing a chuckle or memory… this is what makes human relationships, human. Don’t think you’re going to solve anything in the first meeting. Frankly, you may never solve anything. But you can establish a wobbly new normal that acknowledges each of your boundaries: areas of commonality that you can talk about without spontaneously combusting. A spot on the couch together where you can be present. These are wins, and take them where you can.

Without a doubt, we find ourselves in complicated times, and our brains haven’t developed enough to grapple with them naturally. It’s up to each of us to expedite the process, to find a path out and back to eye contact, a handshake, a hug. I hope these five steps put you on a path to take a leap, no matter how uncomfortable it feels. Our connections matter. Sure, some are unsalvageable. There are occasions that have enveloped our souls. Where we’ve done everything we can, said everything to be said. But in the land of the algorithm, a new monster has emerged - one that nobody asked for, that no one actively sought out. In the beginning, that first click, was no fault of one’s own.

To be honest, I’m a bit of a bulldozer when it comes to decision-making. This has led to both successful resilience as well as epic whiffs in judgement. With stuttering, I think I’m so close to it, so affixed to its dragooning, that sometimes I think I’ve almost written it off in a way. But, if i’m honest with myself, I know that’s not true. I’m reminded that these characteristics: my tendency to (sometimes carelessly) plow through something, and my persistent, frustrating vocal blocks and ticks, are intertwined at the root. My impatience, impulsivity, and restlessness feel genetically bound to my psyche much like stuttering is bound to both my overt verbality and my covert communication processes.

In fact, the majority of the battle with disruptive speech is happening between the ears, out of sight, wildly steering a litany of firing neurons toward a result that often looks, sounds, and lands awkwardly. This is because the stuttering is forcing the stutterer’s hand in more than just the verbal. It’s widespread. Long before another person hears or sees anything, there is an internal negotiation taking place.

What word should I use? Can I say the thing? Maybe? Is there a different word? Yes, replace the word. Meh, not a great word, pick another. Fine, try the first one. No, try the other, it’ll work. OK, I need to breathe. Shit, is someone seeing this? Ugh, I’ve lost my train of thought. Should I push through the block or avoid it? Land the damn plane. OK. I’m done. Or am I done? How did it come out? Better repeat my thought again to clarify - to myself - what I was intending. Do they think this sounds idiotic? Did I make my point? F**k, did I make my point too much? Stop. Listen to those around you. Smile. Crack a joke to make yourself feel better. Ok, really Matley, stop.

I have realized my physical ability to communicate directly impacts my decision-making, because, quite literally, my ability to communicate is, itself, a series of messy decisions.

So let me ask this: When faced with a choice, how do deeply personal characteristics - disability, fear, neuroticism, conscientiousness, trauma, etc. - intervene in our ability to execute a decision? What is it about who we are that impacts the critical moment of “now do the thing”?

We’d like to think of a decision as a relatively clean transaction: gather the information, weigh the options, determine what matters, and hit the gas. But we aren’t neutral arbiters. We bring us, with us: our fears, our history, our insecurities, our habits, and our impulses. Sometimes we bring a disability. Many times it’s something we have gotten very good at pretending isn’t there.

And perhaps the most consequential parts of those things are the ones nobody else can see. Perhaps our decision-making is driven, in large part, by our communication skills, internal or external.

That distinction seems applicable far beyond speech.

A person who is naturally risk-averse may experience the same opportunity differently from someone who is impulsive. Someone who’s experienced failure deeply and intimately may assign a different weight to this possibility from arising again than someone whose experience has mostly reinforced their confidence. A highly conscientious person might deliberate long enough to miss an opportunity that an impulsive person would seize. And hell, the impulsive person might also make three decisions in the time it takes the conscientious person to make one - and ultimately regret them all.

No single person is necessarily making a “better” decision than another. They are making a decision through the machinery they have. Consider that perhaps our greatest challenge is actually our most intuitive skill.

I think stuttering gives me a sense of empathy I’m not sure I’d have otherwise. It gives me an understanding of daily struggle (and yes, others have it far, far worse than I do). It exposes me - for better or worse - as authentic. As much as I try and weave and bob around speech, there’s no getting around there’s something there - and I think this is curious to some people, even if they are bewildered.

Also my stuttering reminds me that maybe I do actually need to listen to the abbreviation of speech. Maybe my brain is telling me to stop - by force - to consider being more thoughtful. To listen to the world around me and express myself more earnestly.

I’m not sure where this revelation takes me, but I think it’s important to recognize that we all have a superpower disguised somewhere in there as a nuisance, or even a demon. By claiming this new power, we may reshape a decision we may make or avoid. I think in that sense, we should welcome our struggles - perhaps not with open arms, but with a curiosity we may have longed to avoid.

When did an unclaimed minute become a moral failing? OK, that’s a little harsh. But somewhere along the way we decided empty time was a defect to be fixed rather than a resource to be utilized. That the space it created was an underutilized gap that, left unfilled, was a missed opportunity.

I think in our 21st century doomscrolling sensory overload we have lost the intent of boredom. And we’ve forgotten that, for our kids, boredom is healthy. In fact, its presence is, itself, teachable. Its absence, detrimental.

I want to make the case for being bored.

Boredom makes us more creative. The brain doesn't clock out when nothing's asked of it. It wanders, stitching together old memories, low-grade worries, and half-baked ideas we'd never connect on purpose. Our brain has a mind of its own. In one study out of the University of Central Lancashire, people who first spent time copying phone numbers (riveting stuff) went on to dream up more inventive uses for a pair of plastic cups than those who skipped the drudgery. Like a prisoner with nothing to lose, the dullness wasn't the roadblock. It was the runway.

Boredom is honest. Even when the truth may be uncomfortable. It isn't a malfunction, it's a message. Bored at work, in a friendship or love life? That's information. Perhaps inelegant and nonsensical. It may not be steering us to the answer of why, but it’s likely giving us necessary context we missed being busy.

Boredom builds muscle. The ability to entertain yourself, to walk into an unstructured space and create something from it, is a product of exercise. Sure, some people are naturals, but most of us need some level of uncomfortable coaxing. Kids who are never allowed to be bored never get the reps. And now, in today’s social media cesspool, which lacks a tremendous amount of useful social cues, adults don’t either.

Boredom is real rest. Not the mindless scrolling kind. It’s intentional, recuperative space. It doesn’t mean you’re entering into some meditative bliss, it just means you’re giving yourself some space and oxygen.

Our kids seem to find boredom without fail, so how do us adults create boredom that ultimately feels, well, productive? The kind that won’t spiral our mind into anxiety created by the, well, nothingness? It takes some reps.

• Put it on the calendar. That’s right. A scheduled block to be unscheduled.

• Ditch the phone. Set that phone lock, leave it in a bag or another room. Chances are, no one will miss you if you’re gone for twenty minutes. Not even a nagging child.

• Choose low-stimulation activities. Take a walk without headphones, stare out a window, sit on the porch, wash dishes in silence, or do the commute without a podcast. Repetitive, undemanding tasks are ideal.

• Expect the first 5 to 10 minutes to be awful. That restless feeling is the urge to reach for stimulation, and it usually fades if you outlast it. Set a minimum time so you don't quit at the peak of your internal argument.

• Leave the gaps empty. Waiting for coffee, standing in checkout, these in-between tasks are free practice. Just don't fill them.

• Keep some paper nearby. Ideas often show up and it can help to jot them down. I love the idea of a little notebook (my dad had a name for this: a nerdbook). The trick here is, don’t go searching for things to write. If they arrive, honor them.

• Don’t rescue kids from it. When they say “I’m bored,” resist the tablet and the activity suggestion. Kids have a funny way of creating from nothing, and it doesn’t take long. Their imagination is powerful.

• Repeat it. A regular time and place works better than an occasional heroic attempt, since the skill builds slowly. It may not step up to “brushing your teeth” monotony, but that’s OK.

The next time life hands you a dead minute, or if you go and create it yourself, don't fill it. Sit there. Be boring: no, be bored. Your phone will survive. Your inbox will survive. Your kids will survive (and ultimately thrive).

And you might just meet the person who's been patiently waiting behind all that noise.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Cue making things worse. It’s the ultimate cop out, designed to make the one saying it feel better, and nothing else. A way to abdicate responsibility to the one who probably deserves it the least.

Apologizing is about one thing: trust. When you break the trust barrier, you open the gates to a boatload of unintentional ramifications. Why?

Trust isn’t about not making mistakes. But it most certainly is defined by how you behave after making one. My father making these statements didn’t break my innate trust in my father as a kind, loving man who cared for his family. But it did break my trust in his ability to be the person I needed, when I needed someone the most. And this dichotomy between my needs, and his ability to meet them, will never be fully understood in a relationship where both sides are playing a dance to save face. One of those sides is a son who desperately relies on trust - in his family, his friends, his evolving worldview - to find his place in life. The other is a dad who desperately seeks, perhaps demands, trust to be the kind of father he wants to be, but is slowly sabotaging in his approach.

I have inherited a lot from my dad, good and bad. And that’s not to say he was a bad father: he was, and is, a great one. But he, like myself, is flawed like any of us. However, this risk averse, face-saving strategy of never apologizing properly - the kind where oftentimes you just stop at “I’m sorry” - is a statement best left unsaid.

I won’t go into the details of why I think my dad adhered to the strategy of never fully apologizing, although I’ll admit some of it is generational. Really, it probably revealed something he was ultimately trying to disguise: vulnerability. In not taking credit for the lapse that led to the apology, he was protecting a much deeper fear - one potentially situational, but also personal - which I learned in later years. Growing old has a way of tempering things. It naturally creates union - both intra and interpersonally - in place of friction.

No, we shouldn’t just give apologies out like candy on Halloween: we should be deliberate to give them meaning. Yes, sometimes an apology is simply useful to dissolve tension - and that has its place - but to habitually apologize is to create a “Boy Cries Wolf” scenario where all meaning is lost. It becomes no more truthful than the non-apology apology.

A real sorry: the kind that takes guts to make, the kind that creates oxygen where it was lacking, is brave. It’s reparative. While sometimes it offers important context, it need not be explanatory. It should just be you. And while it may come easily or not, arrive quickly or later, the recipient will receive its meaning most effectively by its authenticity, as well as brevity. That’s often perfectly enough.

1. Go to college.

2. Get a career.

3. Meet a lifetime partner.

4. Buy an affordable home (with the picket fence.)

5. Raise a couple kids (with that lifetime partner.)

6. Save for your kids and yourselves.

7. Retire.

8. Pay off mortgage, sell home for hefty profit.

9. Chill and travel for 15-20 years on fixed income.

10. Die with dignity.

Now let’s look at every single one of those items through the lens of 2026 and tell me this: should we all just get fucked?

Seriously though: since when was it supposed to be this hard? Every single one of these items is either financially precarious or wholly unattainable for the majority of the U.S. population. Without getting into a political or financial system diatribe, was it really supposed to work like this?

Some, many even, will say yes. And that may be true. But what absolutely is true is that it’s not just money that is responsible for sending our psyches into overdrive. It is also time. Yes, they are related and operate together like an amoeba and its pseudopods: growing, morphing, dancing, and ultimately engulfing the world around them. Time is money, they say. But is that a healthy way to live life? For every moment we have a semblance of freedom we must be thinking about the financial influence or implication? That if we really do want to attain the American Dream, we must be exploiting every minute of every hour of every day for our checking accounts?

Truth is, many of us feel that way. Truly. I work for myself. That awkward dance is real for me, and it comes with real choices that do truly impact my bottom line. But sometimes it’s less the bottom line than drawing a line that matters.

I have realized that simple time management really does make a difference in creating space. While it is spectacularly unsexy to consider Google Calendar a billboard for things like “take a walk” or “have sex” or “read”, it can be deeply relieving to know that you have created a written, thirty minute home for a desire or respite. It’s different than what we consider an online calendar or a to-do list to be for: a list of all of the things that cost money, suck our willpower, or take away from anything we’d rather be doing. This act is a simple way of saying, simply, this thing does matter. It is important. I need it, just as much as something that provides me money, or costs it.

So, the next time you open your calendar to figure out where you are subjected to take the kids on your weekend morning, or errand you have to run after work, or whatever life-sucking, self-consuming activity you have to forfeit your time and energy for, considering purposing a new color for space. Thumb dragging thirty minutes, even if it’s simply for “lock myself alone in my room”, never felt so good.

This is a subject I’ll probably write a good bit about as time goes. I have fibromyalgia, a diagnosis largely from omission. It began, as far as I can tell, during adolescence. After years of accepting it as normal, it took finally meeting a doctor with enough experience, curiosity, and patience before I realized just how abnormal it was to struggle everyday to get out of bed, to stay awake or asleep, to sit without collapsing onto myself. Particularly during the years I should be most physically vibrant.

Originally diagnosed as myofascial pain syndrome (a related condition) during my early 20s, as it had centralized itself primarily between my shoulder blades, it has since evolved into full blown fibromyalgia. It is a hijacking.

Curiously, I am used to my body hijacking itself. As a lifelong stutterer, my brain and mouth already perform acrobatic feats of incoordination. The pain is more mental, some emotional, but not unphysical either: the chaos occurring within a stutterer’s mouth, throat, chest, and abdomen can be Olympian in their objections to fluency.

With fibromyalgia, the manifestations are even wider and trickier. With it oftentimes being a diagnosis of omission, one that often is determined after years of medical trial and error, the resulting conclusions run the gamut.

Symptoms are everything from deep fascia pain, heavy legs, and chronic fatigue (like mine) to irritable bowels, TMJ, anxiety disorders, depression, cystitis, neuropathy, among other things seemingly unrelated. These are the physical manifestations: some hidden and devious, some explosive and blundering.

What rarely gets discussed is how this is communicated to those around us. How do we describe feeling tired without looking lazy? In pain without an easy: “take an ibuprofen”? Utterly weighed down without looking unhelpful, unattractive, or non-participative? As complicated as the condition is to those experiencing it, it is likewise to those experiencing its ramifications.

I am weaning off of pregbalin (brand name: Lyrica) after several years. Has it helped? I think so. But after a recent large scale study linking it to dementia, and being someone who has dementia in my blood, I decided I had to make a run at it. This wouldn’t be the first time. I tried this very process a couple years ago, prior to the study, for no other reason than I wanted to see how much it was really helping and to perhaps take less medication (I also take low dose naltrexone, sertraline, and a statin). It did not go well. This time around, I am trying to help ease the step downs with microdosed combination THC and CBD. It is helping.

During this process I’ve had to be open with my family about my experiences with fibromyalgia in ways I never have. My kids certainly not. I have had to explain, in detail, how the condition affects me day to day and how it may change as I work through this transition. I’ve been relatively stable the last 7 or 8 years. The medication combo plus regular cardiovascular activity, one way or another, has mitigated the most extreme symptoms. That’s not to say they’ve been erased: far from it. But I feel more in control. More able to adapt to it rearing its head. More able to beat it back.

My wife and kids understand that I may be grumpy. Ok, grumpier. They may see me laying down for no particular reason. They may see me with my eyes closed, focused, mentally pressuring my body to stay in line. This isn’t easy for me, and it is not easy for them. But they are tuned in, aware that dad/Justin may be elsewhere from time to time. Luckily, he will be back, perhaps with an apology in hand.

I write this because I think it’s important we give this part of ourselves to those we love, even if we don’t fully understand it ourselves. We don’t have to be infallible experts for our kids. We just need to be there. Showing weakness lets them be weak when they need it. Showing recovery validates their comeback. Whether or not they experience this condition in their lives, and I hope to God they don’t, they’ll at least know that it is OK to be burdened. To struggle. But it is equally important we let those around us - those that love us - in on it. They’ll likely need the support more than we do.

Sure, that may be hyper-generalizing, but let’s just go through it, shall we? Let’s get ourselves out of WW2 and Vietnam and start post-Nixon. Our two-termers colorfied.

Ford: So lame, Chevy Chase made a career out of him.

Carter: Nice guy. Not exciting one iota. People liked him if he were their neighbor. But not as President.

Reagan: Carter had no chance against this Captain of Schmooze. A literal actor. Charisma City.

HW Bush: Super qualified. Nice guy. Boring as all hell.

Clinton: Dude could work a room like no one else. Terrible husband. Exciting guy. Two terms, baby.

W Bush: The guy everyone would have a beer with. Terrible President. Excellent charisma. Smiled and winked his way to Mission Accomplished: two terms.

Obama: The epitome of cool in post-Creed America. Swaggered his way to two terms.

Trump: Say what you will, but the guy has managed to Bankrupt and sexually assault his way to the most powerful job in the country. Twice. It’s charisma of a certain ilk, but charisma nonetheless.

Biden: Like HW, well qualified. Nice guy. But couldn’t charisma his way out of a debate.

Based on the theory that a President really needs two terms to get anything to stick, and that regardless of the side you are on, we are at an undeniable turning point politically in this country, who should each party run? Who’s got the it factor? We know it when we see it, even if we don’t like it.

Let’s go with six (because why not) early frontrunners for each side, with my hot take on not necessarily who will be nominated, but SHOULD be nominated if the party prioritizes squeezing two terms out of them. Because history doesn’t lie.

Democrats:

Nopes

Kamala Harris: As qualifed and energetic as she may be, she doesn’t have the x-factor. I don’t see it.

Gavin Newsome: Slick as a base-stealing Ricky Henderson, but I think his personality is too contrived. His swagger too hardened by hair gel. Looks the part, but I don’t think he’s it.

Josh Shapiro: I stick him right in between the former two. Qualified, energetic, but also wants it too much. No.

Closer

Jon Ossoff: I just don’t think we have enough data yet on him. He can give a speech, but can he smile? Definitely has some it in him.

Pete Buttigieg: He’s got his own brand of it, but is it the two term kind? Is he not new enough? I’m conflicted.

Winner

AOC: Love her or hate her, she is the undeniable winner. Hell, her name is an acronym. She oozes swagger and certainly has the highest floor of anyone. Currently the clear two-term frontrunner in my book.

Republicans:

Nopes

JD Vance: Sure, he may be the betting favorite. But he’s as charismatic as a cinderblock. No way.

Marco Rubio: Sure, he may be the second betting favorite. Remember the water thing? Yep, he’s still that. Nada.

Ron DeSantis: Oh how the mighty quickly fall. Like Icarus on a hot Florida day: no chance.

Closer

Donald Trump Jr: Only charisma he has is by proxy. That may count for something, but not enough.

Ted Cruz: Something about Texas just marks a guy for some it. Cruz doesn’t have swagger by any stretch, but he’s got enough “goofy uncle” to give him a little something.

Winner

Tucker Carlson: The dude may have worn a bowtie most of his career, but it’s the fact that he could that marks a man. He may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but let’s be real: he wants it. Let’s also be real: it won’t be as a third party spoiler. He also has the most base, and is the clear winner in my book.

Game on!

I am not a technologist. I have friends that can absolutely claim that mantle. But as someone who uses software in my everyday life both for income and merely existing, there certainly is not a week that goes by where the giant pink elephant “AI” doesn’t come up in conversation.

While AI is both the most thrilling and, perhaps, most existentially frightening element of the post-dot-com generation (competitive with climate change) , at the very least, it needs to be - at the most basic level - understood by our leaders. To not is an insult to every one of us. To chuckle at one’s ignorance, as the Senator and others have who have some control of these things, is more than insulting. It is threatening.

The only way AI is harnessed most exclusively for its most exciting characteristics is for government and private leaders to force it so through legislation and self-handcuffing. To do that, it will take not only willpower (of the guttural and political kinds alike), but probably losing some potential profits that could be acquired by a usage tract that exploits its most nefarious potential. The problem is, lack of willpower and squeezing profit, let’s just say, are often synonymous with leadership - and that gets to my point. It shouldn’t be. And no, you shouldn’t need to be a literal rapist to be a potential rising star. But you do need to fucking get it.

My friends and clients are mostly not of the political or upper leadership variety. And those that are are generally well-intentioned, as far as I can tell. And these days, more friends are losing their income than gaining. AI is not the only culprit. And Senator Markey is only one of a remarkable number of leaders to either misunderstand, or at the very least, misjudge how things like technology, media consolidation, corporate integrity, among other things, are rapidly changing and affecting the very existence of most of us. While “affordability” and “gas prices” and “Greenland” take the headlines, people are losing not just their job, but their careers, their livelihoods. All that they know of themselves.

A career shouldn’t be your identity. But, let’s be real. We spend most of our lives sleeping, shitting, or working. Order notwithstanding. I desperately try to make my hobbies, family, and values the crux of my identity, but I routinely feel I’m failing in that regard - and that is the precarious balance most of us juggle with the zero bandwidth we have to, I don’t know, eat at a pace our taste buds can keep up with. What happens when you pull both income and identity out from our under the rug of living?

These technologies can make us remarkably efficient in our work and day-to-day lives. But they, likewise, can dehumanize our work - then take our work - and leave us, well, feeling less human. My friends and clients see and feel it. I do too. And while I cannot provide anyone a living wage, or support a nationalized version therein, I do support free markets - and government guardrails - to allow us to hold onto a basic sense of humanity. A humanity that can only exist, for many of us, if our careers aren’t sucked from existence. Not everyone can just pull themselves up by their bootstraps.

What can us everypeople do? We can make ourselves more “employable” and diversify our experience, yes. We can watch YouTube and learn how to replace our toilet so we don’t have to call the plumber, yes. We can panic. Yes, we do that.

But for a moment, we can also put our phones down. Sit with one another in silence. Watch our kids bury each other in the sand. Have a drink, or a gummy, or read a book, or take a nap. We don’t have to do it all, all at once. We need to lock what makes us, us, in an impenetrable safe. Into a place AI can’t touch. Then, we can go back on LinkedIn and doom scroll career “experts”.

And all the while, we can ask our leaders - political, corporate, or otherwise - to also make themselves more employable. To diversify their experience. To watch YouTube and learn about AI. And sometimes, yes, they should panic. That can be good.

But we also need their sense of humanity too. And just like our friends and neighbors, they may need our help. So find yours. Then pay it forward.

1. I’m a stutterer. Or, as this specific impedimentary community likes to say: “a person who stutters”. I’m also incredibly long-winded and, at times, frankly, maniacal in my verbosity.

2. I was born in upstate New York, lived and worked in New York City, went to high school and college in Massachusetts, and currently live in Connecticut. I grew up in the South.

3. Most of my career has been spent in the TV and film industries. I rarely watch TV or films.

4. I am a faithful, passionate, card-carrying, local DTC-member Democrat. Also, Democrats really piss me off.

5. I am a deeply loyal, fighting-ally-of-a-friend. I love to be helpful. I’ll also proactively annoy you to the Nth degree, which in all likelihood isn’t very helpful.

6. I care. I promise. I really, really do. But I just DGAF sometimes, you know?

This is where I’m going to start this Substack. For the dozen or so that may read it from time to time, it’ll be honest, at times misguided, but authentically me. I’ll touch on my interests, both income-generating and draining.

Moreover, I’d mostly like to offer something useful in each of my pieces. I recently started coaching to aggregate my experiences and dichotomic personality toward something more meaningful to me. I hope this effort is, every so often, meaningful to you, too.

Because I care. I really, really do. But, you know.