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The courage of despair

Chapter 7 – Maneuvering

Recently got into a pretty bad argument with a business partner. It was bad.

He called me a few choice invectives, and I invited him to say them to my face when next met.

Went downhill from there.

He later apologized but I refused to take his apology, which was my shortcoming.

I lost the high ground when I refused to listen to him, and I realized that I was being a hypocrite because I’d been upset – for years – with a former friend for not even hearing my apology when I tried to give it once.

We managed to sort it all out, but I thought about it again recently when I heard about Trump’s attack on Iran.

One thing that I messed up with in my situation was that I cornered my business partner.

See, I was physically, legally, and ethically in a stronger position and he was not, at all.

But I overplayed my hand.

I left him no room to save face so all he could do would be to either dig in his heels or completely capitulate and acquiesce, which he wouldn’t be doing.

So, in the end, I had to reach out to him, which is what I did.

In Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, Chapter 7, Maneuvering, the general wrote:

When you surround an army, leave an outlet free… The object… is to make him believe that there is a road to safety and thus prevent his fighting with the courage of despair.

It makes sense, yeah?

Because every trapped animal instinctively knows, “Well, I’m trapped, I’m dead anyway, I might as well fight with everything I’ve got because…what have I got to lose?”

And so, any victory becomes a Pyrrhic victory.

That’s precisely where we are right now.

We have almost completely decimated Iran and have shown zero mercy – attacking without any notice or real provocation.

But the key word is almost.

They have enough left to drag this one for years and, even when things may seem quiet, continue the attack in ways we may not expect for years and decades to come.

We’ve boxed the Iranians in – and ourselves.

It’s the stupid, yet wholly obvious, result of an ill-conceived idea by stupid and wholly incompetent people.

All this to distract from the fact that my most gullible of fellow Americans voted for a pedophile.

Him: Are you ok, papa?
Me: What? Oh, I’m just reading.
Him: About what.
Me: (shaking head) Nuthin good. But also nuthin for you to worry about.

Location: the UPS store, being told that they can’t ship something – “Isn’t this what you guys do?”
Mood: exasperated
Music: Captain America’s been torn apart now (Spotify)
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You don’t know what you’re up against

China (and Russia) will win

In season seven of the Game of Thrones, John Snow begs all the sides of the Seven Kingdoms to put away their differences to prepare for the coming war with the White Walkers.

He knows that humanity is doomed if they don’t unite because they’re unprepared for the war about to happen.

Hold that thought.

Many historians don’t consider World War I and World War II as two separate things – at least not in Europe.

For them, it was one long war of modernization and ethno-racial underpinnings, with Germany at the center:

    • In WW1, because the Second Reich of Germany came about as the result of the breakdown of the old-world order of empires (German, Austro‑Hungarian, Ottoman, Russian), while…
    • In WW2, just 21 years later, Germany was still smarting over its defeat in WW1 and the subsequent humiliation of The Treaty of Versailles, and it was a chance to show the world that WW1 was just fluke – that didn’t work out.

It’s only by seeing the big picture that you realize what is really happening.

Me at the Jannowitzbrücke station in Berlin 21 years ago.

While most of sane people in the world, and here in the US, see the downfall of the American Empire under Trump, which is accurate, I see that but it’s more than that.

A lot more.

If the US and the EU/NATO do become adversaries, then China – and, to a lesser extent, Russia – wins.

It might not happen tomorrow, but it’s definitely gonna happen.

That’s the last thing anyone wants.

I said it before: I love being Chinese but hate the government of China.

It was and is evil.

And a war is coming, in one form or another, hot or cold. But it’s coming if it’s not here already.

Yes, Russia is evil and dangerous but it’s not the danger that China is.

You have no idea how dangerous China is.

Because China is dangerous in ways you couldn’t imagine.

100 years ago, in 1926, China was…nuthin.

It was in the middle of (multiple) civil wars, called the Warlord Era (1916–1928). This was after the Opium War and the downfall of the Qing dynasty.

There was no unified national army, no cohesive economic strategy, no real industry of any sort, outside of large agrarian areas predominantly used to feed their own people.

It was a whole lotta, well, like I said, nuthin.

The Western powers – plus fucking Japan – controlled all the ports, legal, banking, customs, and tariffs – everything was in the hands of someone else.

100 years later, in 2026, China has the largest trade surplus in the world, reaching roughly $1.2 trillion in 2025 — the largest number EVER in human history, recorded by any country.

Think about that.

To go from a backward nuthin nation of warlords under the thumbs of everyone to a the nuclear-powered creditor nation in four generations.

That’s mindboggling.

In fact, just 24 years after the warlord period of China, China was already showing the world how quickly it learned how to use soft power in Korea – essentially handing the US the first of many defeats in Asia.

China did it again, just four years later with the Vietnam War.

Then the USSR/Russia attacked a weakened China in 1969 and should have destroyed them, but it didn’t, even with superior firepower and tech.

Culturally, the Chinese are quiet – we watch and learn. And we think.

If it wasn’t for the fact that the Chinese government is absolutely brutal against its own people and regularly threaten Taiwan, a country I love deeply, I’d admire and be proud of these facts.

But, just like here, the country is in the hands of the selfishly evil and the populous is too brainwashed or too fettered to do anything about it.

That’s what the West is up against.

But with Trump pissing off all its allies to line his own pockets so, because half of my countrymen are imbeciles, there is no unified front against China.

The united west lost the first two rounds when it was fighting China by proxy.

Fractured? The West is screwed.

If there’s a true cold war against China – and really, that’s the only war that’s possible between two nuclear empires – Donny’s barely able to play checkers against some chess grandmasters and we’ve got zero friends to help us.

That’s not good. None of this is good.

Now, I hate China because of how it treats its people. Which is to say, I hate China because of how it treats the Chinese.

Then again, the US isn’t treating its people all that well either, lately, now that I think about it.

Me: Congrats on becoming a parent! It’s tough but awesome.
Him: Any advice?
Me: Yeah, have her learn how to fight, learn how to manage her money, and learn how to speak Mandarin.
Him: (laughing) Why Mandarin?
Me: OK, so in 1926…

Location: my lightly flooded apartment, yay…
Mood: still pretty fucking upset
Music: an enemy to all mankind, the thought of war blows my mind (Spotify)
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I’m sorry for my appalling silence

Completely clue-resistant

Me: I feel it’s dishonest for me to not say something because this stuff actually matters and people are dying so this fat senile fuck can make a little more money and stay outta jail before he dies. Fuck that.
Producer: [I get it]. We are falling fast into a dark time in the states. Voice your just opinions and hopefully more people will voice theirs.

Have you ever noticed that the right-wing here in the US always seem to be militant Christians but it’s only the left-wing that ever quote the New Testament?

Weird, right?

It’s almost like they have zero actual facts even here to support anything they believe and – even here – they’re just completely making stuff up as they go along.

I started Scenic Fights as a lark, really.

Never imagined, in a million years, that it would amount to anything.

So, I’ve been pleasantly surprised with the cool things that have happened with it, such as me being recognized by fans when I’m just going about my day.

Over time, it’s grown into something I’m really quite proud of and the team works insanely hard to keep it going.

A few years ago, the producers advised me to be mindful of what I say online because SF is supposed to be for all fans, of any political spectrum.

At the time, I agreed and have, for the most part, been fairly limited in my criticism of Trump and the MAGA movement in general.

But, after the deaths murders state-sponsored executions of Renee Good and Alex Pretti, I’ve decided I can’t just tiptoe around this thing.

I write this on Holocaust Remembrance Day, 2026.01.27, which seems particularly fitting.

To my loyal readers, I unreservedly apologize for my appalling silence this whole time.

I regret not writing this sooner.

To wit: If you’re a Trump/GOP voter and read me, don’t. Honestly.

You’re a traitor to everything this country once stood for, and you can get bent. Full stop.

The insane mental gymnastics the MAGA voters go through to justify their absolutely batshit interpretation of what it means to be a loyal American is just pathetic and gross.

If that weren’t bad enough, it’s just the sheer embarrassment of their existence; they have the complete confidence of the rich C- student that’s never been right but has never suffered for always being wrong.

It’s invariably those people in group projects that were the main reason why I’ve struggled with group projects and here – at a macro-level – is no different.

We’re struggling as a nation right now, not so much because they’re clueless, but because they’re completely clue-resistant – fighting every bit of fact they can, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Now, before you write me anything, just know that I don’t give a flying fuck about anything you have to say.

There’s a buncha reasons for this that I don’t have the time and you don’t have the baseline intelligence to process.

But – as a general rule – I don’t read jack shit from whiny apologists of draft-dodging, gold-star family mocking, senile, incontinent, lying (so much fucking lying, JHC), child-raping pedophiles.

Sidenote: If he’s not in the files, why spend all these YEARS hiding them? Occam’s razor.

Ergo, whatever self-assessed brilliant insult or witty comeback you’re planning to write, just know that I’ve been called worse things by better people.

I’m sure you and the circle you call your family tree are not unfamiliar with this.

In summary: Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, you broken pencil of an excuse of a human being.

If I’ve entertained you even for a millisecond, know that I’m embarrassed and wholly regretful for that, although I’m guessing that 97.4% of what I write is beyond your fourth-grade reading level.

May I suggest you find someone with the time and crayons to more fully explain this all to you, you submissive fucktard.

“Submissive,” because  – deep down – you know, you’re this way because you’re too scared, too confused, and too jealous of a world you couldn’t hack and need someone to tell you what to do because you utterly failed on your own.

May you choke on a $2 egg with the only medical professional available being a MAGA adherent of Wormbrain Kennedy Junior.

tl;dr: Go fuck yourself, you paste-eating, cosplaying, pedo-worshiping traitor.

Glossary

  • The New Testament: The 27 books after the Old Testament; if you’re a Christian, technically, this is where you should be quoting from.
  • A lark: Something done for amusement
  • To wit: “That is to say”
  • Unreservedly: Completely
  • Get bent: Go have sexual intercourse with yourself
  • Macro-level: Big picture
  • Incontinent: Unable to control urination or defecation.
  • Urination or defecation: Peeing or pooping.
  • Occam’s razor: The simplest explanation is usually correct.
  • Ergo: Therefore
  • Apologist: Someone that offers excuses for someone or something else.
  • Adherent: Follower
  • tl;dr: “Too long; didn’t read.”

 

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Location: Evidently, 1938 Germany
Mood: in-fucking-censed
Music: ask ’em, “How much should we give?” They only answer, “More, more, more” (Spotify)
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Fat Logan and the Bouba–Kiki Effect

The shape of our lives

Her: I can’t imagine you as a fat kid.
Me: Oh, trust me, I was.
Her: I just can’t picture it.
My mom: Do you want to see pictures of him when he was chubby?
Her: Yes!
Me: Oh god…

If I said the words: Spike, Crack, Snip, or Kick and asked you to imagine that the sounds the words made had a shape, what shape would they be?

What if I said the words: Gooey, Balloon, Smooth, or Marshmallow?

If you’re like most people, the former comes across feeling kinda hard and pointy while the latter comes across as soft and rounded.

This is called the bouba–kiki effect.

Basically, words give us a certain feeling and have a “shape” to them in our heads.

Thought about this the other day because I’ve been telling everyone for years that I was fat at 14 but I only recently realized that was inaccurate.

I was fat in 5th grade so I would have been 10 then.

That was the most traumatic time of my childhood.

Childhood traumas stay with us for so long because of how time works relative to our age.

Case-in-point: I was fat for four years, from 10 to 14.

For a 52-year-old, that’s not that big a deal – after all, it only comprises approximately 8% of my life (4/52=0.08).

Unfortunately, when you’re 14 years old, those four years comprise almost a 1/3 of my entire life up to that point (4/14=0.29).

But it’s more than that, isn’t it?

Like, you don’t really remember much before you’re eight years old.

So, when I was 14 years old, I only remembered six years of my life, really.

This is actually the THINNER version of me.

That means that, those four years of my life – ages 10 to 14 – felt like most of my life, about 67% of it, to be exact (4/6=0.67).

My point is, if words have a shape and feeling, so too do periods of our lives.

I submit that periods of our lives have a weight and shape to them as well, and only we can see and feel them.

When people say, “Just get over it,” or, “That was ages ago,” they’re not being honest with how everyone processes their youth differently from everyone else.

For me, my fat years feel soft, heavy, slow, and oversized – everything was a drag and depressing.

Even now, if I had to describe my overweight years, despite their only occupying 8% of my total life, it FEELS closer to 33% of my life.

And this is why I try to remember that the kid is processing the world very differently than I am.

Yes, he’s 10, but he really only remembers stuff and people from when he was about seven or eight, so he’s really only lived maybe three years or so?

He doesn’t truly remember much beyond that, although he has a sense of things, like the bouba–kiki effect.

Like he has a sense of loving being in NJ with his grandparents and Queens with his cousins.

He just knows they make him feel good in one way or another.

That’s why, even some 40 years later, I still know exactly what it feels like to be a fat, friendless, kid.

It’s always why I’m always obsessed with food and being fit.

Because even though it was (several) lifetimes ago, deep down – well, probably not even that deep down – I’m terrified that I’ll wake up trapped in that fat kid’s body once more.

Which, let’s be honest, is only a few poor carbohydrate decisions away.

Me: Hit a new milestone today.
Her: What’s that?
Me: Welp…somehow, I’ve eaten four pounds of peanut butter in five weeks.
Her: You’re kidding.
Me: If only. (thinking) Now I gotta go out and pick up more peanut butter.

Location: my dry-as-a-bone room
Mood: stressed
Music: I paint a picture of the days gone by (Spotify)

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I despise Disney

They never shoulda taken off Kimmel

I’ve owned stock in Disney since I was 23.

“Owned” being the operative word as I sold alla it back in September when they took Kimmel off the air.

Still, that doesn’t stop me from despising them.

From a legal standpoint, they are probably one of the most evil companies on the planet from an intellectual property attorney standpoint but that’s a wholly different conversation.

I have a tattered and torn copy of The Brothers Grimm, read every story there at least twice.

And The Little Mermaid was one of a million books I read as a kid.

Girls I dated in high school and college always wanted to watch Disney films for some reason and I remember watching The Little Mermaid and its saccharine plot and being so pissed off.

But the film I find most offensive is The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

See, I read that book when I was like…13? Way too young.

I think my dad had a copy, so I read it exactly once. But, holy shit, that book fucked me up.

It was the first time that I understood the cruelty of people to other people.

Never really got that before reading that book.

Seeing how Disney sanitized it and made it into a completely different thing upset me, so much that I never did see the end of it – probably never will.

Later that same year when I read the book, I learned about the holocaust, like really learned about it.

I get why people deny it even happened; the cruelty of it all seems unbelievable.

And yet, that’s exactly why people need to know about it. So that we can steel ourselves against ever allowing such a thing to happen again.

Even though it does, indeed, keep happening.

In today’s news cycle, the cruelty of people to other people is just sickening.

Can’t help but think that maybe it’s because companies like Disney spend all their time feeding all these syrupy stories of nonsense when life is poor, nasty, brutish, and short.

There are ways, I think, to entertain but also let the truth of things settle and change people.

 

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Location: my apartment, which smelled like freshly baked bread
Mood: dry
Music: At least I know what I make-believe (Spotify)
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Worth keeping around

Just show them a great first date

Me: Wait, you have how many unread messages from guys?
Her: (checking phone) Hmmm, 1,021?
Sara: (laughs) That sounds about right.
Me: Man, it pays to be an attractive blonde female.

When Sara and I met up with Amanda the other day, we – like always – asked about her dating life.

Because now that Sara and I were married, it’s nice to live vicariously through her, the ABFF, A-SIL, and others.

Us: So…what’s the latest?

On a related note, the other day, I posted the above image on Facebook that someone sent me from rando reddit post (which I’ve since lost).

Didn’t think much of it – four friends of mine commented and I went to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, I had several hundred comments and, a few days later, over 400 comments.

Some were fine, with many of my female friends commenting how bad it is out there for them.

But the number of questionable – and I do mean questionable – responses from men really floored me.

They ranged from whiney and excuse-filled – somehow, a short, old, arthritic, minority widower is anything but average…

…to angry and…jealous?

I’m not sure how to understand this fella below, who seemed to be upset that I even went on 180 dates in 18 months, which is about 10 dates a month, or 2-3 dates a week – something I told you is totally doable if you just…do it.

It’s all so profoundly sad because men want to meet women and women want to meet men, but they are clearly speaking very different languages.

And what I found most shocking is that so many men were offended by the demonstrably true things I said: Which is that whenever a man goes on a date with a woman, he runs the risk of wasting his time and/or money.

But whenever a woman goes on a date with a man, she runs the risk of wasting her time and/or getting assaulted, raped, or worse.

And yet, men will say this kinda stuff without a hint of irony:

Did you know that ladies? That “men are assaulted at a much higher rate than women?”

It’s news to me – and, I’m sure, news to you as well.

In any case, he obviously doesn’t know that I met Alison after I got robbed of all my money, or that I met Sara after I gave up most of my clients and got robbed (again).

It *MUST* be because of money or something else that women like about me but not actually me – not because I’m actually a decent human being who can talk to a woman because that would mean, well, maybe it’s you, dude.

The funniest thing about that guy’s statement is that my oldest readers know that my fave thing to do while out and about was to see how many women I could get to buy me a drink in a night.

One night, I even got a girl to get guys to buy her a drink to give to me. That, my friends, is how you afford to go on a ton of dates without going broke.

No one ever dated me for my money.

Honestly, I’m not that good-looking, I’m old as dirt, I talk a lot with my hands, my back is just crap and the rest of my body isn’t far behind, I’m overly pedantic, etc.

And yet, I have zero problem meeting and dating women, probably because of two major reasons:

    1. When I was single, I put in the time. I got shot down, repeatedly. I most likely got turned down 2-3X more than I succeeded.
      • But when I failed (beyond her having a boyfriend), it was always my fault: I was too nervous, I was too forward, I was too hesitant, something.
        • That’s how you get better at anything – by not blaming someone or something else but by fixing the only thing you can control and change, yourself.
        • Do you remember when Alison rejected me? I accepted it and told her I hoped she’d reconsider…and then I immediately picked up three other women, two within the hour. It’s never the other person’s fault.
    2. The other reason? I respected the fact that women take a chance every time they went out on a date with me or anyone else.
      • That meant that when a woman did go on a date with me, I was always grateful they took a chance, and I rewarded them for taking that chance by being a decent human being and showing them a great time.

That’s it.

That’s the big secret, fellas:

Stop complaining, put in the time, and be a decent human being.

Being interesting and non-needy helps.

This singer named Craig David had a line in a song that I always told myself whenever I felt like whining: Instead of me feelin’ sorry for myself, gonna get me somethin’ tonight.

Because you can’t whine or anger your way into someone’s contact list.

Show someone a great first date, and they’ll come back for great second date.

You’d think this would be pretty easy.

You would, clearly, be mistaken.

Women have to go through thousands – thousands – of men to find one worth keeping around.

You gotta be worth keeping around to be worth keeping around, man.

Location: the gym, trying to survive against 20-somethings
Mood: annoyed and embarrassed
Music: it’s so late, yet, I’m so up for it (Spotify)
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The power to make anyone cluck like a chicken

A gun…made of cheese

I think that one of the reasons why it made sense for the Firecracker and me to get married was that we saw the world in the same way. When you find members of your tribe, it’s always nice to keep them close.

Mostly.

Her: If you had a minor superpower, what would that be?
Me: (thinking) If I could detect cancer, would that be major or minor?
Her: Obviously that’s a major superpower.
Me: Gotcha, ok then, that’s easy: I’d want to be able to make anyone cluck like a chicken at will to the volume and extent that I want.
Her: WHAT?! That’s ridiculous.
Me: Is it? Think about it. There are so many situations where it would be amazeballs.
Her: Name one.
Me: Where to begin?

Me: Imagine someone cuts you off, instead of road rage, he’s now clucking like a chicken in his car at the top of his lungs. Maybe he’s on a date, maybe he’s with his parents, maybe he’s with his boss. Guess what? He’s clucking like a chicken for the next hour or so.
Her: (laughs hysterically)
Me: Or imagine I get mugged. Instead of defending myself, dude is now SCREAMING like a chicken. He cannot stop and he doesn’t know why. Is he still really gonna be mugging me?
Her: (still laughing) Stop, stop, I can’t…

Me: Or if someone insults you. Guess what he’s gonna do for a month at the top of his lungs when he gets home? The list goes on.
Her: Ok, that’s a pretty good minor superpower, when you put it like that.

Me: OK, what about you?
Her: (takes a deep breath) Ok, ok…ok. Lemme think. Well, I suppose I’d want to be able to make anything cheese.
Me: Wait, what? Why cheese?
Her: (shrugs) I like cheese. Like, if I’m at the bank and I get hungry and I’m holding a pen. Instant cheese.

Me: What if you get mugged?
Her: With what? A knife? That’s cheese now. A gun? A gun…made of cheese. You know the best part?
Me: What?
Her: Never need to buy cheese again for the rest of our lives.
Me: (nodding, impressed) OK! I like it. Between my clucking power and your cheese power, we could take over the world. We’d be invincible!
Her: And moderately fat.

Location: Not NYC…
Mood: 45.5 hours sleep-deprived
Music: heroes, forever and ever (Spotify)
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Being special is the inverse of being happy

I want him happy

Me: Do you want me to wait with you?
Him: No, it’s ok, papa. I’m fine. I’ll just get on the bus and meet some people.

Woke up bright and early the other day to bring my kid to middle-of-nowhere Brooklyn where he caught a bus to another state for his first sleepaway camp.

He was fine. I was a mess.

It’s a special camp for kids that have lost an immediate family member – mother, father, brother, sister, etc.

An old and dear friend of mine told me about it, whose name is – fittingly – Heal.

She’s actually on the board of the group because she too lost a close family member as a child, so she walked me through the process of applying.

Well, he made it in and is currently living his absolute best life, at least based on all the pictures I’ve been seeing.

It’s a special camp for special kids, which makes sense, because my son is special.

Certainly, he’s special to me, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

    • He could read at 18 months.
    • He plays the guitar like a teenager.
    • He just beat me in poker (granted, a well-trained poodle could probably beat me in poker but just put a pin on that for now).

He’s also the kid that doesn’t have a mother.

That is the thing that – unfortunately – makes him special in a way that no one wants.

When I was a kid, I aspired to be special.

I was/am the middle child and probably the biggest nobody until I was in college.

But it was over a college summer working in at some office that I realized that there seemed to be an inverse relationship between the special and the happy.

The happy people were the middle-management nobodies that deeply loved their spouses and kids, and their innocuous little hobbies.

Conversely, the special people were either always trying to convince people that they were still special or – probably much worse – convince themselves that they were still special.

The special people were rarely happy.

And the happy people were rarely special.

Seeing my kid blissfully unaware that he’s at all special, but for the fact he only has a dad, means that he’s also blissfully happy.

But he’s been noticing that he’s special lately, because he’s the only one of all his peers with only one living parent.

It was because of this that I sent him to this camp – so he would know he wasn’t alone in the world.

If I had to pick one, special or happy, I would pick happy every day and twice on Sunday.

God, I just want him to be safe and happy.

He’s such a good little kid.

I’d pay any amount right now, if I could know that, long after I’m gone, that he’s safe and happy.

And I’d trade all he could possibly be – brilliant, famous, wealthy, respected, everything – for him to just be that.

Me: Alright, please be careful, ok?
Him: (nodding) I will. Don’t worry. See you next week.

Location: 7AM, the gym, trying to wake up
Mood: pacing
Music: I’m ready to show that I’m no ordinary (Spotify)
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Sticking, for some reason

The algorithm I came up with

Did you know that Mark Twain was instrumental in the creation of the bra?

Or that Charles Darwin invented the office chair?

Or that Brian May, the guitarist and co-founder of Queen, is also a celebrated astrophysics that helped NASA land a rocket on an asteroid?

People that reach high levels of achievement in disparate fields have always fascinated me, with my personal hero being Hedy Lamarr.

The question is whether this kinda thing can be taught. Like, can a parent teach someone to be successful in many areas?

Long before the kid came into existence, I was trying to figure this out for whatever kid I might eventually have.

The algorithm that I came up with:

Lifetime curiosity + the ability to properly research + discipline = success in various fields

Because, at least for me, I try to keep my childhood curiosity alive.

With the internet and all the tools out there for research, it’s a lot easier than it used to be to find out information – although separating the wheat from the chaff is more difficult than ever what with the sheer amount of information out there.

Have no idea if this is correct, or if it’ll work with everyone, but I believe hope it will.

Suppose only time will tell.

Me: Try it. Nuthin beats beets.
Him: I don’t like beets.
Me: Well, if you like candy and cake, you should like beets.
Him: What? Why?
Me: Well, most American sugar comes from beets.
Her: Is that true? How do you know all this stuff?
Me: (shrugging) I always wonder things. So, then I look it up and a shocking amount of it sticks in my head for some reason.

Location: home, trying to make sense of things
Mood: annoyed
Music: suddenly I see why the hell it means so much to me (Spotify)
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Categories
personal

The duty of a champion

No such thing as a parttime champion

There’s a quote by a modern stoic named Ryan Holiday that I particularly like: The obligation of a champion is to act like a champion at all times.

Don’t think I’ve ever lost my cool and was happy about the results. If I can give the kid anything, hopefully, it’s a better sense of being calm and calculated.

To this end, I personally have been re-reading (ok, skimming) Meditations by Marcus Aurelius and also other stoic books here and there in the hopes that all this anger at the injustice of Alison and my dad’s suffering and deaths somehow becomes more manageable.

It’s a daily struggle, I have to admit.

One really sweet thing that we’ve been doing here at Casa Lo is to have regular board game nights with the kids.

It’s a small and silly thing but one that I appreciate greatly because children – at this age and younger – learn so much in competition and games.

Forgot to take pics, so I took the pic from this old entry in 2011 with Alison at Paul’s old pad.

We’ve been playing a few card games as well as board games, particularly what we call The Bean Game – addictively fun – and Settlers of Catan.

Both boys are pretty competitive but, because my son is younger, he’s still dealing with the emotions that come with winning and losing.

One night, recently, the kid had a particularly bad night and lost his cool, so I brought him to his room to have a chat with him.

I think I want what every good parent wants: For one’s children to be better than they are.

Hope I have enough time here to accomplish that.

After all, if we’re being honest here, it’s really the main reason I’m here.

Me: What’s the obligation of a champion, boy?
Him: To act like a champion.
Me:…at all times. Don’t forget that last part: At all times.
Him: But you lose your temper too, papa!
Me: I’m aware. I’m working on that. And that’s kinda my point: You can be better than me. And I want you to be better than me. Listen, if you act like a musician, with enough practice, you’ll be one. If you act like a BJJ player, you’ll be one. And if you act like a champion, you’ll be one. But you have to do it at all times. There’s no such thing as a parttime champion.

Location: rainy NYC
Mood: ache-y
Music: we mean to go on and on and on and on (Spotify)
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