Like the Talking Heads song, I often open my eyes in the morning and wonder how I got here. It seems strange for someone who spent his 20s eating Vienna sausages and drinking Keystone Light to have a mortgage and a lawnmower and a breakfast nook.
In fact, most places I go, I feel like I don’t belong. If you want to see me cry, bring me to Costco on a Saturday afternoon.
But instead of paying for therapy, I’ve found my imposter-syndrome anxiety is lessened if I write about what I see. That’s where this blog comes in.
This blog is about spouses, friends, jobs, parents, kids, neighbors, beers, childhood nostalgia, and everything else that reigns supreme in the kingdom of the cul de sac. It’s probably about you, too.
Author’s note: While all content on this site is of the non-fiction variety unless otherwise labeled, some names and identifying details have been altered and/or redacted to protect the privacy of real people.