Why Did I Write a Book?

Welcome to my first blog post on any forum, ever. Thank you for tuning in. It has always been a dream of mine to say whatever shit I want on my own page and if you don’t like it, too bad.

Sadly, the time where I would have said whatever to maximize laughter is done. Aside from the fact that the leash is much shorter these days for what we can and cannot say without causing a shit storm, a good portion of the material that previously emanated from my mouth was just unnecessary. Sure, a lot of it was funny but its not always about the laugh.

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So why did I write a book? Well for starters, there is the elephant in the room: the suicide attempt. I have to think that’s a pretty interesting starting point for a book. Lucky for me I was bad at suicide.

I felt that for someone who was about as far down as possible to recover and build a life, it could provide some inspiration.

Also, it was therapy. Writing it made me face some hard truths about myself and allow me to correct them.

For much of my life, I have been a contradiction. On the one hand, I consider myself giving and empathetic. My friends know me as fiercely loyal.

Conversely, other people knew me as a total douche canoe, yelling at or insulting someone or just saying something completely inappropriate. My detractors: coaches, parents, teachers, colleagues, clients, my bosses, neighbors, friends, the landscaper, the various strangers I argued with, my grandmother, that guy in Starbucks- found me to be insufferable.

I can make people laugh and then some poor unsuspecting soul either cry or want to fight me in the same 10 minute period.

I wanted that second part to stop.

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The original title of the book was Chasing Happiness. That represented how I felt: never consistently happy and always wanting to be.

Objectively, I had absolutely no reason to be anything short of ecstatic. I married my beautiful high school sweetheart who loves me and I love back. We have three great kids. We have a nice place to live. I have a good job I enjoy and at which I am successful.

Nevertheless, I was rarely ever in the moment. I would not say that I was unhappy, per se, but I was always worried, stressed out, angry, thinking about the next thing, etc. That often expressed itself by saying stupid crap at work or an angry demeanor at my children’s sporting events. That in turn offended people which embarrassed me and and made me even less happy.

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Thus the reason it took me eight years to (1) write the book (crap), (2) rewrite the book (still crap), (3) hire an editor/co-writer to change the book (improved crap) then (4) rewrite that draft several more times over several more years (solid crap), is because that is how long it took to stop chasing happiness and see it was already there. It was just covered up. I did not give myself any time to enjoy it.

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I will be occasionally posting here both pre and post publication, but not very day. Neither I nor anyone else has that much to say worth reading.

Thanks. Love to everyone.