Cutter Slagle's Blog

If you think about it, there are many ways to say goodbye. Farewell. Au revoir. Adios. Ciao. One of my personal favorites: Fuck off. Cheers. Though, just because there are so many ways to say goodbye, it doesn’t always—or ever—make saying goodbye any easier.

For starters, the word goodbye is so definitive, so final. It signals that the end of something, often the end of a relationship, has arrived. That small, double-syllable word packs a pretty mighty punch, too, implying that the two individuals saying goodbye plan on never seeing or speaking to each other again. And, in that sense, I can’t help but wonder . . . is there really any good in goodbye?

Sure, sometimes saying goodbye is a necessity. Be it for mental, emotional, or physical health, we say goodbye to a person, place, or a thing in order to survive. I said goodbye to alcohol in July 2020, and it ended up being one of the best decisions I’ve made in my entire existence. Well, that and saying goodbye to any sort of reality television.

Yet, what happens when saying goodbye isn’t as easy as giving up booze or shitty tv? What if saying goodbye is thrust upon us, the right albeit difficult decision we don’t want to make but have to make? What do we do when there isn’t any good in goodbye, but for the sake of our sanity, our peace of mind, we have to completely distance ourselves and part ways with a familiar, possibly even comfortable or integral facet of life?

After all, we may have choices but that doesn’t mean we have to like the choices presented to us or agree with them. There are times when we have no choice but to choose between the lesser of two evils. Perhaps that’s proof that God has a sense of humor.

Still, how do we say goodbye and manage to continue on? More importantly, how do we say goodbye and manage to move on?

Of course, the simple answer is, we just do. We wake up, struggle out of bed, force ourselves to work, come home, and then prepare to do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Scream, cry, break things. In a nutshell, that’s how the world goes around. Do we have a choice in the matter? We absolutely do: keep trekking on or lay down and die.

In June 2021, I wrote an article for Rage Monthly, “You’re Not Okay—And That’s Okay.” The highlights: When we go through a particularly challenging moment, such as heartbreak, we’re not given the necessary time, space, or grace to properly heal. The same can be said for when we have to say goodbye. Life doesn’t pause for us to cope and collect ourselves. We’re not given sick leave from responsibilities, but instead required to perform everyday duties as if all is good and nothing is wrong.

What a big crock of shit.

Additionally, it’s interesting to consider the complexities of saying goodbye depending on what, exactly, we’re saying goodbye to: a person, place, or thing.

For example, would you rather say goodbye—essentially give up—a person who was once significant in your life? Someone like a friend, partner, or even a family member? And, if it is a person you have to say goodbye to, is it better to say goodbye to the living or to the deceased? It’s not fun to coexist with someone you’ve said goodbye to but have to regularly see. These answers most likely hinge on the circumstance of the relationship at the time it ends.

Is it less painful to give up a place? You know, a city or neighborhood . . . a home. And let’s not forget about things. Could you effortlessly walk away from things like sugar, marijuana, or gossip? Bad habits are hard to break, aren’t they? Bad habits are hard to say goodbye to.

Then again, the solution may be to not say goodbye at all. We have the option to walk—or, in some instances, run—away. Quitting a person, place, or thing cold turkey. Disappearing or avoiding. Ghosting. However, while giving up a substance cold turkey may be thought of as brave or strong-willed, isn’t it immature or cowardly to ghost someone? Just because ghosting is an option doesn’t mean it should be used.

Personally, I’ve said goodbye many times, and to most of what has been mentioned above. People, places, things. Men, friends, family. Cities, neighborhoods, homes. Sugar, marijuana, gossip. Obviously, some items from the list have circled back and returned in full force, but that’s another article for another day.

Recently, someone I’ve known for a handful of years said goodbye to me, and they said it in a completely vulnerable, heartfelt way. Nonetheless, just because this goodbye was heartfelt and, in all honesty, fated, it doesn’t mean it was without hurt. The complete opposite, actually. This goodbye had me rushing to my therapist for an emergency session, where I was promptly told that goodbyes are a natural part of life.

For me, the hard part of saying goodbye centers on change. Change, even when appropriate, isn’t uncomplicated. It takes time to adapt to any sort of change—big or small. And, as mentioned above, when are we given suitable time to accept and get used to change? We’re not. That big crock of shit just got bigger.

It’s understandable that I’m looking at saying goodbye from the wrong angle. Goodbyes don’t have to be dramatic or messy or overanalyzed. Sometimes goodbyes are as simple as two people outgrowing each other. No more, no less. That, too, is a major part of life, isn’t it? Growth. Who doesn’t want to grow? Because, if we’re not growing—if we’re not changing—then we’re stagnant, complacent. Coasting. Who wants to coast forever?

Unfortunately, two people or two places or two things don’t always continue to grow together, at the same rate or in the same direction. Yes, that’s a disappointing statement, but it’s also a truthful one. If we don’t have the truth, then what do we have? And is it worth having?

The truth is this: Goodbyes, no matter how they’re presented, can suck. Good, bad, ugly. Abrupt, gentle, mutual. Heartfelt, blunt, invisible. Everyone handles saying goodbye differently. Everyone copes with the aftermath of goodbye differently.

If you’re currently going through any type of goodbye, remember to be kind to yourself. Also, be patient . . . because this, too, shall pass.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong! This isn’t another jaded blog article spewing how awful gay men are in this community. I mean, do we really need more content on that topic? Anyone with a pulse is well aware of the fact that gay men suck. And yes, that double entendre was used on purpose. You’re welcome.

I stand by what I previously wrote in “Bye, Bitter Bitch.” I don’t want to be angry or sad or pessimistic anymore, specifically when it comes to men and dating. Keeping a positive mindset has definitely been challenging, to say the least, but I’m someone who tried to rock Billy Idol’s hair outside of the 80s. I enjoy a good challenge.

Instead of sharing with you—again—how selfish, disappointing, and contradictory gay men can be, I’ll state this: The more experience I gain with men and dating, the more I come to understand that Glenn Close wasn’t the villain in Fatal Attraction. She was the victim. Fuck you, Michael Douglas, and your wandering cock.

Though, it turns out that in real life, there doesn’t have to be a villain and a victim. When a relationship ends, any type of relationship, it’s not necessary to have a good guy and a bad guy. It’s not healthy, either. Sometimes, things just end. People aren’t always compatible—that cut and dried. Or perhaps they are compatible for a while, until there’s a shift, causing that compatibility to crumble.

I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t mention that obstacles can and do get in the way, creating a problem that should have never arisen in the first place. Of course, I’m talking about Grindr, which I will screech for the hundredth time, is a hookup app. Full stop. Have monogamous relationships transpired from Grindr? Sure. Have friendships been formed? Absolutely! Regardless, Grindr is a hookup app, and when a person downloads it, they have one desire on the brain: dick.

What are you going to do? Grindr isn’t going anywhere. Still, I’d love to punch Joel Simkhai, the founder of Grindr, in his face. (For legal purposes, that wasn’t a threat but more of a feisty hello.) Further, cheaters, liars, and manipulators aren’t going anywhere. Obstacles. Obstacles aren’t going anywhere. I guess if you can’t handle them, then get out of the game.

Or, better yet, learn how to play the game to your advantage. That’s what dating is, isn’t it? A big, emotional game in which those who play by the rules usually get hurt the most.

I’m certain it comes as no great surprise that I was recently (and slightly) hurt, but I was quickly reminded of something in my 12-step Codependency Anonymous group: I may have been hurt but that doesn’t mean I’m a victim. The only one who can victimize me is, well, me. And I’ve decided that I’m way too strong to be a victim ever again. Life is too damn short.

On reflection, I believe I’ve been coming at this dating situation all wrong. I’ve been trying desperately to find Mr. Right, or in my case, Mr. Big, when, truthfully, I’ve already found him. It’s me. I’m my own Mr. Big.

Screw dating other men; I need to worry about dating myself. I can’t help but wonder . . . If I’d used half the energy I’ve put into obtaining the perfect man into myself (my writing, my fitness, my self-care), what I would have already accomplished by now. Hell, I might have been named President of the United States. I’m kidding! I barely reach the age requirement as is.

Dating myself isn’t a new concept for me, but it’s clearly one that warrants a refresher course.

I hate to say this, but I blame Pretty Woman. Maybe the rom-com isn’t my favorite movie but my least favorite. I’m starting to accept that this film should be categorized as “science fiction” because there’s no way it’s realistic. I fear that the film has set me up for failure. All romantic comedies have set me up for failure. We might as well blame Disney, too.

Except, I’ve decided to quit the blame game. There are no winners at that one. As an alternative, I’m going to accept what I cannot change and focus on what I can: me. Besides, at the end of the day, the relationship that ultimately matters is the one you have with yourself. Good, bad, ugly . . . As long as you can stand to look at yourself in the mirror each night, then you’re doing something right.

So, if gay dating is so whack, then why am I continuing to participate in it? I don’t have an answer, which, quite frankly, is an answer. I can’t change gay dating, but I can change me. Or, simply put, I can hit the pause button on dating and concentrate on myself.

Now, if Pedro Pascal knocked on my door tomorrow and asked me out, would I accept the offer? Duh! Especially if he was carrying a large pizza in one hand and an entire cheesecake in the other.

Yet, until Pedro or any man worth my time comes into my lane, I feel like the best thing I can do for myself is to learn to be happy living alone. More so, I must not be afraid of living alone. The idea of that currently terrifies me, and that’s how I know it’s essential to master.

After all, it’s outside of my comfort zone where life truly begins and becomes exciting.

New year. New month. New goals. Perhaps new relationships, too. This blog article would have been more fitting last month, but a bitch has been busy-ish. And, let’s not mince words: nothing fits great these days—not even sweatpants. Is it still appropriate to blame the holidays for all the extra weight?

Regardless, most of the above sounds nice, doesn’t it? However, we can’t forget that with new, well, with new anything, comes new questions. Lots of new questions. Questions like, how do you set—and keep—healthy boundaries? Come to think of it, boundary just may be the word of 2023. Or maybe pizza will be the world of 2023. I’ll have to get back to you on that.

Boundaries are important, and for all types of relationships, including the relationship you have with your mom, your partner, your best friend, and your favorite pizza delivery guy. There’s that “p” word once more . . .

While exploring the idea of boundaries, I couldn’t help but think about a past fling of mine, Peter Rabbit. Peter Rabbit and I only saw each other for a couple of months. Our first date was classic: dinner, drinks, dancing, dick down. In that order. Oh, to be back in my twenties. Kidding! I’m extremely happy to have outgrown some behaviors of my youth.

On our second date, Peter Rabbit introduced me to a handful of his friends. I instantly hated them. Hate is a strong word. I immediately knew that his friends would not become my friends. I didn’t like them. Were my instincts spot on or was it a bad first impression? Nevertheless, I didn’t see these friends again until much later in time, after Peter Rabbit and I had gone our separate ways. I ran into them randomly at a bar and drunkenly told them all to fuck off.

On reflection, Peter Rabbit’s friends probably didn’t think too highly of me, either, and understandably so.

Still, I wondered then and wonder now: When you’re dating someone, how much influence should that person’s friends and family have on the relationship? Are you actually dating that person’s friends and family, too? Or is the relationship only between the two people in the relationship, and should everyone else simply fuck off?

Let’s say it together: boundaries.

We can all likely agree that mixing families is hard. Hell, some individuals can’t mix the proper shoes with the correct shirt. You know who you are. But despite the difficulties of life and love (and fashion!), it’s always necessary to respect another person’s boundaries, even if we don’t quite understand those boundaries or the choices that established them. This mindset takes work, people. Constant work. I can admit that I occasionally slash frequently struggle with it.

For example, pretend your sibling is dating a B I T C U Next Tuesday (yes, I’ve used this descriptive gem in the past, but it’s too good not to repeat). Is it your job to point this out? Do you have the right to address your concerns? Or should you sit back, hope for the best, and let the relationship unfold on its own? Then, if or when the shit storm erupts, be there to offer support, not judgment? No one wants to hear, “I told you so.” Not to mention, people need to learn some things on their own, no matter what we, individually, think to be true.

Replace sibling with parent or friend or pizza delivery guy—anyone, really—and the point remains the same. Who are we to offer our opinion? Especially when it’s not requested.  Of course, if any sort of harm or danger is occurring, that’s a whole different ball game.

I can recall introducing my mom to an old boyfriend. No, not Peter Rabbit, a different guy. Peter Rabbit never made it out of fling territory, despite his “d”-word talents. But after this different guy dumped me (via text, no less), my mom revealed that she knew the relationship was never going to work. When asked why she hadn’t bothered to clue me in, she casually stated, “You wouldn’t have listened. You needed to figure it out on your own.”

My point? My mom didn’t cross a boundary, a boundary I never knew was fully in place until recently.

Yes, it’s time to circle back to that infamous “b” word from earlier. Boundary. I know, it’s a tough one. Probably because of the first syllable. Bound. After all, does anyone want to be bound? I mean, without their consent and a safe word in place?

It bears repeating: When it comes to relationships, all relationships, it can be difficult to set boundaries, as well as follow them, regardless if that boundary has to do with telling someone to fuck off (well, the nicer version of that), keeping your opinion to yourself, or having an open conversation with important people in your circle about what is and isn’t appropriate behavior.

Also, while we’re on the subject, here’s another question to consider: In terms of boundaries, do you find it harder to set them with new people or people you’re already involved with?

We’ve clearly established that boundaries can be challenging—setting and following—but what’s the solution? When or how does the idea of boundaries get easier? Does it ever get easier?

Broken down in layman’s terms, how do you set healthy boundaries?

How the hell do I know? I’m not a person who has it all together but thank you for thinking that I am. Yet, I do believe that in order to set a healthy, sturdy, won’t-faulter-in-a-strong-wind boundary, it’s necessary to be completely honest—honest with yourself and honest with the person you’re setting that boundary with.

Further, I do know for certain that both practice and consistency matter. As with anything, the more you practice boundaries and stick with them, the more comfortable you get with making them a part of your daily life. Just remember, you are in control of your own boundaries. You get to decide where to draw the line and the consequences of crossing it. If someone has an issue with your boundary, it’s their issue, not yours.

If you have one new goal this new month or new year, contemplate setting new, healthy boundaries within all your relationships. You’re so worth it.

I recently had coffee with someone special to me, and it was during this visit that he kindly alluded to the idea that my recent writings, while good and accurate (thank you very much), could still be a little off-putting to other readers. My mother wasn’t so kind or subtle when she texted me, stating I’d become bitter and wanted to know what was going on with me. Life, Mom. That’s what’s going on with me. Life, and it can be really fucking hard to navigate at times.

I immediately reached out to my best friend, asking if she, too, thought I was bitter. I knew she wouldn’t lie to me. Further, she’d enjoy telling me if I was in any way acting “off.” Or, to put it more bluntly, if I was acting like a big, bitter bitch. She disagreed, believing that I’m not bitter, but commented that she doesn’t believe I’m happy.

My response: Who in the hell is happy?

Yes, I’m well aware that that is a very bitter thing to say–er, ask.

So now, I guess I need to ask myself the same question and be completely honest when I answer it: Am I bitter?

I’m not sure. I don’t think I am, but I know without a doubt that I don’t want to be.

For the past year and a half, I’ve told myself and others that I’m on a journey of self-reflection, with the sole goal of becoming the absolute best version of myself. Yet, when I look back at my previous blog articles and Rage (how fitting is that name?) columns, I’m not so sure this is the case. Instead, I fear that I may be trying to project my feelings, beliefs, and hell, possibly even my insecurities onto anyone who bothers to read the sentences I string together.

The result? A sad, jaded, angry, and yes, bitter perspective of life.

Oh, my God! Could my mom be right? I hate when that happens, but the truth hurts–especially when it’s coming from your parent.

So, I ask myself again: Am I bitter?

Unfortunately, if I’m being truthful, I think I am.

Okay, so I can agree that I’m bitter. Now, I have to discover why I’m bitter, learn how to correct the issue, and then grow from the experience. Apparently, simply seeing a therapist weekly isn’t enough; you actually have to do work. Who knew?

In case you don’t already know, I love mysteries. I’ve had two, full-length mystery novels professionally published, written a third that is collecting dust on my hard drive (are there any literary agents reading this and looking for new clients?), and slowly piecing together a fourth. I also read a lot of crime fiction books.

My point: Solving the mystery of why I’m so bitter isn’t going to require the assistance of Sherlock Holmes. The mystery has already been solved. Case closed. Though, I may need help with a different, completely related riddle: What have I hoped to accomplish with my recent writings? I know why I’ve written the content, but what’s been my overall goal for putting it out into the world?

Did I just want to get my point of view across? If so, mission accomplished! Most people fully know where I stand on certain topics, mainly those dealing with gay relationships.

Did my motivation go deeper than that? Did I want to change people’s minds, get them to agree with my opinions, tell me how right I am? As if I have that much power. Also, I hope I’m not truly that narcissistic.

Did I want to play the victim? Have people feel sorry for me because I, like so many others, have had to heal from a broken heart? Did I want revenge? Do I want revenge?

If you’re paying close enough attention, it’s interesting how the universe sometimes gives you exactly what you need, when you need it. I stumbled onto a Vogue article written by Jessica Knoll. It was exactly what I needed, and I found it exactly when I needed it.

For me, the title said it all: “I Wanted Revenge. What I Got Was Better.”

Knoll is the New York Times bestselling author of Luckiest Girl Alive. She also wrote the screenplay for the Netflix adaptation starring Mila Kunis. I haven’t seen the movie, but I did read the book a few years ago.

I don’t want to spoil the book (or movie) or article, which I highly recommend reading, but I will say that the latter definitely resonated with me. Please don’t misconstrue my words; in no way, shape, or form am I comparing Knoll’s trauma to my own. Still, I was able to find a connection between Knoll’s feelings and my own, particularly with the following passage:

“ . . . admitting, after many years of insisting that I was fine, that I was not fine at all . . . I had no idea how much work it would take to finally begin the long, overdue process of healing.”

For me, I thought healing came with an expiration date. Plot twist, it doesn’t.

Additionally, I instantly connected with her anger. Some of you may be rolling your eyes, wondering why I’m so angry nearly a year and a half later, after my own version of a traumatic experience, but it’s the truth. It’s my truth. The only way I can move forward is to admit the truth, accept it, and use the tools I’ve been collecting for the past 18 months to create a new truth.

One of those tools is the Serenity Prayer. I say it often, but maybe not enough. I don’t think it has fully clicked. Obviously, I’m struggling with accepting the things I cannot change. So, for now, I think I need to focus on what I can change, which is clearly my bitterness and my anger (close relatives, if you ask me). As I stated earlier, I don’t want to be bitter. I don’t want to be angry, either.

Towards the end of Knoll’s article, she says, “I stopped expecting everyone to be plugged into my trauma by my exacting standards.” And later, “The kind of person who wants revenge is the kind of person who has no other recourse.”

I realize now, and hopefully not too late, that I have plenty of other recourses. More importantly, I know in my bones that it’s time for a new narrative. I made it through a toxic situation; there’s no reason to hang on to it or constantly relive it. Do I want to remember that situation and learn from it? Absolutely. But I don’t want it to define me.

That is something I can control. That is something I can change.

I can’t control or change other people’s views. I can’t expect anyone to change their stance on any given issue just because I’ve personally been harmed by it.

I’m going to do my best to not only remember this but also practice it. Life is too short to be bitter and angry, especially about something that I cannot change.

I understand that I’ve made a declaration like this before, and I’m going to keep on making it until I’ve mastered it. After all, I’m a work in progress. We all are.

A couple of months ago, I had a thought. Looking back now, I think it was more of a moment of weakness, but the idea formed in my brain, and I took action. I decided to download Tinder, the dating app.

Actually, in my opinion, Tinder is more of a dressed-up hook-up app (i.e. a fancy Grindr). That old expression, “putting lipstick on a pig,” feels like an accurate way to not only describe Tinder but the bulk of dating apps today. Maybe even dating in general, whether you use an app or not. (And if you don’t use an app to date, what’s your secret?)

Still, I gave in and started swiping . . . but my heart wasn’t in it. No one caught my interest; 99 percent of my swipes were to the left. The most exciting prospect I saw on Tinder was an advertisement for McDonald’s. I guess I’m not ready to date, or even “fake” date. Within two hours, I deleted my profile on the app and promptly went looking for Mr. Big–er, a Big Mac. Talk about the ultimate match.

I’ve spent thousands and thousands of words trying to better understand men—gay men, the gay community, dating, sex, love, and life. The conclusion I’ve finally come to is that I don’t know shit. Thank God for therapy, because now it’s someone else’s responsibility to assess my failed romantic life, tell me everything I’ve done and am doing wrong, and give me tips on how to improve.

So, what did my therapist recently recommend I do: try dating.

Unfortunately, he didn’t mean to try dating him. I know, such a cliché, right? That old, crush-on-the-therapist trope has definitely been played out. Also, and much to my dismay, he wasn’t inviting me over for dinner when he told me which area of town he lives in to prove a point that gay men can—and do—actually live and function outside of the gayborhood. Or, in my specific case, Hillcrest. Who knew?

To be fair, his point wasn’t so much for me to date, per se, but to simply put myself back out into the world to see how it felt. To see how I felt. Well, truth be told, I felt like I was now paying to be given homework assignments. I didn’t do homework in high school or college (sorry, Dad), but now, in my early—fine—mid-thirties, I was expected to be productive?

To add insult to injury, I wasn’t sure how to go about dating. Where would I start? Mystery solved: online. Hiding behind my used, Amazon-purchased iPhone seemed to be the safest, easiest, and most convenient place to begin.

Long story short: This bitch went back on Tinder. However, I prepared myself this time. I went into the situation high as a fuckin’ kite. In all honesty, I wasn’t that high, but I did take an edible to help soften the blow that I was willingly heading back into the trenches.

I immediately discovered how picky I am. Hey, after having my heart stomped on with a metal cleat more than once, I’d finally learned to have standards. Or, more bluntly, I was no longer taking any bullshit. Except, what I found on Tinder was a lot of bullshit. So much bullshit, I regretted not having put on my thigh-high boots to wade through it all.

Here’s my message to the guys who post nothing but shirtless pictures or images of themselves flexing: Get over yourself. And to the guys who don’t know how to string a sentence together without producing a grammatical error (one bio had four errors in a 20-word sentence): You’re a moron. If you don’t know how to work a comma, I’m fairly certain you don’t know how to work your di–you know where I’m going with this. Again, sorry, Dad.

Finally, to the guys in open relationships, thruples, and only looking for hookups: Get out of my way. Also, just for good measure, fuck off.

I apologize—seriously. I don’t want to come off as some Judge Judy (too late?). Yet, navigating gay dating is difficult, especially when trying to avoid stepping on landmines that are open relationships, thruples, and hookups. I understand that some guys are only looking for these sorts of connections, and that’s their prerogative. That’s their right. That’s also why there are platforms such as Grindr, Scruff, and Sniffies. Leave some crumbs for the rest of us, the ones wanting a deeper, more meaningful experience.

I’m really not the jaded, bitter, B I T C U Next Tuesday I’m coming off to be. I swear. I’m just tired. No, I’m exhausted. I mean, it’s easier to find the monkeypox vaccine (both doses) in this city than it is to find a man who wants a healthy, monogamous, long-term relationship.

Of course, my Tinder experience hasn’t been completely awful. There have been a few pleasant surprises. The same with Bumble, too. And, before you suggest trying Hinge, Plenty of Fish, Farmers Only, or OkCupid, that’s it! I refuse to download an additional dating app. It’s too much work. Too much work with very little payoff. Besides, most of the options on the apps are exactly the same. These days, no man wants to put his balls in only one basket. A problem in and of itself.

I have to be honest again. I think the main problem here is me. For starters, I’m at a place in life where I’d rather have carbs over cock. This has led to me having love handles but no love. Again, that’s on me. Further, though, I’m a mess of contradictions.

You see, I’m lonely but not lonely. I’m bored but not bored. I’m content but not content. I’m hungry but . . . no, I’m always hungry. I know exactly what I want, except I don’t know how to go about getting it.

Maybe I can’t find what I want in San Diego. Maybe I have unrealistic expectations. Maybe I’m just impatient. Or maybe I need to have more faith, be more open-minded. I’ve put such a negative connotation on online dating, perhaps I’ve manifested my own unlucky outcomes.

After all, the route doesn’t matter; it’s all about the destination. That was a little hokey pokey, even for me, but you get the message. Some guys have met online, even in the darkest of online places, like Craigslist and Scruff, and managed to build a wonderful, healthy, and (surprisingly!), monogamous relationship.

Anything is possible. There are like-minded guys out there. Who knows? One could possibly be waiting for me. No, one is waiting for me. And in the meantime, at least I always have that Big Mac to keep me fulfilled and satisfied.

If there’s one thing everyone can agree on, it’s that Idris Elba should consider doing a full-frontal nude scene. If there are two things we can agree on, it’s that life is hard. Finally, three things the majority of people reading this can agree on: It’s time to light a match and burn this motherfucker down to the ground.

Or, to be a little more PC . . . It’s time to let shit go. Really let it go.

The “it” stated above can refer to anything in your life that is not currently fulfilling you. A job, a residence, a partner, an in-law, pizza. Again, life is hard and way too short to settle for crappy pizza.

To be honest, I’d settle for crappy pizza right now. I’d revel in crappy pizza. You see, I’m one of those people who is jumpstarting the new year by eating clean and exercising, as opposed to the much easier method of maintaining a balanced routine all year long. What can I say? I fell off the wagon and landed in McDonald’s drive-thru. Then, to add insult to injury, I cruised by Burger King, Papa John’s, and Taco Bell.

Yep, I spent the entire holiday season spreading the love to every fast-food joint in a twenty-mile radius. As a result, my thighs have spread so much that my already-pasted-on skinny jeans look, well, not pretty. Working in sweatpants from home is all fun and games until you have to put on real clothes and go out into public.[image error]

Moving on, I’ve never been one of those individuals who require a new year, a new month, or even a new week to make a change (except now, apparently). Why wait, right? If you want to change something about your life and you feel ready to actually follow through with that change, then what are you waiting for? Why wait to better your life, to better yourself? Why waste time?

However, here we are. It’s a new year, 2022. Hopefully, not a sequel to 2020, as it sounds, but a blank slate that some need in order to make that effective change. And, as a guy who could definitely stand to make a change or two in his life as we enter a new year, new month, new week, let me remind those who may have forgotten: You can’t move forward if you’re still stuck on or in the past.

Alas. . . Let. It. Go. Whatever “it” may be for you.

Of course, this is easier said than done. I think that’s important to note—not to mention, fair. It’s pretty manageable to have the mindset that if a person, place, or thing doesn’t suit us, then we should abandon it. Additionally, if we’re not good at something, even after having tried and tried again, then there’s no reason to keep trying, to keep setting ourselves up for heartbreak, failure, and disappointment. There has to be a time when simply, enough is enough.

We know this. The concepts make sense. Yet, putting them into action and following through with them is a little more difficult. Though this is true, for me, anyway, I can’t help but wonder why. Specifically, if we know that cigarettes are bad for us, or there isn’t a chance in hell that boy is ever going to become the man we need, or we just don’t vibe well with certain people, why do we keep trying for another outcome? Why do we keep misusing our time and energy? Why do we keep risking our mental, emotional, and physical health?

Are we optimists for holding on? For believing in or hoping for a different result? For hoping for the best? Hoping for change? Or are we masochists? Are we only torturing ourselves, delaying the inevitable? Is it unrealistic to think things will be different this time? After one hundred times?

Maybe it’s time—past time—to let it go.

And, just a friendly reminder from someone who apparently completely misunderstood the notion, that’s let it go . . . not let yourself go. Damn McDonald’s, Burger King, Papa John’s, Taco Bell . . . You get the idea.

Recently, a person close to me, one of my most favorite people in the entire world, shared her life mantra: When a decision needs to be made, the answer is either “hell yes” or “hell no.”

Obviously, not everything fits into that box. Yet, when the decision is without a doubt, “hell no,” clearly, we need to let it go. Forget about it. Move on. We can’t wait forever. We can’t hope and expect and pretend and hold our breath forever. We just have to let it go. That plain, that complex.

Letting go doesn’t mean that we’re a failure or that we’ve given up. Letting go only means that we’re ready to try something new. That we’re taking full control of our lives so that we can shape them how we want them to look.

Further, when we let go—fully let go—it proves that we know ourselves and feel comfortable being ourselves. After all, it is when we truly know ourselves, perhaps even love ourselves, that we’re able to peacefully let go of what’s no longer working for us.

So, I’m challenging you, and I’m challenging myself. Let’s make this our year, our month, our week. Now is a perfect time to let go and officially rid ourselves of excessive weight—be it emotional, physical, or mental.

As we charge forward into January, I’d like everyone to agree on one last thing: It’s perfectly okay to have needs, goals, desires, values, boundaries. And if a person, place, or thing doesn’t fall in line with those needs, goals, desires, values, or boundaries, then it’s acceptable to let it (or them) go. Not just let it go, either, but let it go without guilt or regret or explanation.

In fact, we owe it to ourselves to let go.

More importantly, we’re worth it. You’re worth it.

The sooner you believe that mentality, trust it, even practice it, the faster you’ll be able to let it all go—for real, though.

Birthdays are interesting. Some people choose to celebrate all week long, craving the attention, begging for anyone and everyone to know their special day is coming. Others want to ignore the day, hide from it, pretend it’s not so special or anything overly important to celebrate. The rest of us fall somewhere in the middle.

Of course, there is no right way or wrong way to celebrate your birthday. After all, it’s your day, right? And you have the right to act, feel, do, say whatever you deem appropriate—within reason, obviously.

What I personally don’t understand is how someone can hate their birthday. Or, more specifically, hate getting older. I mean, it beats the alternative. Why does getting older have such a negative connotation for some people? Especially if we’re getting older and wiser.

Maybe that’s the problem. Everyone gets older, but not everyone gets wiser. Or . . . Everyone gets older, but not everyone grows up. Everyone gets older, but not everyone embraces the changes that come with age. The good changes, anyway.

Put like that, getting older would be frustrating or painful. Much like a slap in the face. Because, in all actuality, who wants to get older without growing, without learning, without changing, without bettering themselves?

My recent birthday was, well, interesting. It wasn’t that I wanted to avoid the day flat out, but I simply didn’t feel like celebrating this year. Back in my early, mid, late—fine! All through my twenties, I loved when my birthday rolled around. Not only did it mean that all eyes were on me, but it also gave me an excuse to party. By “party,” I mean drink as much alcohol as I could swallow, act like a complete fucking tool, and then use the fact that it was my birthday as an excuse for my actions. It was my birthday, and I could act, feel, do, say whatever I deemed appropriate. I also blamed everything on the alcohol.

Cutter didn’t call you a bitch, that shot of Patron did. Cutter didn’t spill his drink on you, that vodka soda has a mind of its own. Cutter didn’t fall down, that dirty martini tripped him. Cutter didn’t randomly and awkwardly break into Neve Campbell’s monologue from Wild Things—actually, Cutter did do that one. Haven’t you seen my acting reel?

It wasn’t because I’m sober that my birthday was difficult to navigate this year. It was because of me—my head, my thoughts, my inability to stop overanalyzing every minute detail of the past six months of my life that caused me to question whether or not a birthday celebration was warranted.

My best friend constantly tells me to get over myself. Well, if you’re reading this: Surprise, bitch! I’m still not over myself. Any day now, though. Well, maybe. . .

If you’ve kept up with my blog (I haven’t even kept up with my blog; this is my first post since August!), then you know that I faced some changes over the past several months. Changes that have been hard. Changes that have created an entire shift in shaping who I am today. And while it has been a difficult year for myriad reasons, it has also been an amazing year, a year filled with first-time opportunities, adventures, and lots of self-discovery. Regardless of how I choose to look at the glass—half empty or half full, it changes daily—the point is that change is the only constant we can rely on in life.

Taylor Swift has an amazing song lyric that has lived rent-free in my head since May: “Time won’t fly; it’s like I’m paralyzed by it. I’d like to be my old self again, but I’m still trying to find it.”

I’ve spent (perhaps wasted is more appropriate) so much energy and so many hours trying to fight and delay the inevitable. Trying to find my old self instead of accepting my new self, embracing my new self.

Maybe that’s my problem—er, one of many. I’m trying to find something—someone—who no longer exists. Because, after a shift of some kind occurs, be it a breakup, a move across the country, losing a job, a death. . . we change. We’re altered. We have to be, don’t we? In order to survive.

I will always be me. The guy who says “fuck” too much, laughs at his own jokes, collects an excessive amount of books and shoes, and thinks he’s the real-life, male version of Carrie Bradshaw. Some things don’t change.

But, some things—a lot of things—do change. And honestly, what good does it do to try and avoid those changes? In the long run, we’re only hurting ourselves, wasting our own potential.

You can’t always put the rabbit back in the hat. Or, more appropriately, you can’t squeeze your foot into a shoe you’ve outgrown. That’s a bad analogy; I wear shoes that don’t fit all the time. What can I say? Fashion is painful.

Yet, if we continue to hang on to the past, then how can we expect to have room for the future? How will we be able to grow, learn, and better ourselves—no matter our age—if we stay the same? If we constantly fight and delay change, then what do we expect our future to look like? Who do we expect to be in the future?

Change. . . it’s necessary.

Sometimes, that change includes letting things go—people, places, dreams, regrets. Then, we get to meet new people, go to new places, discover new dreams, make new mistakes to later regret.

The reality is (who doesn’t need a strong dose of reality from time to time?) that change is hard. Change is hard for me. It will probably always be hard for me. After all, change takes us out of our comfort zones. Though, it is when we are outside of those comfort zones, when we’re truly uncomfortable, that we’re able to grow. Growing pains, right? And during those uncomfortable or even painful moments, we often get the opportunity to experience life. We get to truly live.

There is some comfort in knowing that despite change, the changes around me and within me, the essence of me will stay the same. Simply put, I’ll always be me. Hopefully, I’ll outgrow the bad, the ugly, the parts that no longer suit me. The parts that don’t align with the person I want to be. . . and keep the rest.

Hopefully, when I change, it will always be for the better.

Back in May, I lit a match to my life. Things weren’t working out; I wasn’t happy. Change, though terrifying to consider and actually follow through with, seemed not only necessary but vital for my emotional and mental survival. As a result, I’ve been called everything from a pussy to a mother fucker to courageous for taking charge of my life and—as my cousin would say—hitting the reset button.

Am I running? Am I moving forward? Who the fuck knows? Not me, not yet. Probably not any time soon, either.

You see, I’ve been traveling. Ohio. New Jersey. New York City. Florida. Nashville. Delaware next, followed by Seattle. Then most likely back to New York, maybe even Denver. And then? I’m not sure. San Diego, perhaps? Maybe I am running. Maybe I’m afraid of sitting still. If I sit still for too long, I think I’ll go crazy.

As cliché as it may sound, I’m trying to find myself. I feel lost, have felt lost for a while, and need to discover where I belong and where home truly is. In short, I’m doing that eat, pray, love thing. Unfortunately, I’ve only gotten the “eat” part down. I’ve also referred to this period as my “Not-Yet-Midlife Crisis Book Tour,” even though I don’t currently have a book to promote. The only thing I’m trying to promote right now is self-awareness.

I thought I could be a nomad, live out of a suitcase, discover things about myself that I’ve yet to learn. See friends and new places, pursue unknown experiences.

What I’ve learned is that I like structure and roots and routine. I like consistency. I want consistency with someone. With a soul mate. I want to be married and boring and write books and have a partner-in-crime to go on adventures with, even if that adventure is something as mundane as a trip to the local grocery store.

I’ve also learned that I really like therapy. Specifically, I like paying someone to tell me what’s wrong with me. What a brilliant concept, right? Additionally, I’ve discovered that I enjoy journaling, meditating, and boxing. Who knows? I may just surprise all of you one day and turn out butch. Yeah, it’s very doubtful.

Over the past few months, one of the most important lessons I’ve learned, though, is how necessary self-reflection is to grow and work on yourself. Further, self-reflection is vital if you want to improve or better yourself. And I do. I always do.

It was through self-reflection and a vulnerable conversation with my best friend that I came to the understanding of how jaded and judgmental I’ve been lately.

Let’s be clear about something: jade and judge ain’t a good look on anybody! I can admit when I’m wrong, though. . . And it seems that I’ve been oh, so wrong.

I’ve always considered myself to be very open-minded. Still do. Except, I’m not so sure someone can be open-minded and judgmental. In all honestly, I think I’ve become judgmental towards people who have different viewpoints than me, especially regarding porn, Only Fans, social media, and open relationships.

Now, I can blame past encounters—failed relationships—on this judgment that has eaten me like a ravenous cancer. It’s true, too. I believe that the pain and suffering I’ve endured in my love life has shaped my perspective on certain things. However, that doesn’t make any of it right. Effie, we all got pain. That doesn’t give anyone a free pass to look down on how others are choosing to live their lives and do what they want to do with their bodies.

This is a hard fucking pill for me to swallow, but just because I disagree with something, doesn’t make it wrong. Why can’t I master this lesson? Because of my past? Because of what I’ve experienced in my love life. Again, I’m not making excuses, but trying to learn.

Trying to be more self-aware.

It’s through this journey of self-awareness and assistance of valuable tools (therapy, good friends, vulnerable conversations, travel) that I’m learning my anger or disgust or resentment has been pointed at the wrong target. My issue isn’t with Only Fans, excessive porn (especially amateur porn on Twitter made by local people you can access on any given day), social media addicts, and open relationships.

Well, that isn’t my real issue. I’m beginning to recognize that my real issue is not wanting a partner who has to constantly be plugged into that kind of content. I don’t mesh well with someone who wants to have that type of life.

What a revelation!

Am I threatened by this sex-craved, attention-seeking community? Do I think it’s harder to find a partner in today’s world? And, God willing, once I find a partner, am I fearful that I’ll lose him to the dark side of Only Fans, Twitter, social media, porn, etc.?

Yes, yes, and yes!

However, I know now that I need to stop worrying about what everyone else is doing and only worry about me, my wants and goals. And only when I’m truly happy with myself and know who I am and what I want and expect, can I genuinely find the same with someone else.

I need to stop judging, stop criticizing, stop misdirecting my anger and frustration, and simply surround myself with like-minded people. Find a partner who has the same values as me, the same expectations, the same goals for the future. After all, we get to choose who we surround ourselves with, don’t we? That’s one of the beauties about growing up, getting older.

Still, I can’t help but wonder . . . Would it be easier to find a partner without the chaos of social media, myriad hookup apps, and immediate access to porn? It doesn’t matter; these things aren’t going anywhere. I might as well stop wasting my time and energy on things I can’t change or control. The only thing I can change and control is myself.

I fear I’ve painted myself as this crazy, obsessive, pessimistic, prude. Maybe it’s time to relax and just have fun again. Not take the whole thing so seriously.

This is my apology for being such a judgmental cu—bitch. My approach to so many things has been wrong lately. To each their own. I may not have to agree with what someone else does—or even like or understand it—but I should still be open-minded enough to respect that person and respect that different people have different lives, different motives, different wants, different needs, different opportunities . . . just differences.

And that’s perfectly okay. It’s not always about me. In fact, it has nothing to do with me.

We’ll just call this blog article the prayer part of my journey.

So, I’ve now eaten (a few times), prayed, and eventually—with time, patience, and more self-awareness—will get the love part down.

When I was in second grade, I was the Riddler from Batman Forever for Halloween. How fitting that all these years later, I’d be consumed by questions. Drowning, really, in what-ifs and if-onlys. Weighed down by hows, whys, and whens. Weighed down by riddles, if you will.

After my first two crime fiction novels (The Next Victim and ‘Til Death) were published, I did a few book signings and was often asked the same question from attendees: Why do you write about murder?

Yep, another question, and one I didn’t know how to answer until recently.

Back then, I thought I chose to write in the suspense genre simply because I liked it. I read suspense books, watch suspense movies, why not create suspense stories myself? Made sense to me.

Well, I’ve gotten a little older, a little wiser, a little fatter, and as a result, I have a few more wrinkles, a double chin, and a deeper answer to that question.

I believe I navigate towards the suspense genre because nine times out of ten when you reach a conclusion—regardless of the type of media—everything is wrapped up neatly with a nice, pretty bow on top.

No, not every single time. There are cliffhangers and examples of mysteries that have gone unsolved, in both real life and fictional universes. However, I’ve gotten comfortable learning the who, what, why, when, where, and how of various situations.

Unfortunately, life is not always one of those situations, is it? It’s rarely one of those situations. To my dismay, life is not like a game of Clue, more like a game of Operation. One wrong move and you’re completely fucked.

Well, you get the idea.

As such, life currently has me feeling confused. And, as I said above, eaten up by questions.

I was going to use this platform today to explore some of those questions, questions mostly surrounding the gay community. However, a friend recently mentioned that I might have some cynical emotional baggage geared towards the gay community. And I agree with him. Perhaps it’s time to up my therapy sessions, even journal more, or meditate daily instead of just here and there. Because, while I do have issues with this community—my community—I never want to be viewed as cynical or negative or miserable.

So, instead of writing about or regurgitating the issues I have with the gay community—and yes, there are many—I’m going to attempt to answer one of the burning questions that are keeping me up at night.

Why did I choose to write and publish my last blog article?

I posed this question to a very important person in my life, someone I consider to be a mentor. She responded so raw and truthfully—which I whole-heartedly appreciate. After all, without the raw truth, how can we possibly become aware of ourselves and aware of others? And it’s that awareness that will (hopefully) prompt change when needed.

Anyway, I was given four intentions to consider. Four different reasons to think about why I’d written the detailed piece (though it was entirely true) and what I’d hoped to accomplish from releasing it. Intent is significant, especially in today’s climate. Intent and how that intention is received by others are two areas I need to always be working on.

All I can say is that I’m trying. Hopefully learning, hopefully getting better.

With the article, did I simply want to express myself? Did I want to get someone’s attention—a specific someone? Did I want people to read it in hopes of influencing their opinions of the situation? Did I want to help someone who has been in a similar place in their life and let them know that they’re not alone?

If I’m being honest—completely honest because I’m all about the raw truth, remember?—I have to say it’s a combination of all four intentions. I chose to write and share the previous article for myriad reasons, all of which are listed above.

Was that wrong of me? Was it childish, vindictive, malicious, cold-hearted? Yeah, sure it was. Do I regret doing it? Maybe. Am I sorry if anyone got hurt in the process of me working through my feelings and confusion? Absolutely.

Again, I’m trying and learning . . . and I’m only human.

Now, let’s talk more about intent. This important person in my life also shared with me that when it comes to intent, it’s necessary to ensure that the intention is always pure. Specifically, if your intention is pure and you are making decisions for your well-being, then you can always feel good about that decision.

When I wrote and published my last blog, was my intention pure? Were these decisions I’d made for my well-being? And if not, what was the result I was looking for? What did I need to get from writing and posting the blog, and why?

Life is hard. Relationships are hard. Heartbreak is hard. Of course, these aren’t justifiable excuses to do any sort of harm. And, I can honestly say that throughout my entire life, I’ve never wanted to harm anyone. That’s never been my intention. Yet, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. For that, I wholeheartedly apologize. If I’ve ever caused anyone harm or distress, it wasn’t intentional, and I’m sorry.

I’m in pain right now. I’m suffering. I’m sad, angry, confused, lost, emotionally and mentally exhausted. One of the few ways I know how to work through these suffocating feelings is by writing. Writing is my therapy. Again, that’s not a justifiable excuse to hurt anyone—which has never been my intention, past or present—but merely me explaining my motive for writing the way I write.

To be fair, I could choose to write about good times instead of bad times in my life. Wonderful vacations, thoughtful gifts, spontaneous adventures, love, laughter, and fun. There’s been plenty of those throughout my journey, too. However, I don’t feel like I need to write about them or dissect them. There’s no confusion there; I fully understand those good times. I’m thankful for them and I appreciate them.

It’s the bad times I don’t understand. The lies, the confusion, the manipulation, the pain. In order for me to work through that pain, I have to dive right into it and explore it. I have to write about it. While writing about it, my intent is to understand it and learn more about it—not cause additional pain for myself or anyone else.

It’s likely that my intention with my most recent blog article (and even past articles) wasn’t fully pure, but slightly muddied. And, you know what? Screw the maybe; hell yes, I regret that. One more time: I’m trying and learning to get better. To be better. I want to learn and grow and be the best version of myself that I can possibly be. This takes time and work and consistency. And patience . . . which I openly admit I don’t have.

We’re not taught how to handle breakups or pain or heartaches or disappointments of any kind. In a sense, we’re all flying blind. Learning, growing, and hopefully doing our best not to inflict any of our past traumas on anyone else.

In most cases, breakups, pain, heartaches, and disappointments lead to a long list of what-ifs, if-onlys, hows, whys, and whens. They lead to riddles, if you will. Riddles that I’m desperately trying to answer, learn from, grow from, so I can move on.

If someone—if anyone—gets hurt in the process of me trying to learn, grow, move on, and better myself, I apologize. That’s never been my intent. It never will be my intent.

I’m trying.

I’m learning.

I’m only human.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t come out until I was twenty-seven years old. Sure, everyone knew I was gay, including people on Mars. Yet, I didn’t actually say the words out loud to my family until later in life. To add insult to the story—or perhaps comic relief—I came out to my family drunker than shit at a female strip club. What can I say? I’ve always had a flair for the dramatics.

I don’t know what had come over me. Actually, I do. I was miserable at the time. Miserable with the guy I was dating (though, he likely would have called it stalking), miserable with my job, miserable with not being able to talk to my family about my real self. Just completely miserable in life. Luckily, I’d found a bar that started serving alcohol at seven in the morning. As a result, I made a list of everyone I needed to call (parents, brother, aunts, uncles, grandparents) and promptly told them through slurred words that I liked men.

Look, before I travel too far down this road of self-pity, I want to make one thing very clear: I’m blessed. Not a lot of people have the support I do, and I’m so grateful for that support. My misery was coming from within myself. And, eventually, life went on and I became less miserable. After all, isn’t that what life is? A constant flow of ups, downs, turns, and if you’re lucky, a morning trip to the strip club?

The first time my mom visited me in San Diego after my big reveal, we didn’t really discuss my news. There wasn’t any sort of awkwardness, just neither one of us bothered to bring it up. Maybe we didn’t need to. This led my best friend—and roommate at the time—to inform me that I had two personas: the real me and the me around my mom. Or, in her blunt language: the real me and the less gay version of me.

All these years later, my best friend’s words have stuck with me. Why? Because I never want to be anyone other than my authentic self. Good, bad, ugly (oh, honey, there’s been lots and lots of ugly), I always want to be me—no matter what. What you see is what you get. No secrets, no surprises, no lies. And at all times and areas in my life. Whether I’m at work, visiting with family or friends, shopping at my local Trader Joe’s, sitting in front of strangers, waiting in line at the DMV, or hell, at the strip club, I. Want. To. Be. Me.

Because I am that way, or at least constantly strive and practice to be that way, I expect other people to be that way, too. Unfortunately, this has led to headaches and heartaches. Many headaches and heartaches.

I will never understand—nor want to understand—why people, specifically gay men, can’t be themselves. Okay, maybe I understand a little bit. Hello, drunk at a female strip club on a Friday morning, coming out to loved ones. Still, why can’t gay men at least be honest and upfront with others about their intentions? Is that so fucking hard? To not play games or give the runaround or blatantly lie?

Life is too damn short. It’s not fair to waste someone else’s time. And it’s definitely not fair to lie to someone, lead them on, keep secrets, and/or cheat. It’s very, very cruel and selfish. Seriously, how do some men do all of these awful things and still manage to look at themselves in the mirror every morning?

It’s sad. It’s depressing. It’s pathetic. It’s infuriating.

Simply put, how do some men walk around with two personas? It drives me krazy. And then men wonder why I am krazy when they’re the ones who literally sat behind the wheel and drove me to the destination.

I’ve been in therapy since September. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right: Why in the fuck did I wait so long to seek treatment? I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that I’ve consistently been putting in the time and working on myself since last fall, and there’s still one big lesson I have yet to master: Just because I think or feel a certain way doesn’t make it right or universal.

For example, I may think sexting is a form of cheating, but others may not.

I may think it’s unnecessary to look at and download porn several times a day when you’re in a relationship, but others may disagree.

I may think it’s wrong to be on Grindr, Scruff, Snapchat, or any app that allows you to chat with other men and receive naked pictures from these men if you’re in a supposedly monogamous relationship, but I might be the only one. (Side note: I really do think—and hope you all agree—that when you’re in that supposedly monogamous relationship you definitely shouldn’t be on Grindr with the tagline, “Sit On My Face.”)

I may think it’s unfair to lie to your partner about being on PrEP, but others may feel differently.

I may think it’s crass and just plain wrong for random guys to show their assholes on Twitter, but . . . You know what? That one is pretty fucked up and everyone should agree with me.

Additionally, if you’re in a relationship, then you probably shouldn’t be following your local Starbucks barista on Twitter or Only Fans and know if he’s circumcised or not.

As I said, I’m still learning this lesson, but I think—I hope, at least—I might be getting closer to grasping it.

Something I’ve had to accept recently is that everyone has his or her own set of values. My values may not—and likely will not—align with everyone else’s values. That has to be okay. I’ve discovered that fighting this will only make me miserable. Who wants to go through life being miserable? Been there, done that. Plenty of times.

The only factor we can control is surrounding ourselves with like-minded people, with people who have the same or similar values as us. Sure, some values can be skewed or compromised on, but some are—and should be—etched in stone. There are boundaries or deal breakers in every situation and relationship. Recognizing those boundaries or deal-breakers is important.

Additionally, these values are why it’s necessary to be honest with everyone from the very beginning of meeting them, so you can avoid a potential problem later on. No lies, no secrets, no hidden agendas. No cheating. No multiple personas. After all, that is the bare minimum of what we owe anybody: the truth. Regardless of what it looks like. As such, we won’t waste their time.

When we don’t tell people the truth, we rob them. We drive them krazy. The same outcomes occur when we don’t tell ourselves the truth. We rob ourselves. We drive ourselves krazy. And for what? What’s the point? All that robbing, all that krazy . . . It’s exhausting and depleting. It’s no way to live.

Again, life is too short.

Life is too damn short to be a liar, a cheater, and a manipulator.

Life is too damn short to gaslight someone, to deceive them of who you are, to hide your true intentions.

Life is too damn short to be anything other than authentic.