Chapter 1

SHUT UP AND LISTEN!

“I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen.”

— Ernest Hemingway

Sit down, we have to talk. You don’t know me. We’ve never met. But I know you very well. I know that you don’t sleep through the night (haven’t for months; maybe longer). Your wife has lost all respect for you, and your kids love you, but remain seemingly ignorant of your struggle and despair, consumed as they are in the siren song of social media and basking in the blue light. Work, once a refuge and an exposé of your skills and talents, has become a toxic stew of self-aggrandizing adult toddlers engaged in political gamesmanship. There, winners and losers are chosen by Machiavellian masters who always have a way of rationalizing the otherwise inexplicable success of less competent and talented peers, together with the concomitant failure and demise of smart, productive, hardworking (and formerly promising) friends and colleagues who disappear into the ether, never to be heard from again. This wasn’t your plan, and this wasn’t what you were promised growing up. “Study hard and work hard and you will have a great career and be respected and rewarded accordingly.” Or this one: “Be kind, respectful and deferential and the right person will come along and love you for who you are.” You remember those gems, right? How’s that working out for ya? After all, you’re not providing all of the creature comforts your spouse expects “at this stage of life.” I mean, look around you. Look at how big the neighbor’s house is. John’s a neurosurgeon. Did you know that? See how his kids wave goodbye to him adorned in their private school uniforms? Your wife ran into his wife at the coffee shop last week: “She looks amazing! He really knows how to take care of her. It must be nice.” And how’s work going for ya? Passed over again? Still kicking yourself every day for taking that job ten years ago instead of following your passion, anchored now by a jumbo mortgage and the increasing needs and wants of your family? Still, you’ve done pretty well, right? You took a big leap and bought a home in an expensive town. Your kids go to great public schools, and you drive a nicer car than your dad ever did. And, despite its tribulations, your career has afforded you a lifestyle better than 99% of the planet’s population. You should be grateful. No one’s life is perfect, and yours is better than most, right? You have no reason to complain.

You give a shallow sigh and put your hand on your neck and look up at the sky, and I know exactly what you’re thinking. It’s a familiar pattern. The cumulative stress and anxiety bubbles underneath, and emotional outbursts pop through in an irregular, tectonic pattern. Today’s catalyst was an exasperated text message from your spouse responding to your earlier announcement that you couldn’t do the home addition this year because of a less than expected bonus. “We should move out of this town. We don’t belong here with all of these other people. I only moved here because of you!” As her words reverberate through your cluttered mind, you instinctively take a bite of Proust’s madeleine and think back to a life before your career, and before your marriage. Back then, everything seemed possible. You had dreams and aspirations for yourself. There was no social media back then, no imaginary life cobbled together with staged photos portraying a false mosaic. Back then, the mind was the domain of fantasy and imagination, and it belonged to you and no one else. You had big plans. You were going to do great things. You were going to heed Steve Jobs’ call and “Put a dent in the universe.” What happened to those dreams? “Life happened,” or so you tell yourself. You vacillate back and forth, feeling both sadness and despair for having abandoned that image you had for your life and then catching yourself with the admonition that “it was time to grow up, take responsibility and become an adult!” That ball bounces back and forth in your mind, but there’s no winner in that cognitive tennis game. Thinking back to an idealized past is a brief holiday; it’s ephemeral and it just reminds you of what you’ve lost. On the other hand, thinking about the present fills you with anxiety and dread, as you spend your time just waiting for the next shoe to drop. As the game continues, it takes its toll on you physically, emotionally and spiritually. You have trouble getting out of bed in the morning. You’ve gained weight, and bullshit food and bottles of wine disappear faster than a dress on prom night. You’ve lost all enthusiasm for your hobbies, and you don’t see much of your mom or dad or extended family or friends. Prayer? On a good Sunday, you sit in church half listening to the hum of the microphone, mostly distracted by all of the things you need to do at the office on Monday and the monster of a supervisor who can’t wait to pounce all over you after you finally race to your office from the elevator following a long and tedious commute. Other people see your decline, but they’re either too afraid to talk to you about it, or too busy basking in the schadenfreude. All the while, you sit and you stew. Like the boiling frog, you don’t quite know that it’s happening. But you linger. You boil.

Surprised by my observations? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. The truth is, however, that I’ve seen right through you. You wear a mask, and you try and pretend like this isn’t happening to you. Hour after hour, day after day and year after year, you put on a good face. You keep up appearances, but all the while your battery continues to drain, and every day is harder than the one before. Your fire is growing dim, and the night will soon fall. How do I see it? Am I a shrink? Definitely not. Am I an expert in human behavior? Hardly. Do I have mystical powers of perception? Nope. I wouldn’t know a chakra from a Chaka Khan. I can see it because I’ve lived it. I’ve been exactly where you are right now. And, just like old Marley, I’m here to try and spare you from letting the same chains drag you down. I don’t want you to go where I went. I don’t want you to see the things I’ve seen. I want you to feel better. I want you to think better. I want you to be better!

Why do I care? Partially, it’s because I was raised to care. You and I grew up at a time when we still had heroes that we tried to emulate. They lived on movie screens and in books, and they lived in our communities. Of course, if you were really lucky like me, they also lived in your family. They challenged us to do more and to be more. Time and space were relative, but right and wrong was not and we were taught to care about other people, plain and simple. The other reason is that I know very well what happens when you ignore what you’re going through—when you dismiss it, when you minimize it, and pretend that it’s not happening. Still don’t believe I want to help you? Well look, imagine you’re driving down a two-lane road with traffic moving in both directions. Behind you, a rockslide cascades down and blocks the road, as shrapnel dents your car, scaring the living hell out of you. Do you really drive on and NOT flash your lights at the oncoming traffic? Do you really not warn them about the hazards ahead and, instead, let them drive full speed into that chaos? Of course you don’t, and that’s precisely why I’m here. I want you to stop and change direction before it’s too late.

You still don’t seem convinced. Maybe you’re cynical, or a bit suspicious. I’ve been a lawyer for over 20 years. I get it. If I’m not suspicious of people, then I’m not doing my job. You? You’re a grown man and well educated, whether by schooling or life or both. Even if I am being sincere, what do I possibly have of value to teach you, and why should you listen to me? What good will it do? These are fair questions, compadre. I don’t have any voodoo or magic for you; no pixie dust here. I just have a story to tell you and, if you pay attention, there just might be something of value in there that can help you.

Now for a disclaimer. I can’t wave a wand and make everything better for you. I wish I could, believe me. The truth is, you need to accept responsibility for your life. Does your wife belittle you? Does she talk down about you in front of friends, family and even your own children? What about your boss? Is he a tyrant? Are you scared every time you walk in the door or every time his name pops up on the phone or your inbox? The easy thing to do is to blame them. It’s easy to talk about how you’re being emotionally abused by your partner. You’ve done that, haven’t you? I mean, when you sneak behind her back and go hang out with a friend or two (all the while worried about your phone buzzing with her jarring inquiries about your whereabouts), you spend a shit ton of time talking about her. And your buddies? Well some of them are getting tired of hearing about it, and others are equally frustrated because they’ve told you time and time again that you have to get the fuck out of there, but you don’t. And work? You know what happened. You took the job and chose this career because you were getting married, and this was the most predictable path to making a living and securing a future for you, your partner and your future family. Of course, you’ve been mistreated and you wake up resentful and fearful every morning about going into work. But here’s the deal. You did this to yourself. Let that sink in. You did it! It’s not the hand of fate. It’s not even evil or vindictive people or circumstances. It’s you. You know the old adage: “Give a man a fish and feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime?” That was probably on a poster in the guidance counselor’s office, right? Well, think of it this way. Dumping your wife and quitting your job might make you feel better and solve some immediate problems. However, they don’t solve the most important problem which is: how the hell did you let this happen in the first place? What was it about YOU that attracted you to negative people and kept you in negative relationships or circumstances? What was it about your personality that caused you to abandon your passions and to live someone else’s life? What is it? What, dammit! You have got to start thinking about that answer. That is absolutely critical. And, once you do, here’s the really good news-things can really begin to change for the better. As a very good friend of our family, Dr. Colin Pech, once told me: “We all build our own prisons,” and you need to break out of yours. Me? I’m going to hand you the key.

Have I piqued your interest even slightly? Kinda, sorta, maybe? I’ll take it. As my mom would say, “It’s all good.” So, what story am I here to tell you? Well, it’s not a fairy tale because it’s all true. All of it. And I’ve never told the whole story to anyone else before. You’re the first to hear it, and I have to say, I’m a little nervous about that. There are some embarrassing details here that I’ve never mentioned to anyone. Still, that’s not important. What is important is that you’re failing. You’re dying inside, and it’s a slow, steady and painful death, and it’s not necessary or inevitable. So, let’s shut that down right now. I’m going to be tough on you, but that’s because I’m not going to give up on you.

Now, take a deep breath and relax yourself. It’s time to go learn how to fish.