2025: the year I stopped worrying

And fell in love with nothingness

It seems dear reader, that I am a liar.

Last night I promised that I would dive deeply into the depravity of the Porta potty conspiracy.

But I’ve flip-flopped and the porta potty post is going to be delayed by a day.

Instead, for New Years, I’m going to share with you the most important thing I’ve learned this year.

In a sentence?

I am nobody.

That’s it.

I’m no one. Nobody. I’m now irrelevant and unimportant.

And that dear reader is fucking fantastic.

When I started this foolsletter almost five years ago I was addicted to some of the platitudes and lies of Mr. Seth Godin.

Make yourself irreplaceable. Strive to have an impact. Change the world. Become so present that they’d miss you if you were gone.

This maxim was everywhere in my life. As a therapist, I stove to care for people, to support them and have a profound and positive impact in the lives of others.

Now?

I’m fully freed from that profession.

Now I’m really good at doing work that is absolutely unimportant.

I’m a fucking tour guide. It doesn’t really matter if people have a great time in our city. It doesn’t matter if people meet me. It doesn’t matter if I make people laugh or if I discuss historical figures in non-revisionist ways that would make the activist class shudder.

No one dies.

No one divorces.

No animals are harmed in the making of this life.

Well… unless you count the pigs and the cows and the sheep who die for my bacon, burgers and lamb chops.

I was once called at eleven at night by a grief stricken mother. I don’t know what made me answer the phone but I just did.

Her son had attempted to take his life. She wanted me to do something. At the time I was half lit and miles into the woods on a bike ride.

It took weeks to shake that phone call.

At the time, I felt proud of what I did. I also came home for days telling Laura that despite having a great life, I for some reason just didn’t seem to have a will to live.

That experience clung to me.

So yeah, the therapy work got pretty old pretty fast.

That’s the kind of meaning people clap for.

And that work was eating me alive.

This was the year that I discovered my next calling: tour guide.

And lately as a stop gap while I grow my career as a guide, I’ve been spending my time delivering packages with Ricky.

There I’ve learned that like Arya in Game of Thrones, I’m a faceless man. I’m nobody. I do not matter. This work doesn’t matter. The shit I deliver? Groceries, cell phones, lap tops and car parts?

It’s just shit in boxes. It doesn’t matter either.

And knowing that who I am and what I do doesn’t matter is ultimately the purest form of freedom I’ve ever experienced.

I’m semi retired. Sure I used to do important work.

Now, I’m freed from responsibility.

Seth used to say that accountability is done to you and responsibility is something that you choose.

So, freedom doesn’t come from meaning more or being more on the hook by choosing more responsibility. Freedom comes from choosing less.

It’s fucking glorious. I mean less to fewer people.

Seth said that the only scarce things are time and attention.

Now these are spent on those who really matter: My father. My mother. My sister. My aging Nanny.

And of course, Laura and our two kids. Now that neither myself nor my work are important my priorities are clear: Family.

They are important. Boxes and other people’s emotional problems?

Neither have much weight with me these days.

There are days that I feel for Rick though.

He’s a young man with an urge to prove something - to go slay some dragons.

Delivering packages isn’t beneath him. Like Mike Rowe, I believe in the nobility of work and providing for yourself.

It’s just that Ricky has intelligence, education and ambition. He’s three quarters of the way there. He’s got the car. He’s got the gas. He’s got the keys.

But without direction?

He’s running circles around the Valley wondering where he should go and what he should do.

My thoughts?

It doesn’t matter. Just do something.

People get stuck when they insist on meaning something. They get stuck when they need to make a difference.

The reality?

You’ll die and disappear without a trace.

For some, this may be depressing.

But if you truly lean into this?

It’s a pathway to freedom.

Nothing matters except that which you choose to matter.

And right now?

I choose fart jokes.

Stay stinky you insignificant specks of humanity!

And come back tomorrow for more on Ricky’s porta potty conspiracy theory.