I Should Get Out More

It gets tough to do every month. Not a complaint, just an observation.

I’ve been at this for over five years now and truth be told, it gets tougher and tougher to pump these out each month. Hindsight being 20/20, maybe I should have considered spreading it out to a bi-monthly or quarterly, but foster care demands constant attention. My constant attention.

There are the “Why me?” days. They’re rare. I think we all have them but I have no coworkers around me so I can’t be certain. Not to jump topic (like I always do), but that’s a big issue for me. I’m not really a Hermit by nature. I like people, I swear I do, but this gig keeps me in the office for far more than I’d like. Because I’m stuck here people think I’m antisocial or bothered by being around people. That’s just not the case.

I’m a social butterfly when the weight of the world isn’t crushing my shoulders (a little dramatic, yeah?).

Putting aside that Hillary Swank-like statement, I like having people around me. I’ve always been that way. As a teen, I’d spend countless hours at the basketball courts or with my small circle of friends. I was never alone. That trend was only amplified when I aged out and had my first apartment. My roommate was quiet but sociable and our place was always packed with people.

Weekday or weeknight, ours was the place to be. May have contributed to my disinterest in college but I have no regrets. Being around friends has always been my favorite place to be. Okay, about now friends of mine are reading this and calling “bullshit” (sorry if you are word sensitive, that’s what we call it).

I need to explain myself. I have ADHD, 3 kids, a wife and a national magazine. My plate is kind of full. Over the last 5 years, this combination of responsibilities has made me a paranoid (mildly), obsessive (overly), reclusive (I fear being away from the computer), antisocial (I can manage an hour outside of the office) and in a constant hurry (unnecessarily).

Where once was a guy who could hang around for hours discussing the wasteful expense the Storm Troopers were to the Empire, or whether DMX has a throat cold or really talks that way, now has been replaced by a seemingly nervous, rushed, polite enough, guy who wants to be anywhere else. I don’t. I want to be around people and enjoy meaningless conversations on asinine topics…I think I forgot how.

My wife, Trisha, can get me out in the world and KIND OF control my behavior. Example? Okay, when I go somewhere by myself, let’s say a visit to a friend or family member's house. That’s an hour visit. At best. I’ve been known to drive 2 hours and stay 30 minutes. Trisha can get me to stay at that place for a solid hour and even a bit longer if I’m not too antsy. I don’t get it and I know it’s silly as all get out.

My life in general, is silly. I take very few things seriously. I joke constantly. Watch more movies than Siskel or Ebert. Try to keep the heaviness and darkness of this job off my skin. It’s not the easiest thing to do. Some of the stories I hear…wow. But you try to shake it off and keep a good sense of self. I’m doing my best at that but I’m failing in regards to using socializing as a tool to do it.

No one likes to be alone for too long. That’s probably why foster care is so traumatic for so many. The solitude that comes with care has left a trail of broken souls in its’ path. I for one enjoy the solitude of a long car trip. That time, when there’s no other choice but to be still and focus on the road ahead, has become the only time when my mind is free. But back to socializing as a tool. The thing I miss most about having a regular job was the interaction. I got nothin. Facebook is my breakroom. Social media folks are my coworkers. My laptop is both my work and my breakroom. It’s friggin weird!

Every job is weird but you’ve got people around you who share the experience. Being alone makes it so there is no one to bounce anything off. If not for Trish I wouldn’t know if I were odd or not. She lets me know when I start sounding like a mad scientist. This uncertainty about whether or not I’m strange now adds to the newly developed social anxiety.

If you’ve read one of my columns before, you’re waiting for me to tie all this together in a fancy bow 80’s sitcom style…not sure if I’m gonna be able to pull that one off. I know what you’re saying, “Whatchu talkin bout Willis?”, no? Just me? Okay then. I’m not sure I can pull it all together because much like my social anxiety, this column has gotten away from me.

I should add some clarity to this bleak portrait of solitude I’ve painted for you. My reclusiveness isn’t at a Howard Hughes (he was the subject of “The Aviator” for you kids). I mean, there aren’t mason jars lining the wall of my office. I’m not washing my hands a million times a day. I do talk to myself but I’m a talkative guy. My reclusiveness is at like a pre-Hoarders type. I get out of here occasionally. Normally it’s a big cross country thing where I meet a mess of people and check in with folks I already know. That’s a big ole splash of cold water to the face when they happen. I like it more than I should but it wouldn’t hurt to have some more consistent friends that lived close enough to see without having an anxiety attack.

Maybe I take this particular part of my life too serious. In a life full of levity, something has to be taken seriously, no? As I mentioned, outside of family and the magazine, I take very little too seriously. It suits me. Maybe a measured version of how I live the rest of my life is needed to take some of the pressure of me, get me out in the world a little more.

I also toy with the idea of getting a regular part-time job. I think it would be good for me but bad for the magazine. It should take me about six weeks for me to put these issues together. I do it in three. And I have an open story spot in every issue, in case something timely or important should pop up within the month that I can cover. That means I get ¾ of the mag done by the end of the second week of the month. And then I try to do all the business-y stuff for the magazine, keep relationships alive, call for new stories and advertisers, balance books, you know, the boring stuff. The middle of the third week is all editing what’s already done. The end of that week, I fill the empty story space. The last week is full of editing and touchups, checking subscriber lists and reassuring myself- Al Franken style, that I’m indeed, “Good enough, smart enough and people like me!”.

When exactly can I have friends? I can barely make sure my family still likes me! (That was waaay dramatic)

That part of the gig aside, I love this job. I love the people. I love kids getting adopted. I love people reaching out to me to share their aging out resources. I love when Alumni share their victories with me. I love when I can give a pep talk to someone who’s having a tough time. I love they win. I love when you win. I love when you get to do your job the right way and the results are successful. I love opening a new box of issues. I love reactions to a social media post. I love this gig.

Because of that love, I have embraced my mildly reclusive life. I deal with the high price of print. The lack of interaction with friends. The missed family events. The begging folks for advertising money. I love this gig enough, moreover, I think it’s important enough, to deal with the downside of it all.

Alright, I let you get to the issue. I think it’s a pretty good one. At least that’s what I told myself in the mirror!

Enjoy the issue.