Dear Readers,
As many of you know—assuming you met me, or read this blog, before my, say, 28th birthday, aka the rough point and time in my life when I realized it was possible for a grownish man with my voluminous intellect and unwavering moral compass to potentially, you know, be wrong about stuff—I used to be a different person than I was today. I was bolder, and rasher, and more bombastic. I was even less willing and able to see the other side of an argument. At one point, about a year ago, I hugged my older brother as a way of thanking him for planning my bachelor party and ever came close to saying the words” I loved you” out loud in his direction, before I realized how embarrassing such an intense emotional outburst would be. 10 years earlier, I had told one person that I loved them. And that was Marshall Faulk. Through a tweet. That for many different reasons, has since been deleted.
As many of you know—assuming you met me, or read this blog, before my, say, 28th birthday, aka the rough point and time in my life when I realized it was possible for a grownish man with my voluminous intellect and unwavering moral compass to potentially, you know, be wrong about stuff—I used to be a different person than I was today. I was bolder, and rasher, and more bombastic. I was even less willing and able to see the other side of an argument. At one point, about a year ago, I hugged my older brother as a way of thanking him for planning my bachelor party and ever came close to saying the words” I loved you” out loud in his direction, before I realized how embarrassing such an intense emotional outburst would be. 10 years earlier, I had told one person that I loved them. And that was Marshall Faulk. Through a tweet. That for many different reasons, has since been deleted.
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