“You don’t have kids with the intent of retaining a clean house. Kids are sources of chaos and disorder. Get over that fact. Where does that disorder come from? It’s because they are experimenting with their environment. Everything is new to them.”
— Neil deGrasse Tyson
When I was younger, I had a vision for the way my home would look when I was an adult.
It would look like something from a Michael Mann film — all chrome and steel with clean lines and large windows. And it would be pristine. There would be nothing out of place.
Scientists say that, biologically, adulthood doesn’t truly begin until 30, but socially, culturally, and legally, it’s 18. You’re free to leave the nest, make your own decisions (and mistakes), and take control of your life.
I turned 43 in March.
It’s not a milestone birthday by traditional standards — we Americans love numbers that end in fives and zeroes — but if 18 is the age when we become adults, then that means I’ve been a grownup for a full twenty-five years. A quarter-century.
While it often still doesn’t feel like it, I’ve compiled a list of twenty-five things I’ve learned in the past twenty-five years.
Some people are too talented to be confined to just one lane.
Vincent Edward “Bo” Jackson was the rare two-sport athlete. He could have been a Hall of Famer in both baseball and football.
Lauryn Hill was the rare two-discipline musical artist. She could have had the greatest career as both a rapper and a singer.
They also shared several other traits in common: reaching incredible heights; colleagues accusing them of being difficult; focusing on their families; and, above all, not being interested in living up to the outsized expectations created by their early acts of brilliance.
The tears burst from my nine-year-old’s eyes as she blamed herself for the ramifications of a global pandemic that has lasted for three years. All kids go crazy for Christmas, of course, but my daughter is certainly in the highest percentile of Santa fanatics, so having her holiday plans dashed was especially difficult.
This is the post where I lay out the best things I wrote this year. Maybe, in a year like this when my productivity was lower, it might include everything I wrote. We’ll never know (don’t check).
I thought I was good at managing my time, but having children has made me so much better at it.
That may seem counterintuitive. After all, children suck up all of our time. The moment they finish eating a meal, they’re asking for snacks. They need diaper changes and baths. They’re constantly pulling you somewhere to color or play or read to them. They need to be driven to practice and doctor appointments and friends’ homes. They create an incredible amount of dirty dishes and dirty laundry. They make the house look like it’s been ransacked and looted. They are agents of chaos.
“Having a two-year-old is like having a blender without a lid.”
— Jerry Seinfeld
This is a dispatch from the war. I’m writing this from the trenches, in the heart of the conflict.
After what has felt like hours of intense battle, the rebel soldier has deployed her ultimate weapon, the one that is unleashed when all else fails: standing in the center of the kitchen, screaming at the top of her lungs as droplets of saltwater jump from her eyes.
What could have caused such a reaction? What did the oppressive totalitarian government do to the people to cause this emotionally-charged attack from the rebel?
Everyone knows 2020 was not a typical year. In fact, it was probably the weirdest and most stressful twelve months most of us have ever experienced.
Some of the items I wrote this year were in direct response to what was happening in the world – both in macro and the micro sense – while others could’ve been published any other time.
The biggest change to my writing routine was my output – or lack thereof.
The Passion of Christopher Pierznik 