Rule #39: Live a Life of Abundance

A good friend and long-time mentor, Mike Miles, dropped me a note today. We were catching up on each other’s adventures. As we get older, good friends become even more important—they’re the glue that holds us together when the world tries to pull us apart. They should be cherished.

Mike mentioned something that struck a chord with me: he’s moving away from a life of scarcity. That phrase lingered. It made me think—if you’re moving away from scarcity, what are you moving toward, and why?

The Scarcity Mindset

Scarcity is what many of us are taught early in life.

We’re told to accumulate and prepare. To not waste. Be the prudent ant, not the grasshopper fiddling away the summer. Scarcity is about building wealth, stability, and security. It’s making smart long-term choices and being ready for life’s inevitable curveballs.

In the Gordon Gekko view of the world, “Greed is good.” Scarcity thinking assumes the world is one big pie—and if someone else takes a bigger slice, there’s less left for you. So you’d better grab yours, and fast.

It’s the voice that tells you to hoard toilet paper, take the biggest piece of chicken, and guard your time, money, and energy like a fortress. It can keep you safe—but it also makes you small.

The Smallness of Scarcity

Scarcity makes you build walls. Every interaction becomes a transaction: What’s in it for me? Relationships become conditional. Trust becomes rare.

When your worldview is driven by fear and self-preservation, you shrink your circle. You lose out on shared joy, deep connection, and the spontaneous moments that make life rich.

Yes—people will take advantage of you. That’s real. But living to avoid being scammed is like never swimming to avoid drowning. You stay dry—but you miss the ocean.

Real Life Examples: Choosing Abundance Anyway

Take Bobbi, for example. She was leaving Target when she saw a man playing violin with a small child beside him. Christmas songs. Heartfelt. She was moved and dropped a $20 bill in his tip jar.

Later, she found out it was a scam—the music was recorded, and the “violinist” was part of a widespread ruse. She was disappointed, sure. But it didn’t take away her joy. Her act wasn’t about what she got—it was about what she gave. That $20 still held value to her.

She remained her abundant self.

Or Greg, one of my business partners. He was in New York, rushing to a dinner with an important client when a panhandler approached. Greg had only a $100 bill. He hesitated—but then said, what the hell, and gave it to him.

The panhandler was stunned. Grateful. During dinner, everything went well. But when they left the restaurant, the same man spotted Greg and yelled across the street, “That’s him! The most generous man in New York!”

His clients were wide-eyed, smiling. Greg didn’t plan it. But in choosing abundance, he gained something priceless: connection, perception, and a great story.

The Power of Living Large

Living abundantly means living larger—not in size, but in spirit.

It’s about giving your time, energy, and money with no strings attached. It’s not about ROI—it’s about the joy of the moment. It’s about choosing connection over suspicion, generosity over self-protection, and possibility over fear.

Because here’s the truth: when life feels overwhelming and we’re stuck in our own problems, the most effective path forward is to help someone else.

Abundance is the antidote to helplessness.

The Risk is Real—But So Is the Reward

Yes, living abundantly increases your chance of loss.

You’ll be taken advantage of. You’ll be misunderstood. You’ll sometimes feel foolish.

But the gains—in joy, connection, reputation, and meaning—grow exponentially. When you focus on others, you grow. When you give freely, you receive things money can’t buy.

Life can be hard. Some people respond to that by becoming bitter or cruel. But the more you choose abundance, the smaller those people’s influence becomes.

Final Thought

Living a generous, open life won’t always protect you—but it will enlarge you. And when you live large, when you stay open, when you give without fear—you not only change the lives of others.

You change your own.

Love, Dad

Rule #123: VEGAS, Baby

Just got back from a Thanksgiving trip to Vegas with the family.

I’ve been to Sin City more times than I can count—but only recently have I started to get it.

Here’s the truth:
Vegas isn’t a vacation.
It’s a mirror. A test. A life lesson wrapped in neon.

Vegas is an adult playground engineered for excess.
It’s where roller coasters, strip clubs, blackjack tables, five-star meals, and 3AM dim sum all exist on the same block.
It’s Disneyland with fewer kids and more questionable decisions.

I love it. I really do.

But here’s the thing: Vegas is life, on fast-forward.
All your choices, all your flaws, all your impulses—accelerated.

After 30+ visits, here’s what I’ve learned:

Vegas will give you everything—sex, drugs, danger, food, thrill, escape.
But if you try to take it all? It will chew you up and spit you out.

You need a philosophy to survive Vegas.
A plan. A budget. A sense of self-control.
Because Vegas doesn’t care who you are. It’ll bankrupt billionaires and fry the sober.

Vegas isn’t a city. It’s a state of mind.

Also? Don’t live there. Seriously.
I once thought about buying property in Vegas. Then I realized I’d never be able to drive past a casino without wandering in.
Four nights is my limit.

• Three is too short.

• Five starts to corrupt your soul and your bank account.

Vegas is a four-night town. Full stop.

Now here’s the gold:
Don’t go to Vegas for a bachelor party.
Go with your significant other.

If you want to know who you’re really marrying—take them to Vegas for four days.
You’ll find out fast:

• If they’re an alcoholic? You’ll know in 48 hours.

• Drug problems? Same.

• Sex addiction? Yep. Vegas doesn’t hide these things—it spotlights them.

But the real revelations?
They come when you’re tired. Hungover. Waiting in line. Hitting the ATM again. When the glamor fades and the city has its boot on your neck.

That’s when character shows up.

Do they stay kind? Thoughtful? Present?
Do they plan things you both enjoy—or just chase their own thrill?
Do they manage money—or burn through it like it’s a TikTok trend?

Vegas will tell you everything you need to know about someone.

If you still like—and love—each other after 80 hours in that city, you’ve got something real.

Vegas is life—just compressed.

All the distractions. All the temptations. All the pressure.

You’ll either cook into something beautiful—or explode.

Either way, you’ll learn.

And maybe the most important lesson of all:

It’s not about winning.
It’s about surviving.
And enjoying the damn moment.

Because even with the best plan, the best mindset, the best odds—the house always wins.

So laugh. Eat. Lose money at the craps table and high-five strangers anyway.

Because in life and in Vegas:

• No one wins forever.

• No one gets out alive.

• And what matters is how you play—and who you’re playing with.

Be smart. Be safe. And visit Vegas.
Just don’t try to conquer it.

You’ll lose.

But damn, what a ride.

Love, Dad

Rule #98: Always Brine the Bird

Life is complicated and hard. Some of what I write in this blog is meant to simplify and focus your choices. I try to be profound. But with time—and when I’m long gone—you may find these are just the ramblings of a delusional old man.

Still, sprinkled among these life rules I leave for my kids are a few absolutes—things I am certain of beyond a doubt. This is one of them:

Always brine your bird.

As a young man, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get married. I definitely wasn’t thinking I’d be the father of six kids. But life, as it tends to do, happened. I just followed where the universe seemed to be guiding me.

Along the way, I picked up some survival skills—cooking among them. And as it turns out, I really enjoy it. Like a hack comedian, I love playing to a big room. The more people I cook for, the better I think I do.

Turkey is one of those foods that screams family and gathering. Nobody thinks to themselves on a Tuesday at 5 p.m., “You know what sounds good? Let’s roast a whole turkey and watch Yellowstone.” Turkey is for company.

And company requires prep—you clean the bathrooms, declutter the house, and plan a meal worthy of stretchy pants. That’s where turkey comes in. It’s warm, abundant, and—when done right—juicy. People can bring their own sides, but turkey is always center stage.

And when that turkey hits the table, it better sing. If not, you risk your guests swinging by Taco Bell on the way home.

So how do you make sure that bird doesn’t disappoint?

You brine it.

No matter the brand—fresh or frozen—the most critical step is prep. Specifically, brining. Even if it’s just for four hours (though 24 is ideal), it makes all the difference.

Poultry, turkey especially, can be bland. It dries out easily in the cooking process. If you can, smoke it (trust me). But no matter how you cook it, brining is key.

And as with all things in life—relationships, work, family—it’s the prep time that matters.

Life can be bland if you don’t take the time to season it. We have to add spice, bring flavor, find joy. This is true for turkeys—and also for marriages, parenting, and yes, foot rubs. But that’s another rule…

My Go-To Citrus Brine Recipe:

• 1 cup sea salt

• 1 lemon, cut into wedges

• 1 orange, cut into wedges

• 1 medium onion, cut into wedges

• 3 cloves garlic (because the soul is made of garlic)

• 4 bay leaves

• 1 tbsp dried thyme

• 1½ gallons of water

• 1 cup bourbon (because why the hell not?)

• ½ cup sugar

Start with a fully defrosted bird. Mix the ingredients and submerge the turkey in a bucket or large container. Toss in about ½ cup of ice and refrigerate.

Time is the secret ingredient—for turkey, business, and a good sex life. Don’t rush it. Don’t overdo it. At least 4 hours, no more than 24.

After brining, remove the bird and pat it dry. Add your favorite dry rub. This is where your personal touch matters. I like using rosemary and thyme, and coating the bird in a mix of mayo and butter. Yes, mayo. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it—it’s perfect for smoking and gives a beautiful golden brown.

Cooking a turkey also means carving and presentation. This is the perfect time to reflect. On the gifts of friends and family. The joy of a shared meal. The blessing of being together.

That’s what the bird is really about.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Love,
Dad

Rule #279: Life Is Complicated

(aka The Lifetime Channel Rule)

As the holiday season rolls in, so does one of the most dangerous times of the year:

Lifetime Holiday Movie Season.

You know the formula: perfect-looking people face just the right amount of struggle, find inner strength, rediscover love, and wrap it all up—neatly and beautifully—in two hours (with commercials). The good guys win. The bad guys get what’s coming. Love conquers all.

But here’s the truth: Life is unfair. So stop chasing perfection.

I’ll be honest—I was kind of glad when Lori Loughlin went to jail. Not for the college admissions mess, but for all the damage she did through those polished Lifetime storylines. Those movies sell people a fantasy: a Martha Stewart holiday with perfectly folded napkins, a crackling fire, and a life where everyone learns their lesson in time for the happy ending.

But real-life Martha?
She went to prison for insider trading. She’s twice divorced. She now sells weed gummies with Snoop Dogg.
And she’s worth $400 million.

By every Lifetime measure, she should be losing.

She’s not.

Where’s the justice? Where’s the clean resolution? Why do the bad guys keep winning?

People probably look at my life—Michelob Ultra in hand, trail of bad decisions behind me—and wonder the same. But I’ve learned something in 62 years:

Perfection is a lie.
Karma doesn’t always clock in on time.
And you don’t get what you deserve—you get what you work through.

Look at Trump. Clinton. Tiger Woods.
They’ve done terrible things—and they’re still rich, powerful, and winning.

It doesn’t make sense.
Because life doesn’t make sense.

I’ve peeked under enough covers—literally and figuratively—to know what’s really going on in people’s lives. Infidelity. Addiction. Abuse. Secret families (four funerals, four discoveries). Real life isn’t glossy. It’s messy, painful, and deeply unfair.

But here’s how you survive it:

You stop chasing perfect.
You start chasing real.

That means looking past image and focusing on behavior.
How do people treat others?
Do they take responsibility?
Do they show up?

When I divorced, I didn’t argue about child support or assets. I paid what needed paying. I stayed involved. I made sure my kids got to college and knew I was in their corner.

Does that make me a great guy?
No.
Does that make me right in the marriage?
Also no.

But it was the right action. And that’s what matters.

In a world where the bad guys often win and the good guys fall short, here’s my advice:

• Don’t get consumed by the unfairness.

• Don’t idolize perfection—it’s manufactured.

• Set your own moral lines.

• Demand kindness and respect, always.

• Walk away when people cross your values—even if they look like they “have it all.”

• Focus on being there, not being perfect.

Because showing up after failure?
That’s more Lifetime-worthy than any scripted happy ending.

Life is unfair. So stop chasing perfection.
Start chasing what’s healthy. What’s real. What makes you better, not what makes you look good.

Because Lifetime movies promise love conquers all in 120 minutes.
Real life asks you to show up every damn day—flawed, late, hungover, broke—but still showing up.
And that? That’s the only real happy ending there is.

Love, Dad

Rule #32: The Power of 15 Minutes

I’ve started a dozen companies, sold them, and been asked countless times, “What’s the secret to success?” I wish there was some magic investment, a secret course, or a shortcut I could hand my kids to jumpstart their journey. But the truth is simpler — it all comes down to just 15 minutes.

The Workplace Reality

In my first real full-time job at Harleysville Insurance, I noticed something telling: nearly everyone showed up right at 8:30 a.m. and left just as the clock hit 5 p.m. Maybe a few came early or stayed late, but 99% of the people were gone by 5:15.

The executives? They didn’t burn the midnight oil every night. Instead, they put in a little more than the masses — a few minutes extra in the morning, a few after hours. So I made a choice: never leave before I finished what I was doing and always tidy my desk for the next day. Just those extra minutes at the start and end made me stand out. It showed my bosses I cared — and they noticed.

And it wasn’t just the work. The relationships mattered, too. Stopping at Dunkin’ for two coffees instead of one and offering the extra to a boss or coworker? That small gesture built rapport and showed I was invested. It’s the 15 minutes, the coffee, the little differences that set you apart.

The Tom Brady Effect

Tom Brady isn’t the fastest. He’s not the strongest arm. He doesn’t have the flashy agility of younger quarterbacks. But he has one thing the others don’t — relentless, consistent effort over time.

During the pandemic, while many paused or slowed down, Brady was training, honing his craft. He shows up every day, puts in that extra 15 minutes on and off the field, and proves that marginal gains lead to monumental success. That’s why he’s the GOAT with 600+ wins.

Sure, I used to hate him — the face of everything I resented in sports. But now, I respect him deeply. His work ethic, his commitment, his refusal to settle for “good enough” — those are the very essence of the 15-minute rule.

He earns the respect of his teammates not by grand speeches but by showing up, by pushing just a little harder, a little longer, a little smarter than everyone else.

The Family Connection

This rule applies even more clearly to the people who matter most — your family.

They don’t need your time in big chunks. What they crave — what they respect — is your focused, undivided attention. Fifteen minutes of genuine connection with your partner or your kids each day can change everything.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed, to think you don’t have time. But those small, consistent moments build respect, trust, and love. They create a foundation where everything else in life becomes possible.

Why It Matters

Because at the end of the day, it’s not the hours you put in, but the quality and consistency of those minutes. Respect isn’t given; it’s earned — through the little things, the extra effort, the presence.

Closing Thought:

“You don’t need to be the fastest, the loudest, or the most talented. You just need to be the one who’s willing to give the extra 15 minutes. Because after you have their respect, all things are possible. Without it, even the biggest wins will feel empty and meaningless.”

Love, Dad

Rule #42: Ask for Help

One of the things I’ve noticed while developing this list of “life rules” is that the most important ones are usually the simplest. They cut through the noise of life with a clarity that feels self-evident. This is one of those rules.

The Health of a Family Is in the Asking

In the past week, 4 of my 6 children have come to Bobbi and me for some sort of help. That might make you think our family is in crisis or failing—but it’s actually a sign of health.

Failure would be family members suffering alone, spiraling into bigger problems. Strength is found in connection.

The Myth of Rugged Individualism

In the United States, we glorify a culture of “rugged individualism.” It’s the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps,” “put on your big girl panties,” “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherf***er” philosophy that gets reinforced as quintessentially American.

And while self-reliance has value, it can easily lead us down the wrong road when taken too far. Sometimes… Tony needs to see a shrink.

You can’t do it all alone. No one can.

We Were Built to Help Each Other

Since the days we were swinging monkeys in trees, we’ve been social animals. We survive and thrive through interaction. We weren’t meant to be the John Waynes or John McClanes of the animal kingdom. We were meant to rely on one another.

It’s through interaction that we learn, grow, and overcome.

The Snowball Effect: What I Tell My Kids

As a father, my greatest fear is that my children will feel lost and alone. That they won’t realize how wonderful they are—or how great life can be.

Before each kid left for college, I gave them all the same talk: The Snowball Effect Lecture.

I told them that when they get to college, they’ll face a thousand new distractions—roommates, parties, relationships, responsibilities. It will come hurtling at them at 100 mph when they least expect it. A blizzard of distractions pulling them in every direction, burying them in a drift of despair.

And I tell them this:

It’s not a question of if the storm will come. It’s a question of when.

Maybe it’ll be after failing your first biology exam (that’s when it hit me). Or when you realize you’re four weeks behind on a project that’s due in two days.

But that storm is coming.

The Most Important Skill: Asking for Help

When it comes, you need to remember this: Ask for help.

Don’t let the snowballs start rolling. Because the longer they roll, the bigger they get. Eventually, they’ll run you over.

Before you even step on campus, start thinking about who you’ll call and how you’ll ask. Learn the campus support systems—tutoring centers, mental health resources, crisis lines. Put them in your phone before you ever need them.

And remember this: Don’t be ashamed of failure. Focus on recovery.

“To err is human; to recover, divine.”
You can’t avoid the weather. It comes for all of us.
But you can prepare. You can recover.

Look for the Helpers

When Mr. Rogers was a child, he struggled to understand the terrible things he saw happening in the world. His mother gave him this advice:

“Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

I take that one step further: You have to ask those people for help.

Even in fiction, this truth holds. As J.K. Rowling wrote in The Deathly Hallows:

“Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”
Dumbledore was one wise dude.

The Joy of Watching My Kids Help Each Other

Some of my proudest moments in life are happening now—when I see my children helping each other. I see them sharing their problems and secrets. Rallying to a sibling’s side when things get tough.

They’ve learned what I hoped they would:
Help will be given to those who ask.

Final Word

Life is hard—but it’s also wonderful. Sometimes, it’s really f***ing hard. Sometimes the snow won’t stop falling, and the snowball is coming right for you.

But it always stops.

Look for the helpers.
Especially your brothers and sisters.
Because help will always be given.

You just need to ask.

Love, Dad

Love, Dad

Bob Goes to Town – Podcasting 101

As part of the aging process, there are moments when you realize you’re missing a lot of the cultural changes in the world. I used to laugh at my father’s lack of understanding of basic websites and search engines. He carried maps in his car until he could no longer drive, rather than learn how to use navigation apps like Waze.

It wasn’t that he was resistant to change—it was just that he was going 35 mph on the expressway while everyone else had already passed him by. It’s not avoidance, but neglect, that lets you fall behind.

In recent weeks, I’ve been on the fringe of conversations between my children discussing podcasts…and I realized that I’ve become my father, rummaging in the glove compartment for a map of Florida. There are parts of this new universe where I am clearly in the slow lane, and my kids are honking as they speed past me.

There are two solutions to lagging behavior:

1. Get off the expressway and stay on the backroads during daylight, searching for good diners and early bird specials.

2. Or, be bold and take a risk—picking up speed and moving with the traffic.

When we moved to Florida in 2017, I was 57 years old and very comfortable with my life in Pennsylvania. Wawa was close, roads were all familiar, and friends were just a phone call away. Things were easy—maybe a little too easy.

My world had stopped getting larger. It had become more manageable but less risky. I had traded adventure for safety, wonder for certainty. And I did it slowly, over decades, hardly realizing it was happening.

Fortunately, I married a woman who liked risk—someone who always challenged me. When the opportunity to move to Florida came up, I was first resistant. Then I embraced it, as if I were stepping on the gas and moving into faster traffic. We adopted the mantra that we would “live on vacation” for the next five years and see what happened.

Since June 2017 we’ve encountered hurricanes, floods, snakes, and virtually every critter the Florida Jumanji game threw at us—and we survived. We kept good friends from the past and developed many more in our new home. Life changed dramatically—some for the good, some for the bad. But it changed.

Yes, I still like Wawa (thank God they have them here) and I can’t resist a good dinner even at 5 p.m. But I left my comfort zone and felt like I was once again moving with the traffic. Maybe still in a Ford 500, but at least I was in the flow.

It felt good.

As I start the fifth year of this “vacation,” I realize that, as Thomas Wolfe said, “You can’t go home again.” The vacation may end this year, but new adventures are beginning. I’m not sure if that means sailing a yacht around the world or hang gliding, but there are adventures left to come for Bobbi and me.

As a small step, this post marks the start of a new technological adventure: podcasting.

I know nothing about podcasting beyond watching Joe Rogan and Binging with Babish. I’m venturing into the world of audio podcasts, saving the world from my not-ready-for-primetime video. Baby steps…

With the guidance of my children, I’ve found Buzzsprout and recorded this, my “trailer” to the podcast. As part of this push into the uncomfortableness of change, I will be recording podcasts like my blog posts, whenever I damn well please.

Those who know me well know that I don’t tend to follow rules. As Matthew is fond of saying, I have the ability to tell a lie so convincingly that I believe it myself—making it a truth. I intend to follow that practice in these podcasts, so Matthew, buckle up for the ride.

For now, I’m planning to release the podcasts regularly.

Also, I’ve had a lifelong stutter, and I’m certain it will show up in these podcasts. I encourage you to embrace it. It doesn’t bother me, and I hope it doesn’t bother you.

Finally, I’m technologically challenged. I understand about 70% of the process. The rest I’ll figure out as I go. So I’m starting with the wrong microphone, the wrong technology, and a complete lack of knowledge—but I’m starting.

As for sponsorship, I’ve got that covered…

Sponsored by Oma’s Spirits—carefully handcrafted since 1952.

Check out Omassprits.com. Nothing goes better with 2catrule than Oma’s.

? Listen to the trailer here.

Rule #1989: The Chicago Way

When Matthew went to college, I heard from him about every two weeks—usually with the routine call of everything is fine, classes are going well, and nothing to report. Basically, keeping me in the dark and failing to mention anything of substance. The standard nosey-parent report. No lies, but nothing incriminating either.

So when I got a call on a March morning in 2008 at 9:00 a.m. from Matthew’s older brother, Andrew, asking how Matthew was doing—and suggesting I should check on him—I was confused. The next conversation with Matthew went like this:

Dad: “What are you doing?”
Matt: “Eating breakfast.”
Dad: “What are you having for breakfast?”
Matt: “White Castle hamburgers.”
Dad: “Where did you get White Castle hamburgers in Shippensburg, PA?”
Matt: “The White Castle’s on Wacker Drive.”
Dad: “You mean in Chicago?”
Matt: “Yeah, that one.”

That’s how I learned my son was taking off from school mid-week and driving around campaigning for President Obama in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and New York. It wasn’t that he lied to me—in fact, he was very forthcoming when asked—I had just failed to ask the right question. And he wasn’t offering details without heavy inquiry.

I have since referred to this as “The Chicago Way.”

I’ve had many “Chicago Way” moments in my life—with my children, business associates, and other family members.

A few years later, I was trying to reach Stephen by phone and became concerned when he didn’t answer after several attempts. When he finally called back, he casually mentioned he hadn’t returned the calls because he’d been in Hawaii for a week. Oh, Chicago.

Then there were other moments—like when a hurricane was approaching Hawaii while he was living there, and I called, worried. Only to find he was on his way to Burning Man. Oh, Chicago.

It isn’t the Chicago moments themselves that bother you. It’s the moment you realize you thought you were playing checkers—and all of a sudden, the game changes to football without warning.

I wouldn’t have stopped Matthew’s or Stephen’s adventures. (Frankly, I don’t think I could have if I wanted to.) But I would have loved to be part of the discussion.

With kids, it’s part of the process. You almost have to experience the Chicago Way for them to become full adults—with independent thinking and actions. It’s painful at times, but I’ve learned to evaluate these Chicago Moments much like I do the City of Chicago.

There are moments when you find them in Wrigley Field eating a Chicago dog (Type A), and moments when they’re calling from a south-side precinct asking for bail money (Type B).

Type A is when they’re experiencing independent thought and taking chances—basically living their lives as functioning adults.
Type B is when they’re doing something they know is wrong and hiding the truth because they’re trying to get away with something.

There is a huge difference between A and B. Both are lies of omission, but not all lies are created equal.

I’ve found that understanding the Chicago Way has served me very well in business.

It’s impossible to run a company with 100+ people and 1,200 consultants and know what everyone is doing all the time. And every day, someone will surprise you—changing the game and doing something entirely unexpected.

As a manager, you have to decide: Are these actions Type A or Type B?

Surprises aren’t bad. But the ones done with intent to harm or deceive are the ones you have to eliminate. So when I’m surprised by new information, I first ask myself:

“Was this to help us, or help themselves?”

You want people taking chances and thinking of new and innovative ways to do things. But you don’t want people trying to rig the 1919 World Series.

A challenge in life is to create a world—both in business and at home—where people can be independent and honest. It’s too easy to tell yourself a lie, and many people live with the George Costanza philosophy:

“It’s not a lie if you believe it.”

In my favorite book by Dr. M. Scott Peck, People of the Lie, the subtitle is The Hope for Healing Evil. His central theme is that malignant narcissism is the root cause of evil. Doing what you know is wrong, then hiding it by omission, is never justified—and is at the root of destructive behavior.

Telling yourself that the ends justify the means fails when the ends hurt other people and take advantage of lies for your own self-interest.

We have to create environments where we’re not being clever and deceitful—but living with openness and honesty. There is plenty of room for unannounced trips to Chicago and Hawaii, and every thought does not need to be shared.

(Trust me—we don’t want Matthew sharing his deep, dark secrets with anyone.)

We just have to be sure our trips to Chicago are not to hide unpleasant truths, but to have privacy and personal adventures. The Chicago Way can be a pathway to great adventure. It’s doing it for the right reasons that makes all the difference in our lives.

I’ve been to Chicago quite a bit myself—sometimes to enjoy a baseball game, and sometimes to hide.

I regret the hiding.

And I enjoyed the Cubbies.

Our lives can have both wonderful secrets and great shared truths. The success in life is making sure your trips lead you to where you want to go. The secrets should become things to celebrate when it comes time to reveal them—not things to be ashamed of because of the people they hurt.

So take your trips to Chicago. Just make sure they end in a story you’re proud to tell. And yes—Go Cubs.

Love, Dad

Rule #161: Sin Is Good (But the Cowboys Still Suck)

In the crazy world of elections and COVID, I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s dividing us into camps. I’ve gone back to my bible of human understanding — the works of Dr. M. Scott Peck, especially The Road Less Traveled and People of the Lie: The Hope of Healing Human Evil.

Dr. Peck was a flawed man who had extramarital affairs and was estranged from his children. It may seem ironic that this behaviorist who wrote about sin was, at times, deeply immersed in it. But if you’re going to learn about the consequences of sin, the best person to listen to is a sinner.

The central theme of his theory was that people are imperfect creatures, prone to mistakes — or sin. And that all mistakes have consequences. Realizing these consequences is what makes us grow and learn. In that way, sin makes us human and guides us on the path toward empathy, kindness, and forgiveness. Without failure and recovery, we can’t learn to be better humans.

Peck believed that bad things happen when people develop what he called “militant ignorance” of their sin — basically saying everything one does is OK because no one has the right to judge you. It’s the mindset that lets us blow past the speed bumps and stop signs of moral judgment in religion and society, convincing ourselves that everything we do is fine simply because we chose to do it. It turns into anger toward others — the “militant” part — when someone challenges our beliefs or points out our mistakes (or sins).

I think militant ignorance is alive and well in all camps of our society — Republican, Democrat, and Independent. And it’s allowed all sides to become pretty unrepentant sinners and, frankly, assholes. We’ve forgotten the value of admitting mistakes and listening to other points of view. Social media has made us even bigger assholes. And worse than that — we’re proud of it. Arrogant about our asshole-ness.

What I worry about most is that this militant ignorance is slipping into something darker — malignant narcissism. That’s when our camps stop just disagreeing with each other and start demonizing each other. When we begin to project evil onto those who think differently. When I see people storming the Capitol and others calling for the reprogramming of political opponents, I worry we’ve already reached that level.

Dr. Peck used some extreme examples in his writing — notably the My Lai massacre — to show how people can commit evil when they become convinced their position is absolutely right and everyone else is worthless. As extreme as that example is, it proves the point: once you believe you’re unquestionably righteous, it’s not a long slide into evil behavior.

Let me bring this down to a more absurd — but relatable — level.

I hated the New England Patriots. I mean hated them. I thought Bill Belichick was a cheat and a bum, and Tom Brady was his willing puppet. I disliked them more than brussels sprouts.

Then Tom Brady came to Tampa and got our team into the Super Bowl. And just like that, all my malignant narcissism against the Patriots was destroyed. I had to refocus my evil thoughts back on the Cowboys.

Sure, in the world of sports, my behavior wasn’t dangerous. And I doubt Tom stayed up nights with Gisele worrying about my feelings (although I kind of hope he did back then). The consequences of my irrational, inappropriate thoughts were just some good-natured ribbing from Patriots fans.

But when it comes to politics and belief systems, this same tribal mentality becomes dangerous. As a country, I think we’re sliding toward the evil of malignant narcissism.

We need to embrace the idea that “sin” is part of life — and that listening to others, even those with vastly different beliefs, is necessary for empathy and growth. We can change. We can admit fault. Hell, I even ordered a Brady Bucs jersey in 4X today. We can accept difference and adapt.

We are all sinners.

But fuck the Cowboys.

Love, Dad