Jumping off the cliff

With a little nudge from my son

A few months ago, my 14-year old and I were at our local pub.

It’s a familiar, comfortable place owned by a couple guys I’ve known since high school. On one side is a long bar top facing a row of TVs usually tuned to soccer. On the other, separated by a low wall, is a good-sized dining room with tables and booths set on a wood floor under warm lights.

Americans would call it a bar/restaurant. It is a pub though… It is the kind of place you find in small villages across England, Scotland, Ireland, etc.. It’s a community meeting place. It’s where people collect after first communions, reunions, and funerals.

The regulars are all known to the bartenders and vice versa. I can count on one hand how many times I have seen someone hammered at the bar. It is a social center. A hub. I have a soft spot for this place. And so does my son.

The owners let him sit at the bar (which is legal in my state) and provided we’re there early enough for it to be appropriate, that’s what we do.

So, there we were one day this summer.

I had been adrift for some time and was struggling with figuring out what might come next for me career-wise. I was just… lost and trying to be found.

So, I confessed all of that to him.

I told him that I didn’t know what I wanted to do or how to even figure it out. I sort of rambled about how I felt at loose ends…

He asked some probing questions about what I thought the possibilities might be. I mentioned writing and then hemmed, hawed, qualified, and disclaimed it with all of the reasons that probably couldn’t work.

He said “Dad, if you want to be a writer, go be a writer...”

I sort of looked down, ready to reflexively explain why it wasn’t that easy when he added “…but go do it.”

”Dad, if you want to be a writer, go be a writer… but go do it.”

I love that kid. I had his blessing to just… go do it.

And then for two months, I didn’t.

Fast forward to this week.

After a ridiculously tortured couple months of plumbing my soul for a sense of direction, I decided to take me son’s advice and just “…go do it.”

Setup this Substack page on Monday prepared to very hastily launch it before I could be slowed by doubt and perfectionism… but it is a bit more involved and takes more work than I thought. Couldn’t be done before it was time to pick up my son from school.

On the way home, I told him about my decision and setting up this page. His eyebrows went up a bit.

“You surprised?” I asked.

“No.” he said.

“You’re not surprised I’m doing it?”

“Nope.”

“Surprised I did it today?”

“Very.”

I smiled because I knew he would be… because, hey, so was I.

It was liberating and terrifying, exhilarating and daunting, all at the same time.

We talked for a bit about what it would take to finish the setup and go live; what I thought I needed to pay the bills; what would I have to do to get there.

I chunked it out into the next two months and the three months after… Being able to make it through the end of the year, have nice holidays, and then get through early next year.

The next day, I hurried back after dropping him off at school, sat down, finished the setup here, wrote a thread on Twitter, and hit post.

Just like that, I had jumped off the cliff and there was no going back.

By the time I got to my son’s school to pick him up, I had begun to get emails each time someone had subscribed… one and then five and then twenty and then a hundred.

When my son got it in the car, I handed him my phone opened to my inbox. His eyes went wide and he said “You did it??!” I smiled and said yes and gave him an update.

Once I had caught him up, I said “Let’s do a little role-playing.”

He looked at me side-eyed like “what is this about?”

“Hi, I’m Mike.” I said.

“Nice to meet you, Mike.” he said, waryof wherever this was going.

“So, what do you do… you know, for a living.” I asked “You have a job? Are you in school?”

“I’m in school.” he replied, now even more wary.

“Oh, cool. You’re probably wondering what I do…” I said.

“Uh, what do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a writer.” I said.

I smiled and so did he and then we let the conversation drift off to how his day had been and how hungry we both were.

While talking, I drove us to our pub without asking.

Parked the car and led us inside to the same seats we had been in a few months ago. He didn’t think anything of it.

We ordered some food and sat there for a while when I said “You know that role-playing thing in the car?”

“Yeah?” he said, eyebrows raised.

“That was the first time I told someone out loud that I am a writer… and I wanted that first person to be you.”

His eyes went wide and he flashed a broad smile.

“This is where we were sitting when you told me that if I wanted to be a writer, I should go be one… but to just do it.”

He said “That’s cool.” and I knew he meant it…

It was cool.

And it still is.

Regardless of where this goes, I am grateful for the blessing of a son who is a wise, thoughtful soul. He parses things in the way only young people can. He strips away the bullshit and gets to the heart of the matter.

Sometimes, the heart of the matter is that if you want to be something, you should go and be it… but you have to just do it instead of talking about it.

And here we are.