Sigh. That phrase has plagued me for years, slyly being slipped into conversations I’ve had with friends, immediately infuriating me to no end. Yes, I’m guilty as charged in most instances, although I’m not your typical human being filled with an incredible amount of knowledge on every subject. I won’t try to tell someone I know more than them about menstruation cycles, jet engines, the early works of Monet, or what the President’s favorite books are. I limit my superiority complex to issues that I have a pretty good handle, usually sports, computer programming, raising a son, and various other knowledge I’ve acquired over the years.

My problem, however, is that there are many subjects that I have a vast knowledge of that other people around me have more knowledge in than I do. When conversations start on those subjects, I believe I’m the expert, and then halfway through the conversation — the tables turn. That’s when I see red.

I can’t quite put my finger as to why this happens. Sometimes, I interrupt the flow of the conversation to insert what I believe is a more interesting topic, usually pissing off my partner in dialogue. Other times, I’m offered help, which gives me a sense that I’m dependent on another person to do something. My introverted mind immediately resists, usually grasping for that familiar quote — “If you want it done right, do it yourself.” Yeah, I’ll do it myself!

Strangely, I’m self-aware that I’m currently conversing with someone in a condescending manner as if I’m being threatened. I’m fully aware that I’ve flipped the switch and become Mr. Know-It-All, yet I can’t stop myself. My mind is conflicted, and I feel as if it is the same conflict one has when they attempt to quit something they once loved. The logical thing to do is to quit because you aren’t “in love” anymore, but you keep going back to prove something to yourself or you think it will get better. It never does.

The same thought process occurs when I try to catch myself in these conversations. Why am I constantly trying to find things wrong with this person’s argument, especially when there aren’t any? Because I need to look like the genius? How absurd is that!

My appetite for knowledge normally brings me to the conclusion that my partner in conversation was, in fact, right after the fact. In hindsight, I’d look back at the conversation and believe my behavior was the sole reason why said person no longer talks to me. It’s unfortunate, and one of the biggest reasons why I’m disconnected from a lot of interesting people who intellectually stimulated my mind.

My marriage ended one year after our baby was born, and a lot of my ex-wife’s anger toward me was a result of my inability to bond in the same manner she had over the last few months. I read every baby book on the face of the Earth, and almost every one of them touches upon the fact that fathers must connect with their children in a different way than mothers. Unfortunately, my ex-wife didn’t care, nor did she take the time to understand the situation.

To be fair, I wasn’t all that accommodating, although I wasn’t an absent participant. I did my duties as a father without any feelings one way or the other as to what having this child meant. But I could have been “there” more for both my ex-wife and son at that time. She had unresolved issues that were unrelated, but she angered greatly that I had trouble bonding with my son and understanding her unconditional love immediately.

Strangely, over the next six months, I grew fond of my son. I took the time to try to connect with him, and with every little smirk, smile, and cry – I could see my face within his expressions. When the divorce was finalized a year later and custody became an issue, I realized that I wouldn’t allow her to take him away without a fight. I realized that I had bonded with this child, and I wanted to be a part of his life for the rest of mine.

Every father goes through this trial because there isn’t this natural maternal connection in us. We don’t have a growing organism inside of us for nine months. We aren’t feeling our child kick us in the gut while at work or attempting to take an afternoon nap. We aren’t eating for two and stuffing ourselves full of healthy foods to keep this tiny organism alive and well. We don’t understand on an emotional level, only on a very topical “Yes, I see that this baby is important because I helped create it” level.

With that said, I hope mothers can understand our hesitance and unfamiliarity with the situation. Most men are instinctively a father figure an hour after a baby enters this world. It takes time and patience.

Sadly, one of my friends recently went through heartbreak for the first time in his life… as a 25-year-old. I’ve always said that heartbreak is something everyone needs to go through. It builds character, drives home the idea of realistic expectations in a relationship, and it gives a person a firm idea of what they want in a partner. It helped me figure out myself emotionally in high school and in college. For my friend, I hope the same is true.

Unfortunately, he’s taken the break-up rather badly. The first time he dated a woman for an extended period of time was his last girlfriend, Janet. He dated her for six years before concluding they had nothing in common. Impressive, I know. Most of it was the physical attraction and constant flow of sex in the relationship, but once they found a routine and attempted to stimulate each other in other ways – the cons of the relationship were exposed.

Freshly on the market, my friend, we’ll call him Blake, played the game like he should have done years ago. He put himself out there, dating a multitude of women to get an idea of what he wanted in a girl. After about a year on the market, he found a beautiful young woman who he fell in love with. She was a charmer, a no-bullshit type of gal, and I was impressed. After a year-and-a-half under the sheets, visiting family Christmases, and keeping each other warm on the coach in the winter, she unexpectedly left.

His initial reaction was anger. He called me, and I went to “hang” out with him, which is code for “listened to him bitch about what happened.” That’s what friends do, bro. I’d been through this same ordeal three times in my lifetime, so it was nothing new, but what I did know is that each of those break-ups was a pivotal learning experience. He needed this because he had never felt something like this before.

Unfortunately, his mother drove the idea into his head that feeling ill to his stomach and depressed because the love of his life had left him “wasn’t normal”. This is a woman who is on Prozac twenty-four hours a day. Feeding off society’s idea that depression shouldn’t ever be an issue, Blake went to the doctor and got a prescription for an anti-depressant. Sadly, when I had conversations about the break-up after the medication was administered, it was like talking to a brick wall. He had no emotional input in the matter, nor did he really feel that terribly about the ordeal anymore. To me, it seemed as if he were bypassing a pivotal moment of development by way of a pill.

This is a minor example. Kids who show one symptom of ADHD are medicated instantly, and I wonder what kind of detrimental effects those medications will have in the long-term. Why must people seek out antidepressants for situations that are going to elicit depression? If your mother dies, I’m sure you’ll feel depressed. Better rush to the doctor to get numbed up to emotional pain.

There are people out there who have chemical imbalances in their brains that cause prolonged depression that is independent of real-life situations. Obviously, those cases need attention. But why are we medicating kids who can’t sit still in their seats, heartbroken former lovers, and mourning families? Those are situations that should be depressing because they are exactly that.

Even though the logical answer to why my back is hurting is that this intense circuit training is tightening up my muscles, possibly pulling one of them, I almost always worry about cancer. Why? Why am I predisposed to searching for the most extreme cause of my pain?

My mother passed away from breast cancer when I was a junior in college, and it was only known that she had cancer when a lymph node was tenderized by its spread. The roller coaster ride of emotions for the next decade was both debilitating and courageous, but it ultimately ended in watching the unthinkable unfold in front of us in a cold hospital room.

Some people are overly positive. They tell themselves that if you want happiness, just make the choice to be happy. That’s usually through positive reinforcement. I’ve never worked that way. I take the worst possible outcome as the expected in any situation. That way, I’m never let down. When I go in for job interviews, I do my very best, never sabotaging myself with my pessimistic thoughts. If I don’t get the job, I didn’t expect to get it anyways. If I do, celebratory shenanigans will unfold at the local watering hole.

The same goes for visits to the doctor. What’s that? I don’t have colon cancer or a brain aneurysm? Yes! Unfortunately, the same went for my dying mother. I expected the outcome for years, and it numbed me to the inevitable outcome, so much so that I was confronted by friends and family as to why I wasn’t grieving in the aftermath.

Strangely, as I’ve matured, my emotional responses to events in my life are far more meaningful in my everyday interactions now. I believe the “game changer” was the birth of my son. Suddenly, there is the piece of you standing in front of you, laughing and playing with the vigor that you once had when you were younger. And once the bond is forged, there is nothing you won’t do to make sure that child is taken care of. When fathers tell their children that everything changes when you have a child, they’re right. Every aspect of your life, even your mentality, changes.

When you were a teenager, you laughed and poked fun at the sappy scenes in a movie. To this day, some people still can’t find the emotions in some scenes. But once you actually feel what it’s like in those moments, your response is more genuine and heartfelt. That somewhat relates to how I felt about my mother’s passing years ago. I was emotionally unavailable, numb to what had happened. But today, I’m available. I’ve mourned, missed her presence, and remembered her place in our family as the “counselor” and the emotionally available advisor to her children. It took a new life to feel the impact of a passing soul.

I’m the guy who shows up fashionably late to these shin digs, not because I’m cool like that, but because my time tracking abilities are defunct. In this particular case, we showed up about an hour after the designated time. Naturally, a couple of people at the party were three sheets to the wind when we arrived. I had no idea who they were, and in their drunken state – they were curiously asking questions as to who we were and why we were so boring. The “boring” statement was assumed because, after all, we hadn’t taken a sip of anything yet. We must be boring!

I gleaned from the conversation that Nick was in his early thirties, having relations with a girl in her early twenties, and still living a life that runs parallel with the movie Animal House. His roommates were also in their early to mid thirties, but even more prone to partying, spending entire weekends cooking up ribs and steaks on the grill while watching twelve to eighteen hours of football on both Saturday and Sunday. I love football just as much as the next guy, but entire weekends of the fall and winter wasted on nothing but weight gain and intoxication? No thanks.

One of my best friends is of the same nature, so naturally these guys all get along just great. I’m the dissenting male of the group, always excusing myself from invitations to sit on a musty couch in a garage somewhere to watch Monday Night Football with a bunch of Neanderthals getting blitzed. I have nights where I love to digress into a caveman, eat meat, and drink beer, but not when I have to work the next day.

During the table conversation at the party, Nick proceeded to act the part of the frat boy. I don’t want to say “objectifying women” because it sounds like I’m trying to be politically correct, but that was the gist of his two hours of drunken slurring. His friends, both sober and “working on it”, egged him on. It was at this very moment that I thought to myself, “Why the hell am I here, and was I ever like this?”

There aren’t any moments that stand out, but I’m positive I was cruder in my youth when it came to women. I was always respectful, however, and I was even dumped once because I was too nice. Yeah, nice guys did finish last during my college years. That’s what happens when you change your personality to please a girl. Karma at its finest.

Strangely, this was a realization that had become more prevalent at every gathering I attended in the last year. Boy, am I getting old or what!? That was my normal reaction, and I would have believed it had I been a 50-year-old man attempting to understand why Jersey Shore is popular. I’m in my late twenties, and I have sound theory that most of America is stupid, thus the infatuation with a bunch of tanned gym rats getting drunk and raging on each other.

Instead, my mind was telling me that I had matured. I wasn’t interested in talking about who “banged” who or who got voted off American Idol. All of that was migraine-inducing. And to be perfectly honest, it always has been. I’m not “above” talking about mundane things, but they are mundane, in my mind, for a reason.

This whole episode made me think of something that comedian Tina Fey had wondered in her book Bossypants. Yes, I read it, and I wasn’t all that impressed with it. Maybe I’ll write a review on it later.

When do women realize they are, in fact, mature, adult women? From her observations at a group session talking about this very issue, many of the women stated it was when men were yelling at them from cars, usually phrases like “Nice tits!” or “Great ass!” For men, maybe it’s when the graduate from college, have a child, live on your own. My question to you is… when did you realize, intellectually, that you’ve matured?

The gathering I attended a few weeks ago was my moment, although it was clear in the weeks leading up to this epiphany that I was growing more annoyed with dull conversations. Strangely, intellectual conversation is frowned upon in my inner circle. If you try to have an intelligent conversation with someone, you’re Mr. Know-It-All. Nobody wants to talk to Mr. Know-It-All. Nobody wants to hear strong opinions backed by evidence. Nobody actually wants to “talk” about real things. Why?

My aim is to write about things of interest. That seems like a simple concept, right? It isn’t as easy for me as putting pen to paper, or in our technologically advanced state – fingers to the keyboard. My mind is consistently failing me. At this very moment, I’m having second thoughts about the form, structure, and wording that I’ve used in the one hundred and thirty words I’ve already typed. I’m constantly editing my own narrative; quickly squelching whatever it was that caused me to start writing in the first place.

Insomnia, brain fog, excessive forgetfulness, intense hyperfocus, indecisiveness… the list goes on. I won’t bore you with the details, mainly because I, myself, would grow bored with explaining the details and move on to something else. That’s another symptom.

I’m sure a light bulb has flipped on in your head. Yes, I suffer from… let’s just leave it at that. Just be aware that if my writing consistently rambles on for endless pages of text, you’ve been warned. This is my outlet for my love of writing, not yours.

So, back to the question at hand – What will I write about? Mostly opinions and thoughts about my everyday life with a sprinkling of analysis on current events and maybe a few candid reviews of books I’m currently enjoying. Whatever I feel is worth talking about in hopes that you – the reader – will interact and discuss these topics in a sincere and passionate manner.

There are, however, a couple of ulterior motives. These writings will serve as therapy for my mind. For three years, I’ve been a prominent sports writer of a niche sport, and I’ve gone from an enthusiastic rookie to a beaten down veteran with little passion for what I’m writing. This is my chance to write about what I want now that I’ve decided I’m leaving the sports industry.

Lastly, this will eventually become a means for my four-year-old son to understand who I was when I was younger. In time, he’ll see who I am on a personal level, and hopefully, unlike my own father, I’ll be able to give him a sense of who I really am. To this day, I can’t really define who my father is behind his facade. He’s a great Dad, but he isn’t interested in emotional connections. I don’t want that for my son, and if this helps him understand what I’ve gone through in my life when he’s older – I’m interested in telling the story.

Undeniably, I am seeking readers, but not because I want to eventually eclipse 10 million page views and become a producer of good writing. I’m far from a good writer. What I do enjoy, however, is an interactive readership who wants to be a part of the conversation. So, I implore you, whoever may be reading, to “give your two cents” on whatever it may be that I’ve conveyed to the world. I’d appreciate it.