The Worst Year of My Life
I was driving down a winding road that was freshly covered with a layer of snow. It had been coming down for about an hour, and the roads were starting to get bad. My AirPods were in, the music was shuffling, and I was hopeful my twenty-two year old pickup truck would find enough traction to keep me moving.
One song finished and another began. The tune was familiar so my mind wandered for a few seconds. For reasons unknown, my attention snapped toward the song as these words played;
They say I'm caught up in a dream
Well life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes
I responded audibly, "what did he say?"
Over the past several years, I’ve easily played this song dozens of times. I knew the words.
I made my way through the roundabout ahead, carefully navigating the slippery conditions. I was trying to make sense of what was happening in this moment. The straight road ahead and the convenient absence of cars allowed me to refocus. I started the song again. My heart was stirring as the words fell upon my ears again, as if I was hearing them for the first time.
They say I'm caught up in a dream
Well life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes
I made a right turn and decided to hang a quick left to stop my car in an empty parking lot.
I thought of an episode in the show The Office. Two of the main characters are walking through their wedding day and decide to take “mental pictures” to savor their experiences. During certain moments one of these two characters would mime holding a camera and snapping a picture as a way of communicating they were in a memory they wanted to hold onto. My mind drifted into mental pictures from this past year.
I saw my wife’s smile as she walked across the platform with her degree in hand. Twenty years ago she sacrificed her schooling and career so I could finish my degree and pursue my calling. This year she earned her degree and was pinned as a Physical Therapy Assistant. I didn’t know I could be this proud of a human being. Much of who she is will never been seen by others, and that’s a shame. There is not an expression strong enough to describe how much I love this woman.
My mind traveled back to August when we dropped our oldest daughter off at a college nearly two hours away. She had finished her associates degree and was pursuing her four year as a film production major. Walking away, having left part of my heart behind, I watched her excitedly take a step in the opposite direction, ready to start this new season of life.
I thought of my middle daughter sitting at a table during her grad party in May. She worked so hard to make it special, and it was. She has some great friendships, and I was watching them lived out in that very moment. I stood with my back against the wall, gazing at the round table where a group of teenagers painted vinyl records. They were laughing and making memories. My beautiful middle daughter sat there with a smile that brought me a level of joy I don’t think I can explain.
I pictured my youngest daughter sitting at O’Hare airport in Chicago just last month. We were headed home from an incredible dad / daughter trip. We had traveled to Washington DC together as a celebration of her 16th birthday. There was this moment at O’Hare where she was curled up in an airport chair, wearing this white hat and blue sweatshirt and looking so grown up. She’s had such a rough couple of years, yet here she is, with me and happy. I felt overwhelmed with love and gratitude. The thought that settled in my mind was I can’t believe I get to be her dad.
Back in my truck, I wiped away my tears and pushed down the parking brake and turned off the lights. I was going to be here for a bit.
Watching things pass me by this year has single-handedly been one of the most difficult experiences I’ve encountered.
There are moments in my life where I just so desperately want to press the pause button. I want to stop and look around. Soak it in. Breathe.
This year was filled with so much sunshine on the outside, so many breathtaking images that I will carry with me throughout this life. I’m hopeful what you’ve read so far has created a portrait of joy and celebration.
In an episode of Friends, three characters are attempting to carry a couch up a flight of stairs. The need to navigate the turns causes one character to annoyingly shout “PIVOT! PIVOT! PIVOT!”
That is what’s about to happen right now, so prepare yourself.
This has been the worst year of my life.
Over this year as these incredible memories were forming before me, I was carrying a darkness on the inside. Often this year felt like a dream, a mixed daze of these turning point moments woven in between my own flashes of despair.
I think it might have all started in fifth grade when I was diagnosed with a mild tic disorder. I hope you caught the fifth grade part. It developed right when kids are looking for ways to care for others and practice kindness. Yes, that’s sarcasm. Honestly, it sucked. I had regular twitches and it was devastating.
Today the twitch only shows up in the times when I think about it, such as now. This has surely made people in this coffee shop think I’m having a seizure.
The tic continues to manifest itself through aggressive blinking that is heightened in different situations. Working with middle schoolers for twenty years helped me become comfortable with it, thanks to hundreds of “WHY DO YOU BLINK SO MUCH” questions from filter-less 13 year olds.
It’s just a good thing I’m not allowed to tase people.
Throughout my life, I have experienced other behaviors that are symptomatic of mental health struggles. These behaviors were never consistent enough or at a level where there needed to be intervention. Over the past year, this changed, and I needed help. Maybe COVID was the instigator, I really don’t know. What I do know is how it felt to be in that place, coming to the realization that I really wasn’t okay.
Walking through mental health struggles can be scary, lonely, confusing, and isolating. There’s a battle against shame, guilt and sadness. Your mind is pulled toward destructive thoughts like a millennial being drawn to a thrift store.
You won’t often hear me use the words “mental health” to describe myself. You are more likely to hear me say I am feeling anxious or overwhelmed. When I have taken the risk to share these realities, I have heard statements that can only be described as - for lack of a better term - sheer jackass-ery.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to push through”
“You’re up for this challenge though”
“Yeah, me too!”
I clicked up the heat in my truck, shaking my head over the memories of these encounters. The chorus of the song was playing;
So wake me up when it's all over
It was this moment that I remembered the very song I was being moved by was written by a young man who ended his own life at the age of 28. I cannot possibly speak into any aspect of his circumstances, but my stomach drops when I think of these lyrics in light of the outcome of his struggles.
Here’s some authenticity for you. Sometimes I just want to run from everything. Hit the stop button and go far away. A pause would mean I have to unpause at some point in this story. I want to stop. Wake me up when this is all over.
I believe there is a God, He is real and one day He will make all things new. This darkness won’t last forever. I believe this to the core of my being, but it’s not an easy thing to grab hold of, particularly in these moments.
As I watched the snow pile up on the hood of my truck, I felt a moment of panic thinking about getting home in these conditions. I was distracted from my fears when I recalled something I had written down earlier this year;
It’s not okay to not be okay
People want you to be okay, but it’s not always for the reasons you think. Let’s be super honest with ourselves and admit it’s easier for everyone if people would just be okay. Otherwise it’s messy, awkward, inconvenient, confusing.
I find that teenagers are some of the most real people on earth. This might go against much of what you know about adolescence, so let me clarify.
Teenagers are the most real people on earth, just not always with each other.
When teenagers get past the surface with each other, those relationships become some of the most significant ones a person will have. It just happens far less often than it should.
Teenagers do a great job of letting others know it’s okay to not be okay. We could learn a lot from them.
I am at my best when I can be a learner more than an advisor. I find teenagers eager to answer questions. Do you want to know why they answer the questions I ask? Because I ask them.
I have spent my life showing interest in people. I ask them questions, intentionally trying to discover who they are. I work to bring encouragement into their lives. I love helping them discover and lean into who they are. I hope to help them take steps, even uncomfortable ones, toward pursuing the things they are wired for.
I think people feel encouraged when they interact with me. I want others to know they don’t need to “be okay” to be loved and valued. I aim for people to know their story is worth telling, no matter how messy, normal, dysfunctional or painful it might be.
There are few things I would rather do than sit in a coffee shop and learn about someone. If I could do this for a living, I’d sign up for that immediately.
Here are my biggest learnings from hundreds of coffee shop conversations with people of all ages;
People want to let you beneath the surface so they can be heard and understood.
People need to know that it’s okay to not be okay.
You never know what someone is going through.
I paused the song as I saw the snow getting worse. Releasing the parking brake, I shifted my truck into first gear. As I made my way back onto the main road, I wasn’t sure what to make of this experience. I knew these realizations were significant, but I had to get home. As I adjusted my right AirPod, I must have inadvertently clicked it because the music started up again. The first words to play were:
I tried carrying the weight of the world
But I only have two hands
I didn’t want to hear this part of the song, yet I did.
One of the effects of my own struggles this year were widespread failures throughout all areas of my life. From communication to correspondence to commitments; I dropped the ball so often you’d think I played for the Cubs.
Well why didn’t you just tell people about your struggles, or at least tell them you were overwhelmed or anxious?
What if I told you I did? More than once. You’ve already read some of the responses.
One of the stigmas of mental health is it’s easier to dismiss than dive into, ignore instead of investigate, avoid over accepting.
I wanted to carry less, but I didn’t know how to make that happen without paying a cost I could not afford. I had to keep going. Each step taken led to more failure, which was closely followed by frustration. There was no option other than pressing forward, so that’s what I did. The result was what I will call Hurricane Rob. My humanity came in like the wind and the rain, leaving disaster everywhere I went.
The destruction impacted my credibility, damaged things I lead, and even caused distance in relationships. I know I’m responsible, but in some ways, I am not. What a paradox.
I pulled into my garage and kept the engine running. It only took me a moment to be reminded how the loudness of the truck rattles the walls in the house, so I turned off the ignition. I could immediately feel the heat leaving the vehicle so I began to collect my things. I walked into the house, exchanged greetings with my family, and walked into the basement. I stepped into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the floor. The song continued;
All this time I was finding myself
I didn't know I was lost
In the grand scheme of things I do not consider myself to be lost. I could tell you a far greater story of how God found me as a lost 16 year old, and I hope to do so one day.
In a recent conversation, I used the phrase, “I know what I’m about” in response to something I cannot even recall. This annoyingly insightful person had the audacity to say back, “and what are you about?” I never asked what they expected when they asked me this, but what they did was open up a door and give me the opportunity to walk through it. That simple question led me to articulate what you have just read. I don’t know if they will ever read this, but what a powerful demonstration of what might happen when we ask a simple question and then listen.
Sitting on that tile floor with my back pressed against the bathroom wall, I said aloud, “I didn’t know I was lost.”
It’s an amazing experience to discover something you didn’t know you were looking for. My eyes are opened in a new way.
The battles fought over this year shone a light on my need to not allow others to determine how I am going to live.
I think of a favorite quote by Henry David Thoreau:
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,
Maybe enjoying life isn’t dependent on how others respond to me.
This year I stopped being ashamed of what I am and will no longer apologize for what I’m not.
You might see me slide stepping through Walmart with my AirPods. Maybe you’ll catch me riding my electric scooter down Main Street, perhaps hearing me belt out the words to a Taylor Swift song. You might come across my coffee shop reviews, TikToks or any other silly content I create. You might shake your head when I say something so ridiculous in a serious moment, and people aren’t sure how to respond.
I do these things because I like to do them. They are for me. They aren’t for you. If you enjoy them, that’s great, let’s be friends. If you don’t, then do stuff you like to do. We should all do more things we like. Unless, of course you like murder. Don’t do that.
Once the murder jokes come out, it’s a good sign I should wrap things up. I also told myself I’d keep this under 2000 words. If you’ve ever had a long text conversation with me, you won’t be surprised when I tell you I went over that. I probably shouldn’t be wasting words on telling you this, but if we have a good relationship, you’re now thinking I am very much on brand.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude for what I have gained over this past year.
I smile when I say that somehow in this struggle I have become comfortable being the person I was created to be.
Maybe that makes this the best year of my life.