Comparison is the devil, but I still check for horns in the mirror.

Failing upwards as a single Dad.

She’s asleep on my shoulder. Slightly snoring and repeatedly kicking me in the balls. This is normal for me.

My daughter has never slept alone, and when asked, “Do you want your own bed?” she usually laughs at me and says, “Daddy, you are so silly.” I am good with this. I want to soak up every era of her life, and surely when she decides she wants her own bed, I will be lying in my own, crying.

I am a self-aware dad and I boastfully tell my kid to STOP GROWING UP. One, because I mean that shit, and two, I’m not ready for what’s in store yet. As the rapper Sage Francis once said, “Slow down Gandhi, you’re killing me.”

What she doesn’t know is, I’m stressed.

At the present moment, I have failed at starting another business, my second major attempt. A non-profit I put everything I had into, only to be somewhat swindled on my way out. I am down bad because the new tariffs spread fear through my main industry, and modeling gigs paused writ-large. You know, the job that actually pays me! No one’s working, everyone’s hurting. Verizon can suck it. The world is on fire.

I feel like us millennials haven’t had a solid five years, ever. 9/11, Iraq war, political uncertainty, COVID—now this dumpster fire. Let’s wrap this all up with, I HAVE A FOUR-AND-A-HALF-YEAR-OLD CHILD AND I AM A SINGLE DAD. I’m tired! I am not going to complain though. I one time got flown to Australia for a day. (Ca-ching!)

We aren’t strangers to pain and strife around here. I am the proud grandson of a first-generation, machete-wielding, mafia-tied, Great Depression–born grandfather. He even had eight children. Absolute psycho. This is in my blood.

I think my issue is, though, I am too much of a dreamer. For the astrology girlies (and guys), I am a Gemini sun, Leo rising, and Aquarius moon. Apparently that means I’m insane, sensitive, and “destined to be avant-garde.” Thanks, Grandpa!

I question authority at every single opportunity. Rules were meant to be broken and you better not dictate anything to me. Flipping off a police officer or petty theft isn’t a big deal in my family. My mom watched me practice graffiti… just par for the course. This has left my life to be quite colorful, as you can imagine.

I see my daughter struggle with authority. I often wonder if you can inherit that? I try to be polite to everyone, but maybe she can just smell it on me? It’s embarrassing. She once told her preschool teacher, “I’m going to get you fired,” and that is solely my fault. It’s shameful, albeit absolutely hilarious. It’s also somewhat funny when a four-year-old uses “fuck” in the right context. Sue me!

I envy the person who goes to school, gets good grades, eats three meals a day, never smokes a cigarette, listens to Taylor Swift. You know the “normie” type. Those types of people seem like they have it completely figured out. I wish to God I could enjoy accounting or mortgage brokering. I see dads at the school pickup line who are twice my age, wealthy, and I feel like an absolute freak show. Here I am, 35, driving a pickup truck, in a shirt I’ve worn for three days. Here he is—Range Rover, perfect salt-and-pepper beard, and probably a three-time homeowner and valedictorian. I’ve never been to an office in my life. That guy LOVES the office. He probably even has an assistant. Those ergonomic desk chairs are probably amazing, and the same thing every day for 50 years sounds pretty incredible right now.

And yet I continue to dream…

Yes, I am blessed with this life. But I am tired of earning the metaphorical grit under my fingernails. At least I am tired of it today.

My goal is to help young men and dads. I don’t know why I have this goal, but I cannot shake it. It speaks to my soul. I am tired of our narrative. Men can bring so much more to life than pain. We have been the bearers of terror for centuries, and I just want to help move the needle.

I am a month away from finishing my coaching credentials. After I graduate, I wait a couple months (bureaucracy is the death of me) to get state certified and then I am, hopefully, off to the races. I can work in clinics or with hedge fund managers and help them heal. I will be all-around certified to be an ear and hopefully make a dent in this lofty goal of mine. That’s all I have ever wanted to do. I love human beings. I just want to talk all day. I said I was a Gemini, right?

As I sit here, though, I wonder what in the hell is wrong with me. See, I am my greatest hater. I just don’t get myself and wish daily that I was someone else.

As fathers, especially in Los Angeles, it’s very easy to compare. This city is full of show. Our main industry is movies, for God’s sake. The collective consciousness is a bunch of people willingly signing up to PRETEND TO BE SOMEONE THEY’RE NOT! The culture permeates a sense of “you are a loser—do you see my Bugatti?” People are, in fact, fake. They lie a lot, embellish, sell you a dream. It has the ability to chew you up and send you right back to Kansas if you aren’t careful. There are seemingly a billion people here trying to be famous and another billion people who have more money than any person could ever conceive of. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just the truth.

I never had dreams of being a billionaire. I hardly knew what a CEO, COO, CFO, or founder was five years ago. When my daughter was born, I didn’t dream of a huge house for us to live in. My only goal has ever been to die, and have my daughter stand on a pew and say she’s proud of me. I just want her to be proud of what her dad did. The man he was—not his Amex card (or lack thereof).

We are taught as men that we are supposed to be providers. In early fatherhood, more than likely you are. Not necessarily monetarily, but just overall. Birth isn’t easy. We will never understand that—not physically, mentally, or spiritually. So we have to step forward in other ways. Our society has made it normal to confuse this with work. “Providing” isn’t just about income. It’s about showing up in every way. I cannot tell you how many dads I have met who have never changed a diaper. It saddens me. Not only for their kid, but because they are so disconnected from the emotion and calling that I believe being a dad is. You are lucky to be a dad. So be one, all the way.

As I write this, though, I am suffering from that same societal pressure. I have an overhead and a child to feed. I want her to go to a good school so she can hopefully be better than me. Why would I have a kid for her to just be status quo? I don’t want my daughter to endure the pain I had to. I have struggled my way into keeping her life as fantastic as it can be. She will never know how many times I have zeroed out my account so she can have an experience I was never afforded. I one time spent my last $50 so we could go to the zoo and buy a stuffed animal. That’s my issue—I don’t care when it comes to her. My other issue is I just believe it will all be OK.

In short, I want to speak directly to the father, soon-to-be father, dad who just got laid off, newly divorced dad, guy who isn’t having kids because of money—and myself. Today is not every day. Tomorrow can bring a turn in the road. My daughter would sleep next to me in a tent. She only wants to be with her dad. Yes, she also wants a stuffed animal—but tough shit. At the end of the day, we weren’t chosen for this role to be a bank account. We were chosen for this role because it was our path forward.

I write this from the tiny amount of bed I have been allotted tonight. I have a California king and I am slightly hanging off of it. My daughter sleeps in a Jesus pose most nights. I think it’s because she feels so comfortable in her skin. I need to remember why. Why is she so comfortable? That’s right—because I am a safe space. I may not have a billion, but I at least can go to bed knowing that.