Grocery Store Air Guitars

I’m on the prowl for cheeseburger ingredients when Snow (Hey Oh) by the Red Hot Chili Peppers comes on the store’s speaker system. A few seconds later, I’m presented with an air guitar. I immediately throw it over my shoulder and give my best John Frusciante impression. The store is relatively empty, so it takes a few 4-counts for me to come across another human being. Right, I’m in public. I should put my air guitar away.

A few minutes later, I arrive in the produce section and see my dad up ahead. He’s been presented with his own air guitar, and is letting it rip. I notice his hand placement and strumming patterns are much more polished than mine; his guitar lessons have been paying off. I wait a few beats to see how long this old-time rock and roller can shred before his sense of societal awareness returns. He lasts longer than I did. The 27 years he has on me, in addition to his actual guitar expertise, seems to have reduced his ability to give a fuck what other people think.

The smile on my face has not yet faded as I finally approach him. I put my arm around his shoulder and ask, “You think 4 pounds of ground beef will be enough for the week?”

This was a full-circle moment for my relationship with my father.

My dad was my hero for most of my childhood. He won a national championship in wrestling as a teenager. Despite only being 5’7”, he was able to dunk a volleyball at the age of 14. I dressed up as him twice for Halloween: once in his high school football jersey, another time wearing his varsity jacket. Earning his pride underlied many, if not all, of my pursuits. He was one of the main reasons I wanted to be a good athlete and to work on Wall Street.

This all started to change in my mid-twenties, when I began my mental health journey. I had made it to Wall Street, worked hard, and was promoted. I earned my Certified Financial Analyst designation. I was on track to rival, if not outperform, his own career success. But, I was miserable. I lived for the weekends, drinking nearly every Friday and Saturday night for several years in a row. One weekend, when I was back home visiting family, I took the drinking too far and made a horrible decision that changed the trajectory of my life. This forced me to look my misery in the eye for the first time.

At my friend Clayton’s behest, I picked up Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules For Life. Reading the chapter on Rule #4, "Compare yourself to who you were yesterday, not to who someone else is today," made me realize that I was living in a constant state of comparison. As a result, most actions I took were to gain the approval of other people, most notably my dad. I wanted him to be proud of me.

Shortly after reading the book, I joined a men’s support group to learn more about my behavior. After a few deep-dives into my childhood and family structure, it became clear to me that my misery was my parents’ fault.

I believed they had tied my success to theirs as a parent, even going so far as to take credit for my success. In order for me to achieve what they believed was important, they had forced me to make certain decisions that led me to where I am. I also noticed that, for as much as I looked up to my father, he was pretty hands-off in my upbringing. When it came to topics outside of sports, politics, or the economy, he wasn’t who I sought out for advice.

Through this “self-help” work, I developed a resentment towards both my parents. My need for external validation was their doing. The reason I had been overweight since I was six years old was because they overfed me food and underfed me love. I choked on my saliva the first time I tried asking a woman out sober because my dad never taught me how. My never-ending search for fulfillment through success in school and the corporate rat race originated from their own lack of self-fulfillment.

My resentment started small, but grew larger each time I interacted with them. I had previously considered them as confidants, people I sought advice and refuge from. When seeking their counsel, I began interpreting every opinion or insight they shared as an attempt to get me to do what they thought was best for them, not best for me. Our conversations became shorter; no longer filled with discussions of the future or brainstorming personal dilemmas, instead filled with small talk and life updates. Anything resembling advice stirred me up, causing me to shut down or become irate.

As my resentment grew, so did my desire to be different than my parents - my dad, especially. When I used a phrase he commonly would, or a hand gesture, or facial expression, I would notice it. Like blue Honda Accords after my ex-girlfriend and I broke up, what seemed far and few between before became bountiful and burdensome. This annoyed me to the point that I attempted to update my vernacular and body language so that it didn’t match his. Little things, like the fun way we say “bat-trees”, turned back to “batteries”.

It’s possible that I would have completely de-constructed my entire personality, and shattered my relationship with my parents, had I not found my current men’s group in 2023. Compared to the first group I spent time with in 2019 and 2020, the new group is less focused on uncovering the past and more focused on improving the present. Developing a gratitude practice is an integral aspect of the work. It helped me to stop comparing myself to others, and to worry less about what I don’t have.

Most days, I write down at least three things or people I am grateful for. At first, I would hesitate to put them amongst the people I loved due to my ongoing resentment. But, over many months of this practice, their names continued to show up. I began to submit to the positive impact they had in my life, and how important they still were to me. In March of 2023, my grandfather passed away and I listened to If We Were Vampires for the first time. Reminded of the fragility and shortness of life, my resentment began to break down.

Despite my growing appreciation for my parents, my desire to be different from my dad still existed. That was, until my mentor shared this key advice with me:

“As a man, you must embrace the male heritage you share with your father. You may realize that if the man you’ve become is based on a reaction to how you saw your father, then you, too, have become a caricature of how you are supposed to be and live.”

Either by serendipity or randomness, the grocery store air guitar incident happened within a few weeks of receiving this advice. Our shared male heritage was delivered via an invisible whammy bar to my face.

The whammy bar also showed me that by actively trying to be different from my father, I was not being true to myself. In a way, I was still living my life based on someone else’s values. Once I accepted this humbling truth, I finally began to see them for who they are: flawed human beings that love me immensely. Yes, they made mistakes during my childhood, but I know now that they were doing their best. I also know that anything that happens to me today, or in the future, is my fault, not theirs.

P.S. Mom and dad - I love you both tremendously. I am very lucky to have you as my parents, and am grateful for all that you’ve done to make my life as good as it is.