oh, I’m Ron.

I love

Jesus

Deb

my kids

Kali (my grand)

family

a few good friends

Brooklyn

dogs

Autumn

pecan pie

peanut butter anything

the sound of kids laughing

80s nostalgia

bookshops

toy aisles

teen dramas

late-night pancakes

diners

I hate

funerals

change

losing my hair

my nose

bills

politics

rude people

crowds

August

I miss

my dad

my hair

polite people

Saturday morning cartoons

A world without smart phones

Toys “R” Us

video stores

Sundays when stores were closed

how Christmas used to feel

If you saw me at the store or at work, you’d see the nicest guy in the world.

I smile. I listen. I play my part.

But the truth is, I’m terrified. The world feels off, and I’m losing ground. I ask myself what I want… and honestly, I have no clue. I’ve spent so long being this “guy” that I’ve become a stranger to myself. I’m mourning a younger version of me who thought time was endless, while staring at a future that feels like a question mark.

I write because it’s the only place I don’t have to be nice. I just have to be true.

The nice guy is for them. This writing is for me.

A lot of us are still figuring it out. This is my space. My truth. My gospel.

I just finished a small 26-page booklet called Pancakes, Love & Nobodies. It’s an easy read, a love letter to diners, the few places left where you belong and no one’s performing. No fancy lattes. You just show up, sit down, and the waitress calls you "hon" and actually means it.

It’s about pancakes, quiet love, and the people who don’t need an audience to matter. If that sounds like your kind of thing, check it out here. If not, no worries at all.

1:17 a.m.

I tell everyone grace is enough, but some nights I wondered if grace had a limit.

Too many screw ups meant God would leave.

But when I whisper, “I’m tired,”

there’s this quiet answer, “I know. I got you”

Grace doesn’t clock out.

Like a good friend

who’s never locked the door on you

1:45 a.m.

One minute you’re young, friends everywhere. Late nights. Spontaneous plans.

Then one day, you look around, alone in a cubicle with a kale salad. When did life go from carefree to crickets? But then I realize there’s a soft grace in having made it through the fire. I had my wild years. No regrets. And now I’m just learning to be okay with the quiet, and a decent salad.

2:03 a.m.

Honestly? No one’s coming to rescue you. You keep waiting, hoping someone will, but that’s not how it works.

If anything’s going to happen, it’s on you.

Making the first move… that’s hard. My chest tightens just thinking about it.

What if I look stupid? What if it blows up in my face?

Yet... I know I have to. Because if I don’t, nothing changes.

2:28 a.m.

I saw him through a dusty toy shop window and had to stop. GI Joe wasn't just plastic, he was my co-pilot, from Christmas morning through endless Saturday mornings. I brought him home because, honestly, being an adult feels like a horrible scam and I’m still mourning the kid I used to be. I needed something in my home that didn’t expect anything from me. Just an old friend to help me remember a time when life felt safe.

2:50 a.m.

I’ve got this Franklin plush on my desk, and while some think it’s just cute, he’s a heavy symbol for me. It took a tragedy and a bold letter for him to even exist. When I look at him, I’m reminded of how often belonging in America feels conditional. Like I’m here, but still a guest. Franklin’s existence came from loss and courage, and that makes him comforting, but also heavy. He reminds me that being seen is possible, and that it has always come at a cost

I’m cranking this up today because it’s easily one of the greatest movie soundtracks ever made. But honestly? I think I listen to it so loud because the music fills the silence. I watch these movies and think, "I wish I had friends like this," because real-life connection feels so much harder to find than it used to be. It’s more than just good songs;

it’s a temporary escape into a world that feels a little less lonely.

We don’t lack men; we lack gentlemen.

I think for a lot of us, we try so hard to be the "gentlemen" because we're scared that if we let our guard down, people would be turned off by the anger or the mess we actually carry. For me, that "respect" has become a suit of armor.

But it’s not just about strength, it’s about choosing how to use it. It’s about handling your issues with grace, without making everyone else carry them for you.

Men show up. Gentlemen show respect.

It’s not about strength, it’s about how you carry it.

You can tell a great movie when the credits roll, and nobody moves

Whole Foods feels like a performance. We’ve all got our “I care about ingredients” face on, but half the time I’m just there to feel a hit of ego, like if I buy the sustainably farmed oil, I’m somehow winning at life. It’s a lifestyle exhibit, and I’m a part of it. I just want to grab my oat-infused milk and go, while pretending I’m not just as confused about life as the person in the next aisle.

What’s something small right now, at this exact moment, that would make you feel even a little bit lighter? Could be anything: a song, a snack, looking at the street outside.

DR was rare. She was half my age, like a little sister or daughter in spirit, but we instantly clicked at work over our shared love of teen dramas. She’d fill me in on everything happening in the city—restaurants, ticket deals, and shows she thought I’d like. She had this way of making you feel seen that somehow made the day feel lighter.

Now that she’s moved on to a new opportunity, her absence hits hard. She was the one person who made me feel like more than just a gear in the machine. Finding that kind of connection is hard these days, and when it’s gone, you notice just how much you were leaning on it to feel human at work.

Back then, connection came easily. We all shared the same limited choices, so a simple, “Did you catch that episode last night?” could pull you into everyone else’s orbit. There was a shared rhythm.

Now, that rhythm is gone. We’re islands with headphones in… scrolling, consuming, living inside private bubbles. We don’t even say “good morning” anymore. It feels awkward. Intrusive.

The truth is, I spend half my day staring at my own screen because I’m too tired to put in the effort to reach out. Then I go home and feel the weight of that silence. It’s a lonely kind of freedom to have endless options but no one to talk to about them. We’re all in the same house, just different rooms. And some nights, I realize those “meaningless” watercooler conversations were the only thing keeping me from feeling invisible.

It hits differently knowing it used to be easy, and now, even when I’m starving for connection, I’m part of the reason it’s so quiet.

I was never the explorer.

I was the kid who loved good stories, who loved listening to the curious mind explain the how and the why.

Ty was that curious kid. He didn’t just want the ice cream; he wanted to know how it was churned. That holy curiosity makes thinkers, teachers, inventors.

Somewhere along the way, our wonder was stifled. We were taught to survive, not explore. To consume the ice cream before there was none left, not ask how it came to be.

I learned to listen, to appreciate the story without stepping into it. I didn’t wander. I adapted.

Seeing Ty still ask questions in his sixties is beautiful. But it’s also a reminder of what slipped away from the rest of us. He kept his magic while the world taught me to be a gear.

I’m grateful for his light. But tonight, I mourn the questions I never felt brave enough to ask.

Doing everything “right” doesn’t mean things will work out. I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking that if I just followed the rules, the universe owed me a win, but then I read something like Ecclesiastes 9:11. The fastest runner doesn’t always win; the skillful aren’t always wealthy. It’s all decided by chance and timing. Truthfully, that’s both a relief and a nightmare. It’s a relief because it means my failures aren't always my fault, but it’s a nightmare because it means I’m not nearly as in control as I like to pretend. I’m just trying to make peace with the fact that the "race" isn't always fair.

Look, when the cost of continuing is higher than the cost of stopping, it’s time to quit.

During the day, we call it “strategy” or “being smart.” We pretend the choice is logical, like we’ve thought it all through. But in the late night hours, the mask comes off. It’s not strategy, it’s exhaustion. I’m tired of giving so much to things that give nothing back.

Admitting you’ve reached your limit is hard, but there’s honesty in it. Saying, I can’t carry this anymore, isn’t weakness, it’s the only way to protect yourself. Letting go doesn’t mean failing. Sometimes, it’s how you survive.

So I’m working on this comic miniseries. Hear me out. I love superhero movies, but I’ve always wondered what happens after the battles. Like, once the villain’s gone and the hero flies off, there’s still a wrecked city left behind. Buildings destroyed, cars flipped, streets torn apart. Someone has to clean that up.

So I came up with this division called SAINT, acronym for, Superhuman Aftermath Intervention and Neutralization Taskforce. They’re the crew that comes in after the fight. They handle the damage, haul away the weaponry that was left behind, and restore order.

That’s the story… superheroes, but from the people stuck dealing with the aftermath.

12:32am

Watching Terminator again. It still holds up. The first one’s a classic… gotta love Kyle Reese.

He starts off intense and all business… and by the end, he’s softening while Sarah hardens. Took me a few rewatches to even notice that.

12:38am

I used to obsess over heroes when I was a kid. Honestly, I still do.

I’d daydream that some hero would just show up and fix everything. But over time I’ve learned… they don’t always show up. Sometimes you just gotta be your own hero. It’s you. That’s the hero.

12:47am

So today, I let this person go ahead of me, and the cashier closed the lane right after them. I know it’s petty, but it just felt like... why do I even bother? “No good deed goes unpunished.” It stings. But then I don't know… when my back’s against the wall, something random happens. Some tiny bit of grace shows up. And I guess it reminds me that being a decent person isn't totally wasted. Sometimes good really does come back.

Maybe that’s why some things just… hold up, no matter what. Converse and denim jeans are never going out of style…. like the little black dress. They’ve survived every weird fad and trend. I think it’s because they’re just… simple. Classic. No drama, no trying too hard to be “cool.” They just work.

I feel like I’m finally reaching that point where I’m tired of chasing every new thing. You start to see what actually lasts, you know? I think I’m finally figuring that out.

1:02am

It's wild how much time we spend just nodding along to stuff we already agree with. I’m guilty too. It’s like we’re stuck in this loop where nothing ever changes. Real growth is probably supposed to feel annoying and uncomfortable, you know? Like sitting with something that isn't your thing just to see what happens. We’ll never see anything new if we keep following the same map.

1:12am

I’ve been a crappy friend sometimes. Not in some big dramatic way, just... being distant. Being too stuck in my own head to really see anyone else. I’ve said apologies that just didn’t fix anything. It’s hard to sit with that. I know you're supposed to learn from it, but man… I'm tired of living in the guilt.

No matter how strong I think I am, that feeling of dread still hits. Over a doctor’s voicemail, stepping on the scale, or a ‘we need to talk’ moments… my mind goes straight to the worst possible place. But when I actually face it, it’s never as bad as I imagined. I always forget… I’ve literally survived everything before this.

Fear really does grow in the dark. The moment you step into it, the shadow isn’t even that big of an issue.

Anyway… do you ever do that to yourself, or am I just overthinking?

1:28am

Everyone says they want things to “go back to normal”, but I don’t even think normal is real. Normal was just a routine we got used to… and when routine’s gone, everything changes, and we change with it. Trying to go back would just be pretending the last few years didn’t happen. Maybe we’re not supposed to go back. Maybe we just keep moving and carry all this mess with us. Does that make sense? It’s wild, right?

1:38am

Also, it’s crazy how most of the important stuff I’ve learned came from completely messing things up. School didn’t teach me half as much as a bad breakup or some dumb choices I’ve made. Life just keeps throwing the same problems at you until you finally deal with them. You either learn the lesson, or you repeat the same disaster. I think I’m finally starting to get it, though. Hopefully.

Maybe the mistakes I made weren’t really mistakes at all. Maybe this is where I am supposed to be at this moment in time.