Sometimes Often I read an essay and I wish I had written it.

The latest example is written by Alex McElroy — and not by me, damn it — in last week’s edition of The New York Times Magazine: “Why Holding a Grudge Is So Satisfying.”

A grudge is not a resentment. Sure, they’re made of the same material — poison — but while resentment is concentrated, a grudge is watered down, drinkable and refreshingly effervescent, the low-calorie lager to resentment’s bootleg grain alcohol.

Effervescent is the perfect word to describe McElroy’s writing, and I agree with every word they wrote. Especially this:

Did someone truly, existentially wrong you? Don’t waste your time growing a grudge — save it for something pettier.

So I guess it’s not appropriate to hold a grudge against someone I’ve never met over something as existential-adjacent as them being a more gifted writer than I?

Or maybe it is.

Plan C

If you asked me in high school what I wanted to do with my life, I think I’d have said radio DJ or TV sports reporter.

In college, I probably answered sports reporter at a newspaper or a job with a team.

So, Plans A and B were a job in sports. There was no Plan C.

None of those careers panned out for assorted reasons ranging from drive, talent and commitment. I had a few meetings over the years, mostly of the courtesy, “informational interview” variety, with the Astros, Pistons, Nuggets, and Rockies.

Now I realize it’s a good thing I never had the opportunity back then to work for a pro sports team. I had a cancel-out combination of sports enthusiasm to spare and little skill or experience. Sure, I knew I could write well enough but I didn’t have interest in anything beyond sports, music, and “The Simpsons.”

So, had I lucked my way into an entry-level job with the Detroit Tigers I can’t imagine it would have been an ideal marriage. My workday focus would have been on the sports part, not the work part.

And, in the interest of transparency, part of the job’s allure would have been to see my name on a business card with the Tigers’ logo on it.

Anyway, I have no doubt that I’d be a much better fit for a job with a sports team today because I have less interest in sports and more experience and interest in the work (assuming for a second I know what the work is). As a man of a certain age, I’d dutifully focus on the job and not the cool factor of working for, say, the Phoenix Suns.

So, after all these years do I still want to work in sports? Nah. That ship, and the one carrying the journalism, radio and TV career paths, left port long ago.

Despite not having held real jobs in media, thanks to the internet I’ve written about the Tigers online and in books and magazines, hosted a podcast on which I interviewed a legendary broadcaster and got to talk baseball with friends old and new.

In many ways, I’ve checked almost all the career boxes I’d dreamed of — even if I don’t have the paystubs or business cards to show for it.

I guess I did have a Plan C after all.

Mother’s Day

This is the third Mother’s Day without my Mom.

Thinking back, I don’t know that I ever gave my Mom a really good gift on Mother’s Day. I feel better knowing that I made up for it with the cards I’d buy for her — always my strong suit — alternating funny and serious cards each year.

I just wish I had a chance to finally get her a good gift.

Staying Positive

Sometimes I come across something that I wish I’d written. Here’s a great example, from Fred Wilson:

For every negative thought, there is a positive counter thought. If you don’t like the Celtics, maybe you like the Knicks. If you don’t like Trump, maybe you like Biden. If you don’t like Bitcoin, maybe you like Ethereum. It is a pretty simple move, and also a very powerful move, to focus on what you like versus what you don’t like.

Doing this not only can change how others feel about you, it can change how you feel about yourself. I highly recommend it. I hope it becomes a trend. We would all be happier and nicer. Social media would be tolerable. Life would be better.

Life would definitely be better.