Do We Need Another Jew With A Substack? Part 2

The block above has nothing to do with Do We Need Another Jew With A Substack but I figured some of you haven’t had your reading comprehension insulted enough today.

Or maybe that is just me.

Maybe I am the only one who was called a bloodthirsty genocide loving nazi.

I was mildly disappointed they couldn’t see my face when I wrote back that I feel badly for the easily manipulated who buy into the genolie.

Yes, it is a parody of genocide and when used in person I sometimes exaggerate the entire word.

I want them to feel my utter disdain and disregard for their ridiculous comments and attempts to shame me for failing to buy into their moral bankruptcy, gaslighting and intellectual dishonesty.

A dear friend asked me why I get involved in battles in which I might be taking on a troll farm or groups of socially unaware leftists who live in a circle jerk of stupidity.

The answer is/was:

Because there is an information war going on. Because when I choose to focus I am very effective at communicating thoughts and ideas in text.

That brings us back to the initial question of whether we need another Jew with a substack.

But you need to flesh out the question and ask what purpose does this particular Substack serve?

Am I trying to push back against the tide of misinformation and hate?

Am I writing posts that will arm my allies with valuable information they can use so they are better equipped to engage in these discussions and to feel less alone?

That begs the question of whether the posts are being read and or found useful. More importantly are they being read by the right people or am I preaching to the crowd.

One of the best parts of going to Toys R Us is having a light saber fight with a dozen people have never met before and then having a debate about whether the guy who grabbed the Wolverine claws could be force choked or not.

It has been a minute since I have been to a toy store and a minute longer since I was in a Toys R Us but I can confirm the quote above is based upon real life experience.

I can also confirm if I walk by a group of toys that make noise there is a 85% chance I will set as many of them off as I can.

Ok, that number is probably far too low because I need to know how many beeps, boops and whistles I can make happen.

When there is a five-year-old boy trapped in a man’s body there are moments when the boy must be allowed to take the wheel.

Moments when the man has to shed worries about family, friends and the world to have fun. You can’t be serious all of the time without it impacting your mental health.

My father’s cellphone number is saved in my favorites list on my phone.

Last month marked eight years since he died which means it’s longer than that since the last time he called me on it.

Haven’t a clue if someone else has his number now, though I can tell you that two years after his death it wasn’t in use.

Dad wouldn’t care if I deleted it. He’d have been very matter-of-fact about it.

“I am dead, it won’t bother me.”

Deleting it won’t change anything. I won’t think of him any more or any less because of its presence or lack thereof.

It’s not taking up any space or preventing me from doing anything so there is no rush or reason to act.

Sometimes I think about it because periodically I clean up my list of contacts.

I don’t really need to keep the numbers and names of the parents of the kids who played soccer with my kids. Don’t need to retain old PTA information either so some of it gets removed.

It is not a memory issue, has nothing to do with my own or the phone.

It’s more of a digital housecleaning and organization.

But there are a few names of people I once was close with who aren’t part of my life anymore.

Sometimes I think about whether I should delete or hold onto them. Some of that became more real after my four day hospital adventure last year.

I don’t know if anything comes after our time on this plane or if we lie in our coffins rotting away in silence because there isn’t anything afterwards.

What little I am certain of is that if I had died I wouldn’t be the person wishing I had reached out to have made sure nothing was left unsaid.

I would have been dead so there wouldn’t be any regrets or second thoughts.

But I didn’t die and so I find myself periodically mulling over if I have words that need to be shared or if all will remain in silence.

I am built for silence if I choose it, but I am built for asking questions too.

Sometimes I look around and wonder what Dad would have had to say about some things. There are questions I would ask.

And sometimes I remember a moment where I asked his advice and he told me he wished grandpa was around.

“My Dad would have known better than I do about this.”

That was as big a sign that he thought of me as an adult as anything. It is a good memory.

We also write to make sense of life and to figure what our true thoughts and feelings are.

I still haven’t fleshed out how hard to lean into Substack versus my blog. Still haven’t spent much time trying to build the readership into something significant.

That might make you wonder about the purpose of publishing here and what impact the numbers have.

The answer is writing is like breathing to me. If I don’t do it here I am going to do it somewhere else so why not explore this format.

Substack feels like a new part of an adventure and I am the guy who will drive just a little further down the road to see what else might lie around the bend.

So we’ll keep going. We’ll keep asking questions and mixing in stories, thoughts and ideas and see where the yellow brick road takes us.

Bet there are going to be all sorts of good stories that come up along the way. Just you wait and see.