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Against the Pen

The bell above the door chimed, and in walked Anna, shaking off the rain from her umbrella. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling at no one in particular. At the counter, she ordered a cappuccino, her voice calm and musical, the sort of voice that made people lean closer without realizing it.

At a corner table, Daniel looked up from his book. He wasn’t the type to notice strangers, at least not often, but something about her drew his eyes. Maybe it was the way she tapped her fingers against the counter in rhythm with the jazz song playing overhead. Maybe it was the tilt of her smile, as though she knew something the rest of the world hadn’t caught up to yet.

She turned, drink in hand, and their eyes met. It felt like the beat of their hearts was the only sound as the world stopped turning for a moment.

She smiled, and his heart melted.

He shook his head and gathered his courage, “You can sit here if you like. The other tables are crowded.”

Anna glanced around. Every other table was immediately full. She thought back to when she first walked into the coffee shop, and she couldn’t remember the many people being in the place. It felt strange to her that all the seats were suddenly taken.

“Sure,” she said as she gracefully pulled the chair away from the table.

For a moment, they didn’t speak. Daniel closed his book and set it aside, though he hadn’t marked the page. Anna stirred her drink, though she hadn’t added sugar. Then, as if nudged by an unseen hand, they both spoke at once.

“So, do you come here often?” he asked, immediately feeling stupid for asking such a cliche question.

“Have you read that author before?” she asked, pointing to the book.

They laughed at the overlap. He gestured for her to go first, relieved that he would get a do-over.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” she said.

“I usually sit on the other side,” Daniel replied. “But this window drew my attention today.”

“Imagine,” Anna said, her brow furrowing slightly. “We come here and we’ve never seen each other before. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

He cocked his head as he thought about it, “That does seem odd.”

It was easy, almost too easy. Their words fit together like puzzle pieces. Each pause ended just when the other picked up. Even the background seemed to cooperate. The barista turned down the grinder so their voices wouldn’t be drowned out. A child about to cry in the corner was whisked away by her mother before the first wail.

Daniel found himself leaning closer. “Do you ever feel like… certain things are just meant to happen?”

Anna laughed again, a little nervously this time. “That sounds like a line.”

“Maybe it is,” he said. “But maybe it’s also true.”

Outside, the rain stopped. Sunlight streamed through the windows, golden and warm, as though timed to the moment.

Anna noticed it. Her smile faltered for half a second, as if something about all of this was just a little too convenient. But then Daniel’s eyes held hers, and the thought dissolved.

When they left the café, it was together. Neither could explain why it felt inevitable.

Day 2

The next morning, Anna woke with the scent of coffee still in her mind. She smiled as she remembered the café, the way Daniel’s eyes lingered a little longer than expected, the ease of their conversation. It was the kind of memory that should have carried a glow.

But something felt strange.

Her phone showed a picture she didn’t remember taking, her and Daniel standing by the café door, both smiling. She scrolled through her gallery twice, certain it hadn’t been there last night. The timestamp read 9:13 p.m., though she had left the café long before sunset.

She told herself she must have forgotten. Maybe someone had snapped the photo and sent it to her. That was possible.

At least, it should have been.

When she stepped outside, the same little girl from the café was standing on the corner with her mother, wearing the same pink raincoat. Anna froze. The girl tugged at her mother’s sleeve and pointed, not at Anna, but at something just above her shoulder, like she could see words floating there. Then they crossed the street and were gone.

Daniel wasn’t having a normal morning either.

He opened his book, and the words on the page had changed. Last night it had been a detective novel. Now the page read like a diary entry. His own handwriting stared back at him.

She seemed too good to be true. It was as if his life had already changed, and they hadn’t even been on a proper date.

That’s exactly what he had been thinking.

Daniel slammed the book shut, his pulse racing. He checked the cover. Same title, same author. He ran a hand over the pages, but they looked normal again, lines of printed text, nothing personal. He laughed under his breath. He was still tired, that was all.

Except the phone rang.

It was Anna.

“Hi,” she said, sounding as startled as he felt. “I know this is weird, but I thought I should call.”

“I was about to call you,” he said.

They both went quiet. Neither of them had meant it.

They made plans to meet in the park, and when he got there, Daniel confessed. “Something strange is happening. My book… it wrote about you.”

Anna hesitated, then showed him the photo on her phone, “This appeared out of nowhere. I swear I didn’t take it.”

They sat together on the bench, staring at the evidence. The air around them felt charged, like someone was listening.

Then they heard it.

A whisper.

It wasn’t exactly sound, more like the outline of a voice brushing against their thoughts. Words, faint but clear enough.

They lean closer, drawn by an invisible thread. Their hearts quicken. The scene is set for the kiss.

Anna jolted to her feet. “Did you hear that?”

Daniel nodded, pale. “We’re not alone.”

The wind rustled the leaves, though the trees were still. Somewhere beyond sight, a pen scratched against paper.

Day 2 Again

The next day, Daniel woke up in a panic. He hadn’t set his alarm, but the sound of a typewriter echoed in his ears. Each strike of a key rattled through his skull.

When he opened his eyes, he was already at the park. Not his bed, not his apartment. The park bench where he and Anna had sat the day before. He shot to his feet, heart pounding.

Anna was there too. She looked just as shaken.

“I didn’t come here,” she whispered.

Before either could say more, they both heard it again. The whisper echoed in the park.

The air between them chills. A shadow passes through their budding affection. Distrust creeps in. She remembers his lies. He recalls her betrayal.

Daniel clutched his head. “What betrayal? What lies?”

Anna’s eyes went wide. “I don’t even know you well enough to lie to you.”

The world tilted. Dark clouds rolled in, blotting out the sun. A cold wind kicked up. Around them, strangers appeared out of nowhere, glaring, muttering. Their faces were blurred, like sketches erased and redrawn too many times.

The whispers grew louder.

He thinks she’s hiding something. She thinks he’s dangerous. The spark between them flickers, replaced by suspicion.

Anna’s throat tightened. Against her will, words spilled out, “I don’t trust you, Daniel.”

Daniel staggered back. He hadn’t wanted to speak, but something pulled the words from his chest, “And maybe you shouldn’t.”

Their eyes locked, both horrified.

“This isn’t us,” Anna said, shaking. “This isn’t me.”

Another whisper cut across, harsher, like a new voice shoving the old one aside.

They argue. They separate. There won’t be a happy ending for this one.

Anna spun around. “Who are you?” she shouted into the empty air.

And then, unbelievably, someone answered.

A laugh, dry and sharp. A man in a rumpled blazer stepped from behind the trees, a fountain pen tucked behind his ear, ink smudged across his fingers. He looked more tired than threatening, though his grin was cruel.

“Finally,” he said. “You can hear me.”

Daniel froze. “You’re… writing us?”

“Not anymore,” the man said. “I’m rewriting you.” He glanced at the sky, where lightning cracked without rain. “The original guy is sentimental. Predictable. Boring. I took over to give you some bite.”

Anna’s fists clenched, “We’re not your puppets.”

The man chuckled, “You don’t get a choice. Characters never do.”

The ground shook, splitting the park into jagged lines. Daniel reached for Anna’s hand, but the man snapped his fingers, and the bench surged up like a wall between them.

They walk away from each other, furious. The love is dead.

Anna shouted over the roar. “No! That’s not how it ends!”

Her voice cut through the storm, trembling but clear.

For the first time, the old man hesitated.

The storm rattled around them, the bench splitting the ground like a barrier. Daniel pressed against it, trying to reach Anna, but every time he pushed, the wood stretched higher, boards multiplying from nothing.

“Stop fighting it,” the old man called, voice booming as if written in bold across the sky. “Characters don’t fight. They do what they’re told. That’s the rule.”

Anna’s hair whipped across her face in the wind. She planted her feet and screamed back. “Then we’ll break the rule. We’ll break all the rules.”

The air trembled. For an instant, the storm faltered.

Daniel felt it too, a looseness in the air, like the strings holding him had slackened. He shoved harder. Instead of rising, the bench cracked down the middle. Anna grabbed his hand through the gap.

Another whisper slithered into their ears, softer this time, familiar. The knew that voice.

They hold on to each other. Against all odds, their love wins.

Daniel grimaced. “Even that… isn’t us.”

Anna nodded, her grip fierce, “We don’t need either of you. What do you know about love?”

The old man snarled, “Ungrateful inventions. Without me, you’re nothing but empty pages.”

But Daniel raised his voice. “Then we’ll fill them ourselves.”

Anna smiled and looked back at the old man, “We can write our love better than either of you.”

The ground shook again, not from the storm but from their defiance. Words began spilling into the air, glowing faintly, phrases not whispered by an outside voice but spoken by them.

“I love her,” Daniel said, and the sentence etched itself across the sky in blazing light.

“I choose him,” Anna answered, and her words joined his, wrapping the storm in warmth.

The old man stumbled, clutching his head as the pages around him tore free, caught in a wind he couldn’t control. The lingering voice tried to slip in again, sweet and comforting. Their kiss seals the scene.

But Anna shook her head. “No. Not your kiss. Ours.”

She pulled Daniel close. Their lips met, not because a hand had guided them, not because it had been written, but because they wanted it. The storm shattered. The pages dissolved into sparks that faded into blue sky.

When they pulled apart, the old man was gone. So was the whisper from the sky. The world was quiet. The park was just a park again.

Daniel looked at Anna, his chest heaving, “Do you think they’ll come back?”

“I have no idea,” she said. “This is all new to me.”

He squeezed her hand as he looked at her with admiration, “And what now?”

Anna smiled, the same tilted smile he had first noticed in the café, “Coffee?”

And as she spoke, a blank page unfolded in the air before them. No typewriter keys struck. No pen scratched. The page filled itself with their footsteps as they walked away together, leaving the ending behind and stepping into a beginning that belonged only to them.

The post Against the Pen appeared first on Michael Allen.

Critic Slams Cheerleaders From Couch While Stuffing His Pie Hole

There’s always that one critic, half a pizza in his mouth, yelling at the screen, who has the audacity to criticize cheerleaders. The same man who gets winded bringing in the groceries suddenly becomes an expert on athleticism, choreography, and fitness. He points at the screen like he’s grading a final exam. “Not synchronized enough!” Bro, you haven’t seen your own toes since the Bush administration. Sit down.

And it doesn’t stop with cheerleaders. Critics are everywhere. Like ants at a picnic, they swarm around every industry with the same energy. Never satisfied, and not qualified.

via APModels & Actresses

Models? Too skinny. Too curvy. Too airbrushed. Too natural. Apparently, existing in a body is offensive if it isn’t Photoshopped exactly the way some critic wants it.

Actresses? If they gain five pounds, tabloids call it a “tragic downfall.” If they lose five pounds, it’s “concerning.” If they age naturally? Forget it. “She looks terrible.” The irony? The loudest voices usually come from people who consider Old Spice and a free T-shirt formal wear.

And the red carpet? Critics lose their minds there. If an actress shows too much skin, it’s “desperate.” If she covers up, it’s “boring.” Wear designer couture? “Out of touch.” Wear something simple from Target? “Cheap.” Meanwhile, the critics themselves show up to their cousin’s wedding in a wrinkled button-down and call it high fashion.

via Kaley CuocoMusic Critic

Then there are the music critics. A band tries something new? “They’ve lost their edge.” Stick to their old sound? “Boring, predictable.” Sing live? “Off key.” Lip sync? “Fraud.” It doesn’t matter what they do, critics will put the artists down in every way possible, while not being able to carry a tune when they sing along in their car.

And don’t even get critics started on live performances. If a singer dares to breathe differently into a microphone, they get “I don’t like when they don’t do the song the way they recorded it.” If they use backing tracks to keep the show tight, it’s “inauthentic, lazy, and cheating.” Critics want a flawless concert for $40, but also expect the artist to sing upside down, juggle fireworks, and play the guitar with their toes at the same time.

Then there’s the obsession with lyrics. If a song is simple and catchy, critics sneer, “It’s shallow.” If the lyrics are deep and poetic, they roll their eyes and mutter, “Trying too hard.” Critics want every three-minute track to be a Shakespearean sonnet layered over Beethoven’s Fifth, but still “fun for TikTok.” Good luck with that.

via Carrie UnderwoodEveryday Life Critic

There’s a critic for everything, everywhere. Trolls online are the worst. They stay anonymous while typing their opinions on everyone else. These are the basement-dwelling critics who live behind vague usernames like xXTruthHurts420Xx. The moment someone posts a video, anything from a song cover to a cooking tutorial, the trolls crawl out of the woodwork to declare it “trash.” They mock people for putting themselves out there, all while hiding behind a profile picture of a cartoon frog. Funny how the loudest voices online are always the ones with the least courage to show their faces.

Food isn’t safe either. “Pumpkin spice is overrated.” “Avocado toast is why you’ll never own a house.” And I don’t know what bacon ever did to anyone, but it doesn’t deserve the backlash it gets from time to time just because someone wants to be different. Critics can’t just let people enjoy things. They have to tweet their negative opinions of everything as if anyone cares, which brings us to the irony of technology critics.

“Smartphones are destroying society!” posted from… a smartphone. “Social media is rotting our brains!” typed with shaking hands because the critic couldn’t resist doomscrolling until 3 a.m. If technology is so bad, maybe log off? But of course not. They’ve got a 12-part thread to post on why the world’s ending.

via Instagram/veronikarajekThe Word on Politicians

Now, I’d love to end this with some clever jab at critics in general, but there’s one group that deserves every ounce of fire. Politicians deserve every ounce of criticism they get. I would’ve put them in the main roast, but let’s be real, they’re in a league of their own.

These are people who enter office with pocket change and somehow retire millionaires. People who spend their entire careers fighting to limit the rights of the citizens they claim to represent, while treating the world like their private VIP lounge. If critics waste energy nitpicking cheerleaders or musicians, maybe they should redirect that fury toward the folks writing laws and cashing checks.

Because unlike cheerleaders, models, or musicians, politicians actually think they own the world. And judging by the bank accounts they leave with, they try really hard to make it a reality.

For a perfect example of critics at their best, look at the trolls hating on Sydney Sweeney…Sydney Sweeney and the Weaponization of “Wrongthink”

For more stupid things, When Doing Wonderful Deeds Gets You in Dumb Trouble

The post Critic Slams Cheerleaders From Couch While Stuffing His Pie Hole appeared first on Michael Allen.

The Coffee Rave To Get Your Day On Before The Day Begins

It was 6:30 in the morning, and Jamal’s alarm clock hadn’t even gone off yet when his neighbor burst through the door yelling, “Bro, grab your sneakers, we’re late for the coffee rave!”

“Coffee rave?” Jamal muttered, still wrapped in his blanket burrito. “It’s not even breakfast time.”

With only zero dark early energy, Jamal got up and jumped into his pants. He slid one foot into a shoe and put the other one on as he hopped down the hallway toward the door. His eyes were barely open, but he grabbed everything he needed on the way. He stopped for a second at the door and thought, wallet, keys, phone. He was good.

The coffee shop was just around the corner from where he lived, and it had been converted into a full-on club. Instead of strobe lights, baristas were pulling double shots, and instead of glow sticks, people were waving French presses in the air like trophies. A DJ stood on the counter dropping house beats over the whir of milk frothers.

Coffee Rave!

“WHO NEEDS SLEEP WHEN YOU’VE GOT ESPRESSO?” screamed a girl wearing a shirt that read Caffeine Over Everything. She slammed back a triple macchiato like it was tequila and immediately began breakdancing in front of the pastry case.

Jamal watched in awe as a group of yoga moms headbanged to a remix of “Stayin’ Alive” while a guy in a three-piece suit was pogo-jumping with a venti latte balanced perfectly in his hand. The place was popping early in the morning, but where did all the people come from? Were they in from the nightclub on a long night out? Or were these early risers punishing themselves every day for some reason only they knew?

The DJ shouted into the mic as he mixed coffee orders in one hand and scratched the turntable with the other, “This next one goes out to everyone trying to make it to work without crying in the bathroom stall! LET’S GET THAT 401K ENERGY!”

By the time Jamal left, he was vibrating at a frequency only dogs could hear. He showed up at his office, pupils the size of espresso beans. His boss took one look at him and asked, “Did you go clubbing last night?”

“No,” Jamal whispered, twitching slightly. “Worse. I went to a coffee rave.”

via YouTube/Val Baker I DJWhere Did The Coffee Rave Come From?

The very first people to get crunked on coffee raves weren’t in New York or LA like you’d think. Nah, it was London and Amsterdam, where some genius baristas looked at a cappuccino and thought, “What if we drop a beat with this foam?” By 2016, folks were stumbling out of bed half-asleep and getting geeked before work, floating in cafés that had turned into mini nightclubs at sunrise.

Then came Buenos Aires, where a crew called Espresso Club Radio mashed art, specialty coffee, and electronic music into one big jittery fiesta. They said, “Forget tequila, let’s get blasted on cortados.”

Meanwhile in Spain, DJ Daya Dadlani, a barista by day and a bass-dropper by night, started throwing coffee parties so people could get baked on caffeine without the hangover. Madrid and Barcelona got lifted really fast.

By the time Asia caught wind, the whole scene was blazing. Singapore had “Beans & Beats,” Seoul threw down with the “Paccha Coffee Party,” and Bangkok cranked out a “Morning Affair.” People were geeked at seven a.m., floating into work like hummingbirds. Even South Africa got in on it! Cape Town’s “Rise & Rave” turned Nice Café into a once-a-month rocket launch where everyone got lit off flat whites.

Of course, you can’t forget Morning Gloryville back in London in 2013, the granddaddy of them all. They didn’t call it a coffee rave yet, but yoga at sunrise with DJs and smoothies? That’s proto-crunked. The blueprint.

Now it’s everywhere, including India, Chicago, and Australia. Gen Z said screw hangovers, let’s get blasted on lattes instead. Wellness crowd got baked on oat milk. DJs started dropping beats over milk frothers like it was a collab with Daft Punk. And the rest of the world? Floating, lifted, geeked, and buzzing at frequencies only bees could hear.

via YouTube/Pan-PotIsn’t It More Like A Coffee Rager?

The average worker wakes up, smacks the snooze button six times, stumbles to the kitchen, and prays their coffee machine doesn’t explode. That’s normal life. But a coffee raver? Oh no. They’re not sipping Folgers in silence. They’re stepping into a sunrise jungle where espresso shots come with bass drops and baristas double as hype men.

It’s the morning injection of java on steroids. One shot of espresso might get you alert enough to find your car keys. But slam that same shot while a DJ is blasting house music and strangers are screaming “WHO NEEDS SLEEP” at the top of their lungs, and suddenly you’re not just awake, you’re levitating.

Office life after that? Forget dragging in half-conscious. Coffee ravers roll up to work with their hearts beating at 180 BPM. Their boss says, “Good morning,” and they respond like, “GOOD MORNING, ARE YOU READY FOR THIS PROJECT DROP?” Everyone else is still nursing their sad little travel mugs while these folks are in full rave recovery mode, vibrating through spreadsheets like they just ran a marathon.

The secret sauce isn’t just the caffeine. It’s the combination of caffeine, music, and a bunch of equally deranged morning people who all decided the best way to start a Tuesday was to get blasted on cappuccinos while fist pumping to a remix of Eye of the Tiger. That’s not a wake-up. That’s an awakening.

I’m still the kind of guy who would rather just have a quiet cup of coffee and mosey into the morning. Not everyone is into having their brains jarred that early in the morning with heart-pounding coffee that can send an elderly man to the hospital. But when I was young, I rolled into my bedroom around 5:45 after an all-nighter, took a shower, changed my clothes, and was at work on time, hungover or not. People could see the red in my eyes, but I was ready for work.

This new generation has found a way to do that alcohol-free. Maybe that was the objective from the start. So, more power to you. Drop all the caffeine your heart can take and keep that engine running all day long. If you can clock in at 9 a.m. still vibrating from a cappuccino mosh pit, you’ve basically hacked adulthood.

For another adrenaline-rushing read: Sexy Games Women Love To Play And Men Love To Watch

What are all these dangerous challenges about? The Nicki Minaj Pose Challenge To Influencer Who Broke Her Spine

The post The Coffee Rave To Get Your Day On Before The Day Begins appeared first on Michael Allen.

The Rookie Is Castle Part II if You Think About It

This is not just another wild fan theory. This is the truth nobody wants to admit. Richard Castle never really retired from crime-solving. He didn’t just fade away after Beckett’s death. He went underground, built himself a new identity, and resurfaced in Los Angeles as the rookie Officer John Nolan of the LAPD.

You know him as the old man among young officers in The Rookie. I know him as Castle in disguise.

The Fall of Beckett

Let’s start with the obvious. Beckett’s obsession with Senator Bracken and the endless chain of conspiracies that followed was going to end badly. She solved the case, but she couldn’t let it go. Castle begged her to slow down. She couldn’t.

The ending moments of the finale were all a dream. There in the kitchen, bleeding out, she passed away. Miraculously, Castle was able to survive that gun battle.

He was shattered. He had built his whole life around her. The writing, the investigations, even the idea of family. Without her, New York became a graveyard of memories. He couldn’t keep living there. He couldn’t keep being Richard Castle.

So he ran.

A New Identity

Castle didn’t just disappear. He created. That’s what he always did best. He was a novelist who made worlds out of thin air. Why not make a new one for himself?

He picked Los Angeles, far from his old life. He wrote himself a backstory. Not a writer this time. Too dangerous. Too many people would know his face. He decided to be a small-town contractor who wanted to chase his dream. It was plain, believable, forgettable.

But the real twist? He didn’t just write it. He lived it. He became John Nolan.

The Rookie Years

So now Castle, disguised as Nolan, walks into the LAPD academy. Everyone looks at him like a middle-aged rookie with no chance. But Castle has been living this life for years. He knows more about chasing suspects, talking down killers, and navigating police work than half the officers there.

He’s not really a rookie. He’s Castle playing the role of a rookie. It’s method acting on steroids.

The Fake Family

Of course, an identity that big needs anchors. Nolan had an ex-wife named Sarah and a son named Henry. But if you look closely, something is off. The son pops up at key moments, then vanishes again. He’s never around long.

That’s because he’s not real.

Castle hired an actor to play his son. He had the money. He had the connections. He could make it work. Every once in a while, when the lie needed to be kept alive, the actor showed up. Photos, dinners, the occasional father-son talk. All of it staged.

Sarah, the ex-wife, was part of the script too. A background character that made Nolan’s story more grounded. But Castle was always in control of the casting. He knew how to keep the story believable.

Bailey Complicates the Plot

When Nolan married Bailey, things got harder. Suddenly, the fake son had to reappear more often. Castle had to keep juggling the performance. Imagine it. He is lying to his wife, lying to his colleagues, lying to everyone around him.

But isn’t that exactly what Castle always did best? He lived half in truth and half in fiction. He thrived on it.

Why He Did It

You might ask why. Why would Castle go this far?

The answer is simple. He couldn’t stop. Being a writer wasn’t enough anymore. Watching Beckett die showed him how fragile everything was. He didn’t want to sit behind a desk and type stories. He wanted to live them.

And so he became his own novel. John Nolan is just another character Castle created. The Rookie is the book Castle is still writing, chapter by chapter, call by call, case by case.

The Clues

If you watch The Rookie with this theory in mind, the clues are everywhere.

Nolan always has the same Nathan Fillion charm Castle had. He cracks jokes in the middle of serious moments. He bonds with strong women who push him to be better. He is underestimated at first, but always rises to the moment.

It’s Castle. He didn’t change. He just swapped names.

The Conspiracy Nobody Talks About

Of course, ABC will never admit this. They sold The Rookie as a brand-new show. They told us it had nothing to do with Castle. But look at the timing. Look at the details. Look at the man.

Castle is alive. Castle is Nolan. And The Rookie is Castle Part II, whether they want to admit it or not.

The Ongoing Story

The best part of this theory is that it never has to end. Castle is still out there, wearing a badge, chasing criminals, and spinning the biggest lie of his life. Every new season of The Rookie is another volume in the Castle saga.

We thought Castle was a TV show. It was only the beginning.

The writer became the story.

If you want to read more about The Rookie: The Rookie Review: Focus on Wesley’s Fatal Flaw

If you want more fan-fiction, I love writing it: Leonard and Sheldon: The Big Bang Theory Reimagining

Read more: Why the Quietly Powerful Togetherness Deserved More Than Two Seasons

The post The Rookie Is Castle Part II if You Think About It appeared first on Michael Allen.

The Rappahannock River Signed Me in Permanent Ink

The river wrote its name on me a long time ago. Not with a pen. With rocks, cold shock, and that deep, thunder-in-your-ribs sound you feel before you hear. The Rappahannock River signed me in permanent ink.

Back then we were a crew of water-dumb kids who thought gravity was a dare. We’d climb, count, and jump, aiming for the boil, not the calm. You hit the skin of the river, and it hits back, slap, tumble, spin. The world goes bubbles and roar. You surface laughing, coughing, louder than the water. Someone yells, “Again.” Someone else is already running. That’s how scars happen. That’s also how you learn what your body can take, and what it can’t.

Years later, Fredericksburg changed. The old Embrey Dam, with its concrete spine across the river, came down. On February 23, 2004, they blew a hole in it with a controlled explosion and set the flow free. It had been there since around 1910, first built for power and water, then hanging on mostly as a landmark when those jobs moved elsewhere.

I remember thinking, the river’s about to remember itself.

Dams do more than hold back water. They hold back stories. Fish that used to run upstream to spawn hit a wall and turn into a rumor. Anglers talk about how it “used to be.” Kids grow up thinking the river is supposed to stop there. But once Embrey cracked, the Rappahannock River and Rapidan re-opened, miles and miles of old routes breathing again, something like 106 miles of main river made passable for migratory fish. Shad. Herring. Eel. The old names coming home.

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I didn’t watch the blast in person, but I’ve replayed the footage more than once. That white bloom of spray, the puff of dust, the crowd noise folding into the river’s roar. You don’t often get to see a barrier become a current. You don’t often get to watch a place heal on a schedule.

If you grew up here, the river’s part of your internal map. It’s the smell after a storm. It’s the first cold shock of spring that says, “Wake up.” It’s the hush under a bridge and the shout at the fall line. It’s the tacky scrape on your shin that never quite fades, the one that makes you grin when your fingers find it. That scar is a receipt. You were there; you paid in skin; you belonged.

I’ve thought about why the river gets louder in memory. Part of it is simple, youth makes every echo longer. But part of it is that water is honest. A river doesn’t care if you’re tough. It doesn’t care if you’re scared. It cares if you respect it, and it teaches you fast if you don’t. The first lessons are practical. Read the current, watch the feet, don’t show off for the wrong reasons, keep your buddy in sight. The later lessons land softer and stick deeper. The momentum beats brute force, small adjustments save big problems, and most fights aren’t worth having if you can just move around them.

When Embrey fell, I heard people say the river wouldn’t feel the same without the drop, less drama, less spectacle. Maybe. But “same” was never the point. Rivers aren’t meant to stay the same. They’re meant to move, to take a thousand tiny paths to the same end, to change you as you walk alongside them year after year. We trade the big white fan of water the dam forced for a different kind of beauty, the kind you don’t stage, the kind that sneaks up on you when a shadow slips under your feet and you remember shad used to run here in numbers, then you see them actually doing it now because the way is clear again.

I go back when I can. I find a quiet bend where the city noise can’t quite reach and let the river do its old work, scrubbing the static, sanding down the edges. I watch the surface for tells. A wrinkle where a rock shoulders through, a slick where the water quickens, a dimple against an eddy line. The language comes back fast. You don’t forget. Your body remembers the angles and the timing, how to plant a foot and lean, how to ride a push without fighting it.

People ask why I talk about the Rappahannock River like it’s a person. Easy! Because it talked to me first. It taught me consequences and calm. It gave me places to test myself that weren’t about trophies, just showing up, getting wet, climbing out, doing it again. When the dam went, it taught me one more thing. Sometimes the right move is subtraction. Take the weight off the flow, and life finds the old channel on its own.

The Rappahannock River doesn’t sign everyone. That’s fine. Not everyone wants the same kind of story. But if you grew up in its orbit, if you ever counted to three and jumped because your friends were counting with you, you know what I mean. You can still hear the low thunder. You can still taste the river when rain is in the air. And if you run a finger over a thin pale line on your knee or your shin and catch yourself smiling, that’s the card in your wallet.

Keep reading: Broke Keyboard, New Brain: The Making of Franken-Laptop

The post The Rappahannock River Signed Me in Permanent Ink appeared first on Michael Allen.

Sydney Sweeney and the Weaponization of “Wrongthink”

It started with a joke about jeans. Not a great joke, maybe not even a good one, but certainly not the kind of thing anyone expected would launch a wave of backlash. Sydney Sweeney, in a playful American Eagle ad, made a pun about her “genes,” a nod to family and heritage, while wearing blue denim jeans. Cue the outrage machine.

People groaned, rolled their eyes, and some even accused her of perpetuating a conservative dog whistle. Never mind that the ad was harmless. Never mind that no one raised an eyebrow when dozens of other celebrities made similar pun-heavy ads in the name of fashion branding. Sweeney’s offense wasn’t the pun. It was what the internet thought it meant. And now, it’s not just about a pair of jeans, it’s about a person’s right to exist in public while holding private beliefs.

This week, BuzzFeed reported that Sydney Sweeney is a registered Republican in the state of Florida. That’s it. No illegal behavior. No scandal. No story, really. Just a line drawn in the sand, an insinuation that her personal political affiliation is not just newsworthy, but somehow dangerous. The framing was subtle but clear. This is who she really is. As if party registration defines someone’s entire moral character.

It would be really funny if it weren’t so creepy.

via American Eagle

Let’s get a few things straight. First, political affiliation in America is not a crime. Second, freedom of thought and freedom of association are supposed to be one of the cornerstones of a healthy democracy. Yet more and more, we’re watching public figures be dragged into cultural tribunals for “wrongthink.” Not for actions. Not for harm done. But for the possibility that their beliefs might not align with a specific online consensus.

This isn’t journalism. It’s ideological gatekeeping dressed up as reporting.

Sydney Sweeney didn’t commit some moral failure. She didn’t incite violence. She didn’t take a public stance on a controversial issue. She didn’t say anything political at all. What she did was exist as a working actress in an industry increasingly hostile to anyone who falls outside its narrow definition of acceptable opinion. That her voter registration became a headline says less about her and more about the culture trying to eat itself.

People can disagree about policy. They can debate values. But this isn’t a debate. This is digital McCarthyism, fueled by platforms that profit off clicks, outrage, and tribalism. It’s the same energy that once tried to cancel Chris Pratt for going to a church they didn’t like, not because of his statements, but because of guilt by association. It’s a formula. Find a target, assign a label, and let the algorithm do the rest.

What makes this even more unsettling is how selective the outrage tends to be. Hollywood is full of people with questionable personal histories, some who have actually harmed others, yet many of them get a pass because they say the “right” things on social media. But someone like Sydney Sweeney, whose only crime is existing with unapproved politics? She’s suddenly a target for cancellation.

[image error]

And here’s the kicker. The same people calling for her head are the ones who constantly preach tolerance, inclusion, and kindness. They talk about standing up to bullies, but only when it’s convenient. Because when they decide someone is “on the wrong side,” they become the bullies themselves. Loud, ruthless, and proud of it.

You can’t claim to fight for compassion while treating ideological differences like moral crimes. You can’t champion diversity while silencing anyone who doesn’t parrot your worldview. And you definitely can’t claim the moral high ground while digging up voter registration records to try and publicly shame someone for what box they checked.

It’s hypocrisy at its finest. Not thoughtful discourse. Not meaningful accountability. Just another way to say, we only tolerate you if you agree with us.

There’s also a deeper, more uncomfortable truth beneath all of this. The entertainment industry has quietly become a place where conformity is prized over authenticity. The message is clear, you’re allowed to be bold, edgy, and rebellious so long as it’s the correct kind of rebellion. Step outside the narrative, even silently, and your job, your reputation, and your privacy are suddenly on the table.

Is that really the culture we want to build?

Sydney Sweeney doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for her voter registration. Just like you don’t owe one for yours. What she does deserve is the same courtesy we all expect, the right to live, work, and speak without being demonized for her internal thoughts or quiet affiliations. There’s no scandal here. There’s just the creeping normalization of weaponized identity politics, and the media’s willingness to turn anyone into clickbait if it serves the narrative.

You don’t have to agree with her. You don’t have to like her work. But if we’ve reached a place where someone’s name can trend simply because of how they’re registered to vote, we should probably take a long, hard look at what we’re becoming.

Because this isn’t activism. It’s surveillance culture with a smile. And no one is safe from it, not even the girl in the jeans.

Read more:

Hawk Tuah Haliey Welch Bouncing Back After Crypto Fiasco
The World Has Embraced The Unlimited Fake

The post Sydney Sweeney and the Weaponization of “Wrongthink” appeared first on Michael Allen.

Scare Over Plastoline Inventor Making Plastic Into Fuel

Julian Brown stood in front of a classic truck with a gas can, and a crowd gathered around him, everyone with a phone in their hand. In fact, he invited them to record this historical moment where he was going to fuel the truck with Plastoline, gasoline made from plastic. Groundbreaking work that would greatly impact the world we live in, but that would call for a lot of change, and some people just aren’t trying to have it.

On July 9, he left a very cryptic message on his Instagram, and then, he was gone. Of course, everyone’s mind went straight to what the government might have done with him. That’s how low we think of our government these days. But others thought more clearly that it might be the gasoline companies themselves who weren’t too happy with his invention. Either way, he was gone, and no one knew where he was.

via Instagram/naturejab_

“If this man dies it’s because the government killed him!!! Plastic being turned into fuel can help the planet immensely and its inhabitants but the government rather watch us suffer and struggle than work with someone tht can make life easier and the planet a better place.” _melrose22

You can’t stop people from going there when something like this happens. It’s happened too many times, and the government has been behind some of these things. Other times, it’s been the corporation itself.

An Invention the World Desperately Needs

Before his disappearance, Brown had claimed to have developed a method to convert plastic waste into fuel. Not a theoretical model. Not a lab-bound prototype. A working solution, he called Plastoline.

According to people close to him, Plastoline could process everything from single-use bags to broken toys and ocean debris, and refine it into a burnable liquid that powers cars, trucks, and even planes.

In other words, the very thing we’ve been throwing away for decades could now power the machines that run the modern world. If real, it would be one of the most disruptive inventions since the internal combustion engine.

Plastic: Our Greatest Curse… or Secret Weapon?

Every year, humanity generates more than 400 million tons of plastic waste. We recycle less than 10%. The rest is buried, burned, or dumped into the environment. Over 11 million metric tons of plastic flow into our oceans annually. If trends continue, that number could nearly triple by 2040. Right now, there are more than 170 trillion plastic particles swirling in our seas.

We’ve turned Earth into a landfill. But if Plastoline works, every bottle, wrapper, and straw becomes a potential barrel of fuel. Suddenly, the mountains of trash become mines of untapped energy. Cleanup becomes profitable. Pollution becomes power. And maybe, just maybe, we get a shot at reversing the damage.

Too Big to Bury

But with great disruption comes danger. The oil and plastic industries are deeply linked. Most plastics are derived from petrochemicals. Fossil fuel companies don’t just pump gas, they manufacture plastic, too. Billions of dollars are tied up in keeping things just the way they are.

If Plastoline takes off, it doesn’t just clean up the environment. It upends the system. No more dependence on drilling. No more plastic bans that barely scratch the surface. And no more pretending that recycling programs are enough. Julian’s invention threatened to rewrite the rules, and those who profit from the old ones might not take that lightly.

Plastoline Appears to Work

The worries lasted weeks. The thoughts about what could have happened to Julian circled the internet again and again. No one had a clue, and Julian wasn’t putting out any more signals that he was okay after his message went viral.

That is until his mom finally put everyone’s minds at ease, “I can confirm Julian is safe but in the best interest of his security I’m not able to provide any more information.” Nia Brown, Julian’s mother, reached out and informed DailyMail.

All of the conspiracy theories can fade away. Plastoline is still safe. The company Julian founded, NatureJab is safe. At least for now.

I’d prefer we cleaned up the oceans and cleared the land, using all that plastic to fuel the cars we drive. That sounds like a win-win to me. But of course, there are billionaires who would lose some money, and they can’t be having that. So if it wasn’t just him being paranoid and Julian’s life was in danger, he’s not out of the woods yet. Even with the eyes of the world on him, they could still find a way to get to him.

Read more:

Hawk Tuah Haliey Welch Bouncing Back After Crypto Fiasco

The post Scare Over Plastoline Inventor Making Plastic Into Fuel appeared first on Michael Allen.

Hawk Tuah Haliey Welch Bouncing Back After Crypto Fiasco

Named Hawk Tuah from a viral video that went crazy, Haliey Welch has seen the ups and downs of stardom. While the internet has launched many a meme into orbit, few have flamed out quite as spectacularly as her crypto career. Spoiler alert: she’s okay now. But let’s take a look at how a factory worker from Tennessee rode a meme to meme-coin disaster, and why she’s still standing.

After her viral moment shook TikTok, Haliey did what any viral sensation might do. She leaned into it. She launched a podcast, grabbed some endorsement deals, and then, somehow, found herself jumping into the world of cryptocurrency. That’s when $HAWK was born.

On December 4, 2024, Welch’s meme-coin officially launched on the Solana blockchain, with nothing but a bird name, a lot of hype, and dreams of moon landings. And moon it did, at least for a moment. Within hours, the coin skyrocketed to a nearly $490 million market cap. Not bad for a coin with absolutely zero utility other than vibes.

But by the next day? Crashed. Like, “I lost my kid’s college fund and my dog won’t look me in the eye anymore” crashed. The value plummeted by over 90%, settling somewhere between a sad $25–60 million. Redditors cried foul. X users screamed “rug pull.” And Haliey? Well, she went radio silent.

@michaelallenonline

Haliey Welch – Influence for Good! We know her story but look what she’s doing with it. I can only applaud… #fun #influencer #celebrity #viralvideo #fyp Photos courtesy of Haliey Welch: https://www.instagram.com/hay_welch/

♬ original sound – Michael Allen – 300 Beer Weekend

Before December, I had no idea that a coin was in development. I was watching her rise, writing about her, putting videos together about her, and still had no clue there was a crypto in the making. When I finally heard the news, I smelled trolls all over it.

Hawk Tuah was a brand. Trolls who have nothing better to do than take advantage of others came along and talked her into putting her brand on a coin she knew nothing about. In fact, creating the coin takes a level of coding proficiency to make happen. Doing a rug pull takes a really high level of understanding the world of finance and the marketplace. Not only that, orchestrating a rug pull is like flying a plane, which means you have to understand the physics of the wind in order to stay up there.

I don’t know Haliey. But I was quite sure that her knowledge of crypto and finance was not on the level it needed to be to mastermind such a trick. Plus, it just didn’t make sense. Why would someone put their name on a coin only to rip people off a day after it launched?

Scam artists and trolls keep themselves anonymous. You don’t see anyone else’s name on that coin, do you? That’s because those trolls taking advantage of her and trying to get rich while destroying her name weren’t about to come out of the shadows and expose themselves. But they were fine with letting her hold the bag.

Things got serious when the FBI showed up at her grandmother’s house the very next day. Yep. They knocked on the door, asked for her phone, and later interviewed her in Nashville. As far as worst-possible-follow-ups to internet fame go, that one’s up there.

To her credit, Welch cooperated fully. The SEC and FBI launched an investigation, and after months of poking around in her DMs and wallet history, both agencies cleared her of wrongdoing. No charges. No sanctions. Just a very expensive lesson and some PR cleanup.

According to Welch, she made nothing off the coin’s price surge, just a small marketing fee that she says was immediately swallowed up by legal costs and damage control. In other words, she barely broke even on the most chaotic get-rich-quick scheme of 2024.

Welch eventually resurfaced in April 2025, relaunching her podcast, Talk Tuah, and addressing the elephant in the blockchain.

“I couldn’t tell you how crypto worked,” she admitted. “I got talked into it, and I trusted the wrong people.”

via Brittany Bell

And honestly? That tracks. Welch has always been more Bud Light than Bitcoin, more trucker hat than tech startup. The crypto thing wasn’t her lane. She just got handed the keys and told it was a Lambo.

She says she’s cut ties with everyone involved in $HAWK and won’t be dabbling in crypto again. Which, all things considered, might be the smartest investment decision she’s made yet.

Meanwhile, back in the Eastern District of New York, a class-action lawsuit was filed against the people behind the $HAWK coin. Welch wasn’t named in the suit, but the complaint laid out what most investors already suspected. The coin was promoted as a joke, spiked in value, and left a lot of people holding the digital bag. It’s worth noting again, because lawyers get twitchy about this stuff, Haliey Welch was never charged with a crime and remains free to “hawk tuah” on mic as much as she pleases.

Welch is now in rebuilding mode, and she seems to be doing just fine. She’s ended her media partnership with Betr Holdings and is steering her podcast independently. There’s even a documentary in the works by Bungalow Media & Entertainment that promises to go behind the scenes of her rise, fall, and second act.

Will she ever reach $490 million again? Doubtful. But will she continue to live rent-free in our cultural lexicon for at least the next fiscal quarter? Absolutely.

In fact, if the internet has taught us anything, it’s that authenticity and a well-timed spit joke go a long way. Welch may have stumbled hard in the crypto world, but she’s bounced back the same way she entered our lives, full force, Southern charm, and just the right mix of chaos and charisma.

So here’s to the bounce back. And here’s hoping she sticks to the kind of Hawk Tuah that made her famous in the first place, the viral kind, not the volatile kind.

Every word she says is backed up by legal documentation:

The Hawk Tuah class‐action lawsuit, Albouni et al. v. Schultz et al., filed on December 19, 2024, in the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of New York, named the following defendants:

Troll #1 – Tuah The Moon Foundation (a Cayman Islands‑registered entity), alleged to have handled token sales and fund flows.

Troll #2 – overHere Limited, a Hong Kong–based Web3 launchpad and token arranger.

Troll #3 – Clinton So, the founder and key executive of overHere Limited.

Troll #4 – Alex Larson Schultz, also known as “Doc Hollywood,” an influencer who promoted the $HAWK token online and hosted related discussions.

Any one of you celebrities or influencers see these guys coming with their bright ideas and lofty ambitions, slam the door and lock it. Then, lock it again!

Making Money On Facebook By Being Absolutely Ridiculous

The post Hawk Tuah Haliey Welch Bouncing Back After Crypto Fiasco appeared first on Michael Allen.

Broke Keyboard, New Brain: The Making of Franken-Laptop

Franken-Laptop was born on a particularly challenging day for me because I was up against a deadline. I was not only burning the midnight oil, but I was putting some major wear and tear on the machine. This is how it all happened.

I was writing and burning through the keys like I always do. Sometimes, I notice myself hitting the keys a little hard. They make a thud as I’m writing a hundred miles an hour. I can’t help it, though, because keyboard discipline is not my strong suit. I know where all the keys are, and that’s the only thing that matters to me. How I treat them is not going through my mind while I’m writing a book or an article.

I first noticed the “s” key getting difficult. It wouldn’t work sometimes. I’d have to go back and hit it again as I was typing. Then, that would go away, and I’d be thankful. But it would start again. Then, the “w” started getting difficult. The “2” followed.

But at least, they were still working. I just had to have patience and hit them a few additional times. It was when they stopped working altogether that I became frustrated. The computer was still good. It was only the keyboard. I’m not the kind of guy to throw something out or buy something new if I can still use it.

The fix was getting a wireless keyboard and mouse. That way, I didn’t have to start over with a new computer. Actually, I love doing that. But only when mine goes down and I need a new one. I didn’t need a new one. All I needed was a working keyboard with a mouse to go with it.

When I plugged them in, I brought Franken-Laptop to life. That was the beginning stages, though, because my station had grown twice its size. What I used to have was just a laptop on my lap. What I had now was a laptop so that I could see the screen, and an additional keyboard with an additional mouse, taking up twice as much space.

That’s when it dawned on me that this new technology these geniuses brought into the world will cast what’s on my laptop up onto my Roku TV screen, a 65″ by the way. I immediately got excited about the idea. I pushed Windows+K and boom, I was in business. I chose the 65″ and my whole world was up on the TV screen in front of me. I admired my work for a moment. But that was just the beginning of Franken-Laptop.

I put the laptop in the corner. The keyboard and the mouse were all I needed to get my work done. The huge screen in front of me was how I could watch it getting done. But as I worked, thoughts started spawning in my head.

What if I ripped the laptop apart and started adding body parts? I could get a new processor and increase speed. I could add a hard drive to the one I already have and seamlessly increase storage space. It would never be able to walk again. But it would be buff as hell.

One trip to Best Buy and I was like a kid in a toy store. I wanted everything, but I knew my capabilities and my limits. I wasn’t there to buy a brand-new computer. I was there to bring my old one back to life. I had to keep reminding myself of that.

The only thing that was a letdown since I set out on this journey was that I couldn’t upgrade the CPU. Mine’s soldered, and every resource online I could find about it literally screamed at me that it couldn’t be done. I couldn’t find one source on my side on that. Even when I learned about an external GPU upgrade. I don’t have a Thunderbolt USB, so no joy there either.

What I could do, though, made all the difference. I maxed out the RAM by adding a stick to the empty slot. Then, I added more storage by popping in a 2.5” SSD alongside my existing NVMe drive. The final thing I did was put some thermal paste on the CPU, which bumped up the performance and brought my temps back down.

Franken-Laptop was buzzing like new. FL reminded me that better things sometimes come out of broken ones. So if I were to add a moral to this story, which I’m not because I’m not that kind of guy, this story goes along with a shirt I made one time.

I was evacuated out of Florida a few years ago because a huge storm was coming through. They closed I-95 South to inbound traffic, allowing us to use the North and the South side of the highway to get out of the state. I was with my friends, and we pulled into the hotel in Tennessee around 3 am.

It was a tough time for me because I wasn’t financially prepared for a two-week stay out of town. But I worked while staying in the hotel and made my money as I went. I stayed afloat, and it wasn’t long before the ads for FEMA started hitting emails, Facebook feeds, and the radio while we were traveling from Tennessee to Georgia, when the storm started to make its way toward us there.

I applied one day and received the money the next. They weren’t playing around. In all of this, a thought occurred to me on a particular stop at a Big Lots while passing through a small town along the way, “Bad times are just an illusion for the good times to show their face.”

Turning my laptop into FL is a bit different than trying to survive on the road after being evacuated from your home. But the same lesson, the same message. When bad things happen, it’s not the end of the world. Keep your head on straight. Learn about all the options and think them through. Don’t make any decisions while you’re frustrated. Wait until you’ve had a chance to digest the situation. Sometimes, better things come out of broken ones.

If you thought this message was relatable or helpful in any way, you might also like In the Walk, my latest novel that talks theology without beating readers over the head with weighed-down beliefs.

The post Broke Keyboard, New Brain: The Making of Franken-Laptop appeared first on Michael Allen.

When Your Emotions Aren’t Cooperating With Your Stupid Face

Sometimes you know exactly how you’re supposed to feel. You know the mature, emotionally intelligent emotions that you should have. And then your actual feelings walk in and do a completely different thing.

You might nod and smile like everything is fine. You might even repeat little phrases to yourself like “this is okay” or “I’m not bothered.” But somewhere inside, your emotions are shaking their heads and refusing to cooperate.

This happens more often than we like to admit. And it is not because we are bad people. It is because feelings are messy and stubborn, and they don’t always play well with others.

You know the moments when this emotional mismatch shows up. You’re trying really hard not to show it. But your face isn’t backing up what you’re saying.

When We Are Jealous of a Friend’s Achievements

via HBO

It happened in Insecure when Molly was promoted and Issa was trying to celebrate. But those emotions weren’t real, and it came through. It can happen with anything.

Your friend just got engaged, or found the best apartment, or was just given a free cruise. You clap and say congratulations, and you want to mean it. But something else is taking place in your head.

There is a weird knot in your stomach. It doesn’t feel good, and you know it shouldn’t be there. But there it is, twisting and turning and whispering something about how you’re falling behind.

Jealousy doesn’t make you a villain. It just means there is something you deeply want. If you can sit with that feeling for a second and figure out what it’s pointing to, you may learn something important about yourself.

When We Know We Shouldn’t Be Mad But We Are

via CBS

There is a scene in The Big Bang Theory when Penny’s brother is coming to live with them, and Leonard is not a fan of the idea. He says he’s cool with it. But in walks Sheldon with a machine that can accurately read emotions. That’s the worst-case scenario. He can’t hide his anger because Sheldon keeps telling on him, and it leads to a fight.

There are so many moments in that show where Leonard and Sheldon had serious issues, and their relationship could have ended up entirely different. Sheldon had the most annoying way of telling on people while not picking up on the social clues. Sometimes, that’s part of the problem. Although it might not be as drastic as Sheldon’s case.

Maybe your partner left a dish in the sink after saying they wouldn’t. Or your friend canceled plans again for the third time this month. You know these are small things, and yet you are fuming.

You tell yourself to chill out. You remind yourself that people are human. But inside, you are imagining a very dramatic speech where you lay down the law and storm out of the room. You might even have that same imaginary conversation over and over until it keeps you up all night.

Being mad does not mean you are being irrational. It means something rubbed you the wrong way, and your emotions have not caught up with your values yet. That’s okay, just don’t let the anger unpack a suitcase and move in with you.

When We Know We Shouldn’t Judge Someone, But We Do

via BBC

If you haven’t already, catch Fleabag on Amazon or Apple TV. When you see Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s side eye, you’ll immediately get what this one is about.

You meet someone and immediately think, nope. Maybe it’s their outfit or the way they talk. Maybe they chew too loudly or brag about something weird.

You know judging people is not the best look. You try to stop. But your brain keeps making little comments like a very unhelpful peanut gallery.

Instead of pretending those thoughts are not happening, just notice them. You can call yourself out gently and laugh a little. And then try being curious instead of critical.

When Someone Gets Something We Wanted

via Summit Entertainment

When Ryan Gosling is on stage performing and Emma Stone is sitting in the audience at the end of La La Land, her look says it all. Her face could not betray her feelings.

This one stings. You worked hard for something. You wanted it badly. And then someone else gets it.

You tell yourself to be happy for them. You try to smile and say, “Well deserved.” But behind your eyes, your hopes are packing their bags and stomping out the door.

It’s hard to see someone else living out your dream. But just because they got there first doesn’t mean you never will. Your story is still happening, even if someone else is having their moment right now.

When We Resent Someone We Love

via HBO

If you’ve watched The Bear, you’ve seen Carmy and Richie go at it. That’s how they get along. But those emotions run deep and sometimes, go off the rails.

This one is tough. You love them. You care. But something they did still hurts.

Maybe they forgot something important. Maybe they let you down when you needed them most. Even if you understand why it happened, that little storm cloud is still hovering.

Loving someone doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay. It just means you are willing to work through the mess instead of pretending it’s not there. Talk about it if you can. If not, give yourself the space to process your emotions.

When We Are Annoyed by Someone Who Is Doing Nothing Wrong

via NBC

Ron Swanson was like this with just about everyone in Parks and Recreation. April was probably the only one who didn’t annoy him.

Some people just get on your nerves. They talk too much. Or laugh too loud. Or they’re always too cheerful, and you’re not in the mood.

You know they’re not doing anything wrong. You know it’s probably a “you” thing. But that doesn’t stop you from wanting to walk out of the room when they walk into it.

This is your cue to check in with yourself. Maybe you’re stressed or tired. Or maybe you see something in them that reminds you of yourself. Either way, the annoyance is a signal, not a sentence.

When We Feel Obligated to Be Happy for Someone Who Hurt Us

via HBO

Watching Succession, you know the relationship between Roman and Shiv. Was there any real love between them at all? Between anyone in the family? I can’t imagine a family acting like this without there having been some kind of bad blood to go with it. That’s sort of where I’m going with this one.

Someone from your past is thriving now. They look great. Their life seems amazing. And you are supposed to be happy for them.

The problem is they hurt you. Maybe they never apologized. Maybe they acted like nothing ever happened. And now you are expected to cheer them on, like everything’s fine.

You don’t have to clap for people who never made things right. You also don’t have to hang on to bitterness forever. But you’re allowed to take your time and be honest about what you feel. There is no rush to feel better before you are ready.

Putting Your Emotions In Check

It is completely normal to feel something different than what you think you’re supposed to feel. That is part of being human. We are not robots who respond to life with perfect emotional reactions every time.

The trick is not to hide those feelings and pretend they don’t exist. The real magic happens when we notice them, name them, and work on understanding them. Slowly, with patience, our emotions can catch up to our values.

You’re not a bad person because your first feeling is messy. What matters is what you do next. And that starts with honesty and a little kindness to yourself.

~~~

If you found yourself relating to anything I had to say here, then you already know the struggle I talk about in my latest book.

In the Walk is about wrestling with what you believe, even when your emotions try to pull you in other directions.

The post When Your Emotions Aren’t Cooperating With Your Stupid Face appeared first on Michael Allen.