I joined the Mormon church for a woman's ass.

Sure, I told myself that it was all about finding and getting “right” with Jesus, but actually and I knew it in my heart, I wanted that ass and I was willing to hang out with Jesus to get it.

I'll say that again so it lands the way it's supposed to. I sat through the missionary discussions, got baptized, moved out of my then-girlfriend's place so I could live righteously, stood behind the podium on Sacrament Sundays and testified to a faith I wasn't sure I had — and the whole time, underneath every prayer and every scripture I memorized, I was trying to convince myself that if I just said the right things long enough, I'd eventually mean them.

I didn't.

“It” didn’t. The “get right with Jesus” part. Didn’t happen. At least not in the way one would think.

That's not the even the deepest part of this episode.

I'm going to tell you about Malachi. Born May 20th, 1999. Gone, as in dead, July 31st, 1999. And what I decided about myself the day I found his body — a decision I carried around like a verdict for longer than I have words for. A combat medic who had never heard of SIDS. A man who was already drinking too much, already drowning in a marriage that started wrong, already running from something he couldn't name. And then a morning that stopped everything.

And I'm going to tell you about last night, 2026, and life having been lived into the moment that seems, like so many, just another mundane conversation in my head. Standing in the grocery store. The voice in my head making its case for a third or fourth Guinness for the night.

That fucking voice was patient, reasonable, persuasive as hell. Telling me I'd earned it. Telling me I could handle it. Telling me this time would be different.

It's the same voice and it’s one that I’ve heard many times about many things.

It’s the same voice that was with me when I stood at the one at the church podium all those many years ago.

The one let me know, deeply and effectively, after Malachi’s death, that I was indeed, without question, a living piece of shit.

The voice at the grocery store last night. The same goddamn voice.

And this episode is about learning to hear it without letting it drive.

Open your ears and your heart if you can.

That’s not some social-media shit—that’s how I move through life and found the kind of peace I didn’t even know fucking existed for people like me.

I'm 60 years old, sitting behind a microphone at 11 PM on a Sunday in St. Louis, humid as hell, not making a dime, and somewhere between a George Michael documentary and flipping someone the bird at a red light, something cracked wide open tonight.

And I fucking love it.

I've been homeless. A couple of times in fact. And the last stint was with my beloved wife. It’s that kind of shit that makes you wonder if you’re doing any of this “right”.

I’ve buried an infant child.

I've been married four times. Divorced four times. Four DUIs (and I wonder if that number matches the number of divorces in a deeper way… just sayin’)

I tried to leave this world on November 2nd, 1994 and I'm still here three decades later sharing what I have actually figured out in real time, and yet knowing that we still have those, “what the fuck that's supposed to mean” moment that seem to come whenever they please.

And tonight — not in a therapy office, not in a journal, not on a mountaintop — it got a little clearer.

This episode isn't about George Michael. Not really.

It's not really about road rage either. I mean, it might be, but I don’t think so.

It's about what happens when you stop using that question as a weapon against yourself and start actually listening for and to the answer.

Because "what the fuck am I actually doing" can destroy you or it can save you. It can burden you in ways that seem to beat the life and breath out of you, or you can sit with it and just let you and “it,” be.

And in so many ways, it really seems that the only difference is whether you're willing to sit still long enough to hear what comes back.

And yes, that can truly suck. Or not.

Other than that, it’s just a Sunday….

I didn't want to record today.

I said that into the microphone first because it was true — bad mood, grout cleaner fumes, two people with completely different internal rhythms trying to make something together on a Saturday when one of us wasn't feeling it at all.

This is what relationship patterns actually look like when the self-concept work is real and ongoing. Not the highlight reel. Not the resolved version. A farmer's market neither of us approached the same way, $32 a pound garlic from a vendor who knows you're hot and captive, a Led Zeppelin cover that personally offended me, and a woman who farted next to Sharon and kept eating her ice cream without a word of apology.

And inside all of that — the fumes and the garlic math and Sharon walking fast and then remembering she wasn't alone — two people with different inner voices, different relationship histories, different self-concepts choosing to be in the same day without either one pretending to be someone they're not.

That's the work. Not the theory of it. The actual lived version of what happens when you stop performing okayness for your partner and start being honest about what's actually going on inside you.

We also get into what happens to self-concept when you remove social accountability — what's really driving the behavior on the Carnival Cruise videos, the road rage clips, the person in the grocery store who stops their cart in the middle of the aisle and looks at you like you owe them something. It's not a race conversation. It's a self-concept conversation. About what people do when nobody's watching and the only thing left is who they actually believe themselves to be.

Sharon thought this episode was practice.

I deleted it before she finished the sentence. (hee hee)

This is We Say The Shit Out Loud — the show where two real people in a real relationship say the things most couples perform around, avoid entirely, or dress up so nobody gets uncomfortable.