Where Does He Find the Time? (A Confession)

Someone asked me recently where I’ve been finding all this extra time to write.

It’s a fair question. The posts have been coming fast and furious lately, and I understand the suspicion. People assume I’ve either discovered a productivity hack, given up sleep, or finally told my social life to “hold please”. (My social life would like everyone to know it’s fine and thriving, thank you.)

The truth is both more mundane and more tragicomic.

For nearly 14 years, I had a little side hustle creating content for a business in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Fourteen years. That’s longer than most marriages. Longer than some countries. I showed up, I created, I delivered — faithfully, cheerfully, and with only moderate anxiety popping up from time to time— through presidential administrations, a pandemic, and whatever we’re calling the current situation.

The owner and I have been friends for nearly 30 years. Thirty years. We survived the 90s together, which frankly should come with a medal and some kind of therapy subsidy.

And then, in January, she sold the business. Quite successfully, I might add, because she is annoyingly good at everything she does.

She rode off into a very well-deserved sunset.

And I was left standing alone on an empty stage–the crew already packing up, the equipment rolling out the door, the spotlight still on me but absolutely nobody left in the wings–wondering if this was intermission or closing night.

Reader, it was a permanent lifestyle change.

So here I am. Writing for you instead of for a business in Tulsa you’ve probably never heard of. Which, honestly? Feels better. My writing has always felt most alive here — in this little corner of the internet where I get to say exactly what I mean and I don’t have to worry about keeping it “on-brand.”

But I’ll level with you: I’m also trying to replace that lost income. I’m not too proud to admit it. A writer’s gotta eat. Preferably something nicer than despair on toast.

Here’s where you come in.

If my writing has made you laugh, made you think, made you feel less alone on a weird Wednesday, or simply given you something to read while you pretended to be in a very important meeting — consider becoming a subscriber.

Paid subscribers get the full experience for just $2.99 a month — that’s less than a gas station latte and considerably more satisfying.

Not ready to commit to a monthly thing? No problem. You can choose your own support level — whatever you can give, monthly or as a one-time “here, Randy, go buy yourself something nice” gift.

And if money is tight? A free subscription still means the world. It tells me you’re here, you’re reading, and you want more. That matters more than you know.

The curtain has come down on that chapter. This one is just getting good.

👇 Subscribe below. Paid, free, or somewhere in between — just come along for the ride.