The Idiot That Dropped the Pyrex
Breaking Things, Breaking Patterns, and Learning to Be Kind to Myself
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I write letters to my son, Myles, sharing my journey as a first-time dad and spreading the love I didn't experience myself. If you’ve been here before — thank you for coming back. If you’re new here, below are some good places to start:
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22 Months Old
Dear Myles,
I’m him. No, not Him Him—that would be blasphemous. I’m the other him, the him that dropped the Pyrex.
I just got off a video call with a good friend. We spoke for a minute about how hard it is being kinder to ourselves. Even though we are aware of our thinking—awareness does not mean change—it just means I know that I do, and I might even know why I do, but I still can’t change it. We even shared stories about how, years ago, we dreamed of the life we have now. That if our younger selves could just see us, we would love who we turned out to be.
When we ended that call and I closed my laptop, I walked away feeling like, you know what, I am going to try and be a little kinder to myself. I want to be the person people think I am. I want to be the version you hold of me.
So I walked away from that laptop like a sinner who just got baptized, ready to start fresh. I felt like I was floating, like anything was possible, like if I can see it, I can achieve it.
And then I walked to the kitchen. I started cleaning the dishes and moved a little too quickly—my elbow barely brushed the glass measuring cup sitting on the edge of the counter, and—
It fell in slow motion—slow like a bad corney sitcom, the kind where the sound producer drops the actor’s voice into a deep baritone, and his mouth shapes into a perfect O, and all you hear is, "nooooo!"
And then it shattered—exactly the way you would expect a glass to shatter if some idiot left a measuring cup sitting on the very edge of the counter. I mean, the way it broke, it was like all the little pieces had been waiting for this moment. Like they yelled, "Finally, we’re free!" and scurried—every last one of them, a million tiny shards—under the fridge, the counter, the table, even into other rooms.
"You idiot," I said out loud.