Anyone who knows me will tell you: I’m a self-improvement junkie. My 2024 New Year’s resolution was to crush at least one self-help audiobook a month. Tai Lopez hasn’t steered me wrong so far, so I decided to finally dive into “12 Rules for Life” by Jordan Peterson.
This book came into my life when I needed it the most. Let me rephrase that—Jordan Peterson came into my life when I needed him the most.
Or so I thought.
My custody hearing for my son, Lukas, was last week, and I had just finished the audiobook. The judge asked if I had been attending my support meetings. Peterson says, “Compare yourself to who you were yesterday, not to who someone else is today.” So I proudly informed the judge that while I used to go through a handle of gin in three hours, this week I stretched it to four. The judge scoffed, but I’m proud of my newfound self-control.
When the topic of Lukas’s suspension from middle school came up I was shocked. Nobody had told me about it but I played it cool and relied on Peterson’s wisdom again: “Be precise in your speech.” I told my son he was allowed exactly four beers. When I was his age I drank way more than that and barely got buzzed, but apparently he blacked out and tried to fight his guidance counselor.
Sensing that the judge was losing patience with me, I pulled out Rule 11, “Do not bother children when they are skateboarding.” I made sure to point out that I’ve never bothered Lukas and his friends when they’re skating. My ex-wife, Jenn, quickly informed the court that Lukas “doesn’t even know how to skate.” This information made me spiral a bit, who were those kids I was filming at the skatepark?
When the judge revoked my joint custody of Lukas, I knew the Carnivorous Canadian had led me astray. Screw you, Jordan Peterson. I stormed out of the courtroom, shoulders slumped in defiance.
Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons once sang, “Walk Like a Man.” If only I’d listened to them instead of some quack with a Kermit the Frog voice.
