One of my favorite things about being a man is that we know everything. Or . . . no . . . wait a minute. We think we know everything. There, that sounds more like it.
But seriously, in high school I thought I had it all figured out. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it was because I got my driver’s license and drove a really cool beige minivan, or maybe it had to do with my ability to make sweet graphs on my TI-83 calculator. Perhaps my ever-increasing bench press played a role. (Ok, that last one may be a bit of a stretch.)
But yet, for some reason, I thought I knew it all. If you had a question, I had an answer. If you couldn’t figure something out, I could. And, armed with this array of knowledge, I was gonna teach the world a thing or two. That is until I started getting older and realized something: I didn’t know as much as I thought.