“Come on knock on our dooooooor. We’ve been waiting for youuuuuu.”

Have fun expelling that insidious tune from your brain. You’re welcome.

In other news, holy motherforking shirt balls, my parents get me.

This is nothing to sneeze at—navigating bipolar and substance use disorder the past 15+ years, I’ve scarcely mustered an iota of understanding of myself. Let alone anyone else being able to tap into the unbridled mustang wildness that has been my life story.

But I can say with 100% certainty, and 1,000,000 Big Gulps worth of gratitude, that the day has come.

I am understood.

Let me set the scene…

I have had a trek to the hallowed ground of Gettysburg on my radar for years. I wanted to get there while I was a VA resident, 2018–2023, but alas, ’twas not meant to be.

As with all things in my life, that was because I wasn’t supposed to go until Halloween weekend of 2026, nor was I meant to go alone.

It was to be a side quest, party of 3. I brought my Mom & Dad along.

The best part of the time I spent while in Chicago from December of 2023–June of 2026 was undoubtedly the outings with my folks. We painted the town red in myriad ways—the Field Museum & Art Institute. A food tour of a neighborhood none of us had ever explored (Pilsen—exquisite Mexican fare). We visited exotic new restaurants, including a gem that serves octopus tacos.

Do I have moral qualms with eating octopus? Yes. Do I order it every fucking time I see it on a menu? You’re goddamn right.

My Mother’s/Father’s Day and birthday gifts to them have been focused on such experiences together. So when I was scheming my trip to Gettysburg (my dad’s favorite word—scheme), amidst their Oct/Nov birthdays I called and asked if they’d like to tag along. I’d put us up for the night in an Airbnb.

The scheduling gods coalesced, and a 4-day/4-night whirlwind of DC & G-Burg trip (I’m sick of typing that all out—deal with it) was born.

We maximized our time—the major memorials along the National Mall, Air & Space & American History Museum (so my mom could take in the First Lady exhibit—at least ONE thing for her), National Gallery, George Washington’s Mount Vernon, a boat ride on the Potomac, meals with my friend and host Molly and a cousin I hadn’t seen in 10+ years.

But my favorite lighthearted moment of the weekend came compliments of baby Sophia Grace. A theme of my Alexandria stay. Molly threw a party Friday night, and while we were all scattered about helping to prep, I spied my dad in a seat in front of 5-month-old Sophia, reading to her. Quite sweet and precious of him.

As I am wont to do, I seized the opportunity for a jab as I walked by: “Stuck with this guy, huh, Sophia? I’ve been stuck with him for 45 years.”

She immediately erupted in boisterous laughter. Right on cue.

Poor Dad has absorbed more barbs from his 3 sons than anyone deserves. It’s all from a place of love, Dad.

But actually, the real win of the weekend hasn’t even fully settled in…3 simple statements from my wise parents that showed me that not only do they support my lifestyle, but they fully understand it well enough to explain it in simple terms. Far more effectively than yours truly, in fact.

Let me peel back this onion a little bit—I’m well aware of what the abrupt actions I’ve taken to launch myself into this nomadic life look like from the outside and plenty attuned to the fact that they beg the question of my mental stability.

I moved back to Chicago in December of 2023, reeling from a failed marriage on the heels of a hospitalization for alcohol detox. My fourth total. Shortly after arriving in Chicago, the roots of a manic episode took hold, and it blossomed into full-on psychotic territory, aided by more substance abuse, landing me in a detox, psych ward, and my second residential rehab.

So yeah, my life choices deserve a bit of scrutiny. That’s the tip of the fucking iceberg, y’all.

I had already been plotting my great escape into a life of nomading—blastoff was planned for the spring of 2028, but shit got hot fast. I’ll spare you the details (for once), but the Universe plotted to expedite. I followed suit.

So it’s natural for people who have borne witness to my many flameouts and descents into rock bottom to wonder if I was on the same path again. But I have stayed very close with my parents throughout, speaking once a week, always keeping them updated on the whats and whys and in-depth plans of my life. How I’m attending to my mental, emotional, physical and financial health.

I know that I’ve never been more stable in all those areas. The present has never been sweeter, the future has never been brighter.

While I always hope that all of that info and those sentiments are landing with mom & dad, I didn’t REALLY know for sure.

Now I do. Saturday morning, Molly told me that she asked Mom, “How long do you think your son is going to live like this?”

“As long as he needs to.”

YES MOM! YES!!!!!

And further, later that same day, I asked Dad what his friends and others think of my lifestyle. He simply says, “He’s taking advantage of fully virtual work.”

“But why doesn’t he do that in Chicago?” they say.

“Because there’s nothing for him in Chicago,” he says.

And those 3 statements, my friends, are the sweetest music these ears have ever heard.

Except for MMMBop. That shit is still fire.

I’m still mulling over the weight of this information. My parents have widdled the vast LOTR trilogy lengthed what, why and for how long into 3 sentences.

To say it’s been a long road for my parents and I to reach this level of mutual understanding is like saying the Appalachian Trail is a stroll. This has been Lewis and Clark on the western frontier, the Vikings sailing west (and more west) and the British finding Australia all wrapped up in one excruciating 15+ year saga.

But we made it. And I’m incredibly proud of, and grateful for, Al & Pat Pedersen.

We did it Mom & Dad.  I love you so much.