“Have a great day!” It’s a common wish among friends and well-wishers. We can easily say to someone “I hope that you have a great day today!,” and, unlike other hopes that we might have, is easy and effortless stuff.

At the core, it all depends upon what you make of your day. It has a different meaning for different people. Since we’re here, I’ll give you mine.

Simply put, my definition of “A great day” is easy as pie. A great day means getting up in the morning and being able to know that I have new episodes of podcasts to listen to in my feed.

Every weekday (barring major holidays), I start the day by listening to Nothing Personal with David Samson, a former Survivor castaway and President of the Miami Marlins. He’s smart, fresh, and funny.

A great day means that I can write. Since writing about combat sports is how I make my livelihood, I’ve had so many great days over the last six years.

Perhaps most importantly, a great day is one spent talking to and hanging out with the people most important me. The greatest days happens when my nieces get to spend time with me, their uncle.

Thanks for reading. Make this day a great one.

It was Aretha Franklin who once sang about respect. As a matter of fact, she spelled it out in her cover of what was originally an Otis Redding single. “R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me. R-E-S-P-E-C-T, take out TCB,” her lyrics went.

While singing about respect is easy (and Aretha Franklin’s single is proof of that, as it topped the United States Billboard Hot 100 and Billboard Hot Rhythm and Blues charts upon its 1967 release, along with winning two Grammy Awards), actually getting it is hard stuff. It’s harder still when you have autism like I do.

When I was going to high school, my mother was concerned when I started hanging out with my classmates at the lunch table. She legitimately thought that they were going to poke fun at me because I’m on the spectrum.

Nothing of the sort was ever the case. They respected me and treated me as an equal, including me in the conversation whenever I had something to say.

As I navigated through my college career, I found that earning respect became easier with time. I was a star sports reporter and sports columnist for my school newspaper, winning the respect of my fellow staff and the Youngstown State Sports Information Department.

Upon graduating, I entered into a year filled with uncertainty as to what would happen as far as professional employment went. I thought I nailed down a production assistant’s job at my local CBS affiliate, but as time went on, the dream became unrealized.

Once I started writing about MMA and soccer, I gained the respect of a few MMA promotions and those people working in MLS. Just like I’d done in the past, I earned this respect.

Bottom line: You can’t count on respect being handed out to you like trick-or-treat candy in late October. Sometimes, you have to earn it yourself.

For years, I was always known as the quiet guy. I’d go to school every weekday (barring sick days, holidays, snow days, what have you). After school, I’d keep to myself and not go out on weekends.
I couldn’t hang out with people outside of school because I lived far away from the district. I was hungry for an outlet to express myself in a judgment-free environment.
Oddly, the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic gave me a sliver of hope to find the outlet I was looking for. In order to keep a daily routine intact (something that people on the autism spectrum, like myself), I started listening to podcasts.

I found one pertaining to 1990’s Nickelodeon, Big Orange Couch. After listening to the show for a while, I decided to email one of the hosts about a suggestion for an episode dissecting an installment of The Secret World of Alex Mack. I noticed that the guest character in the episode showed signs of autism. After a couple days of waiting for a reply, one of the hosts supported my idea and invited me on as a guest.

The big night came. It was a rainy Thursday night at the end of March. Usually, a rainy night kills the mood for some people, but not me. Within a few seconds of the recording starting up, I was cracking jokes in all directions.

I utilized my sense of humor advantageously and it was because of the icebreaking jokes that I was able to speak so openly about my autism. Before I knew it, an hour and 15 minutes ticked away and the recording was in the books.

Prior to March 23, I merely listened to podcasts. Now, I can say that I’m a podcast veteran. It all starts with finding a lane to open up.