David McElroy

I haven’t made a new podcast episode since August. It’s not just that I’m being lazy, although that’s sometimes true. Instead, I’m evaluating whether podcasting is a good investment of my time right now.

What I have to say here is mostly about me, so it might not be valuable for many others. Read on only if you’re a creator yourself or if you’re curious what’s going on in my creative world. For others, it might be too much “inside baseball.”

I’d been wanting to try podcasting for close to 15 years, so it was a big deal when I launched my first weekly show in January. For about three months, I did a show each week and I learned a lot. But the arrival of the pandemic and the public crisis it created seemed to make my content out of place for the public mood.

So I pivoted by ending the first season and launching another show, one that would give me wider latitude to cover broader topics. I made seven episodes before I put things on hold to think about what I’m doing.

And the truth is that I’m debating what things to focus on right now — and I wonder whether podcasting will ever be more than ego satisfaction for me. At least anytime soon.

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As soon as my friend Leah started dating a new guy two years ago, there were red flags. His actions made him appear arrogant, selfish, ungrateful and callous. But Leah put up with him. He makes a lot of money. He’s good looking. And he can be charming when he wants to be.

Leah has spent most of the last two years complaining about him and trying to change him. I try not to give people advice unless they ask for it, so I’ve listened without telling her what I really think of her ongoing drama.

I warned her in the beginning about what the guy is really like. From the first time he showed his true colors — before she was committed — I pointed out the issues. But Leah chose him anyway. She saw only what she wanted to see. So I kept my mouth shut.

Late Tuesday afternoon, I heard a therapist talk on a podcast about listening to a man complain viciously about his long-term partner. The therapist had finally heard enough, so he interrupted the man.

“Hey, dude” he said. “You got the pizza you ordered. OK?”

And I suddenly realized what Leah needed to hear.

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For just a moment, I thought she was going to cry.

She had turned her body and her face away from her husband and their two young children. I don’t think she knew anybody could see her. There was pain in her face. It wasn’t anger. It was the pain of disappointment and resignation. And then she pasted her mask back on and returned to the life which seemed to hurt her so much.

That’s what I saw anyway. Maybe I’m wrong. But for the long moment when I looked into her face and saw something that no human should have to feel, time slowed and I felt as though I could have reached out and touched her soul.

This was Friday night in the Walmart near my house, but I see similar pain on faces all around me, almost every day. I see people who I believe are miserable. It seems as though the pain and hurt and disappointment are etched onto their faces — hidden briefly by masks — and I wonder why nobody else seems to see what I see.

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