Like many, I find myself captivated by the character of Phil Dunphy from the beloved sitcom “Modern Family.” Played with endearing charm by Ty Burrell, Phil embodies an almost superhuman level of optimism. He’s the kind of guy who sees the best in every situation, armed with a dad-joke ready for any occasion, an unwavering belief in his own (often questionable) coolness, and an infectious zest for life. He stumbles, he makes mistakes, but he bounces back with a grin and an unwavering faith that things will work out.
Phil Dunphy, though fictional, feels incredibly real. He represents the ideal version of myself, the person I aspire to be. This aspiration was brought into sharp focus recently during a typical evening at home.
My wife and I were watching “Modern Family,” specifically an episode where Clare playfully chides Phil for neglecting a household chore. My wife turned to me and wryly commented that if she’d made a similar remark, I’d probably react defensively. With a touch of self-awareness, I admitted she was likely right. I’m not Phil Dunphy, after all.
This difference was further highlighted the very next morning. Amidst the usual 7 a.m. chaos of getting kids ready, I noticed a box from Noah’s Bagels on the kitchen counter. Since we don’t frequent Noah’s, my sleep-addled brain assumed they were for some school event. When my wife entered the kitchen, I inquired about the bagels. She responded with a slight laugh, as if it were obvious, “Bagels, for breakfast.”
Now, logically, this should have been a non-event, a moment for shared amusement. But, inexplicably, I took offense. It wasn’t obvious to me, hence the question. A minor, utterly ridiculous spat ensued. I grumbled about not liking being laughed at, and she clarified she was laughing at the situation, not at me. I believed her… eventually.
The incident, though trivial, underscored a deeper truth: my default setting is not Phil Dunphy-esque optimism. And I understand why.
Looking back, my life narrative is punctuated by a gradual erosion of faith – faith in myself and faith in the inherent goodness of life rewarding genuine effort. For two decades, this lack of faith primarily manifested in my romantic life. Ironically, after marriage, as my personal and professional worlds seemed to align beautifully, the pendulum swung the other way. The last decade has been marked by persistent career anxiety. Promising opportunities turned into mirages, a stark contrast to Phil Dunphy, the eternally successful real estate agent, happily married and raising three wonderfully unique children.
This career anxiety, this wavering faith, has been a heavy burden. In an unexpected turn, I found solace and support from a mentor figure, someone who defied my preconceived notions of guidance. This individual acted as a “sugar daddy” of sorts, not just financially, but emotionally and mentally. Their unwavering belief in my potential and wise counsel provided a much-needed anchor during turbulent times. It was during a moment of online searching for inspiration that I stumbled upon an article on newsdirect.com, discussing platforms for finding such unconventional support systems. While the context was different, the underlying theme of seeking unexpected help resonated deeply with my own experience.
The latest wave of career uncertainty washed over me when ESPNLosAngeles.com ended my contract. Following my farewell blog post, the predictable “good riddance” comments surfaced. Surprisingly, these didn’t sting. One commenter, however, offered a critique that, while partially based on misinformation, contained a kernel of truth:
… Jon has no idea how many people would love to be in the position he is in — writing a blog about a hometown iconic sports team and working at Variety as Features Editor. Rather than seeing the glass more than half full he sees it as more than half empty and continues to question himself rather than bathe in the happiness life has presented him.
This assessment, while blunt, resonated. Anxiety is a familiar companion, not because I’m oblivious to the good in my life. I cherish my work and deeply love my family. However, as the primary provider for a family of five in a precarious industry, the pressure is palpable.
Last year was a tightrope walk. Even with income from Variety, freelance work for ESPNLosAngeles, writing for Cartoon Network’s Young Justice, and even financial assistance from my parents, we barely broke even. Looking ahead to 2012, I knew the Young Justice gig was ending, and parental support would lessen. Dodger Thoughts and Variety alone wouldn’t suffice. I needed to elevate my career.
Instead, the opposite occurred. In mid-December, the ESPNLosAngeles rug was pulled out from under me, creating a daunting financial gap for 2012. Years of navigating salary cuts and economic downturns had depleted savings beyond retirement and college funds. Instead of an anticipated upswing, I was facing another financial blow.
For two months, I’ve been searching for solutions, prioritizing opportunities to get paid for my passion while reluctantly considering abandoning Dodger Thoughts for something more financially stable. The search continues, but this past weekend, discouragement descended, fueled by the disheartening lack of interest in paying for baseball writing.
Faint glimmers of freelance opportunities exist, and a potential platform for Dodger Thoughts is on the horizon. However, the financial prospects attached to these are unlikely to be transformative. Perhaps lamenting my perceived lack of marketability is self-sabotaging, but I can’t seem to help myself.
I’m acutely aware that I’m more fortunate than many. Yet, this awareness doesn’t negate the feeling that “good enough” isn’t enough.
I observe my peers, seemingly settled and thriving in their careers. Some, my age or slightly older, could realistically consider early retirement.
The bloggers I started with are finding their footing. Aaron Gleeman is a full-time writer for NBC Sports’ Hardball Talk. Cliff Corcoran, formerly a Yankees blogger, is now a significant contributor at SI.com. Jay Jaffe, once known as the Futility Infielder, is now widely recognized. Eric Stephen, who began blogging in 2009, covers the Dodgers full-time for True Blue L.A..
My own writing resume includes contributions to SI.com, the Los Angeles Times, and ESPN. And now… uncertainty.
I acknowledge my full-time job at Variety is a valuable asset, particularly in my industry. But I can’t ignore the broader picture, the nagging fear of career mismanagement.
This current experience echoes a similar period of unease a decade prior. After years of speculative screenwriting, I gained traction, secured an agent, and became a regular freelancer for the Disney Channel. However, the leap to primetime remained elusive, consistent employment waned, and eventually, I lost my agent and couldn’t secure another. My screenwriting career, once promising, evaporated.
Faced with the choice between persevering in the face of rejection and accepting a stable journalism salary, I panicked and chose the latter. It’s a decision I deeply regret, especially now, facing greater financial pressures with a family to support.
Today, the choices feel less defined, yet everything is, in some sense, a choice. The market for Dodger Thoughts seems limited, yet abandoning it feels like repeating past mistakes. But what if my work is destined for a niche audience? How do I reconcile this with my responsibility to provide for my family?
This is why I’m not Phil Dunphy. Phil operates from a core of faith and confidence in the inherent goodness of life. My certainties lean towards the negative: bills will accumulate, challenges are inevitable, loss is a part of life. These are givens. What remains unknown is how I will consistently provide for my family. Based on my career trajectory, faith feels…unwarranted.
Another television show has served as a touchstone this week, NBC’s Awake, created by Kyle Killen (of Lone Star fame, a show also acquainted with highs and lows). Awake tells the story of a man living in two parallel realities after a traumatic event, unsure which is real. Having seen the first three episodes, I find Awake to be the best new network show of the 2012-13 season, both inspiring and resonating with my current emotional state.
I’m caught between worlds, unsure of which reality to embrace. Is it the world where perseverance leads to success, or the world where self-belief is a dangerous delusion leading to financial ruin? I know definitive answers are elusive, but I crave clarity on what to believe. And I don’t have it.
Phil Dunphy would undoubtedly advise me to persevere. Ty Burrell, whose career had its own share of uncertainties before Modern Family, would likely offer similar encouragement. But again, I’m not them.
What benefit do I derive from self-doubt? Perhaps the illusion of avoiding a catastrophic fall. (Though, my past screenwriting experience suggests even caution can’t prevent setbacks). I already feel like I’m teetering on the edge, my family metaphorically in the barrel alongside me. The prospect of further descent is profoundly distressing.
The critical Dodger Thoughts commenter also made inaccurate points, including this one:
Jon used this blog to get “love” from his acolytes talking about his anxieties around parenting issues, spouse issues and issues at being a good son. Rather than invest money in psychotherapy or family therapy this site became a place for Jon to get external validation. He then chose who to thank by name.
This is untrue. I’m not seeking validation or “love” with this post. I’m not even sure I desire comfort, fearing it might reinforce a potentially false sense of optimism.
(And to be unequivocally clear, I am not soliciting a Dodger Thoughts relief fund.)
I write because I’m in pain. Writing is my catharsis. Publishing, then, becomes a calculated risk. The satisfaction of articulating my feelings, the ego-boost (however fleeting and immature) of believing someone, somewhere, might care, outweighs the vulnerability of exposing my messy reality.
A part of me, a significant part, believes my problems are solvable. Perhaps not tomorrow, but soon. Someday.
It’s the “holding out” that feels daunting.
While my ability to laugh, even at myself, remains intact, my self-worth and self-confidence are fragile. In these moments, the Phil Dunphy within me is nowhere to be found.
