Bachelors; let's talk

This is for my bachelor friends—and for the “married bachelors” who somehow still dress like they’re on laundry day… every day.

Let’s address the issue directly.

Many men treat shopping like a root canal. The outcome? A wardrobe built on survival tactics: two pairs of jeans, a rotation of faded T-shirts, and at least one questionable sports jersey worn in completely inappropriate settings.

We’ve all seen it: A full-grown man, in a Seahawks jersey, confidently attending a formal-ish event—without the faintest idea who the Seahawks are.

That’s not style. That’s a cry for help.

And then there’s the fit. Or lack thereof. Jeans that sag, shirts that strain, sleeves that swallow hands. Ask for a waist size, you get a guess. Ask for a collar size, you get a shrug. Bootcut vs slim fit? Might as well be quantum physics.

Let’s be clear: dressing well is not a luxury. It’s a baseline expectation.

Maslow placed clothing alongside food and shelter—not “optional extras if you feel like it.” And with the average household spending around $1,000 a year on clothes, the real problem isn’t spending—it’s spending badly.

Which brings us to the solution.

A trusted associate of mine is offering a structured, no-nonsense wardrobe consulting service designed specifically for men who would rather outsource this problem than keep getting it wrong.

Here’s the proposition:

Clothing/Wardrobe Consultant Agreement

Effective (date), between JG of Atlanta, GA and (Your Name).

You engage JG to provide professional wardrobe guidance based on experience, current trends, and—most importantly—what actually works for you.

Scope of services:

• Identify your actual clothing needs (not what you think you need)
• Audit and refine your existing wardrobe
• Style you for your current body, not your 2012 body
• Provide hands-on personal shopping support

All services are tailored. No guesswork. No random purchases.

Fee: A monthly consulting retainer (to be agreed). Any purchases made on your behalf are reimbursed within 30 days.

The return on investment?

You walk into rooms looking intentional. You stop second-guessing what you’re wearing. You eliminate wasteful spending on clothes you never use. And most importantly—you look like a man who has his life together.

Because like it or not, people make decisions about you before you speak.

So let’s retire the random jerseys at work. Let’s end the “one good outfit” crisis. Let’s upgrade from accidental style to deliberate presence.

Gentlemen, this is not about fashion. It’s about standards.

And it’s time to raise them.

My Sobriety Journey

I am proud to say that for the past  7 years, I have been sober. Of all the physical and mental challenges I have taken on in my life, none has tested me quite like quitting alcohol.

To put this into context, I started drinking in the mid-1990s. I first quit in 2004 and managed to stay sober for six years, until 2010. Then I went back to the bottle. What followed was nine years of relentless drinking.

My journey through alcohol had its own strange progression. I started with Sangria wine, moved on to Bud Light, flirted with Corona, and eventually graduated to hard liquor. By the end, my preferences had settled on vodka—Cîroc and Tito’s—and whisky, mainly Crown Royal and Jameson. Looking back, I sometimes joke that I drank enough to keep a bar in Isiolo fully stocked for a year.

But there was nothing amusing about what followed.

My quality of life steadily declined. My relationships became shallow and short-lived. Financially, I was bleeding. I surrounded myself with the wrong company and found excuses to drink at every opportunity. Every occasion became a reason to indulge. All the while, I lived in denial. I blamed everything and everyone—genetics, friends, neighbors, even my partner—anything but myself.

After years of abuse, my body began to give in. My hands trembled so badly I could barely sign a check or write my name. My appetite disappeared. I could not function without alcohol in my system. My temper worsened, and my life grew darker by the day. I knew, deep down, that I was in free fall. It was becoming a matter of quitting or dying.

I neglected responsibilities. I broke promises. I avoided people. Trouble with government agencies followed. Financial obligations piled up. At one point, I was dangerously close to losing everything, including a place to live.

Then one Monday morning, after drinking a 1.75-liter bottle of Crown Royal through the night and into the next day, something shifted. I decided to stop.

There was no ceremony. No Alcoholics Anonymous. No gradual tapering. No expert consultation. Just a decision.

I told my partner and close friends I was taking a break. No one believed me. To be honest, I did not fully believe myself either. When I told my daughter, she simply asked, “For how long?” I could not blame her. After nearly a decade of daily drinking, doubt was reasonable.

Quitting, as it turns out, was the easy part.

Staying sober is the real battle.

The moment I stopped, it felt like the world conspired against me. Every advertisement seemed to promote alcohol. My fridge was stocked with it. My social circles revolved around it. Alcohol had quietly embedded itself into every corner of my life.

And then came the void.

Days grew longer. My calendar emptied. The time once consumed by drinking and related social activities stretched endlessly before me. I began to understand why so many people relapse. It is not just about quitting—it is about what comes after.

At this stage of my life, I was not ready to pick up a new career or dive into demanding hobbies. I was not fully engaged in work either. The idle time became a breeding ground for temptation. Staying sober began to feel like a full-time struggle.

Over time, I realized something important. The real challenge is not how to quit—it is what to replace alcohol with.

We can all find reasons why people drink, and we can list countless strategies on how to stop. But the real question is: what fills the space that alcohol once occupied?

Each person must find their own answer.

Nature abhors a vacuum. If you do not consciously fill that space, something else—often the same destructive habit—will return to occupy it.

My approach has been simple, though not easy. I focus on one day at a time. Each day, I make a deliberate choice not to take the next drink. That single decision, repeated daily, has become more manageable over time.

I have also begun to fill the void. I read more. I take long drives. And now, I write.

These small but meaningful activities have brought a sense of fulfillment I had long forgotten. Today, I can say with confidence that I no longer miss alcohol.

This is a long journey—perhaps a thousand miles. But I have taken the first steps, and for the first time in a long while, I am moving in the right direction.

Missing the bus

I used to live in Eastleigh, near Pumwani, and commute into the city by public transport. Like many others, I preferred getting a seat, even though it was common to stand when buses were full, especially closer to town.

One day, I waited at the bus stop, letting several buses pass because none had empty seats. Eventually, a conductor tried to convince us to board as standing passengers. I refused, insisting I would only take a bus if I could sit. He looked at me and casually asked, “Are you seated where you are?”

That question stayed with me.

There I was, standing at the bus stop, rejecting progress because it was not comfortable enough, yet I was already uncomfortable. In trying to secure a better option, I had delayed my own journey. If I had boarded the first bus, even without a seat, I would have reached the office much earlier.

Life often mirrors this moment. We wait for ideal conditions, a perfect opportunity, the right timing, complete certainty, while time quietly moves on. We tell ourselves we will act when things are more comfortable, more secure, more aligned. But in doing so, we end up stuck in the same place, standing still while opportunities pass us by.

Sometimes, missing the bus in life is not about a lack of opportunity. It is about hesitation, overselectiveness, or the illusion that something better is guaranteed if we just wait a little longer.

The truth is, progress often requires movement before comfort. The imperfect bus still moves. The standing passenger still arrives. And the people who get ahead are often those willing to start the journey, even when conditions are not ideal.

Take the step that is available to you now. Do not wait for perfect conditions before you begin. Choose progress over comfort when necessary, and trust that movement will create better opportunities along the way. Because in the end, it is better to be on the bus than to keep waiting at the stop.