The Science Delusion

When Facts Wear Lipstick and Sell You a Dream

Once upon a time, science was slow, careful, and humble. It sat quietly with its spectacles on, testing, tinkering, and waiting patiently for the truth to show itself. These days, science’s cousin—let’s call her Opinion Science—has gotten herself all gussied up and gone to work in marketing.

If you say, “A study shows…” or “Scientists say…” people stop thinking and start nodding. We’ve been trained to worship lab coats like vestments, and academic acronyms like scripture. But much of what parades as “science” today is storytelling in a white coat—designed to sell you a product, a vote, or a worldview.

Real science asks questions. Spin science already knows the answer—and it always sounds suspiciously like what someone’s selling.
Behavioral science, social science, climate science, food science—these often rely on feelings, guesses, and interviews with people who are scared to tell the truth. And yet, we treat these “studies” like commandments etched in stone.

The result? We’ve traded our instincts for experts. Traded discernment for credentials. And we’ve confused “being informed” with simply being manipulated in fancier fonts.

Science is a tool—not a savior. It can build bridges and mend bones, but it cannot tell you why you cry in the shower or how to forgive your father.

And when we let science pretend to be philosophy, morality, or meaning—we don’t just lose our wonder. We lose our will.

So ask questions. Trust your gut. And remember: the truth doesn’t always come in a lab report. Sometimes it comes from your grandmother, your conscience, or a good hard look at the sky.

Sorry Bob !

 

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My dad, Bob, died way too young—just 50 years old—after being diagnosed with ALS at 48. That kind of grief hits you like a freight train you didn’t see coming. But what hit me harder, years later, was realizing just how much sense he actually made.

He tried his best to pass on values and a backbone. But bless his heart, he didn’t realize the sheer force of culture that would come for me. See, he was a product of the 1940s and ‘50s—where folks said “yes ma’am,” and looked their neighbors in the eye. I came of age in the whiplash world of the ‘70s and ‘80s, where Madonna was preaching “Express Yourself,” and Cosmopolitan was basically a handbook on how to ignore your instincts in favor of being “liberated.”

Truth be told, I wish I’d listened more to Dad more and less to pop culture’s parade of bad advice dressed in sequins and lip gloss. Virtue got marketed as old-fashioned. And having no morals? That got sold as freedom. Y’all—that was a lie. A polished, pretty, wildly profitable lie.

If I had a time machine and a second chance at those formative years, I’d turn down the volume on the world and lean in to Dad's voice. He was trying to teach me something sacred. And Lord knows, I finally get it.

As for my website name? I picked SorryBob.com in honor of my dad. The name Bob is plain, simple, and as old as white on rice.  And sorry, Bob—but this girl had to fall on her face a few times before she stood up with a clear head and a clear heart. I think Dad would be relieved to see that I finally see what he meant.

Because here’s the thing:
We are all worthy of happiness.
But real happiness isn’t handed to us.
It’s earned through freedom.
And freedom? That starts with courage.
And courage? It shows up when you finally start believing in yourself.
That’s the real circle of life, y’all.

These days, we’ve got wolves in self-help clothing. Exploiters selling “empowerment” while robbing us blind of our dignity. They don’t want us free—they want us frazzled, dependent, divided, and distracted.

My daddy believed in community—not disunity. He didn’t live long enough to see the internet, but I believe—if we use it right—it can be the most powerful tool for good since the printing press. It can unite people who care. People who dare. People who see what’s going on.

And I believe we’re those people.

So, here are Eight Things I’ve Learned (Usually the Hard Way):

1. Apathy limits opportunity; awareness and action limit the opportunists.

2. Knowledge is power—but only if you use it.

3. Actions speak louder than posts (and words).

4. Keep it simple, unless you're trying to confuse and control people—then by all means, complicate it to death.

5. Chase dogs (the four pawed and loyal kind) and dreams, not people. 

6. The only free cheese is in a mousetrap.

7. You teach people how to treat you.

8. Choose happiness—not helplessness.

And to the Happiness Hijackers out there? We see you. And we’re coming with grace, grit, and good boots.

  

   

Lent, Butter, and the Business of Becoming Better

 Now, I was raised Catholic—like fish-on-Fridays, ashes-on-Wednesdays, and guilt-for-dessert kind of Catholic. But these days, I don’t claim religion so much as I claim reverence. Not for pews or pulpits necessarily, but for something more mysterious. Something you can’t quite explain, but you know it when it stirs in your bones.

Call it soul. Call it the voice inside. Call it the Holy Ghost or just good ol’ fashioned gut instinct. But I believe in it.

Because deep down, we do know right from wrong.
Even if the world’s gotten noisy with Happiness Hijackers trying to sell us peace like it's a product—marketed in soft pastels and subscription boxes.

But real happiness?
Well, it’s tricky.

Sure, I love sunshine on my skin, music in the kitchen, and folks who laugh easy and love hard. Give me color, warmth, and people who show up when things get messy—that makes me happy.

But deep happiness—the kind that stays even when the lights go out and the room gets quiet—that comes from purpose.
From doing the thing you were made to do, even if the only witness is your dog and the dishes.

Lent, at its heart, is a time to pause.
To reflect.
To repent, if that’s your rhythm.

Me? I’ve already got a highlight reel of regrets and a tendency to self-scold. So for these next 46 days, I’m trading in shame for shape-shifting—the good kind. The kind where you turn inward, clean house, and make room for more light.

And no, I won’t be taking the Sundays off. I know myself. One skipped day leads to one excuse leads to, “Well, maybe next year.” My willpower melts faster than butter in a cast iron skillet, so I need rhythm and resolve, not loopholes.

I’ve always loved a fresh start. A new year. A clean calendar page. A Monday morning with a sharpened pencil.

So that’s what this is.
Forty-six days to show up for my life with more heart, more intention, more discipline, and a whole lotta grace.

Because every faith, every practice, every good book or wise granny I’ve ever met, seems to circle the same truth:

Be the best version of yourself.

And that’s something we can all believe in.