I’m a sucker for a good chicken salad sandwich.

Seriously, it’s my favorite sandwich ever.

In late January 2016, while working remotely from California for a Global IP Solutions firm headquartered in New York, me and the rest of the West Coast crew were called to HQ for a company-wide “rah-rah.”

I’d been with them for less than a year and knew from jump, it’d be a temporary gig.

I was still performing decently enough, but personally, I was unraveling.

To be honest, I was drinking Heavily in those days.

And I broke the cardinal rule.

Never get wasted around colleagues.

KARAOKE CONSEQUENCES

On that trip, I had too many tequilas at company karaoke and made a complete fool of myself.

I never sang, which would’ve been embarrassment enough.

But I was that guy having way too much of a good time around colleagues, many of which I was meeting for the first time. 

It wasn’t a fireable offense, but it was most certainly a very, very bad look.

Feeling like an idiot and ready to escape from New York, I was right on time for my flight out that next day (Friday) despite the epic hangover.

But by this time, the snow was dumping.

And by all accounts, this unexpected snowstorm was going to be huge.

ALL I NEED IS A REMEDY 

By the time I got to the gate, my flight was delayed.

Still nursing my bruised ego from the night before, I decided more tequila was the Remedy.

Bad idea.

While medicating just steps away from my gate, I never heard my flight being announced and missed it.

And because of the blizzard, that 3pm flight was the last one to San Francisco.

Out of luck, I booked the closest hotel to JFK Airport.

SAY IT ISN’T SNOW

By Saturday morning, nearly two and a half feet had fallen in just 24 hours.

It was one of the largest single-storm totals in NYC history!

There were still no flights home; I was stuck in my hotel room at least one more day, maybe two.

I needed some air.

I asked the front desk, “Where’s the nearest deli?” to which he pointed…… that way.

Now, you haven’t lived until you’ve stepped into a New York City deli or bodega as they're also called. 

They’re equal parts chaos and comfort.

The steam coming off hot soups and sizzling grills. 

The constant chatter from colourful characters…

And the smell of delicious sandwiches wafting in the air. 

These slices of heaven are the heartbeat of the city.

As a San Franciscan who can count the places serving a proper chicken salad sandwich on one hand…

Seeing it on the menu that Saturday morning was like Christmas come early.

STORMY

Walking back to my hotel through the snow-filled streets of New York, stoked with chicken salad sandwich in hand, I went into positive self-talk.

“Yes, I made an ass out of myself in front of all of those people, but I’m the Bounce Back King. I’ll come back from this and make things right.”

After nearly three hours on the phone with JetBlue, I finally found a flight out of the storm.

But I couldn’t get a seat earlier than Monday…

So, I’d have to call in sick.

I couldn’t let the West Coast team find out I missed Friday’s flight because I was downing double shots of Casadores with strangers in the airport bar.

That would only add insult to injury.

THE SECOND SANDWICH

By this time, it was Saturday night and I needed my next chicken salad fix.

I found another bodega two blocks from the last.

They had the goods.

I was on a roll - pun intended.

That next day (Sunday), I watched football and tried to forget.

I found my third chicken salad sandwich from a third deli (also less than fifteen minutes from the hotel) and ate my feelings.

I felt like absolute garbage about myself…

But those sandwiches were sweet relief.

Edible reminders that everything would be ok, eventually. 

CARB-LOADING

Psychologists call these comfort-coping moments.

It’s how the mind protects itself.

It searches for what feels safe, predictable, and within reach.

Even small comforts can act like stabilizers when everything inside you feels unsteady.

Although it was just a sandwich, it may as well have been the parachute that kept me from crashing.

Chicken salad interrupted the spiral just long enough for me to breathe again.

So there I was.

Carb-loading alone in my room with a bruised ego, chewing Tums between bread bites, caught between the embarrassment of karaoke and the reality of missing my flight for the same reason I’d made a fool of myself the night before.

Surrounded by the snow-capped New York skyline outside the big window and my promise to do better…

That food and solitude were exactly what I needed at that moment.

Those three chicken salad sandwiches tasted better than any I can remember having.

SPEAKING YOUR VOICE 

I only realized the impact of that record-breaking snowstorm while coming up with this week’s piece, 9 years later.

I share this chicken salad chronicle because it was a wake-up-call.

Which brings me to you…

What exactly do you need at this moment?

I ask because as dyslexics, we’re often vague about what we need.

We might accept conditions and situations despite knowing they're no good for us.

A dyslexic could be having a hard time keeping up at work and be an obvious candidate for accommodations.

But they may not know what kind of support would actually help, so they don’t ask.

They push through, quietly suffering in silence.

Another might be having a hard time connecting with their friend circle.

That group might be their only real sense of connection, so they put up with off-color jokes and sideways comments.

Not because they’re okay with it….

But because the fear of not belonging feels worse than the sting of being misunderstood.

THE 4 QUESTIONS 

In coaching sessions, I’ll often ask these four simple questions, always in this order.

1. What do you want?

2. Why do you want it?

3. Who can help you?

4. What’s the first step?

They look simple, but for many dyslexics, they’re anything but.

When you’ve spent years not being asked what you need or not trusting your answer…

Even basic questions can feel like foreign territory.


That’s why the order matters.

Each question builds on the last, creating enough clarity to start moving instead of spiraling.

Try it out for yourself.

But as good as these are, getting to the root of our frustration requires more.

That’s where these two questions, or ones like it, come in:

• What are the two most frustrating aspects of your dyslexia?

• In what specific ways do they keep you from reaching your goals?

Pick one of them:
Write or record exactly how it shows up at home or work. 

Write when it shows up:
When you’re stressed, lacking confidence, feeling like an imposter, late for work, in friendships, with your partner, whatever it is.

Write what it feels like when it happens and how it holds you back.

• Then ask yourself how big this really feels

• Is it a small frustration, or something that’s been running the show for years?

Now you have data - tangible info you can use to make your next move.

Circle back to address The 4 Simple Questions, armed with concrete details & clarity.

DIRTY LAUNDRY

I flew back to the West Coast that Monday from New York.

Glad to be leaving the cold after three days of walking through snow in my Kenneth Cole dress shoes…

Pissed to be heading home, where a good chicken salad sandwich is way harder to find than it should be.

With years of substance abuse under my belt, I’d been skilled at keeping it hidden.

I was functional.

I held down jobs, at times excelled and worked hard to keep my promises and obligations.

But something broke in New York. 

The once bulletproof wall now had a gaping hole the size of my addiction.

With my dirty laundry exposed, I knew I had to change, I just didn’t know how.

REHAB IS FOR QUITTERS 

I checked my ass into rehab later that year (November 2016).

Between January’s meltdown and November’s Come to Jesus, I felt my transmission slipping hard and fast.

I was making mistakes at work, wrestling with self-hate and letting weekend escapades bleed into the work week until it all became… one long blur.

Rehab was my answer to the first question; what do I want?

I wanted out.

Out of the chaos, out of the loop, out of my own way.

I walked into rehab by choice, wrecked but ready for change.

And I haven’t touched the funky stuff since.

HOW YOU DOIN? 

Many of us exist hardened on the outside and hurting on the inside.

We’ve been led to believe that we’re in this fight alone.

That what we feel at work or in life isn’t that big of a deal.

We’re told to just suck it up or stop being so lazy.

This leaves folks disempowered.

Like the world is too busy to care.

Dyslexics and other neurodivergents suffer from this indifference.

And when no one asks what you need…

You start believing your needs don’t matter.

So lemme ask you.

How are you doing?

Like, how are you doing….really?

Do you need a hug?

How about a sandwich?

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