“Would Mr. McNorton report to the principal’s office right away?”
The announcement comes over the crackling loudspeaker in the classroom, interrupting Miss Maini’s lesson. She sighs. The entire class turns to look at me. I shrug, stand up and walk out.
On the way to Principal Murphy’s office, I scan my memory for what I did this time. I ‘accidentally’ threw a ball at Kevin’s head at recess. I pointed out Jenny’s ugly sweater. Or was it something I did yesterday? I can’t guess, and the suspense is making me anxious, ‘cause I like to have my story straight. But it’s a short walk, and I’m outta time.
My conversation with Mr. Murphy goes the same way. I start by feigning ignorance, which he doesn’t buy, then I concede and apologise. Mentally, I have already moved on, like nothing happened. I return to class and wait until I get called to his office again.
This scene played out weekly, sometimes daily, in elementary school. I was constantly doing or saying impulsive things, and nearly always getting caught. I rarely meant to hurt or offend anyone. I wasn’t cruel. I would recognise when I made a mistake and apologise — and my crimes were relatively minor offenses — and yet I persisted.
Last month, I wrote about decades of experiences in Toronto. At the very last minute, before pressing send, I added the phrase, “I was a brat”, to describe myself at thirteen years old. “Brat” is a weird word, not one I’ve previously used to describe myself, especially given its very recent redefinition in pop culture. “Brat” is not the right word.
Allow me to explain.
As a child, I possessed a combination of challenging traits: energetic, reckless, anti-authority, and ignorant of consequences. My parents have many funny-now-but-traumatising-then stories of little me wreaking havoc on their lives. Such as the time they took my sisters and I to Colasanti’s, a greenhouse and family fun centre in the countryside. Once we were parked, I ran ahead of my family, and straight into the petting zoo, where I proceeded to pull the tails on all the animals. My parents heard the screams of children and parents and goats and ponies — and knew the chaos was caused by Josh.
My rebellious acts as a teenager were focused on trying new things and testing limits, often without waiting my turn or asking for advice first. I would jump before I knew how and where I’d land, literally and metaphorically (and verbally and emotionally, etc.) How I didn’t break any bones, to continue the jumping metaphor, is a shock to me now.
Becoming an adult, I matured… but I can still be annoyingly impatient, disruptively curious, and overly opinionated and outspoken. I don’t consider my keen curiosity to be altogether bad, but my impatience is by far my most frustrating flaw.
The best piece of advice I have ever received, probably hundreds of times in total, from my parents and teachers and coaches and bosses, is:
“Just because you think something, even if it's true, doesn't mean you should say it.”
Look, I’m an extrovert, I’m not shy about sharing my opinions. I’m critical of nearly everything and everyone, especially myself. I'm not mean-spirited, my intentions are usually good, but I say things before reading the room, before thinking about the impact my words might have.
A significant part of my day job is crafting creative concepts into practical proposals, and giving and receiving feedback to/from a broad range of stakeholders. I’m not sensitive about my ideas and efforts being criticised, as long as it's constructive. In fact, I thrive on getting feedback because it usually results in a stronger product/project. But not everyone can take criticism, let alone enjoy it. I know that but I don’t always remember that. And so I persist.
A recent example: an acquaintance of mine was onstage at an arts centre in London, introducing an event that she produced. She spoke very, very fast, clearly due to nerves. As the interval approached, I figured I’d see her in the foyer, so I said to myself: Josh, just say hello, don’t comment on her speech. Sure enough, as I exited the theatre, she was waiting by the door. I said hello, we hugged, and I immediately blurted out, “Great speech. Were you nervous? Because you spoke really fast!” Based on her facial expression, my unsolicited feedback wasn’t appreciated. And rightfully so. I embarrassed both of us for no reason. Why the fuck did I do that?!
I have learned many hard lessons and lost some friends because of my verbal indiscretions. I am becoming more measured with my words with each passing year; however, I still say things I regret. 2025 has been a banner year for putting my foot in my mouth. It never has and never will taste good. Yet I persist.
When I started writing this post, I had the sublime song “Trouble” by Coldplay in my head. Its simple lyrics convey how sorry I’ve felt for so much of my life, after opening my big mouth.
Turns out there are 9 more great tunes on the theme, so I’ve collected them here:
Love this opening, and also the rest. Let's discuss over impatient cocktails.