On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam has learned that there are moments in time where a simple guttural sound really really matters. And they can't accumulate because they expire quickly. All this relates back to an incomplete Christmas present.

-----

I got an ant farm for Christmas. My kids laughed and they told their friends and they laughed but my family came through and on Christmas morning I opened an ant farm. It has a main chamber and two auxiliary chambers. I set it up just like the pictures showed.

A few weeks ago, in March, I got the ants for my birthday. Apparently, the farm didn't come with ants, a detail we overlooked. They are harvester ants and I worked with an ant guy in Raleigh to select the species. He wanted pictures of the farm and info on where the farm would be positioned in relation to lights and windows and such. He considered Mobile's humidity and suggested harvester ants. I pretended like I gave his suggestion some thought and agreed. They are, right now, working diligently over my shoulder from their spot on the kitchen counter. Every day all of us stop in front of the farm to comment about the work they've done overnight. Last night my wife and I spent a while on my new favorite AI called Claude – I call him Claudius because he feels Roman to me – and learned that ants can go a month without food, they really need water, they nap for two minutes at a time, and their poop is microscopic. I've dropped hints about needing a big magnifying glass so we can see them up close, identify each of them and name them. Laugh all you want at my ant farm, but I've become very proud and protective of the health and vitality of my ants.

Last night as my wife was staring in at the ants, she made some thoughtful observations about them. Each of the things she said, grammatically speaking, ended with a period and not a question mark. I remained focused on whatever I was doing, and I noticed a sudden change in her body language as she quickly stood up and walked away. My inner alarms sounded. "Did I do something wrong?" I asked. Well, apparently, in my house, my wife's thoughtful observations about ants deserve acknowledgements from me. Some sort of something suggesting I heard her and am now also considering her shared observations. And that sound is, I think, this: Huh. For example, when my wife says 'That ant, I think his name is Bruno, is carrying a grain of sand all the way from the main chamber to the little water chamber and found a perfect spot to put it.' I should reply: Huh. Apparently, based on her tone and body language in the debriefing of my errant ways, that 'Huh' matters. A lot. So all last night I offered lots of Huhs. And gave some extras that I asked her to bank for when I forget to reply Huh to her future sentences that end in periods and not question marks. I was told, however, that Huhs don't bank, which is a shame.

So, get an ant farm. Don't forget the ants. Don't forget to Huh after your wife says something about the ants and it gets uncomfortably quiet in the room.

I'm Cam Marston and I'm just trying to keep it real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam realizes that he really had no choice over what he gave up for Lent - it was given to him and he's not happy about it.

-----

Our new puppy continues to rule the house and my life. She was trained by the breeder to urinate on a pee pad which is exactly what it sounds like – an absorbent mat for dogs to urinate on indoors. At our house, that means the carpet. She'll trot off the hardwood floors, pass the open back door to find the Persian rug and squat and look at me with an expression of "look how good I am!" Meanwhile the whole yard in available to her.

Making this a bit more challenging is, as I write this, my wife is in Raleigh with her parents, and my twins are in the throes of their senior year of high school which means friends are greater than puppies. That leaves me. I find myself explaining to the puppy why a yard is better than a rug to leave her mark. Her expression is, well, skeptical.

As I write this it is my deceased mother's birthday, giving me a solemn feeling and I learned today that I had volunteered to spend the night with my father after his knee surgery helping him dress and get to the bathroom and all that.

All this leads me to this – apparently, I gave up happiness for Lent. I don't remember choosing this. I think it was put upon me by the Almighty. And it has started out strong, I must say. I can only hope it's easier from here on out.

I mentioned my Lenten happiness sacrifice to a friend and he paused and said, "Yeah, but Cam, is that truly a sacrifice for you? I mean, is that really much of a change?" which stung a bit and made me unhappy. However, considering that I've committed to unhappiness for lent, I thanked him.

In order to maintain my commitment, I plan to do the following until Easter:

First, I will read the headlines and scroll through social media within five minutes of opening my eyes each morning. This will set the unhappiness expectations for the rest of the day. If something that I've seen or read gives me lift, I'll immediately add flavored creamer to my coffee which will return me to my targeted Lenten disposition.

Next, I'll list all my unachievable goals and list everything I've ever wanted to own and don't own. I'll read the lists aloud each day.

Third, I'll live in the past and recall my regrets and worry about the future and the bad things that will certainly befall me. That's a good one. Happiness evaporates when you do that. Works every time.

Fourth, I'll become an Auburn fan.

Fifth, I'll beg my sons to get a haircut.

If I run out of ideas and find myself slipping into happiness, there are a few of you I know I can call to get me right. You seem to have mastered unhappiness. Not only are your cups half empty, your cups are full of holes. Normally I avoid you but until Easter, I'll need your help.

I'm Cam Marston and I'm just trying to keep it real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, cam has been pitched by a software company to duplicate himself. Who would want another of him? Even he questions his own worth from time to time.

-----

I've just come from my accountant's office where I handed all my tax information to the lady at the front desk. The manilla envelope was much lighter this year than in years past.

Last week I had a long talk with an AI guy out of Houston. He said he loved to find people like me – content experts with books and videos and training programs and blogs and podcasts and such. He wants to take all content I've created over my thirty years in business and feed it into an AI thing he's created and create an on-demand Cam Marston kind-of-app. He told me I can read a couple paragraphs into a recorder and the AI can duplicate my voice so very closely, no one will know the difference. Once all the content is fed in and I've read my paragraphs, my clients can come to my website and ask me a question, and the app can answer the question in my own voice. I can charge a monthly subscription for my expertise and reach out to my clients who've used me repeatedly and let them know I'm now open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Thirty years of work, thirty years of research, five books, two training programs, three hundred podcasts, as many blogs and three million airline miles used to get all of it all turned into an app. Now I can create content by simply asking myself questions using the app. And my answer can be turned into a video of me talking as well as an article, a blog and a full-length podcast. All I have to do is format the output and promote it. Promote artificial me. The AI guy really has no interest in whether anyone subscribes or how I use it, he simply wants the fee to set it up.

I've been thinking about this. There's a lot that's fascinating about all of it. And I can see the appeal. But I'm unsure if I want this. I'm unsure if I want to participate. I feels, for some reason that I can't exactly explain, like a downward spiral. Ultimately, with the way things are going, it will become my client's AI interacting with my AI – neither of us ever talking. I'm getting old and grumpy, but I don't believe another app is going to solve anything any more. More apps do not make life better. And so often when my clients ask me about their teams or employees, I learn that hidden in the heart of their question is a question about themselves. I don't think an app can address this like eye contact and listening can.

Which may explain why my volume tax documents continue to get smaller. Where this is all heading leaves a distaste in my mouth. And rather than furiously try to keep up with this race to clone myself and quickly disgorge myself of my hard-won content through some app, I'm wondering if I'd rather not just walk away.

I'm Cam Marston, just trying to Keep it Real.