Ryan Seacrest is a well-known figure in the entertainment world, but he’s feeling the pressure as he gets ready to take over from Pat Sajak as the host of *Wheel of Fortune*.
According to sources in the US, Radar Online reports that Seacrest is using special techniques to deal with his anxiety about this big new job.
Fans know that 77-year-old Sajak is stepping down after more than 40 years as the show’s host. Seacrest, who is 49, has been chosen to replace him, but taking over such an important role is a huge challenge.
Even though Seacrest has a long and successful career on TV, insiders say he still feels the pressure of taking on such an iconic job.
One source told Radar Online: “Ryan often takes on more than he can handle. He’s nervous right now, but he’s always wanted to be the next Dick Clark, and he’s become that. But he’s only human, and filling Pat Sajak’s shoes on *Wheel of Fortune* is a massive challenge.”
If anyone is right for the job, it’s Ryan Seacrest, who also hosts *American Idol*. But to prepare for hosting *Wheel of Fortune*, he’s using some tried-and-true methods to get ready. The first episodes with Seacrest as host are expected to air this September.
According to a source, “He’s doing everything he can to handle the nerves before his new job. That includes getting at least eight hours of sleep and listening to audiobooks for anxiety, because Ryan doesn’t know how to switch off by himself.”
The source added, “He has other helpful tricks, too. Just going outside for some fresh air and sunshine helps him relax. He’ll also have a cozy, air-conditioned trailer at the studio where he can unwind.”
Ryan Seacrest shared a heartfelt tribute to Pat Sajak three weeks ago. In his message, he praised the famous host’s partnership with Vanna White, 67, and said Sajak had “set the standard for hosts everywhere.”
On Instagram, Seacrest wrote, “Pat, congratulations on an incredible run with *Wheel of Fortune*! Your dedication, charm, and wit have made the show a beloved part of American television for decades.”
He continued, “Your partnership with Vanna has been nothing short of iconic, and together, you’ve created countless wonderful memories for viewers. You’ve set the standard for hosts everywhere.”
My Rich Husband Forbade Me from Entering One Room in Our House – I Could Not Stop Crying When I Saw What He Was Hiding
When Alexis’ parents forced her to marry Robert, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. Later, Alexis broke the one rule her husband gave her and entered the room he warned her about, unleashing secrets she wasn’t prepared for.
I couldn’t understand why my parents wanted me to get married before I found someone myself.
“Alexis,” my mother said, “Robert is a catch. He’s a wealthy man who will take care of you. You wouldn’t even have to work.”
I couldn’t refuse. My father had made it clear.
“You marry Robert, Alexis,” he said, puffing on his cigar. “Or you can figure out your own living arrangements.”
In a sense, Robert was my prince charming. Our family had a bakery, which was losing customers because we had no gluten-free options on the menu.
“We will continue to bake what we know,” my father insisted.
Our marriage was definitely an arranged one. Robert’s demeanor was cold, and he refused to let me get to know him properly. I don’t know how my father arranged our connection.
Our wedding was a spectacle of Robert’s affluence, nothing short of extravagant. Robert’s wedding planner had thought of everything.
My wedding dress was a custom piece that he commissioned for me. But even through our wedding planning, we barely spoke.
“I’m looking forward to being married,” he admitted one evening, a few days before the wedding.
“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” he added.
That was the closest Robert had gotten to letting me in.
Two days after our wedding, I moved into our new home.
“Come, I’ll show you around,” Robert said.
He took me around our home, a mansion boasting luxuries I’d never imagined before: sprawling golf courses, a shimmering swimming pool, and a fleet of staff at our beck and call.
“It’s beautiful,” I said when we got to the kitchen. “Everything is beautiful.”
“Now, Alexis, this house belongs to you too,” he declared with a hint of pride.
I smiled at the stranger standing in front of me. Maybe we were going to make something of our marriage.
“But one thing, Alexis,” he said. “There’s one rule. The attic. Never go in there.”
I nodded at Robert. I couldn’t fathom why I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere in the house. But I also recognized that I didn’t know my husband well enough yet. So, I had to obey.
A few days later, Robert went to a meeting, leaving me alone in our massive home.
Driven by curiosity stronger than any warning, I found myself ascending the stairs to the attic. My heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time.
A quick in and out, I thought to myself.
Pushing the door open, I was met with a sight that sent me to my knees, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t know why I was crying. I didn’t know why I felt confusion and relief at the same time.
The attic, dimly lit, seemed to be a vault of my husband’s hidden memories. Childhood toys lay scattered, each carrying untold stories. Old postcards and photographs of Robert’s life before me. Among the relics were letters from a young boy to his father, a soldier away at war.
“How dare you come in here? Now, I have to change the locks in my own home because my wife does not respect my requests?”
Robert’s face turned red with rage.
“I just want to understand,” I stammered. “I just want to know you, Robert.”
Slowly, his rage dissolved, and he seemed to see me as a companion in his world, instead of the intruder he had made me out to be.
“Alexis,” he said, “Come, let’s sit.”
Robert led me to the living room.
“My father was a stern man. He was a soldier and he believed in keeping emotions locked away. These are the only things I have of a time when I felt loved,” he confessed.
My heart caught on his every word as his voice broke.
What followed was a revelation of his soul. Stories of a lonely childhood, of a boy yearning for his father’s approval, unfolded in our home.
In those vulnerable moments, I didn’t see the distant, cold man I had married but a boy who had never stopped seeking love and acceptance. He just didn’t know how to go about it.
In those few hours, things changed. Robert started letting me in. And now, years later, our home is filled with the cries and laughter of our daughter, April.
Through our daughter, Robert healed. He healed for himself, and for our daughter.
We’ve packed away everything from the attic, so it is no longer a shrine to Robert’s past but is now my little reading nook.
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