Exciting Summer

The second part of my masterful life reevaluation plan (the first being the whole "eating better and getting back into good shape" thing) is to be more active and social, and I've stuffed this summer full of all sorts of delicious activities in anticipation of that. While it looks like I will probably not be able to make it to the 2 week trip to Machu Picchu, I'm trying not to let that bum me out as there is plenty of other excitement to be had, though I'm sure many of you can appreciate why I'd be sad to not make that journey.

If the view from atop there doesn't make you reevaluate your life's priorities, I don't know what will.

This coming week will be the first week of these adventures; I'll be going spelunking. Though I use both "adventure" and "spelunking" in a loose manner as it's a guided tour. Be that as it may, anytime the thought of plunging in the belly of the earth is brought up I can't help but think of Ted the Caver, which doesn't please my nerves. We've a tentative plan to go elsewhere on our own soon, so I can worry beasts in the deep when that happens.
We'll be hitting Cumberland Cave, which makes up for in beauty what it lacks in excitement.



Next month will be a busy one, filled with days of sailing, kayaking, whitewater rafting, and if all goes well, freakin' hangliding which I am exceptionally excited for. I still need someone to come along for that one, if anyone is interested. Oddly, I've had a hard time finding people willing to jump off a ledge with only a kite on their back.

I'm never been sailing before, but I love to be on the water, and am counting down the days until this outing. The sailing is a 'learn how to sail' course which I am eager to participate in. The sooner I learn to sail, the sooner I can sell all my worldly possession to buy a boat and move to the Bahamas! If there's anything my life is missing, it's the ocean air in my lungs and the sound of the waves filling my ears.

I have a few free weekends still this summer, so if anyone knows of anything interesting coming up, I'm all ears.

Now to finish packing for my imminent move to my new house in Nashville; be sure to stop by!

"There's Nothing Like Losing You"

I've been reading Postsecret for quite a long time now and I enjoy the feeling of being taken into the confidence of so many random people. Yet in all this time - while I can often appreciate what is being said - I never can relate to it. And then I found one that might have been written by me, though the "3 years" part would need several years added to it.. At last I can relate.

Just Pondering

I've been thinking a lot about Loba lately. There's no doubt that I've become the person I am today because of her. Poor decisions I made required a lot of later internal reflection that I hope changed me for the better, though they also eventually led to the complete decimation of my self-confidence of which I still struggle with recovering. I used to be arrogant; can you believe it?
I often wonder how different my life might have been had I said "no" instead of "yes" to her all those years ago. Would I have never grown? Would I be one of those people in couples that you look at and wonder how the other can tolerate them? Or would I have managed to become the person she deserves? I hope for the latter, I fear the former.

I've been thinking about M-Pie. Where has she vanished? What was it I did from so far away that caused her egress, sans explanation, and what could it have been that was so terrible that it overpowered all my positive thoughts and constant well-wishes for everything in her life? When did our powerful connection and friendship become brittle? Has she changed or do I do terrible things so often that I don't even realize they are terrible any longer? I fear both.

I've been wondering about my Bosco's companion. Could telling a friend how proud you are to have them as a friend and that you wished more people were like them - how they raise the bar so impossibly high - actually ruin a friendship? Sometimes I say too much on those rare times that I don't say too little. Did I at last say far too much? Who then will I tango with in the street?

There's precious few people worth truly knowing in this world, and I fear that I've already lost the most important of them. I try not to let it worry me, to weight me down.

I've been thinking about you; I always do. I love and miss each of you every moment of every day. And maybe that is worth something. No one can say I didn't try, but maybe they will say I could have tried a little harder.

Revitalizing Myself, Yoga, and More!

You might recall an earlier entry I wrote about getting healthy. I'll save the specifics, but let's just say I faltered. I aimed too high and melted my feeble wings of wax. In truth, it's that I aimed too high too fast, was unable to withstand the breakneck speed, and all went black. Helpless, I fell, earthbound. When I awoke, I had fallen further than I was when I first started. I decided there had to be a better way, but I just had trouble finding it. After quite a bit of aimless wandering, I simply opted to take the opportunity of the upcoming year and use that as my springboard.

I decided to make 2009 the year. THE year for things to happen. I also secretly decided to make each year afterward even better than 2009, but I'm going to put one foot in front of the other before I hit an all-out run.

It took me a couple of weeks to really begin forcing a change on myself though. Before you mumble to yourself "laziness", I will admit to you an even more embarrassing reason; terror. It had been a few years since I really examined myself and of what I was (or was not) capable. These few years since then had forced me down a path that was both sedentary and without inner reflection and I was terrified to really see the toll it had taken on me, even if I could already feel it.
But I finally made my first step. A baby step for most but a long jump for me; a leap of faith. I signed up for the gym near my home and laid out the clay, ready to mold myself once more. I had become rigid, I had lost durability, was cracked - withered. I fell away under a touch and it would require skilled sculptor hands to peel away the clumps around me to reveal, ultimately, myself. The finished yet ever changing piece.

That terror I spoke of...it was on that first day that it had me so firmly in its grip. It pressing against my chest, suffocating me and tempting me to flee. I entered the building, a little wary but ready to go, and so I warmed up. Odd; I could not quite reach my toes when I stretched. Peculiar; my arms did not reach as far behind me as I remember them doing. Unusual; my torso did not twist in the ways it once did. And depressing; it was a bit tiring walking up the flight of steps to the treadmills.

With slightly labored breathing and weary knees, I hopped up, set the machine and began to run. The conveyor belt moved a lot faster than I remember one ever doing at such a low speed. The clock, which I had set for a mere 20 minutes, was broken; the seconds ticked away far more slowly than they should have. My knees failed me far faster than I ever recalled.
The rest of the night was much the same. Every pound felt like two. Every mile felt like many. Every leg press was like trying to move the earth beneath me. The 15 foot tall rock wall? Insurmountable.

I felt the fear that everyone who lets themselves fall into such decay must feel, thinking the work to correct such folly would be just too great. But I came back. Again and again I return, and while sometimes it feels like I am progressing backwards, I've come a long way in a short time.
I won't lie to you and say that my first few weeks ever using weights were a cake walk. If you had see me have to use my left arm to lift my right because it was too worn out to raise itself far enough to wash my hair without assistance, you would understand. Of if you had to witness me literally rolling out of bed because my muscles were to weary to lift my own body weight, you'd marvel at my progress.
I certainly cannot deny the change I feel. I sleep better, I eat less, and, not believing in weighing myself, I finally begin to see results in the mirror. Small, slow, yet amazingly significant.

Somewhere along the line, I went from dreading my 3-4 weekly workouts to looking forward to them and even feeling a little bit of withdrawal on days that I did not go. I decided I would add in something I've always wanted to do (with dedication); Yoga.

I found myself at the Yoga studio on a Tuesday with a couple of people from work. The room was sweltering, but peaceful. I unrolled my mat between two strangers, both deep in meditation and looking at peace. They even felt peaceful, already empty of all the worries of the world, shedding the weight like a second burdensome skin. Shed it like I hoped to do; to let the torrent of the world's problems roll off of me like water; to break against me as waves on the rocks.
I was excited; I knew from my few previous experiences with Yoga that it was not to be underestimated. Yoga has a subtle difficulty and it was a great challenge even when I was in good shape.

With the instructors soothing voice and words, I stretched myself out along the earth, feeling awareness in my limbs, along my spine, very aware of the ground below me. Over the next hour, I stretched, I bent, I folded, I might have wept silently to myself, I balanced and I nearly toppled (my balance isn't what it once was, either). My arms shook, my knees buckled and I literally dripped sweat in amounts that made my gym visits look like a light sprinkle to a typhoon. But I made it. And during my favorite part of Yoga, savasana, I finally found something I've been looking to find for years. Sleep. When I tell you I dreamed several dreams in those few minutes, you might not understand the significance. My sleep problem is such that I've only reached a level of sleep deep enough to hit REM, and thus dream, a mere handful of times in my entire life. And when I awkwardly jerked awake, initially being horrified after realizing I had fallen asleep, I was ecstatic when I realized the results. I have been back to Yoga a time or two every week since then and don't see myself stopping anytime soon.

The final step in my master plan has been a simple one, but the one that laid me low last time I tried; my eating habits. I reached too far before when I cut out all the junk from my diet and my hand was slapped before I could withdraw it. I am not meant to go from one end of the spectrum, to the opposite end that has me eating nothing but raw vegetable. I decided a more middle of the road approach would work better. I still drink a lot of water and have eliminated all sodas, but I will not shun a sandwich because of the bread, though I also won't eat one every day. Moderation, you know. My vegetables? Sometimes raw, but usually cooked. I don't eat sweets, but I did integrated my much loved peanut butter into my life a bit more, usually with bananas in a shake, or with an apple for a snack. But it's reduced fat and/or natural peanut butter. Once this is a success, I might slowly wean myself off of some of these other things, but I am taking it slowly thanks to a friend's advice, and so far it's been working for me better than anything else ever has.

I have always been a big believer in "your body is a temple". But like a person who gives fine advice, I do not always follow my principles. I will say also that I believe in karma and I am without a doubt sure that I've suffered the problems I have - sleep disorder, weak knees, etc - because of my failure to treat my body like I should. I once heard a woman's body referred to as a work of art and a man's as a Jeep. Rather accurate. I've admired the female body as I do beautiful works of art, happy to gaze on it for many hours. Likewise, I have treated my body like I treat my Jeep. I fly over speed bumps, don't change the oil often, and never rotate the tires when I should. And while I clean the outside, I put a lot of junk inside and never bother to clean it out.

As I wrote this out, I realized that these steps are likely small to others, but I've felt very accomplished even taking these baby steps. I for once don't feel like I'm going to stray at the first sign of trouble, and that is heartening. The next step? More outdoor activities. I'm looking at you, hang gliding.

Surprise Find

I was purging my apartment of absolutely everything I no longer need - if you haven't heard, I'm moving - when I came across a familiar box that I had not really opened in years. I recall the box well, but the contents not at all. Opening it I found some odds and ends that I've had since as long as I can remember. Nothing I need in my everyday life, but small tokens that make me smile.

A card - to the AikiRose - "thanks for the plate - Andrew"
A postcard with Brandon Lee from the Crow on it. Left on my desk when I was in 10th grade in my mythology class.
A lone, unused chopstick from China Taste.
An old love letter; I left it unopened. Some things are better that way.

Upon reaching the bottom, I found an item I had no idea I still had. It was a ticket stub, faded with age, but I knew it at once though the words are barely legible. It was a special stub. I had asked my first love to go out with me at this movie. "Go out", as we called it back in the day. Way back in '96.

For a moment I could hear her soft giggle when I was trying to get the nerve to ask her. Feel the pressure on my right side from my friend HEED!, telling me to stop being a chicken and "just DO it, geez". So I did. I could almost hear her quiet reply - "of course I will, dummy" - and smell that clean scent that always came from her when she turned her head and her hair tumbled over a shoulder.

I was smiling and I knew it. I took that moment to remember good times. To remember gestures and words from her that changed my life.

I dropped the ticket into the trash bin. It settled quietly next to the banana that had - judging by the color - lost in a rather violent fight. Only a momentary urge to pick up the stub before I was back to my chores.

It's time to save tickets from a movie with a new love. Wherever she is.

Discomfort

I'm rather a large Jeff Buckley fan. Having written a few of my favorite all-time songs, he's pretty high up on my list of musicians. And he left us far too soon.

However, that said, I still am mildly uncomfortable when I log into myspace and see this:

Getting Healthy Again

It's amazing to me how quickly getting out of shape and unhealthy can sneak up on you. In all fairness, it has been a gradual process that has devolved my existence over the last three years, but it was all very subtle from my perception. One moment I was secure in my knowledge that I was still as health as I was a few years ago. As healthy as when I went to Aikido for 8 hours a week, and when I ate well and didn't drink many sodas. When I biked downtown with friends for hours on end. Little did I realize 3 years later I'd have sleeping problems due to bad digestion, that I would have knees that could only carry me for 20 yards of sprinting before they stopped working. Digestion problems and bad knees are something older people have. Vitamin deficiency is something that happens to other people who didn't take care of themselves. People who aren't me. So I was shocked to wake up, struggling to sleep because of a stomach that was a torrid sea of acid, and realizing I am one of those people. It's also rather frightening after that happens that you'll continue your downward slide.

I've half-heartedly tried to change my ways a few times in the past but always ended up making less distance than even my weak knees could carry me. It was a few weeks ago that I took another half-hearted attempt at health – an afternoon jog – that would cause an event that rattled me enough to make me give a full-hearted one.

I'd forgotten the joy of blazing down the roads and my own two legs, sweat dripping in my eyes and the wind on my face. It was about the time I remembered this pleasure that my right knee locked up, nearly sending me tumbling into a ditch, my left almost following his brother's example as I used it to keep weight off of him. After a brief break in which I was completely unable to make my legs function, I had to stumble back the way I came, slightly terrified that the feeling I was experiencing – the barest ability to walk – might eventually be permanent. I could feel my knees struggling with each step, feel the wobbling and instability in my stance. And I was rather terrified.

That I made my way to the doctor at the next available opening will tell those who know me how worried I was. I've avoided the doctor for nearly 10 years until now.

Stepping in the building, the assistant looked at me before I even met the doctor, stopping midway through her greeting sentence as she looked me up and down.

“Young man, you need to meet someone”

...she said as while grabbed my arm and bringing me face to face with someone who turned out to be a nutritionist. Apparently she thought I looked so drained of color that I must be deprived of important nutrients that my body was craving.

It turns out she is rather astute with her observations, my doctor later informing me of my vitamin deficiency that she believes is the root of my knee problems. She also pinpointed my stomach problem to both diet and, depressingly, dairy. It took all my will to not fall to the floor upon my knees and thrust my hands heavenward, crying out at my misfortune. I was told to drop the milk entirely, which is about my favorite thing to consume, evident by the 2 gallons per week that I drink. Yet sleeping through the night would prove to be a fair trade. And as it turns out, after cutting milk out I have thus far been no longer troubles by a raging belly.

I was put on a rather (to me) strict dietary plan. The first two weeks is detox time. I think this will prove the most challenging.

Daily Requirements: 110oz of water (yeesh), 4 fruits (yay), 1 cup of beans minimum, 1 lb raw veggies, 1 lb cooked veggies, 3-4 oz fish/turkey or two eggs, 15 raw soak almonds or 2 tbs raw almond butter, very specific grain types.

Most of that is alright, but the raw veggies might be tough. And the water. I'm not a water cooler, but I must fill myself like one. On the plus side, I've learned I can have the bread I enjoy (Ezekiel), along with some specific all-fruit jelly.

In addition, I've a [rather vast] number of supplements I will be taking for a time. I don't mind that so much, however one of them is a powder that I mix with my daily protein shake. One small scoop of it can make a full glass of delicious mixed fruit smoothie turn 'wet grass clippings' green and taste like the rotting flesh of the damned. Yet my diet requires four such scoops per day.

The mainly problem I'm going to have is I simply 1) am not good at food preparation and 2) I do not like a variety of the foods that I need. Or rather, I like a variety but I don't know ways to prepare them in ways that will make them interesting. I've got a tentative class with a local raw food chef to see if I can increase my repertoire of healthy dishes.

So this is it; time to get serious. After mere days of selecting cutting out the dairy, eating live foods, tripling my water intake, etc, I've already noticed an improvement. Besides the aforementioned stomach problems not bothering me again so far, I've felt less tired than normal and had more energy to get through the day. I'm going to ride this out and see where it takes me. I'll be on my nutritionist's strict plans for 7 weeks minimum, at which time I'll be on my own. Hopefully by that time I'll have accustomed myself to these food times and I'll crave lettuce wraps or fruits instead of cheeseburgers or pizza.

I've decided the best way for me to stick to all this is to prepare my meals ahead of time instead of getting hungry, having no good food to reach for, then getting Chinese instead.

Untitled (Sonnet)

A sound so soft that stillness disturbs that fragile form
Deceitful vagrant creeping through the night air
Born to mold like clay and thought transform
To creep up like thunder from a coming storm

Yet a sound so subtle can be a tempest made
Lest you bend your knee on rain soaked earth
Withstand the gale and with no word be swayed
Reach deep in the soils to water your rebirth

I once basked in the radiance that you keep in the shade
Still feeling the warmth from when I bathed in your light
At your altar is where my heart was laid
There let it remain when day turns to night

Remember me that way, having seen what others may not
In our short time of love that will not be forgot

Unexpected Evening...

Those of you who know me well will not believe the next words that I say to you...

I went dancing.

And those of you who know me well likely know my Dancing Story and thus will believe what I say all the less. Yet here we are with the truth laid out for all to see. What's more; I enjoyed it. Enjoyed it enough to do it again the next day. And enough to decide that everyone should dance to the Beatles at least once.

On the day before V-Day, I received a message from one of my favorite Nashville friends asking (telling, actually) me to go dancing the next evening. I tripped over myself to accept the invitation. It'd like to say it was because I'd always thought it would be a lot of fun to try to dancing, if only I had someone interested in going. In truth it was mostly because I simply thought that dancing with her was something that I would like to experience.

Now, mind that this wasn't crazy in the club, leg-humping dancing, but rather traditional styles such as the waltz, rumba, and tango. It turns out it was actually a dance class and I soon found myself nervous upon a dance floor with a very gifted instructor - I don't know anything about dancing, but I know a good teacher when I see one - and 5 participants. We spent the next hour learning the waltz, the rumba, and the push-pull swing. While I've never danced before in my life, I couldn't help but feel the movements were very natural, as if I'd done them thousands of times. And then it hit me; I had.

I've studied Yoseikan 'Aikido' for a number of years now, though sadly no longer regularly, and I've been told a number of times (like most Budoka , I imagine) by non-practitioners that "I bet you could dance very well." But I can't. Not do I think I know a single person that I've met over the years through Yoseikan that can dance at all. Perhaps I shall be the first.

But it hit me as I made my way over and over in the little box I had drawn in my mind around my feet; something about this feels so natural. Eyes focused on my partner, willing myself not to look down as if I balanced on a precipice, trying not to look at her feet even though I feared trampling them (which I didn't do once, I'm proud to say) I realized I had done these steps a thousand times and more. I'll put it in a language my fellow Budoka can understand, and with that language I'm going to teach you some basic dancing in three easy steps; irimi, hiraki, motari komi, mirror it, repeat. Okay, the motari komi part is a joke but wouldn't that be awesome? But I realized these moves were all just Yoseikan without throwing someone at the end. Admittedly the most disappointing part about dancing.

I don't believe myself to be a judgmental person, so I don't think in the past I'd ever have said something such as "dancing would be a silly thing to learn". I mean, really...who dances? But I'm sure I probably thought that to myself, about myself. It's just not for me, I would have thought. But there is something to dancing. I hate to use a term such as "magical", but there it is all the same. There is something about asking a woman to dance, offering your hand to her as she accepts, and leading her out onto the dance floor, still hand-in-hand. Holding your hand to your side, level with her eye, as she accepts it and moves close to you and you rest your hand firmly but gently on her shoulder blade to guide her around the room.

I don't know any fancy moves. I have a small set of what I can do, and I don't stray from it. I don't know any awesome twirls. I don't know how to dip someone. And I was perfectly content to use my small skill-set and dance hour after hour. However, you better believe if I did know such moves - and when I do - I'll be twirling and dipping people like there's no tomorrow, rose clenched between my teeth, and God help you if you get in my way because there's going to be trouble.

The atmosphere of a place like where I went appeals to my nature. Everyone is polite, everyone is respectful. I was raised pretty strictly by these values and they are so burned into my soul I can't help but apply them to everyday life. And this place really worked with that part of me. It felt almost like another world where people act like I feel everyone should. I don't feel awkward when I rise to stand for a lady as I await her to take her seat. I don't worry about getting yelled at for holding a door for someone. I don't get a look of disgust offering my hand to help another over threshold. I don't worry about these things because they know I'm not doing it because I think they are weak or helpless; I'm doing it to be polite and respectful. When I'm moving around the dance floor with someone, I can look them straight in the eye because I am respecting them as a human being, not because I'm being some creepy guy who is staring. Everyone gets that and accepts it, even expects it. Like it should be.

When I was instructed in my lesson to always, always escort a lady off the dance floor, my mind said, "yes! this is right". Why would I not do such a thing? Why am I not escorting women more places in my everyday life?

While I've always heard people speaking of dancing as a form of expression, I never really got it. Painting? Sure, a form of expression, clearly. Music? Obviously! But dancing? It's all just set moves isn't it? Apparently not! It turns out it is one of those situations where you cannot really see the truth of the matter before plunging into it. I've danced with more amazing and beautiful women in the last week than anyone has a right to ever know in a lifetime, let alone dance with. And that was all I needed to do to have "dance as expression" proved to me. I know that one of the women is goofy with an off-the-wall sense of humor who doesn't let much bother her. I know another appreciates bluntness and people who love music the way she does. I know a third who is amazingly disciplined but will be the first person to pull a practical joke on you if you're looking the other way. I learned more about some of these ladies in a dance than I learn from some friends in a year. There is an openness and sharing that took me unawares and left me feeling naked. I wonder what people learned about me?

I'm going to go again. I think it will be good for me. I've spent the last few years coming out of my shell more and more, as close friends will tell you, and I think this will be yet another good exercise for me to peak my head out into the sunlight a little more. One day I will fully bathe in it. But for now I'll keep reaching upwards.

Unease...

It’s not often I am touched by the words of others. At the risk of sounding shallow myself, I tend to find mere words just that - shallow and without the force needed to move a soul already weighted down by the realities of life. That makes me sound grim but don’t be fooled, I am not grim. Just at this point in my life I have seen and heard and read and said billions upon billions of words. Words have to work hard to impress as their power wanes over the lengthening years. They batter my rocky surface unceasingly but still I remain firm and unyielding.
It was the words of someone important to me that rent the surface. Not simply because they were well-written, but because it gave an insight on how this friend is structured mentally – emotionally even - and how they came to be who they are. A mystery I’ve often secretly tried to solve. It was interesting to see the reflection of the adult that I know in a story about them as a child which I can never know. It filled in an incomplete tapestry that I had been painting in my own mind, pieced together from clues that I pick up littered along the path of our friendship during the short time that we have known each other. I feel safe to say that after what I learned, my painting was far from accurate. Not in the way that a child’s painting is accurate in spirit and concept but not in the details, but rather inaccurate in the way you might try to draw a cabbage and it ends up being a boot.

All of this got me thinking about how I came to be, and my own childhood and what events might have shaped me. It made me ponder my qualities and where they came from. There are some things about myself that I would proudly claim as my traits. There are also many that I am ashamed of and work to be rid of. Just like everyone, I imagine. It’s no secret (to myself at least) that my friend has a certain intensity of spirit and will that I not only admire but am slightly envious of because it is something that I lack, and unlike other qualities I may lack, I am AWARE of this one. It makes me wonder why this aspect of my personality did not develop like I feel it should have.
She cites specific adversity in her childhood; moments in time when facing challenges and turmoil that things became clear and she realized truths about the world, about herself. I don’t know that I can pinpoint any such time in my life in either childhood or my adult life. For not being a very mysterious person, I remain a mystery only to myself; I don’t yet know who I am.
I had a great childhood where the worst thing that ever happened to me was falling out of a tree and nearly dying from drinking tea made with contaminated water. They were bad times, to be sure, but not exactly emotionally scarring. My memories of being a kid are all pleasant and for that I am certainly thankful. I have a fantastic mother that cannot be matched, and any failings of myself as a person are my own. She was a single mother for a good majority of my life and she worked hard to raise me and prepare me for the world. Yet somewhere along the way, a few important lessons were missed. And I wonder if everyone with these qualities had to suffer adversity as a child to really grow into this type of person? Is there not another way? Is it too late for me?

I’ve felt a growing sense of…unease the last few months. There is a dread in me that has usurped my heart when I was looking in another direction. Comfortable in its new home it occupies its time by sending a feeling through my body that I can only describe as desperation. I have begun to feel ill-equipped for my life; for work, for relationships, for many things. And I can’t help but feel these missing attributes are part of the problem. What opportunities have I missed due to my lack of boldness? Have I missed out on something amazing because I did not take a leap of faith? It's an issue I've tried to focus on but it's tough to catch up when you're so far behind.

And this makes me think about relationships, one of the areas where my lack of directness is painfully obvious. I’ve written a lot about relationships lately. That is of course relative as I do not write much of anything these days. It’s a tired topic, I know, but it’s something that has been weighting on me. Only in recent years have I realized the truth about myself when it comes to relationships. It’s simple; I am a loner who hates to be alone. And for a while I was okay with it all and I thought that being on my own would be ideal, but every day I find it less appealing and every day I am reminded of what I am missing. I suppose that means I’m not a loner anymore.
There is no problem in realizing a need in others. The problem comes from not taking any action to remedy the situation. I will hold back taunt like a coiled trap and only spring after it is too late.

I have three weddings to go to in the next 5 weeks. I couldn’t be happier for my friends, but as I arrive to the weddings to watch people I’ve known for years give themselves to someone else, and as I watch our mutual friends arrive with their wives and new children, I feel empty. I am usually able to take great solace in joy in small things, but it makes me feel like the things in my life are insignificant. As I endure a barrage of "why are you still single", I am speechless because I'm not sure what the answer to that question is any longer.
I’ve been living for myself for so long and I’m at the point I want to put effort into someone else but I didn't really realize it until now. If I can be honest, I wasn't capable before. Oh, I pretended I was and for a while I fooled people. I certainly fooled myself. But it wasn't until recently - and I'm talking mere months - that I think I really had the capacity to understand how fragile such relationships can be and what a responsibility it is when someone puts their faith in you. I miss that strong faith being put into me; it's a vast responsibility but one that I miss carrying. It opens up levels of intimacy that you can't really substitute. I miss the intimacy of being able to share parts of yourself that you can't even reveal to your closest friend. I think I might even need it.

My new found clarity is not a skill I can put to the test however. I've mentioned this to a number of friends, but I've been on more dates in the last few months than anyone should ever have to suffer through in their entire lives. I've seen some pretty unappealing sides of people. And as I meet more and more individuals, I am learning that the people I really find the most interesting are already in my life. Taken and off-limits, but in my life.
I find myself drawn to those that I think can break me out of whatever shell I have sealed myself in. I cannot decide if this is an insult or a compliment to them. I used to be drawn to the meek. Now I am drawn to the adventurous of spirit. But the spark I may feel from this draw usually amount to nothing but my frustrations. My sparks are ever one-sided. And that leaves me powerless to change things. I am not the type of person people leave someone to be with. But then, I don't wish to be that person. I want to be the guy picked for other reasons. For my sense of humor, loyalty, or simply that I feel right to someone. But I'm not that person either. I don't have an allure or hook that people look for. Not that I know what they look for, I merely know that I lack it. So I watch from the outside as the men in their life make mistake after mistake, time and again, and I wonder how many chances he will get and what it is she sees in him. And I ponder if I can perceive so many mistakes from such a distance perspective, how bad is it on the inside? I watch from the outside waiting on a chance to make my own mistakes. I won't fool myself, I'm a man like any other and though I try hard, I will make mistakes. I am full of imperfections, but I will make weapons out of them.

I toss and turn sometimes...

"I don't think I've ever loved anyone that I've lost as much as you loved her"

This is what my friend told me and I realized that it was something I never wanted to hear from anyone. It makes the reality too real. My friend - one of my few that I can have more than a superficial conversation with - said this in what I expect was a tender tone.

We speak on a lot of subjects, and I'm kept on my toes, and introspective. Recently discussion about the admirable depth of character of fictional individuals from films took a wildly different direction. I can't exactly recall the path we took but I believe it began with film that lead to disturbing events in our lives that turned a corner to disabilities and diseases; the video about the poor girl born with no face, or the man with a bacteria "much worse" than the flesh-eating virus (his wife stayed by him the whole time and even after the disfiguring...and that makes me smile that she did), and a friend who is quadriplegic. We wondered about how much someone had to love life to keep fighting when something like that happened. I think we both may have shuddered a little when we didn't know if we had that much. This expanded into broader topics of age and the various mysteries of the world (universe even) that plague our mind time and again.

I like to think I don't fear aging. I hate my birthday, but not because I'm getting older. I sometimes make a fuss..."if i lived my life again I'd be almost 55" and I feign wobbling legs and dismay. But this false dismay I show because I feel like that it is expected of me.

So here I am very aware of my own mortality but not horrified by the idea as perhaps I should be. I think my outlook on life was supposed to change years ago when I learned I wouldn't be here forever. My curiosity of what comes after is too great I think. Not so great that I chase it by any means, or am in a rush, but not so small that I wail at the thought of "the end". Or so I say; fast forward in time to when that moment comes and perhaps you will see me fighting tooth and nail against old age, or whatever claims me.

It's funny; thinking about aging, or the enormity of existence, the vastness of the universe...it just doesn't make me fret over mortality, infinity or eternity. And mortality and eternity go hand in hand for me. Forever is a long time after all, and all I've known of existence this whole time is now and me ... what would it be like in a world without me in it? Not because I'm a great mover of events or important keystone of our current age...but just because I've never known a world in which I didn't exist.

It's an odd feeling to think of a distance time when no one will even know you existed. But while is fills me with strange emotion it doesn't scare me. It's watching friends and especially old loves move forward with their lives that does. Frankly watching it terrifies me.

I've had two loves in my life. Two people that I would without a doubt give up everything for; give my life for. They've moved on. In their world, I've all but faded away. In their world, I might not exist any longer.

It was a long time ago, but she was a huge part of my life. The biggest part, really. And vice versa I like to think. I like to hope. Her words at the time certainly made me feel that way. It - she - was one of those gifts presented to someone too young to appreciate it and care for it, and I shattered it. Anyone who knows me knows the regret I still and possibly will always hold over that.

I understand the concept of forever. Can I really grasp it? Probably not. Yet forever doesn't seem long to me, despite the fact that, yeah, it's probably pretty damn long. It's going to continue to pass without anyone being able to stop it and just like the years already gone by in my life, it will be past and over before you know it. Yet knowing I'm never going to be with this person - her - again, possibly never even see her again, makes "forever" seem like exactly what it is. A very, very long time.

I can picture the past. Rome, the Mayans, the Boston Tea Party...there is a nice chronological map in my brain that lets my imagination see those place, those people. But the thought of a single lifetime without seeing someone that was so important to you make those historical places seem merely over a river in time, but your life without them is a vast ocean of it. It makes you wonder if the people who are in their lives now, those people who have replaced you...do they really appreciate what they have? Do they realize that while they are there, taking her company, friendship and love for granted, that you have been doomed to an entire existence without even a moment of that again? I like to think they appreciate it like they should. But I know they don't.

We tried, I like to think, she and I. The friendship route. It was too hard. For both sides. For me because it makes old feelings that I keep buried (as best I can) flare up. For her, possibly the same, but also because, if any of those ancient feelings still reside, it fills her with guilt, to even be reminded of that time, after having moved on to love another.

And here we are. Being in the other's life is too rough. So we'll cross paths here and there, now and again. Maybe for a few more years. Eventually we'll come to the day when any manner of communication with the other has been lost and while it is an easy age to find someone in, neither of us will try. And soon, if not already, the stories about the other will be forgotten and the few that remain will no longer start "one time my first love and I..." but rather "one time this person I used to know..."

Our relationship will end up much like the relationships of my family. Of the way I picture my grandmother before she met my grandfather...what sort of long gone love lives on within her memory? Before my aunt met my uncle...what was her first love like? Does anyone know she still sees his blue eyes in her dreams?

And finally one day the only connection she and I will have will be in the imagination of a young offspring, like I once was. We will be a distant, blurry figure in their minds when they try to imagine an impossible time when their parent loved someone else, and just as quickly we'll be forgotten by them. They'll never even know our name.

Verdict...

Today I ran across a headline on the verdict of Saddam's trial. The headline read, "Saddam sentenced to hanging, furious about decision."

...

No shit.

What manner of reaction were they expecting?

$$$

As I was filling out my bank deposit form today, I noticed it had 7 digits on it, not including the 2 slots for change. If I'm ever in the position where I have to put 7 figures worth of money into my bank account, I'll kiss each and every one of you right on the mouth.Or buy you a hamburger because, as pointed out to me, apparently some of you would prefer that instead. Jerks.

Experiments...

I've been doing a variety of creative exercises the last several months to try and try and squeeze my dried-up brain to recover some of my lost creative juices. These are practice tools I've picked up in a variety of places. A surprising lot of the material I've been over deals with nothing more than everyday handwriting and how the right and left hemispheres of the brain deal with it; the left caring about each letter representing an actual letter, the right caring about shape and spacing. As I learned, there are a vast number of ways to flex your mind with nothing more than the alphabet.


The previous few weeks, I've taken two separate practice efforts and put them together to form an awesome, unstoppable Voltron-ish exercise that I'm greatly enjoying. The first is called "the morning pages" which some of you may be familiar with. This is basically a way to cut your mind loose and let it run free without restrictions, be it grammar, spelling, and the like. As big a supporter I am in correct spelling and grammar (and I admit I check mine), you're meant to unburden yourself with those temporarily if you happen to be weak in those area as the idea is simply to put your thoughts out into the world and not to hinder them in any fashion.

It is merely the process of every day writing a few pages of your thoughts, no matter how trivial. It doesn't have to be an epic, just words on a page is all that is required, though any writing style is fine, as long as it is something. Even a limited scope manner of writing where you just write the first thoughts that come to you until your pages are done.

"I'm looking at my toaster and perhaps I'll put a bagel in there but not just yet. I used to know someone who called them "bag-uls" and I still think that is the cutest thing I've ever heard. I think I may call in sick to work today because I can already tell I'll need to nap after my breakfast and it's just too nice a day to not be in the
sun."

Pretty pointless and nothing more than rambling, but letting your mind have free reign to vent really stretches the imaginative muscle a lot more than I ever believed from such a simple chore.

The second is "mirror writing" which, if it's good enough for da Vinci, it's good enough for me. This is, as you may have concluded, writing backwards in a manner so that if you held up the writing to a mirror, it would appear correct. The progression with this is quite interesting. Trying to write mirrored is entertaining in and of itself if you've never tried it. The next step is to write mirrored with your unfavored hand and then finally with both at once, which seems crazy but it's an interesting thing to try.

Handwriting can tell you a lot about a person and you certainly learn a lot about yourself when you have to analyse your own handwriting the way you do when you try mirrored writing the first time. I learned that despite the fact that my 'b' and 'd' are the exact same shape, I write them in a completely different manner, just as I do 'q' and 'p'. I learned that straight letters such as 'i' and 't' I randomly write in different directions, sometimes from the bottom up, others from the top down. Sometimes I dot the 'i' or cross the 't' first. I draw the 'e' in 3 different ways, but it always looks the same.

I also noticed when I attempted to use my unfavored hand (left) to write mirrored that, while the actual line work is difficult and I cannot make a line even remotely straight, writing in reverse actually seems normal. I naturally try to draw the letters backwards (and I use the word 'draw' very purposefully). It is interesting how the mind works. This was a nice personal demonstration of the right side of the brain finally getting its figurtive hands dirty.

I combined these two practices as I said and am writing my morning pages all mirrored. It takes a bit of patience (especially the half page I do left-handed) despite my increasing speed and it can be quite fatiquing on the wrist for whatever reason. Likely I have developed an unnatural pose with the hand that has yet to find a comfortable way to position itself in this new way of writing. If I ever get to the point where I find using my left comfortable, I'll be interested to try and play a guitar left-handed and see if anything translates from this practice. People I've spoken with who do similar type exercises swear by them so I am eager to see if they open any mental doors for me. It's about time something knocked the rust off of those hinges.

Dear Guy Who Nearly Plowed Into the Back of My Car At 80MPH and Then Gave Me the Finger...

Please heed my advice:

There's a reason the back of my car turns different colors and it's not just to be festive. Sure, I'm aware the holiday season is soon upon us, but I don't celebrate this early. When my car begins to light up red on both sides, that doesn't mean my car is powering up so that I may speed up and that it's safe for you to do the same. In fact one might call it the very opposite, so let's go with that.

In addition, that blinking orange light that only appears on either the right or left side of the back of my car is a hint. All the reasons behind it are likely too complex for you to grasp so let's go with something simple such as that it means I'm probably about to go that direction. I like to let them blink a while as you probably noticed for the good 25 to 30 seconds that I had them on during which time I gradually slowed down. I feel this really gives people like you time for that ole brain to wind up and figure out what I'm trying to get across to you; a chance to crack the Rosetta Stone of my evidently cryptic clues.

And please, when you decide to try and swerve around me because you couldn't break the riddle that is my need to turn, try and swerve in the opposite direction of the blinking light. Otherwise you'll hit me directly in the side, inevitably right where I am sitting, and I generally find that pretty annoying especially since you probably don't have insurance.

Thanks,
Guy Who Uses His Blinkers For a Very Specific Reason

Musical Memories

As I may have previously mentioned, I've been feeling rather old lately. I've decided it's not because I actually am old, but because things in my life's proximity are making me feel that way. Today, music has made me feel old.

I was introduced to music at a young age. When I was growing up, my mother always had the radio on while she got ready for work and I ready for school. She also had it on while driving to our destination. I didn't have any specific tastes, I just liked whatever came on the radio, though I do specially remember not liking 'Don't Worry, Be Happy'.

I've always enjoyed music and my growing up "around" it certainly helped spur that love; the idea that there exist people who don't enjoy music at all has only recently been introduced to me and it's a thought my mind keeps trying to reject like a body might a baboon heart. Also, since I grew up in the 80's, I have a rather disturbing amount of songs from that time forever burned into my brain. Those of you who have ever taken a road trip with me or been on the phone with me when I zone out and start singing to myself know this all too well.

I have been going through the tedious task of converting all of my CDs to digital format so that I would have my entire collection instantly at my fingertips. Many of you have been through the same no doubt, and likely you remember well the horror of the process. It does however hold a few pleasant surprises such as discovering forgotten music. Among my collection I found not only a depressing number of CDs I can't believe I ever listened to, let alone purchased, but I also found some old CDs that, while not truly forgotten, I had not listened to in years upon years. There's nothing else quite like rediscovering a song you used to love.

Like most people - or so I imagine - I didn't really develop real musical preference until I was in my early teens. It used to be that it came on the radio, I was happy with it (which is most certainly not the case now). I remember the very day, the very album, I got that first started my interest in exploring music on my own and began the evolution of my own musical palette. Like probably many people my age, that album (or at least band) of influence was:

This was the first CD I ever owned, and it was for my 13th birthday. And this very disk is rather what has made me feel old. As I put this album tracks onto my computer, it is automatically updated with the track titles, band name, and year released. To my horror, "Bleach" is nearly 20 years old! The day I got this CD does not seem distant at all and when it was given to me it was only a few years old. How can it be 20 years old? I remember vividly things said on that day, and things done on that day. The memory is still so fresh. The day I purchased their new album, "In Utero", seems almost as recent, and of course the unfortunate loss of Kurt also feels quite near.

Speaking of "In Utero", I ran across it as well and had an urge to listen to it. It is the first time I've listened to the original copy since high school and the first time listening to it at all in at least 8 years. It seems amazing to me that I can have not listened to "In Utero" in over 8 years as I think it will always feel like a new release to me for some reason.

I'm constantly amazed at the ways music can move a person, and I learned some new ways today. First off, I noticed that the cover of the album was turned around so that it was facing the inside of the CD case. For a split-second I was curious about this until I suddenly recalled one of my best friends back then had turned it around because he did not care for the cover and liked the inside of the jacket more. I'd never switched it back I suppose. I haven't seen that person in many years and this unexpected reminder of him made me miss my friend. It was almost like being able to touch the past.

The second thing was that when I opened the case, what was left of a Fruit Roll-Up wrapper fell out. This might seem an odd thing to you, but to me it was a memory that felt very fresh. My girlfriend at the time used to buy these for me and sneak them into my school bag so I'd randomly find them during the day which, at the time, made the day pretty awesome. What was more special about this is that she used to open them and carve the words, "I love you," out of the gummy surface and then reseal the package. She did it so well that, had I not known better, I would have thought they always came that way. What a pleasant surprise this was the first time she did this, and it wasn't much less special the following times. It never grew old, in fact. To this day I can no longer eat them because opening the package to not find that message waiting for me would wound my soul. The part of me that I keep hidden which still cherishes the memories of the long departed love wants to believe that every package has this sort of message and isn't willing to risk that it might not. Part of me needs to believe it is true. The world seems all the better for the possibility that it could be.

I wonder how nostalgic all this will be when I'm actually old? I'm not sure if I look forward to finding out or if I dread it.

Excited Hair

I woke up today to the anticipation of an eventful day hanging in the air as a pleasant scent may often do. Yet much like those elusive scents, I never was able to put a finger on quite what it was. All day I felt on the edge of my seat. All day I had a vague premonition of events that would never take place. I hold faith in the hopes that my expectations were a few days early and something of note will take place in the next few to come.

I noticed, too, that my hair also shared this same feeling, for it had a particularly excited look about it today, standing this way and that, reaching towards the heavens, looking exceptionally tall. In addition to the anticipation it apparently felt, it was also pointed out to me by a friend at work, as I passed by him where a low wall seperated us, that it was very shark-like if you saw as he did; a lone spike appearing with no head attached above the previously mentioned low wall moving sinisterly to and fro. Yet another person pointed out that, when you can see it attached to my head, it is very rhino-like.

Not knowing what to do with it this morning (after yesterday's barber adventure), I merely wet it, stuck both hands into it (one from each side) and clasped them together as if to pray, "please don't let me look [more] retarded [than normal]" and then let it decide what it would do. An animalistic appearance is apparently the result.

Yet I have to confess I liked it. Sure, I had to duck my head a bit in my overly small car to keep it from stabbing the ceiling and making my head itch, but I'm used to that even when it doesn't reach for the stars. I'm thinking about making it look like an animal every day just to spice it up. Tomorrow will be flamingo hair day. I have a feeling I may need gel for that.

Bad Decisions

I read an interesting article on why people make bad decisions which did a nice job of pointing the finger at some of the reasoning behind decision making that has always made me scratch my head. Not only of choices others make but that I myself make. If anyone has made a bad decision in their day, it's me. In fact, 90% of the decisions I made today weren't that great, so you can imagine my whole life.

All of the topics that brought up felt pretty solid to me but two of them especially leapt out to me:

Conformity
I've seen this often in others and I hope strongly that this is not something that I am burdened with. I've seen this concept many times on exams that don't test what you know but rather how well you respond to trick questions and I've fallen for it several times. I can attribute that to second-guessing myself however. Yet when it comes to real life, I have to wonder if I let the influence of my peers affect my decisions.

I suspect there would be a lot of factors to take into account. For example, I'm a pretty laid back sort of person and I have very little interest in arguments and debate, amiable or otherwise. If I have an opinion and you don't agree, I'm pretty okay with that. I don't feel any need to bend others to my will. But of course there are many people out there who thrive on such things and argue just to be doing so, no matter how minor an issue. So often times I might find myself agreeing that, yes, mushrooms are fantastic [read: they are not fantastic] because I don't have enough desire in me to battle over the tastiness level of fungus with a guy who gets all up in my grill because I picked mushrooms off of my pizza slice. All of this is a conscious decision that I make however. It makes me wonder if there are times when I change my entire viewpoint or at least my public responses because of a majority view on the topic? Probably. I can't think of an example of it happening recently, so that is a hopeful sign that perhaps I don't do it often.

I know we all want to be "unique snowflakes" but how many of us stay so steadfast that we never compromise what we actually believe? And if there are very few people of that nature, as I suspect, how far are we from conforming with our neighbor, who has also conformed with their neighbor, in an exponentially growing magnitude until we are all one giant hive mind with only a few true individuals remaining? Maybe we're already at that point. Perhaps that is where true heroes and leaders come from.

Attribution Error
Anyone who has lived/driven around the airport area in Nashville as I have can probably forgive me this fault. I've been nearly hit head-on at least 9 times since I've moved here and no doubt you have too. We're talking people running through a stop light that has been red for a minute or two already. Then of course they shoot me a bird as if my wild swerving (and screaming like a girl) to avoid their station wagon of destruction was some sort of offense to them. If anyone reading is one of these people, I apologize ahead of time for not wanting to slam into your vehicle at 60 mph.

I can get behind the idea of assuming people are being jerks by their behaviors on the road. Yet no matter how aware you are of the fact that not everyone on the road is trying to screw you over, I bet most of us still assume the guy who cut us off is an ass. And I know I've cut off my share of people accidentally and no doubt they assumed I was the jerk. But I have to point out that you can usually tell by the method of their driving if they are cutting you off by accident or out of spite. People who are doing a purposeful cutoff tend to jerk the car dramatically into your lane as sort of an exclamation point on the fact that they are doing it, so that the person being shafted (you) will realize who did the shafting. I know I do it.

But as I stated, I can go with this thought process. I am constantly reminding myself on the road to not let any of the insane events that happen there bother me. Because, despite being a laid back sort of guy, how people behave in their cars can get me worked up if I don't watch myself. Every day at work I deal with people who make me wonder how they get by in their lives with the decisions they make and people on the road just reemphasis the fact that people all over the place make foolish choices.

I suppose the trick is to try and make less mistakes than the next guy.

Lee National Denim Day

I hope you all had your pink bracelet for Lee National Denim Day to support their efforts to fight breast cancer. As you can see, men can wear pink [for a good cause] and even handsome puppies can do their part.

Wine-tasting Robots

Have you heard of that "wine-tasting robot? If not, here is the quick run down. Someone smart enough to build a robot has built one that can, instead of doing useful things, use an infrared spectrometer to analyze the reflection of a glass of wine and thus deduce its taste. Apparently it can decide on the taste of other things as well, according to this quote:

When a reporter's hand was placed against the robot's taste sensor, it was identified as prosciutto. A cameraman was mistaken for bacon.

We already know our future is in peril, but do we really need to make a robot that thinks we taste like bacon?

Perhaps you have also seen the following image:


If the caption is a bit too small, it reads, "Press button, receive bacon, enjoy bacon". This is a little note found on those electric hand-dryers in public restrooms.

So now, when the machines take over, in place of bacon coming out when you press the button, a bunch of us will fall out instead.