Susceptibility...

... the state of having little resistance.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

This entry is conceived in much shame. Nonetheless, most of my posts come only after I’ve tested the ideas against time. Meaning, if I think about blogging something and three days later I still want to blog about it, then I usually commence the process towards fruition.

Some of my friends and I have been on a stage kick of late. I’ve seen two plays in the last two weeks alone. And this pastime makes going to the movies look like an activity for the poor.

(I'm still going to the movies AND attending concerts. In fact, I've done all three this week.) Two nights ago, my friends and I decided to go see Aida which is playing locally at present.

I have really come to appreciate the direction which goes into these productions. Every stage is different and every new director has a unique vision for placing the specific story mood and essential details to generate an atmosphere on the small stage.

I was completely amused by the plot though predictable. However, I enjoyed what I believe the origin of the play to be. Elton John and Tim Rice having had so much fun writing for the Lion King that the moment it ended commenced the creation of Aida.

This musical is similar in plot location and musical theme only. Fortunately, it’s about people and not a pride of lions.

I am NOT before you writing a review. There was a simple detail the director took in this production which exploits one of my weaknesses for and affinity towards in my “Pandora’s box of male characteristics.”

(Sigh discreditably.) The fauxhawk. Or my truer kryptonite, the mohawk, when executed responsibly.

Now, there could not have been a better friend or companion at my side than was in this moment. For when I gasped so audibly upon sight of the Captain and his servicemen , the only person who could laugh and understand completely my immediate physical (emotional and let’s face it, 99% hormonal) response was the girl which sat beside me.

All the same. My former roommate. My very dear friend. A hair stylist. And my own color specialist.

I love mohawks but am extremely particular to shortness of the sides, wideness of the band, and overall height. So I love the fauxhawk. Additionally, a more traditional hair do is essential (as I prefer my men with respectable jobs) which lends itself to the conservative fauxhawk better.

Men in any play have never looked so appealing and so… well, delicious that appetite seems an entirely appropriate word for sexuality. I was in love. And those who do not presume lust to be a form of love, who sadly limit their definition of love to “happily ever after”, are truly missing out.

Should you believe this to be a random act of direction for the men of the play to be required to sport the look, the play has quite a sub-plot emphasis on fashion. It makes sense for the director to have employed fashion details such as this. I applaud the person who took my dull mundane week and turned it into daydream central ever since.

I cannot ever truly love a man who does not have a fauxhawk.

With Great Effort

To say I haven’t had any good times during 2008 would be a lie. To say 2008 has sucked for me would be an understatement.

It seems as though it’s been one thing after another. What’s worse is, I just can’t seem to weather the storm as I feel I should, even with all of this adversity experience under my belt.

I’m exhausted. I’m discouraged and dispirited. I’m frustrated and I’m downright angry. Is there no reprieve from the constant barrage of life’s assaults?

Now bear in mind, I’m not yet defeated. This is by no means intended to be a “woe is me” composition. I especially feel grateful a thousand times over for the loved ones in my life.

I spent the past weekend in the celebratory throws of a friend’s birthday which included a getaway to our very own nearby Park City. We crashed at a resort none of us could afford. We indulged in spa treatments. We ate out every meal at places ending in “grill” and containing words like “snake” and “creek” in them.

After the festivities and while we were homeward bound, as we drove down the Wasatch Back, I watched a rural lesser known Utah pass before me rather than the urban state I’ve come to be most familiar with.

The mountains’ foliage was already turning red and orange. The expanse was divided by an unspoiled azure stream. I became fixated on watching it wind its way through the yellowing meadows.

I witnessed a fisherman bundled in a long sleeved plaid flannel shirt under a pair of army green waders enjoying the tranquility of no one being around in this unpopulated nowhere.

While in the middle of happily beholding this breathtaking scene straight out of a movie, my mind caught hold upon the words, “for it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.”

As soon as I thought it, I queried back aggressively, “but what good is the astonishing when I’m drowning in the abysmal?” I pushed the thought out of my mind until I had a minute to reason through it later that night.

I retired to bed and the air of course had a nip in it. I gathered my covers tightly around my face and took a deep breath to ponder my earlier revelation.

In the solitude of the moment, with no one to lie to and no good reason to lie to myself, I became overcome with the power of the truthfulness of the declaration which immediately moved me to tears.

I lie in bed thinking of the countless good things I longed for. Things which I have frequently taken for granted in my life. Things like family in decent proximity, a car which doesn’t break down every six months, and other stuff as simple as good health to someone with a cold.

Then last night at almost midnight, I found myself at Sundance under a full moon enjoying myself. On the fartherest back slope surrounded by nothing except a friend with an affinity towards loudly crooning Disney songs, I felt it again.

After the credit card had been cancelled and my sister in law assures me my driver’s license is on its way. “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.”

Friends Are Like...

I’m back.

Or I’m slowly getting back. Where did I hiatus to, you may be asking. A little place I like to call “twice a year sulking.”

I’ve just moved yet again. The second time in four months. I’m home sick. I’m Pennsylvania sick. But mostly I’m family sick.

I’m working hard at getting settled in with some things in my life and trying hard to prevent myself from settling in to other things.

It just seemed fitting that after a family blog, I would take time to lavish accolades upon some of my friends, namely my second family. As there is no chronological order to place them in, I will resort to using names.

Amy & Tyler: You have been family for 10 years but no doubt feeling the resurgence of my presence in spades since Feb. this year. Thank you for opening your home and hearts to me. Thanks for sharing your kids, your clothes, your Costco card, your mother/mother-in-law, and your DVR. Thank you for the birthday cake. And genuinely one of the happiest days of my year so far has been when you finally conceded to just giving me a key. A key to American Idol/ So You Think You Can Dance, air conditioning, auto glue, skateboards, and anything else I have ever pulled out of your garage. A key to HOME.

Coco: My blog is titled for moments with you. If I had a penny for every talk we've shared, for every burden we've shouldered, for every act of service we've performed... if I had a penny for boyfriend drama, and birthday giggles... if I had a penny for bowling with pumpkins, and almost crashing the car while looking at Christmas lights... if I had a penny for the haircuts, shopping, and spending of money... if I had a penny for all the chicken alfredo pizzas from OG... truely if I had a penny for all of the magical moments I've had with you, I'd be a wealthy little girl.

Sarah: I’ve never experienced anything like you before. How many times have we made the joke? You ARE my sister as much as any of them are. I love you. I love every hot tub confessional and every late night swim. I love every sauna sweat right down to the jock itch on the face. Who knew kissing the wood would have resulted in that medical trauma? I love the hours you have put in with me in the sun like few can. For cooking, baking, and mostly eating in the kitchen. It wouldn’t be us if there wasn’t peanut butter or soy milk involved. I absolutely love you, Sarah-Bell.

Daphne: Mi hermana latina. Moving into that house was the greatest blessing b/c I received the gift of you. Few know the demands of being my movie companion. But you have embraced the requirements unabashedly. Pop-culture is an expensive hobby but you have put every minute and every penny into the cause right down to TSLOTAT. There is no one else I would have rather “killed angels” with and you alone were the only one who knew of my obsession with KS (note the initials). I’ll never forget the day I caught you watching me watching him. Beauty pageants, Boyz II Men concerts, and home videos mean little to me without you there.

Ammon: Everyday I come to work and leave all of my friends behind. For 8 hours I try to contribute to the gross national product until I can play afterwards. Thanks for giving me a reason to laugh during those 8 hours. Whether it be at my desk, at Great Harvest, or at the stream/pond into which you flipped your car. Thanks for loaning your dimples to me, the cafeteria talks, and the birthday rendezvous. Thanks for opening my mind again to those different to me. But most importantly, never have you had a girl so convinced she wanted to work graveyard just so she could spend more time with you.

Last but certainly not least, Ren: You have been more of a life preserver than you know. To know me is to know passion. But it is a cross I bear, to feel so much. Being friends with you has given me my life back. There are times when I’m wearied to feel so intensely but with you around, I’m always buoyed. You are kindred in the one way which matters most. I‘ve laughed with you, cried with you, and gone catatonic in your living room in front of you. I have showed few others as much passion, zeal, and enthusiasm as I have allowed myself to give you. I’ve told you secrets I have never told others in this state. You are my twin glass rock. So solid to me in spite of how breakable we are.

Loved Ones... HOLLA!

Perhaps it’s the pending birthday looming at the end of the week.

If I get a spare hour, I love to youtube. (Yes, I’ve made it a verb, however, I’m sure I’m not the first to do so.) It’s the ultimate in letting “one thing take you to the next” experience. It’s one of the few places I suspend my need to know where or why and just go and do.

So imagine my surprise when my start place of John Mayer’s ‘Free Fallin’ video landed me about one hour later at a ‘Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman’ video. Seriously, you can find anything on youtube.

I laughed and clicked on it. This, semi-shamefully, is an essential reminder of my youth. (Candace, I found a user who has EVERY episode from ALL 6 seasons online.)

A few days later, my heart still kind of aches.

It’s the birthday. I know it. Nostalgia has been running deep of late and the one thing from my past I seem to be missing most is my family. Okay, it’s not so much my past as much as a separation from them in the present which is lasting longer than I would have it.

So on a very short, non-philisophical note, with little creativity and vibrancy in my writing, here exists a shout out to my family.

I LOVE YOU! I MISS YOU!

· From bottom up: Please think of me when you’re home in September. I’m sad we’re not going to be there together like we always try to be.
· I’m glad the beach was tons of fun. I’m jealous as it’s been a month and a half since I’ve been. Plus, David Cook has a new single out as well. I know you loved the Archuleta one I shot your way.
· You’re girls are getting so big. You have to blog more. But in the meantime I’ll settle for talking to you when I’m trying to get mom.
· Remember, I’m counting on you for Christmas. Thanksgiving = You + St. George. Christmas = You + Me.
· John and Jen broke up and my heart is happy? Please explain this as I know you both are one of the few others I consult with in these moments. Also, ‘Sisterhood’ would have been much better with you, girlie.
· The goal is 10 grand then New York City. I’m thinking 6 months. Thanks for inspiring me. We’ll go get sushi together.
· Girls T & K. I’m finally at an age where I’ll take that pizza and beer girls’ night you offered awhile back.
· You’re obviously throwing the coolest parties of the summer. I’m sure the new pool has nothing to do with it.
· Congrats on your big day which has ironically been in progress for years. Plus, you are single-handedly responsible for the best conversation I’ve had this summer. I cherish THAT day on the beach.
· To the big brother every girl wishes she had and I luckily do, I love the genuine interest you always show in my life. Few people sincerely care about the details of others the way you do.

A long read... but you should do it.

My two friends and I were leaving the restaurant. It was in a part of town I was leery to go into in the first place. Supposedly the food was worth every bit of the shadiness it required to walk from the parked car a few blocks away so it wouldn’t get broken into or stolen itself.

We had paid and taken our last sips. I was merely standing in the sitting area waiting for the other two who had escaped for a quick bathroom break. I was extremely aware of my surroundings and in my constant assessment, I looked down to see a crisp five dollar bill on the floor under one of the benches.

I glanced around the room. As we were the only ones in the restaurant besides the staff who were all tucked away in the back, I bent over to grab the money. Upon lowering myself, I noticed another crisp five as well as a twenty which seemed to be poking out of the seam of the wall between the two rooms.

I felt guilty shoving the fives quickly into my jeans pocket but it was the larger bill which scared me. I tugged on the twenty and it pulled out another twenty. When I tugged on the second one, two more sticking to it came with it.

Afraid of getting caught but suffering from a bout of greediness, I put the first two twenties in my pocket with the fives and stood up quickly. The guilt was insurmountable now b/c my thievery was sure to be discovered. By now I was sure none of this money was accidentally dropped by anyone rather as seedy as the part of town we were in and the restaurant owners who served us.

The girls were by my side and it had darkened outside. I wanted to put the money back but I wanted to leave immediately more.

We stepped out the front door and saw two men lingering in the corner of the alley. We were positioned in the middle of tons of industrial buildings surrounded on all sides by these small alleys. My mind tried to calculate an escape plan but I silenced it as my own coping mechanism telling myself I was being ridiculous.

I was seriously afraid. There was nothing comforting about all the concrete buildings and pavement.

The money was burning a hole into my leg and while we quietly spoke awkwardly to each other to feign our normality, we were all aware of the loiterers following us. I was sure they had known what I had taken.

We tried to nonchalantly pick up the pace. As we did, the guests made no attempt to hide their agenda. They broke into a run after us. We all took off but I was slower than the other two.

I instantly found myself separated from my group and down another alley by myself completely conscious to the fact I had no idea where the car was parked. I kept running. My lungs were burning. I was not in shape for this. The acute fear seemed to paralyze me.

With horror pumping through my veins, I turned the corner and bumped into one of my friends.

“Where’s the car!” she exclaimed but I was as ignorant as she was.

By this time we had hidden ourselves behind a dumpster and although I was confident we would be safe from the riot we could hear had broken out now that night had entirely fallen, we knew staying for any longer than a minute was not an option. We would have to leave at some point.

I peered around the corner of the putrid smelling green dumpster. I recoiled at the sight before me. One of the men had pulled out his gun and shot the person in front of him. My heart was beating so fast, it had turned into more of a hum.

We dashed out and started running towards what felt like a “front” street. We had run three blocks or so when a man grabbed me by my shirt and barked orders for me to follow him. I thought we were finished. I knew this was it and my mind ran over every unfinished detail in my life.

He led us into one of these industrial buildings. We swiftly traipsed through the dirt and the clutter of broken glass and rusting gasoline cans. We walked through a door I was sure lead to something more terrible than what I was witnessing but was surprised to see it open into… an apartment.

I first noticed the bed pushed into the far right corner. The blankets were crumpled and dusty. The floor was littered with trash. The windows were busted.

“You guys can rest here for awhile,” the stranger generously offered. My mind confusingly made the leap from equating this man as the villain to my rescuer.

“What is this?” I queried. “Where are we?”

“We’re in my apartment. I keep this place because I work two blocks away. When I get out too late for my safety, I crash here.”

“But there’s no lock on the door,” I shrieked.

“Trust me; it goes far more unnoticed by appearing ‘open’. The moment I put a lock on it is the moment this place is discovered and looted by any passer-bys.”

My body ached. My muscles felt heavy and in severe pain. He explained a little more how his apartment had come to be known as a safe house for the area. He mumbled about the couches and the pillows and blankets I only now noticed on them. But my mind crazily tried to digest the sight before me.

I had wondered to the wall of windows and in the dark had been examining the literal mayhem which was chaotically taking place a mere fifteen feet away outside. Gun shots were as prevalent as footsteps. It was hard to delineate one scream from the chorus of screaming.

I watched a brute shoot another at point blank. He bent over the motionless corpse, reached into his back jean pocket and removed the leather wallet.

Life was not treasured here. How had a city, our city, turned into this? It was a breeding ground for panic and terror. I heard our host once more. He continued on the frequency of guests and in that moment, there was a knock at the door.

My heart stopped.

The door pushed open and our lost friend stood in the doorway. Having been the only one of us familiar with this part of town, she was also familiar with this place. In alarm, she explained how she had parked the Suburban just outside the loading dock to this building. If we could get to the car, we would be able to get out of this hell.

We barely thanked the gentleman for his help. He walked us once more through the rubble. My heart was racing again and I thought it might explode. I could see the black SUV we had traveled in. We had no time among all the shooting to say good bye to the man. As soon as we saw the outside, we broke into a sprint and nothing could describe the fear of every step.

I watched him pull his gun on me. I was only ten feet away and almost at the car door when… CRACK.

---
This was the first of 3 nightmares I had last night. The other two were grossly different and equally emotionally charged.

Everything was dark. My eyes flew open. My hands were wrapped around my stomach. There was a shooting pain in my gut. I could barely think of anything other than this sharp throbbing in my belly. I rolled to my side. What was wrong with me?

My breathing was short and rapid. “Sit up,” I told myself. I couldn’t shake the panic. I climbed out of bed, stumbled downstairs, went to the bathroom, turned on the light, and secured a glass of water. I popped some ibuprofen b/c the pain was real though I was uncertain why. When I was sure I could fall back asleep, I walked to my bed again.

For what? Two more nightmares. Last night sucked.

I Hereby Motion...

... all chuck Norris jokes be edited into Michael Phelps jokes.

Ex: Michael Phelps can drown both a fish... and Chuck Norris.

My loved ones will understand the tribute I pay to the "machine" I have spent no fewer than 30 hours of Olympics these past 7-9 days to see him break and re-break records many times over.

I, too, have shed tears with Deborah Phelps. I'm nearly hoarse from how amazing this all has been.

One More Night

Irrefutable truth regarding me: I am extraordinarily nocturnal. When others sleep, my desire to be awake strongly intensifies.

Two nights ago, I came home to a still house blacked out in sleep and quiet. I found myself in a position I’ve rarely experienced since moving in with the 3 girls. Solitude. Not a solitude of presence but a solitude of being.

As I tried to slow my mind down from the day’s stimulation, my mind kept speeding up in excitement of the alone time, something I treasure as I’m one of the most social creatures you’ll ever meet.

I commenced my evening rituals of shower, lotioning, putting away my shoes, and organizing my things for work the next day. I removed my shorts and tee shirt to settle into my bed, turned on my alarm clock, and turned off the bedside lamp. As soon as the dull yellow light disappeared, my eyes took a second to adjust to the external lights from the world peering through the windows.

I was so exhausted. I’ve been living in a constant state of exhaustion for the past two weeks. My brain has been on overdrive, surviving in a hyper aware condition to all stimuli around me, careful to take note and re-note all which is being said and done in my surroundings. I’ve barely had to lay my head down before I’ve been out.

Yet I lay there watching the shadows bounce around on the wall from the summer breeze through the limbs of the trees outside. I delineated between the white moon and the warmer street lamp glow. I traced the incoming beams to the mirror in my room and then its reflected trajectory outward.

I thought about my work. I thought about my family. I thought about my career plans. I thought about my ‘to do’ list. I thought about my work.

The air was warm and a little tacky from the moisture of the assiduously working swamp cooler. My night side fan moved around enough air to feel a faint breeze in my bed.

I thought about how much I love reading on nights like these. When everything is peaceful and silence is an old welcomed friend whose company couldn’t be more perfect in the moment. When the plot is taking you page by page deeper into your escape world. I almost decided to engage in the hobby when the concept of turning on the light deterred me.

So I decided to indulge in a moment of gratitude for the good things of the week.

The reflection of a specific friend came into my head and I smiled all over. I love good friends. Then in that vein, I mulled over a phone conversation with another friend from a few days earlier and the happiness I felt. Consequently, I smirked when I thought of my sister’s opinion of this friend. I meditated on my family on the other side of the country. I am loved.

I thought about my goals again. I tried to formulate plans. But whatever I thought of, I kept grinning. I found myself in the most smiley mood and it was 1:30 at night.

I should have been asleep. I’d regret all of this in the morning. Still those thoughts didn’t do anything to quiet my mind. I wanted to stay up. I wanted to talk. I wanted to ponder.

I’ve heard it quoted, “by night, an atheist half believes in God.”

One thing I know, as the harshness of daylight vanishes, so does the blanket of invincibility in which we daily cloak ourselves.

My mind is more open and receptive. My opinions are more malliable. The need to be or experience anything other than what I am or how I feel dissolves. It’s liberating freedom.

So take a guess why I love night.

Sweet Emotion

An Enya CD
The Superman Emblem
A Christmas Tree
The 5 Olympic Rings
This one photograph of my sister and me.

These are a few things which stir great emotion in me. I’m engaged with a rush of powerful response towards all of these things.

I could take the time to explain why an Enya CD reminds me of our beach house, one agonizing sunburn, and my family. But it wouldn’t be worth it, because I’d have to scratch that story as soon as I told it to relate a completely different instance.

One involving another Enya CD on a cold autumn’s night with the bedroom window open, gripping the covers for dear life, and loving every second of it. Then I’d abandon that story for no fewer than 5 more great Enya recollections.

A week ago my world encountered a storm as big as I’ve ever been asked to weather. The story of which will not be recounted here as the re-telling of it has already worn out its welcome in my life.

However I will relate this much. There has only been one other time when I have felt so much. I was in torture so acute, so heavily laden in anguish, there are very real parts of the day which are blacked out in my mind with zero remembrance for hours at a time.

I offered one unanswered prayer many times that day, as many times as I could scarce grab the thought. “Please turn the emotions off. Please stop me from feeling. Please turn the emotions off. Please stop me from feeling.”

True to nature, my mind has been the frenzied product of a well employed heart. I’ve tried to sense and make sense of the turbulent feelings I’ve had from and towards the lessons I’ve been learning.

I am frequently heard to utter the comments “aahhh, it hurts my heart” or “awww, it warms my heart.”

About a month ago my roommate commented on the health of my heart after using one of these statements. She observed the regularity to which I exercise the organ noting I would either live a long life due to the relentless training or die young from sheer exhaustion.

So tonight while driving to a friend’s house, a lyric materialized in a song I usually skip which I had the fortunate and incredibly lucky blessing of hearing.

“Oh, there's no heart. And I've spent all this time feeling something you can't feel at all!”

And…wait for it… my heart leapt.

The obvious implication of the lyric has much to do with love, with romantic love. Yet I couldn’t help but apply more liberally the sentiment being presented to me.

Why are some of us so content to walk around this world building up fences, road blocks, and other fortifications around our feelings? Because if left vulnerable, one might get hurt?

I assure you, it will get hurt. You will love and lose. You will love and lose more times than you win. You will love and live, and live and learn. Perhaps even to despise that love.

But you will feel. You will feel a rainbow of emotions which will take a black and white world and color it with the vibrancy of existence. The very breath of life.

You will sit in your scanty boat while the winds and rains of living wallop down upon you and there will be tears.

Still, I also assure you those tears will NOT all be of melancholy. Since tears of melancholy generally bleed into achievement.

And when you look around to see who might rejoice in THOSE tears with you, it aches to see over half the population whose hearts have waxed cold and want to scream, “Oh, there's no heart. And I've spent all this time feeling something you can't feel at all!”

So tonight, ironically one week to the day, I have to say I’m grateful to feel. Even the stomach churning negative crap.

Come Here & Sit Down

In the past few weeks, I have scribed no fewer than 3 lengthy blogs. Yet as I develop each essay, I can’t seem to bust one out containing the emotion and power with which I’m used to penning into something.

So I sat down and put on some music in the hopes to pick one of these out, brush it off, dress it up, kiss it with passion, and then post it.

Anyone who’s had a pulse musically this year has had an affinity for Chris Brown. As he was shortly found among the C’s, I clicked on the song “Say Goodbye” and took a moment to enjoy a throw back to 2005 when the song was released.

Chris’s work is completely reminiscent of Usher’s 90s hits. And in THAT, I found some new inspiration.

It was a cool pending summer night. The moisture in the air was more soothing to the skin than it was a nuisance to a hot body. The moon acted as a whitish yellow night light embracing the tree limbs, roof tops, and worn cracking pavement we call streets back east.

I was driving down the back winding roads of the country in my mother’s Plymouth Voyager minivan… a white vehicle with faux side wood paneling.

It was a vehicle I wildly paced too fast around turns, whose brakes I fiercely had a love affair with b/c of my youthful attraction for speed, and a nose I gently pressed to the bumper of a classmate’s car when he chose to slow for railroad tracks I had zero intention of crawling over. It was a vehicle we final few kids in my family have a fondness for.

The windows were down and my younger sister was in the passenger seat. The conversation had dwindled and the radio took over with the smooth R&B sounds we were channeling. It was one of the many times I had heard the words, “it’s seven o’clock, on the dot, I’m in my drop top, cruising the streets, yeah baby…”

For a teenage girl whose life was ferociously transitioning into a mysterious new realm, it felt to me as comfortable as anything at that time could.

We were grown ups, my sister and I. The fake kind. The adolescents who were picking up the boyfriend to bring back to hang out with at our house kind. The kind who was still mildly surprised the request for the hang out, excursion, and car was granted. The free kind.

The cicadas were thick in the shoulder grasses. Their buzzing and clicking add to the cadence of my memory’s soundtrack of the night. Additionally, there was the croaking of tree frogs, the screeching of crickets, and the humming of an enormous underworld of insects crouching in the lush foliage which is Pennsylvania.

The memory is crisp in my mind and definitively paramount to my familiarity of my home state. The new song with the old memory made me think of one person. A person I love. A person I need to call.

And while sitting over two thousand miles away, in a desert state whose sun is literally scorching the paint off of my car this year, I found some passion. It’s why I have always written. It’s why I write.

To preserve the memories.

The beliefs I possess. The associations I make. The memories of my people, my places, and my experiences. And here is the epiphany Chris Brown led me to whilst engaging in a music appreciation moment.

It is easy to feel so small and perhaps even insignificant in this world. There are 6 billion people and only one me. We are ALL seeking to be understood while hopefully remembering to seek to understand others as well.

This is why we engage in relationships. We desire to summon another witness to our lives… to be apart of our existence.

What is the way we connect to each other? By the sharing of ourselves. And I query, what are we sharing?

It has been said, “to understand a man, you must know his memories.”

Perhaps from now on I will print out my journal and print off my blog entries and bestow this book of my past to any new being of whom I wish to connect. But as William Faulkner said, the past is never dead; it is not even past.

One of My Heart's Beliefs

The more intensely we feel about an idea or a goal, the more assuredly the idea, buried deep in our subconscious, will direct us along the path to its fulfillment.
-Earl Nightingale

Authentic Self

“Guys, when a woman is slamming cupboards and tells you she’s ‘fine’ when you ask her what’s wrong, ASK AGAIN.”

I smiled to myself at my professor’s proclamation to the class. At the time, I don’t believe it had been something I had actually done in my life but could immediately sense it was something women do. Of course since my college days, it has become something I have done.

Was there ever a woman or person who existed in the world who at one time or another has not demonstrated incongruent verbal and non-verbal communication at the same time? I daresay not.

So when a roommate of mine last Saturday went from normal to angry in a millisecond, I observed the smashing of the dishwasher door and the banging of the cupboards to be so obviously indicative of her new mood. I already knew better than to waste my breath on the obvious question, are you mad?

The not so obvious questions were at what or who. Still to have asked her these questions in the moment would have resulted in shrouded deceit if not intentional dishonesty. I expected this. What I did not expect was THIS four days later.

This has since been resolved, though my frustration has had me pondering. I can’t help but wonder, why have we forsaken the notion of being honest in our dealings with our fellow men?

I only have myself to compare others against. I understand not wanting to talk about it in the heat of the moment, nevertheless, I’ve learned to talk it to death after the fact… in brutal honesty.

I’m starting to notice our lack of honesty has less to do with our honesty issues concerning others and more to do with our honesty issues concerning ourselves.

“You keep on building the lie, that you make up for all that you lack…” S.M.

Last Sunday evening, I went to a male friend’s house to find solace in a day of chaos. He gave me a hug. He provided me a glass of water. He popped popcorn. He furnished a pillow and blanket. He put on a movie. And he selflessly held me for the better portion of two hours.

He is a man who I trust. I trust him with my dreams. I trust him with my emotions. I trust him with my body. The type of trust which allows him to rest his hand on your softer parts and neither of you flinch at the contact.

It is a comfort derived from honesty. I’m not afraid to be truthful with him… or him to me. He has witnessed me yell, swear, and cry. And even when I’ve done it to him, he’s reminded me it’s often because of my frustration with myself that I sometimes do these things. In the moment, I contest his every accusation of such. Although in the stillness which inevitably follows, I concede.

So instead of penning a discourse on honesty for another ten paragraphs (which by the way, a trait I’m still working on), I leave you with what I know.

My honesty with others at any given time is directly correlated with my honesty to myself. Furthermore, when I have encountered an individual who seems to have a dishonest sense of reality, I repeatedly find an individual who has a dishonest sense of self.

A little more than two years ago, I conducted a personal re-evaluation. In an effort to ever improve my being, I made a few personal goals one of which constituted a concentrated effort in the exercise of being honest with me. An effort to maintain the truth of any situation to myself even if I had hidden it from another.

In so doing, I have found myself hiding the truth less and less towards others. I’m a late bloomer for sure. It has taken me almost thirty years to recognize the value of this while others seem to get it in twenty. Another advantage of my age I’m not willing to forfeit for youth.

Nowadays when I find myself figuratively slamming the cupboards, instead of hollering ‘all is fine’, I try to convey a more honest ‘don’t talk to me right now’ message.

***Post Script. Upon posting this blog, I stumbled aross a well known quote revealing the obviousness of my observation. I suppose I have had no original idea on the topic and the hypothesis has long since been concluded.

"This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." W.S.

On Friendship, Patriotism, Marriage, & Religion

Everyone has priorities in any given arena of life. Here follows some understanding of me.

When it comes to my life, my loved ones come first. Once I love you, I try to do pretty much anything for you even at my expense. I have suffered at this paradigm. I have been taken advantage of and used. Yet I have experienced many more sweet moments of service, sacrifice, and much satisfaction.

When it comes to my physical needs, sleep trumps everything. I find most of the populace to be of the same mind. Leaving the rest to choose between the appetites of food or sex. Though this claim surprises me a little as I’ve seen the latter two rejected many times in the presence of exhaustion.

I was reminded again last weekend not everyone feels this way when my roommate woke me up in the middle of a nap. The reason was insignificant because few reasons, short of death, in the world are good enough to rouse me from my dreams.

When it comes to attributes of character, loyalty is my number one priority. Anyone who knows me knows this about me.

So if you think I’m a little surprised to learn others don’t regard sleep with as much importance as I do, then you should know I’m flabbergasted at the lack of loyalty in the world.

Because at the very least, shouldn’t friends place their inner circle before those outside of their circle?

Isn’t treason considered the utmost in treachery?

Don’t we expect fidelity in marriage?

And was there ever a true disciple who wasn’t loyal to his master?

Yet we live in a day and age where allegiance to religion is subject to trend. Where allegiance to country is whimsical. And if we can’t find allegiance within us for a greater cause, it’s no surprise we struggle to find it among us individually.

Still I argue for the importance of loyalty.

James Luceno recorded, “it all comes down to serving the ones who are fighting along side you, watching your back, putting a weapon in your hand when you need it most. Loyalty.”

I can’t help but notice the brunt of failure in our society derives from our personal relationships. We are excellent businessmen. We produce creative masterpieces. We have logged amazing scientific achievements.

Nonetheless, we fifty percent fail personally. Fail at connecting to another. Fail at making ourselves vulnerable to another. Fail at seeing another’s needs before ours. Definitively, we fail at loyalty to each other. Instead of seeing ‘others first’, we see ‘me first.’

As my relationships grow more intimate, the only thing I really have to give is myself. I am awed as my love for someone swells; my natural concern for me diminishes and my concern for the other increases. The only thing better than my accomplishments are your accomplishments. And the only things which hurt worse than my failures are your struggles.

Also, as developed relationships lend themselves to intimacy, and intimacy is giving of yourself if not your whole self whom you reserve from others, then would loyalty not only be acquainted with intimacy but even a definition of it? A mark of devotion? An endowment of self which exceeds things of monetary value and other worldly gifts?

I believe most people would consider themselves loyal. Again, I warn loyalty to self is not loyalty in character. It is selfishness and the very description of loyalty denotes selflessness. I know it will take more than thousands of years to divide ourselves from that inner paradigm which has been implanted so strongly within us.

Still fundamentally, I’m taking my cue from deity on this. One of the things most religions have in common across the board (besides prayer) is the nature of a jealous God. One who expects our full attention. Our full compliance. Our full attachment. Our full commitment.

So if this is the ultimate relationship I am cultivating, and I’m looking to the Master to show me the way, and His way for His and my optimum connection requires my essential loyalty, then you can bet I’m going to pattern my other dear relationships in a similar fashion.

Subsequently at the end of the day, I think you have your strategy for a successful marriage, lengthy joyful friendships, and even a reverenced appropriate response to country and government.

Find something and practice being loyal to it. These are just my thoughts.

Sign Here

There are a few things in this world one needs to just make peace with. No matter how hard you try to prevent it, your heart will get broken. You need to pay taxes. People can be unkind. Everything gets old or dirty. And I get speeding tickets.

Saturday ushered in a beautiful spring morning in a town which had been leaping between snow and sun for the past two weeks. I was excited for the day off. There were a plethora of things I wanted to get done including resting. Yes, sometimes it’s necessary for me to schedule in resting.

I attended a street sale. I went running and since I was a slave to my iPod play list, I overdid it complete with coughing all day from breaking up winter’s residue at the bottom of my lungs. I sat outside with a friend. I sat outside by myself. I absorbed the happiness and the vitamin D carried by the sun.

Then I went to my brother’s house to babysit. Or rather, I made the decision to drive 37 mph in a 25. I think I noticed him as soon as I passed him and not a second before. Then I saw them. My favorite colors. The flashing blue and red. Though I prefer my favorite colors in tee shirts and blankets.

True to my established history, I signed the citation and headed on my way. I don’t know what it is about me that screams, “I’m a competent, working citizen. Please, whatever you do, don’t let me off with just a warning.” Every time I’ve been pulled over, I’ve been cited.

Still I’ve made my peace with it. My sister and I agree it’s just the price you endure when you decide to live your life speeding. So my budget incorporates about two speeding tickets a year.

Imagine my surprise on Monday evening as I journeyed home from the same brother’s house, this time on the freeway, when my favorite colors, not in hair ties or shoes, burst into my rearview mirror once more. My usual nonchalance towards these situations was this time exchanged for anger.

I didn’t expect anything less than a citation from this one. The officer pretty much summed up my thoughts upon his return when he mentioned my previous infraction of a few days earlier. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Where do I sign?” Rhetorical question. I know exactly where I sign.

“Be careful. They come in threes when it happens like this, “ my ‘all but’ brother told me on the phone. I was officially concerned about my record and insurance premiums. He assured me I’d be fine. He comforted me by means of comparison. “I get like 5 speeding tickets a year. One time I got four speeding tickets in one drive from L.A. to Idaho. I displayed the previous three tickets on the dash as trophies for the final cop. Then I called him jockey pants like three times to his face.” I laughed. I’d make it through these two alright.

Until today.

When true to the fates, I walked out to my car at lunch and discovered it wasn’t parked where I left it. My usual nonchalance towards these situations was this time exchanged for fury. I was livid.

A phone call, a lift from a friend to the tow company‘s impound lot, $150 later, and with a few hours under my belt, I’m mildly amused. This is definitely a sign of my increasing maturity (fine… decreasing theatrics).

The week has brought about quite of bit of emotion, surprisingly, aside from the tickets. Yet I’m still shocked at my reaction to it all. I find myself in this dreamlike optimism. There is this hope smoldering inside me ready to burst into flame. And I can’t help but think of what one of my executives in Texas said to me last week.

While in a discussion about the purpose and meaning of life, as discussed by two business women in the middle of the work week, she said to me as forthright and candid as anyone has ever said to me, “you still have many places to travel and many lovers to have.”

I felt the truthfulness of it surge through my being and reignite a fountain of hopefulness in me. And that is why, I’m not going to sweat the fact that at least all forty hours I have worked this week have just been spent on traffic infractions.

Next Chapter Please

A little over two years and two weeks ago, I stood in one of my favorite places in the world, trying to make sense of the emotions I was feeling.

It was an uncharacteristically warm, sunny, March Monday in Pennsylvania. I was supposed to have been on my way to Utah and should have been at least in Indiana. My car had other plans. Subsequent to having dumped a grand into it the week before, Sunday brought me the devastation of a glowing orange “check engine” light.

With tears in my eyes, I dropped her off again at the mechanic’s. Then after sulking for most of the day and in an effort to take my mind off of the fiasco, my mother took me out to dinner. Upon completion, we drove to my PA mecca of peace. The Gettysburg Battlefield.

As we parked behind the Pennsylvania Monument, twilight was unfurling one of its greatest miracles on us. A thoroughfare of freedom beat… across the wilderness!*

I stood on the granite structure and although the anxiety was literally nauseating me, I was eager for the change. Both of my friends, melancholy and excitement, had shown up to support me in another transition.

Last night as twilight approached, my companions dropped by once again. In front of a fully opened window, I stood in the kitchen of my third floor apartment, watching the passing cars, and breathed in the last two years.

If I had to name a best friend of this chapter in my development, my apartment would be it. I have come to love this place and everything it stands for.

It’s my dumpy, no dishwasher, one wall is cinder block, have to drag my laundry to a laundromat, haul all of my groceries up three floors apartment.

Two years I’ve been living there. Seven months on my own now. And my best friend indicates to me everyday how blessed I am. EVERY DAY.

I’m reminded how I have a job good enough to afford living on my own. I remember how nice it is to clean and have it remain clean until I dirty it again. Showers are no longer a must especially after a tough long day… when a bath is calling your name.

I wake up when I’m finished sleeping on Saturday mornings. Not when my roommates start making too much noise. It's my refuge. It's my freedom. It's my independence.

And the view… three floors of lugging, heaving, yanking, and towing… but the view of the valley.

In the winter while the snow falls, the blanketed world seems peaceful. In the Fall and Spring when it’s midnight and raining, the traffic lights turn the roads and my living room into a hypnotic show of green, yellow, and red. Green. Yellow. Red.

And my personal favorite. In the summer at dusk, the sun reflects off the buildings’ windows and blazes as a fierce flaming gold fire.

I have laughed there. I have cried there. I have loved there.

Last night, I could have been on a granite monument in Pennsylvania as I gazed out my kitchen window with melancholy and excitement.

Two weeks will bring me to a new house, 3 roommates, and a significantly decreased rent (allowing me to travel more.)

I became an “adult” in college. I matured in this apartment. And I will miss my best friend.

*America the Beautiful

Both the Raw and the Worn

I was in 6th grade when I was first introduced to the Robert Frost poem “the Road Not Taken.” I read it, listened to my teacher pontificate on it, caught the big picture idea of the “less traveled road”, then stashed it away in my mind with many things of my youthful ignorance.

I’ve only in maturity realized many writers write on many levels. Thus is the craft of a wordsmith. To portray something so strongly revealing of the present, with a silent subtle nod to the past, and either an optimistic tribute or a pessimistic sneer of the future.

Because of an experience, the poem reared once more in my mind this past weekend. I was left to commence an investigation of what truly motivated Frost to put pen to paper.

I’ve known for sometime now I managed to get myself on a road less traveled. However, what I newly noticed this weekend was my strong affinity towards others who have done the same.

Was this the first fork Frost ever encountered? I daresay not, so what made this fork different? Was it the actual path? Did he travel heretofore with a companion and was this fork only now noticed because of his separation from the companion?

It can be a lonesome journey, the less traveled road. The encounters are wild and there are times you wish you had anyone to witness the GRANDness of the experience with you.

Still, I feel somehow the universe does not gift such experiences to a generic audience but merely an individual whose mind is most receptive and open to an out of the box occurrence.

There are many days when I wouldn’t trade my life with anyone in the world.

Subsequently, there are days when I would trade my life with anyone in the world. This past weekend was NOT such a day. It was filled with some fear, modest rejection, and ended with unfeigned emptiness. Yet I celebrate the experience.

Because two less traveled roads, by two more unique travelers, merged for a meeting in time on a sofa on the front porch late on a Friday night.

It follows that I’ve had hugs where another’s body or skin pressed against mine… but a hug where another’s soul pressed against mine is something I’m not gifted enough to recount.

I felt the world silence. I felt total stillness. I felt a swelling heat permeate my essence. Then a juxtaposition of intense passion and peace in chorus.

And the bitterest sweet element is trying to discern if I, alone, was the only one feeling it. Still I suppose I wouldn’t be on the less traveled road if the other shared it with me. The universe designed these moments in solitude for the visionary. Those willing to journey a road less traveled.

Finally, my favorite question, might the two paths, both the raw and the worn, meet once more on the road Frost takes so much time to describe? Even now, I am smiling.

I shall be telling this with a sigh…
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Oh Beautiful For...

I once saw a picture of me taken at Easter. I was in a striped shirt and holding a colorful basket half my size. I looked stunned but the context of the picture denotes I was looking for eggs. Judging by my age and again my expression, I’m sure I was failing miserably at the task on hand. Not much has changed in the past 20 years.

This past weekend, I accompanied some friends to Idaho for a little holiday festivity. Getting out of town and away from usual activity is good for the soul. So we jumped in the car and three and a half hours later found ourselves in nowhere, uh hem, Idaho… somewhere right outside of Burley, so I re-assert my first comment, nowhere, Idaho.

The land expanded flat and brown. Farms abounded and though the crops are either not yet planted or just having been planted, most of the ground was a rich brown until it bordered a dreadfully pale green yard. The land was vast and the spacious sky was a plush blue until it collided with purple mountained majesty.

It is a different terrain than the tree inundated, vivid green east or the rocky, steep, "in your backyard" mountains of Utah.

My friends’ family celebrated the bulk of Easter on Saturday and so Saturday we walked into “grandma’s” house with celebratory attitudes in tow. We barbequed and ate hamburgers and potato salad. (I use the term “we” loosely as anyone who knows me knows potato salad wouldn’t even cross my fork’s path, much less my lips.)

I laughed when my friends’ dad asked me if I ever participated in any redneck activities. I inquired if he had a specific one in mind. When he asked if I ever shot skeet, I mocked him relentlessly. I relayed to him my having passed my hunter’s safety exam at age 12 with a perfect score. I corrected his assertion of skeet shooting to be a redneck activity. It’s a country activity and I am from the country indeed.

Yet I had to laugh when the man I ridiculed came to my rescue for the Easter egg hunt. All the offspring participate in the hunt with the men hiding them beforehand. And after 15 steps, I recognized myself as the child from the picture in the frozen woman on the edge of the yard bordering one of the immense farms.

His mercy was hilarious as he tried to direct me with a flock of children waiting on his every command to pillage my would be plunder if they weren’t faster. Yet his patience was unfailing as he would mislead them and merely smiled at me and pointed in a different direction.

The woman that deliberates is lost. – Joseph Addison

As It Stands...

In a desire to poetically commence this blog, I feel I should make some reference to the weather outside or the type of day it is. However the truth is, I’m currently at work and have no idea what the outside looks like. It could be sunny as a spring day or dreary as a late-winter afternoon.

All I know is I’m sitting here streaming a live concert of a recent musician I’ve discovered from a website which his friend referred me to. The concert is great and reminds me of my dear friend. A friend whose direct influence in my life has far waned from the intensity of the past but whose longevity of influence I believe will be extensively lived in my life. To you, this blog is about.

One day I met a boy. I don’t forget the day I noticed him, walked up the stairs to him, and sat down beside him for the duration of the class. He was life. Everything else is fuzzy.

We became quick friends and it didn’t take long before I respected him in a way I respected few in this world. The way I knew I could respect few in this world. The way I respect him still.

He was an amazing teacher. I learned to philosophize. I learned to defend. I learned how to listen.

He was passionate. I was moved on many occasions. Moved by the spirit. Moved by music. Moved to love.

Then one day I hurt him. And he hurt me. And never was there pain in the world the way I felt from him. From his actions. From his teachings. From his absence. My heart and definitely soul has never recovered.

The wounds continue even now to heal. Yet three years later, I still grieve for him.

While listening to this amazing musician performing an amazing little concert, my mind is on one thing. Him. I miss his wit. I miss his intellect. I miss his hugs. I miss his compassion. I miss HIM.

I miss the only person I’ve ever turned to in all the honesty I had to give then and miss giving him the honesty I have learned to give now. I miss my Friend.

There have been so many times I wish he could see me now. I have learned so much as his feet and so much since then. He has moved once more placing thousands of miles between us.

Having met a variety of people in a variety of places, there remains one man to whom I wish I could return and give an accounting of my experiences to. He should know I’m making a list to one day share should the opportunity ever again present itself.

Though the accolades strangely resemble an obituary, ironically it is because he has found life again, HIS life again, that I write this. He is my Boy. He is my Superhero. He is the "beloved one."

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock

Leonard Bernstein said, “to achieve great things, two things are needed; a plan and not quite enough time.”

Now pick your jaw up off the floor if you’ve just comprehended the mass amount of truth given to us in point two seconds. Or, stop reading the blog until you realize the genius of the statement.

This past weekend, we once again tampered with our clocks. Though both daylight savings days each year inconvenience me, I confess the “springing forward” to be the more difficult of the two. After all, “falling back” merely robs you after you’ve woken up in the morning. All I know is the alarm clock is once again my technological nemesis.

In spite of this, it seems I can’t stop smiling. I can not stop at all. And I have nothing but a plan. One which seems to be powerful enough to emotionally buoy me in an unrecognizable fashion.

My time is spent fully every day. I laughed last night when my friend came over and I was cleaning. The last time she came over (last Saturday) I was cleaning. She cleverly remarked what an insane cleaner I was. Though true (I’m not OCD), I urged her to walk through my apartment which has been insanely unclean for the past five days. She found disaster in spades.

My cleanliness is directly correlated to my busyness. At the end of the day, I feel certain I pay more of a storage fee than rent and I’m being supremely ripped off.

Nevertheless in the past month, hard work, the same work which once scared me, has been the life source of a satisfaction I have long since known. My head is full. But so is my heart. I feel certain my alarm clock and I will always be battling and hopefully the lengthening days with lend to a truce between us.

Yet in the meantime, it’s like Einstein said. “The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.” And I’ve got plenty happening.

An Up-Swing!

The voice mail light on my work phone has been winking at me all day. I’ve considered it useless to check it any more than every half hour on the hour. I check and clear out the mail, return a call, and hang up only to see it is blinking again. My email inbox follows in similar suit.

Yet my spirit is completely full of late and I’m pretty sure the sun and some key players in my life have had something to do with my frequent smiling. A tribute to the good, the bad, and the foolish follows... in reverse.

The Foolish: I’m repeatedly astounded to see how sure I am I have learned a lesson, my lesson, and how quick I am to abandon the knowledge when first put to the test. A certain someone paced back into my life last week and with a once familiar kiss on the cheek, received a little encouragement from me to continue his presence in my existence.

Five days later, the words to an Angels and Airwaves song surfaced in my heart and true to the lyrics (repeated 17 times) “it hurts” seemed to be the order of the day on the emotional menu.

In the university town of P’s and F’s in which I reside, I willingly go ahead and award myself an F with a new and more aware resolve to pass that exam if ever there is a next time. Knowing our history, I’m pretty sure there will be.

The Bad: Change, this time in the friend front again. Yesterday gifted me an injurious taste in my mouth with regards to a few friends.

I awoke with a set weekly practice scheduled for the evening. The duration of the day changed the original agenda for the evening and with the agenda change, I took the opportunity to then change my agenda according to new opportunity.

I am miffed at the phone call I received from one of my friends whose thirty seconds of speech was to actually, on my time with my minutes, mock me condescendingly through the repetition of the sardonic rhetorical question, “really?”

She coldly hung up when I queried, “Is this the reason you called me?” Her blatant malice is noted. The practice is hereafter abandoned. A farewell is offered to what once was. (Reference my blog titled An Epoch to Remember… or Forget, paragraph 6.)

Other than that, my concerns are of little TRUE value in the game of life.

My sister has again taken to salutations addressed to me commencing with, “hi retard,” or “hey retard…?” I fear we are once more drifting apart as the “term of endearment” only rears its head when she is feeling anything less than completely comfortable. (Do you hear me? Stop calling me that, freak. LOL.)

I can’t seem to find the new Chris Brown Umbrella/Cinderella Remix anywhere, inclusive of iTunes who has really let me down on this one.

My apartment lease ends with the completion of this month. Moving is necessary evil to be dealt with once more (as I have chosen not to renew.) Time to start downsizing.

The Good: I have rarely felt as blessed in my life as I do presently while things NOT being as I would have them. Nonetheless, there is plenty to make me smile. I’ve taken to popcorn with chocolate (M&M’s or Andes mints) with… Fresca. My new beverage of choice. The combination makes me smile every time.

My brother in law relayed to me the answer my nephew gave when questioned as to his middle name. “Buttered Popcorn.” My nickname for the kid who many months ago greeted me with grubby buttery hands upon my arrival. I adore him and the fact he dons a superman ring these days is proof he is in qualification as one of my favorites.

My work environment is good. I’m still without the knowledge I wish I possessed to perform my job. I’m not fond that it takes me twice as long to do the work that others do with ease.

Yet I love the fact that the department dart board is adjacent to my work space. I frequently hear laughter and my whiteboard has become the score card for the game.

(I was the first to throw a bull’s eye last week and rejoicing left many explaining the uproar to various United States residents on the other side of the phone line across the country.)

I enjoy the people I work with immensely. They are a fresh change from their cookie cutter counters of the valley. I love watching and listening daily to find out insight into the minds of many like myself. The jokester supervisor. The brooding threesome. The silent. The family men. The family men who wish they were the bachelor. Ah, sweet reprieve.

Also, I’d be lying to say I wasn’t just peeing my pants in anticipation for the Ireland trip (all of the Emerald Isles really) I have coming up in September. I revere the friends who will be accompanying me. I feel more than financially able to make it everything I ever wanted it to be. Additionally, the fact that it will actually take place is a vast improvement from my last experience.

Finally, who would I be if I didn’t end today’s entry with more song lyrics? Again conscious my life is not as great as I desire it to be, my attitude is that of some Leonard Cohen stanzas.

And even [if] it all went wrong; I’ll stand before the Lord of song; with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.

And Then It Rained

I couldn’t ask for more than I’ve been given the past couple of days. For starters, it’s raining and my heart is rejoicing in this fact alone.

The precipitation of the season still lingers but I’m happy to see the temperatures ever so slowly increasing to the point where the would be snow is rain. It’s easier to get a sense of spring being around the corner when the precipitation mimics it. Where there is rain, there are flowers. Where there are flowers, there is sun. Where there is sun, there is life.

However, rain is the ending to my happy story and the beginning lay in a concerned email from a dear friend. Last Friday, I found a spare moment covered in dust and hidden in the corner of my work life. I brushed it off and relished it in the form of checking email.

I always enjoy getting mail from this friend. She is a most delightful girl and if that alone did not capture my attention, her shared anxiety in any aspect of my life much less the parts I find most uneasy, have always been and are incredibly touching to me. For this, I award her stars. Many gold stars.

When she queried about the nature of my past few blogs, I was immediately forced to ponder the true characteristics of my recent situation. Perhaps the most genius insight she offered was that of perspective. She drew my attention from the obvious past and the not so obviously present and suggested I look to a more scary, more exciting place. My future.

When you are drowning, the most dire struggle is for air. Yet at some point, between the gulps of breath, though the most dire struggle is still for air, at some point a plan must be formulated to get to land.

Most of my wrestle with life has been in determining how I can best take my strongest talents and skills and put them to use for the greater good of mankind. When I finally confessed to some of my desires and dreams, I was met with something I did not expect. Encouragement.

Though I blame no one close to me for that lack of encouragement in my life, conceivably the person most acutely aware of my inner wishes was the very least encouraging. That person being myself.

Then there was a click.

Maybe she’ll think I’m writing this for her. When in actuality I’m writing this because of her. All weekend long, I’ve been deliberating upon a suggestion made in a return email. With each thought, my excitement increased and my happiness swelled. Though the outlet is not quite the perfect fit, the concept truly is and I’m enlivened to imagine a future with options. The largest option being happiness.

The weekend granted a much needed reprieve from work. I savored the new thrill of a secret fresh impression of what could be. My friends were promptly able to add to my proverbial bucket because I seemed to have discovered my personal leak and was able to mend it for now.

And then there was rain. The reviving drops of the firmament which wash the old away and promise a lively prospect.

Stay Where You Are... Or Not?

When I was child, my parents frequently counseled me to “stay where I was”.

Every summer, we vacationed as a family to our beach house. It was the highlight of our year. We knew there was always one night our parents would leave us to ourselves. We would attend the boardwalk lined with rides and shacks and shops and people.

It was a child's dream come true. We were each given some money (a treat for us kids back then, before every 10 year old had their own cell phone and iPod) and were left to our amusement with merely a meeting time and place for a few hours later.

You can imagine how beside ourselves we were. We had to immediately get on rides which would spin us around ferociously. We had shaved ice and french fries to purchase. THE WORLD WAS OURS.

But one year, I suppose I was younger than an adolescent, I found myself in a precarious position. I was lost. Lost on the boardwalk I had grown up on. Somewhere between riding some wagon-wheeled, rotating, puke inducing ride with my sister and purchasing an ankle bracelet trinket which jingled with my every step, I looked up one way and down the other and realized nothing looked familiar.

“Stay where you are,” rang in my ears. It was a phrase I had known expertly. It had been used many times either in its authentic form or its many derivations. “Stay put.” “Stay still.” “Stay right there.” Freeze, if you will.

The ending to the story matters little. What is relevant is the feeling I have come to attach with it. It’s become synonymous with the solution to danger. To harm. To a threat. To things which would and do hurt me.

Ironically, I find myself in an interesting station in life right now. I’m paralyzed with… confusion. I just watched one of my closest friends get married recently. And though the actual incident had not left me in a tail spin, the idea and accompanied feeling of everyone else indeed IS moving on has.

What’s worse, my notion to freeze in this moment is instinctual though I can think of fewer bad ideas for me than to actually “stay where I am.”

I am weathering through it. I’m not depressed. Not today at least. I’m not dramatically chattering as I have been known to do in times past. I’m trying to keep my mouth shut and man up. Actually, there is an element of ‘ignoring it’ as my coping mechanism of choice for the meantime.

I am learning (or rather re-learning) one thing. There IS value in adversity. The friction of life is generally highly unwelcomed and regarded with even less worth. I have been toiling past the impulse to stay put and am embracing a newer philosophy more appropriately age geared to adults. “Get to it.”

Now, if only someone would hand me a twenty dollar bill and send me on my way to buy a funnel cake.

Where In the World?

It has come to my attention, people seem to be wondering where I’ve been.

I can’t avoid it anymore. Here I sit preparing for an entire day of meetings. I will either LOVE or loathe this day. I embarked on a brand new job two weeks ago. The rest is as they say history.

You’re still reading? The entry is done. My explanation is given.

Okay fine. On a more seriously note, the previous entries seem completely fitting (and obviously descriptive to me) as to where I’ve been.

The winter break gave me optimism for a new job, new opportunities, and other good new things. The New Year brought me a difficult job, little time for play, and a whole lotta change.

In the midst of all of these trying events, after Valentine’s Day yesterday, I have come to this conclusion. I will be fine. Things will find a new normality from new routine. And in time, I look forward to playing with you all once again.

Additionally for the record, I have been seen. Every morning the gray haired 50 something cross walk guard for the elementary school a few blocks from my house waves at me in my car as I drive to work. Every morning. I can count on him to be the very first one to greet me and he does so with a smile every morning. He warms my heart and restores my faith in humanity.

Smile. This too, shall pass.

Moving On...

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could.
-Ralph Waldo Emereson

All I Need... - One Republic

Have you ever had one of those weeks? No. No. Before you answer, allow me to rephrase the question.

Have you ever had one of those weeks which was so stressful and so chaotic you thought it might actually kill you? A week who’s presence had a very real physically excruciating effect on you?

Where you found yourself in the shower barely able to breathe and within seconds realized you could faint or sit down and just let the hot water run over you while your tears became obscure in the much greater puddle of heated water?

Did you feel your heart and mind set with the sun and anytime after 6:00 you couldn’t speak or worse you just didn’t want to when forced to continue to deal with the week?

Have you ever had a week where you knew nothing could make you feel better but maybe a touch… one touch from anyone who would hold you, who could help you forget about it and make it all go away or at least provide a hug to your skin dying for attention?

Have you ever found yourself completely irritable over the mundanely annoying? Items which would be annoying still aside from the week but items you would casually and typically deal with and put aside easily in a normal week, yet items which have clawed their way under your skin in a most painful way?

Have you ever found yourself on that Friday BEGGING for the week to end looking for any sort of reprieve but feeling just as anxious about what next week holds?

Still even with your speakers as loud as they will go, you can barely hear Ryan Tedder screaming words completely pertinent to you?

Whenever the end is
Do you think you can see it?
Well, until you get there
Go on, go ahead and scream it
Just say it
ALL I NEED…

Have you ever had a week THAT bad?

Right. Neither have I.

"Show Us Your Knee Caps!"

Thus screamed the crazy guy, Dave, behind us.

Rewind. Start again. The Sundance Film Festival is going on now and if you have four wheel drive, or at least access to it, then you have a place to go.

I made an executive decision last week to my friends. "We're going to the festival next week. What day is good for everyone?" So last night we found ourselves in Park City.

After the laborious task of finding a parking space (thank you “he” and “she” from Park City for driving a truck and being so generous), we marched our way to Main Street, aka “where the party’s at”.

We started trudging through this fatal mixture of snow, slush, and ice on the sidewalks. A clear indication many have gone before us and this was the byproduct. We were hungry and commenced an immediate mission for satiating our hunger. Two words. Moose Grill. The girls ate buffalo burgers and I stuck with traditional cow.

A certain venue had my attention from the moment I stumbled onto it. There was this VIP industry insider venue featuring a “Where Music Meets Film” event put on by Warner Brothers. I wanted to check it out.

I was brutally rebuffed by the bouncer no matter how rough my powers of persuasion were. Yeah…rough. I was pretty much as unsmooth in my attempt as any empty minded 16 year old would have been.

We continued our meandering down Main Street and literally the beat drew us in. We followed the music and the music lead to a band, a crowd, and some boys. There’s a longer story. In a short amount of time we worked our way up to the front of the crowd being literally less than 5 feet away from the lead singer at times.

We made friends with Ben, who obviously couldn’t hold his liquor very well. He wasn’t a total goner. Just wasted. He was fun and affectionate and the first one I started talking to. It was only a matter of minutes until we met Neil, Brandon, and Dave. There were others but their impressions on me were as memorable as their names. I got nothing on them.

The scene: Lights. Loud music. A three person band sounding precisely like U2’s would be “mini me”. The drummer. A guy you could just miss in the band if he weren’t so adorable. He took off his jacket early in the set and was left wearing a white thermal shirt. Reason to notice him… he sang his beat. “Dah dun. Dah dun. BAH dah dun dah dun dah dun dun.” What did I say? So cute.

The bassist. Easily the best choice of the three. Pretty, without being metro. Great jeans. GREAT JEANS. Not rocking the mic enough for my taste and definitely not enough for my cute pixie of a friend who might have been his soul mate. She desired. I wholly approved.

The lead vocalist/lead guitarist. A mildly short, athletic bodied guy with carefully coifed hair. Every piece had been perfected tended to with precision pomaded fingers. He wore tight yet decent jeans with holes in the knees, a blazer and two scarves.

The best part: A little game I like to call “heckle and counter heckle”. It consisted of this. Lead dude removes the first of two scarves. A red beautiful scarf. He played with it on stage during a song which reminded me a bit of ribbon time in elementary school gym class. Mind you he’s STILL left wearing a gray one.

Me: Please can I have your scarf? (This was the phrase of the evening. Because of our propinquity, we had opened up an extended correspondence with the band.)

Lead Vocalist: (Smiles a giant grin at me thinking he’s the shiz in this venue at the Sundance Film Festival)

Dave: She wants your scarf. (His condescending tone was masterful even to me. He belittled in one snappy phrase better than anyone I’ve ever met.)

M: Please PLEASE can I have your scarf?

LV: (Picks up scarf and displays it on the drummer’s stage for me to salivate over. Sings another song.)

M: PUH-LEEZE may I have your scarf? I’m your number one fan. (All lies on my part.)

D: No I’m your number one fan. Give it to me. (Post ceded by many woo hoo’s.)

LV: We’ll see how this works out.

M: What do I have to say?... Or do? Just tell me.

LV: (Another nonsensical quip to me whist explaining the next song.)

M: I love your dimple. Can I please have your scarf?

Crowd: (Tons of laughter by now. Everyone is in on it. Random people yelling, “C’mon, give it to her.”)

LV: (Singing a song titled “Revolution”. Now the themes are even a dead match for U2. Removes second scarf. His hairless chest revealed at the presence of what appeared to be an unusually low necklined shirt.)

D: His blouse… (What Dave said here is still a mystery to me as I immediately seized at the words, “his blouse.” Song ends.)

M: Please? I look great in red.

LV: I bet you look great in red.

M: I just want the scarf? This is my final… you know what? No it isn’t. I’m not giving up. I NEED that scarf.

LV: (He removes his blazer. Feeling the positive energy from the crowd is literally forcing his clothing off of him.)

D: SHOW US YOUR KNEE CAPS.

Everyone in earshot murmuring: WTF

LV: (Quizzical gaze at us. Clearly ALL eyes with any history to the concert’s past half hour focuses on Dave and me… including LV.)

M: What are you talking about, Dave?

D: His ripped jeans. Clearly he wants us to see more. HE’S TEASING US WITH HIS KNEE CAPS, (spoken loud enough for LV to now hear.)

M: (Hilarity forces me to erupt into a gut wrenching, starts in the toes and ends in the brain, maniacal laughter which literally won’t stop.)

LV: (Too much hair gel has seeped into his head making it impossible for him to fully capture the bull’s eye patronizing jibe at his expense. Smiles. Takes his fingers to his knee, separates his jeans exposing his… knee caps.)

Could anything be better than that, I query?

Thus was the pinnacle of the evening. My voice was hoarse. My feet were freezing and my toes had long since gone numb. We were down by one in our ranks as she took off for the closest coffee shop 30 minutes previously. We said our good-byes as the boys were bailing and we followed closely behind them.

Back to the car. Back to warmth. Back to the everyday hum-drum.