Harvard Schmarvard

I didn't really have a career so I don't consider myself qualified to offer career advice.  I had two jobs and a vocation.  I was a Landscaper and a Teacher.  But first and foremost I was a Dad.  A 'Stay At Home Dad'.  I'm proud of that.

Still, career advice is helpful.  It's important.  I wanted to include some on this site so I borrowed some from another.  The advice that follows comes from a site called "If I Knew Then" which is just a bunch of 1963 Harvard graduates giving advice on a variety of topics.  Here are some examples of what they had to say about Careers.....

• Work hard. Be honest. Help others.  phillip smith
• Choose work you enjoy and that serves as many people as possible. Focus on serving others — not on building wealth. Serve well, and money will follow. norman barnett
• Have the discipline to limit work hours.  john mccarter
• Put up with boring, soul-destroying work only when you’re young, exploring your options, and establishing your credibility. Once you become established, become discriminating about your work, colleagues, clients, and associates.  shan turnbull
• I can see humor in almost every situation. It really helps in making decisions and keeping my sanity. thomas reilly
• Keep re-inventing yourself through self-education, because industries change quickly.  paul rosenbaum
• Make sure you truly know who you are, your strong points and weaknesses. A solid self-assessment is an important step in the right direction. Many of us do not do this to the full extent.  jerry wolin
•  “Heed your life’s calling — that inner urge to give your gifts away.” This requires being clear about your gifts, values, and passions, and using them as a compass to find your career path. It is an “inside-out” process. richard peterson
• Look for mentors who are in a place you would like to be, doing what you would like to do. Seek their counsel. anonymous
• Look for work in areas where you have built-in confidence based on your own experience or preferences. It’s not to say you can’t succeed in areas in which you never thought you had talent, but your shortest path will come through your strengths. john shwarz
• If you don’t truly enjoy what you are doing, seek change.  matt frauwirth
• I cannot do better than repeat Joseph Campbell’s admonition: “Follow your bliss.” Seek work that you love and do it.  eugene bell
• A blow job isn't a job and it isn't work. Get a lot of them.  anonymous 

8. Homo Idiotus

It doesn't matter how old your children are, you worry about them.  You want them to be happy.  You hope they don't make the same mistakes you made.  You pray for small, incremental doses of emotional pain as opposed to a windfall.  You do your best to convince yourself you avoided the parental pitfalls that will affect your children the way your own parents shit affected you. “My Dad was way more fucked up than me. And he had a bunch of issues.  I only have a few.”  Granted, they're really big issues, but still.

You worry and take precautions with little faith that any of it matters.  Life has plans for your kids the same way it did for you.  Whether you make their lives a bit more simple or exponentially more difficult it’s because you were supposed to.  Just ask my dad, Joe Mack.  That dude was my own personal human impediment to anything I longed for.  My friends may have found him funny when he’d crash our high school parties but to me he was just a dark pucker.  He was just an asshole.  

My dad never said a single positive thing to me or about me.  Not one.  Not an "I'm proud of you" or a "You did a nice job on that."  Not a "Don't worry, you'll get them next time" or a reassuring “I know it hurts but you are gonna be okay.”  Never.  Not once. Ever.

He never spent time alone with me either, just he and I, Father and Son.  We never went to dinner or breakfast.  We never saw a movie or a play or even a television show together, just the two of us, alone.  He didn't drive with me to college when I left nor did he visit when I was there.  He never took me aside to see how I was doing.  He never wrote a letter and he never initiated a phone call.  My dad was a failure as a role model for what it means to be a man. But that’s what the Universe prescribed for me.

To be fair, it’s hard to be a decent dad if your own dad  had no idea how to be one.  I'm guessing my dad's dad wasn't much of one. I'm guessing he let my dad down. I know I let my sons down sometimes.  I know I was a far cry from perfect.  But I tried.  I made the effort to get better and to learn from my mistakes.  My own dad didn’t.  All he seemed to be was annoyed by my existence and the needs I asked him to fill.  Whatever I've been to my sons I have to trust it was somehow needed.  I have to trust they might someday see this.  I have to trust they will understand. I hope someday they see whatever I was to them the same way I see what my asshole angry Irish alcoholic father was to me. 

My dad taught me how to descend into darkness and re-emerge with shards of light.  He taught me it didn’t matter how many times I got knocked down because I’d always get back up.  He taught me how to be gentle and patient by having a short fuse that abruptly turned to violence.  He taught me how important it is to be there through his disinterest and neglect.  He taught me I could decide for myself what it meant to be a man and that I was free to do my best to embody that vision.  He taught me the importance of building things up by constantly beating me down.

My sons will go through whatever they're designed to endure just like I did.  They'll do what they need to do to make sense of themselves and take their place in the world.  It's one of Life’s conditions, growth, and  growth is inherently hard.  It's painful.  It's imperative. Growth makes life worth the effort.  Even if we are just a bunch of glorified idiots.

Homo Idiotus.  Bipedal.  Upright.  Omnivore. Human Being. Man. My dad did the best he could and I understand that. I wish I'd gotten to know him.

Voids We Avoid We Owe It To Ourselves To Visit

When motion and movement halt abruptly you're left with a lot of space.  A lot of empty space, and empty space demands to be filled.  It's an actual law of physics I think, but I can't be certain, or remember which one.  It doesn't matter.  What matters is the stall, the disruption to forward progress.  Like the stall I'm in.  The one without growth or action.

With my usual distractions gone and Life's usual interruptions on hold, all I have to fill the voids that appear are the things I try hardest to avoid.  Things like ruthless self-reflection, or naming what I'm ashamed of, or the expanse of my guilt, or my desperate denial of all I regret.  Things that motivate me to stay busy and keep moving.  Things that demand distractions.  

Time stacks up when distractions are removed until you're face to face with everything you've avoided. We avoid what we avoid until we can't anymore and we're forced to make a decision.  Do we manufacture a new batch of distractions to engage in or do we surrender to the truth and confront our demons?  I'm talking transformational truth. Cathartic truth.  Hard truth.  Like admitting you let someone down.   Or acknowledging what you regret.  Or exposing the guilt you carry.  Truth that has the potential to destroy you if spoken without humility.  Truth that decimates the Ego and leaves you completely exposed to the world.  The kind of truth that needs to be spoken for growth to occur.

The unspoken truths in me are buried in the deepest of my depths.  Way, way the fuck down there.  I've avoided them on purpose because I'm afraid of them.  I'm afraid of the pain they cause when I think of them.  I'm afraid of who I might be if they're gone. I'm afraid to have my heart broken one more time, again.  I don't know if I could survive that.  

The things we leave unspoken are the things that have the capacity to destroy the person speaking them.  They also have, in equal measure, the capacity to heal those they're spoken to, and this is the big conundrum.

Is my psychological comfort more important than the contribution I can bring to another person's healing?  And no, it doesn't depend on who the person is.  It's an absolute equation.  

Do I have an obligation to repair what I know I've damaged, or is damaging people just one of the many accepted, universal conditions of life?  

Am I required to accept responsibilty for the pain I've caused others if no one has acknowledged the pain they caused me?  I don't know the answers to big things like these.  And at the same time, I do.

Those are big questions about profound philosophical issues that I don't have insightful answers for.  Those are questions I'm not qualified to offer an opinion on.  Those questions are too big for an average, ordinary guy like me so I ask myself a different one.

I ask if I can I be, or become, the person I aspire to be if I don't acknowledge the mistakes I made, or the pain my mistakes have caused?

I can't, so I have a choice to make and that choice will become the impetus that animates the way I live my life.  I can choose self-preservation and protect the viscera by living an armored, cautious life. Or I can expose myself through sacrificial transparency and let the Universe decide who and what it needs to preserve. I can let go and trust the Universe to maintain the continuum of balance and order we depend on. I know which choice I aspire to, and I know why I'll never be able to make it.

A choice like thatis tough for anyone to make and it's a tough choice by design.  It's so tough, in fact, you're awarded points if you leave the answer blank but had the courage to ask the question.  It's like the SAT exam where you get five points for writing your name in the box even though you left everything else empty.  

I did what most people do on this one.  I avoided choosing one over the other and moved inbetween them, instead.  I chose selfishly sometimes and sometimes I was altruistic.  I didn't have the strength or courage to commit to the choice I wanted to make. I wasn't too hard on myself for my wavering, either.  I cut me some slack because I know of only four people who chose what I would have but couldn't.  And all four were truly transcendent, where as, I'm not.  The four?  Dr. Martin Luther King.  Jesus H. Christ.  Gandhi. And Mother Fuckin Theresa.  That's it.  That's a very, very exclusive club.  Even for a smart dude like me.

Be Well, Bro.

 I got an email from Kevin wishing me a happy birthday and expressing an interest in trying to reconnect before we turned into dust.  I said great let's do it and said what I've always said.  I said the only condition I've ever had for reconnection is that he hear my story.  If he says 'no' he's telling me it has no value.  If the narrative of my life and the events that shaped it are of no value to him then I won't be either.  We are our stories and we all deserve to have our stories heard and honored.  He said okay.

I sent him a portion of it and he did what he's done since I was arrested.  He told me I was full of the same old crap.  He said he was sorry all that stuff happened to me but didn't take responsibility for the 'stuff' he was a part of or participated in.  He didn't offer an apology.  He said I had abandoned him and not the other way around.

I pointed out to him I've never restricted his access to me and he was always welcome to call, and always has been.  He never did call, and I wasn't allowed to contact him, or Susie, so the ball has been in his court like he wanted.  Hell, he never even told me he had kids.  I pointed out he was still accepted by other family members and that he had participated in 'family meetings' where they all agreed I wouldn't be.  I pointed out he still had somewhere to go during holidays or on vacations and I didn't.  I had nowhere to go and haven't for the past twenty years.  I told him it was concerning to me that he couldn't see the difference.

I told him I'd willingly participate in joint therapy together, with a qualified therapist who would remain objective.  I said that to him a number of times and each time I said it he ignored me. I said if he was sincere about wanting repair and reconnection joint counseling could facilitate it.  I'm all in if you are, I said.  But he wasn't.    Every time I suggested counseling as a viable way to fix things he ignored me or responded with his usual cold, impersonal reply.  "Be well, Pat.  Be well."  Okay, sure, I'll do that.

I told him if he ever wanted to reach out again in the future he was welcome to do so.  I told him if he did I'd tell the truth again, and be real with him, like I've been.  I told him if he couldn't handle that not to contact me again.  I told him I didn't need a 'space' like he did for superficialities like birthday wishes, or holiday greetings.

A couple therapy hours seemed like a small but reasonable ask for a complicated reconnection.  It seemed like a small sacrifice to make to be Brothers again.  It would be hard, I said, and painful, but I'd do it.  For whatever reason, he wouldn't.  If I am full of crap, I said, I'll own it.  But not if it's him saying so.  Let's see if an objective mental health professional says so too, I said.  And he ignored me, again.  Truth is he knows I'm not full of crap and counseling would validate that.  He knows his actions and behavior would be called out and identified as dysfunctional and habitual.  He knows he'd have to own it like I have, and he knows he doesn't have the courage or humility to do that.  He knows that I do.  So he ignores me.

Be well, Kevin.  Be very, very well.

A Day In The Life, My Life, Now That My Life Is Over

 I'm a big fan of reflection, more specifically, self-reflection.  If you need a big exhale, or just a little forgiveness, or even absolute liberation, try being honest with yourself.  Acknowledge your life as it actually is instead of the way you portray it.  And do so without judgment.  If you're happy, the way you're choosing to live is right for you. Anyone critical of those choices can simply fuck off.

There is no model for a 'good' or 'accomplished' life even if the masses subscribe to a societal norm.  Life is an experience, not a showcase. It's not an audition or a practice run.  It isn't meant to be measured or compared to anyone else's.  It's meant to be lived in a fashion that allows you to express yourself and manifest your uniqueness.  That's hard to do if you're perpetually pursuing something you can't see or don't want.  

If you take time for self-reflection you'll learn to state the things you genuinely need or want.  You'll learn how to meet those needs on your own.  You'll demand less from others.  You'll become more present for interactions.  You'll be more accepting of yourself.  You'll be grounded.

Activity and motion limit the field of awareness to the singular space of transition between two moments. Let's use surfing as an example. You can't ride a wave if you focus on it's depth or expanse.  You focus on it's edge.  You focus on the seam between the water giving shape to the wave, and what is still the skin of the ocean.  

You must be still to see what shape a thing takes to effectively engage it.  I haven't engaged  in much since I moved to Chico, and I'm happy living that kind of life.  I don't have ambitions to become something better than I am in this moment.  I don't want to impress anyone but myself, and I do so regularly.  I don't crave status or attention, nor am I ashamed of lacking both.  

I don't want or need a partner. I don't yearn for relationship.  I don't have the energy required to sustain one. And I'm done being used.  I'm done being discarded.  I'm happy by myself here at the ranch with the horses, and the people who own them.  I'm happy with the companionship of a needy cat. I'm content. I'm grateful.  I'm blessed.

I have as much work as I want so I do as much as it takes to keep loving it and avoid burnout, or pressure.  I have enough time each day to nap if I want to, or binge watch TV shows or movies.  I have hobbies that allow me to be creative and a schedule that's never full. I don't need to carve out 'me' time.  I have balance.

I pay rent by performing labor, and I get a $290 per month benefit for food because I'm poor.  I use an electric bike for transportation.  Even if I'm not making money my basic needs are met.  That's liberating.  Repose and reflection are free.  They're refreshing and humbling.  They're enormously fulfilling.

My life is simple, monastic.  It's rewarding.  It suits me better than the busy, scheduled life I lived before.  The things that seem to make a lot of others happy left me feeling encumbered.  They were suffocating me when I had them.  I don't have shit now.  I can breathe again.

23. What I'm Worth

 

I feel blessed to be alive.  I always have.  That sentiment holds true whether there is meaning to life, or there isn't.  I can't provide evidence to prove either possibility, but I choose to believe that there is.  Still, I can't be certain.  I hope that's helpful to anyone asking that philosophical question.

'Meaning' confronts the abstract so what is a sensible answer to one person may be gibberish to another.  Beauty, on the other hand, can be found in abundance.  It can be found  in the physical characteristics of our planet and in the emptiness we all carry.  The emptiness that explicitly defines the experience of being Human.  The one that creates art and music and mathematical equations.  The one that produces even more beauty to leave in the world.  

One might argue that the emptiness in an individual Human is where meaning can be found, or created.  It's quite possible that the void in Human Beings is as intentional, and functional, as an eyeball or opposable thumb. It's hard to know, however, since most of us Humans avoid entering the space, and spend most of our lives trying to fill it.

We fill it with activities and obligations and other people and substances that alter the mind.  We fill it with collectibles and gizmos and knick-knacks and novelties.  We fill it with stuff, lots and lots of stuff.  Most of all, we fill it with money.  It makes sense then, that the most common way we give meaning to Life, or measure our self-worth, is by comparing how much money we earn, and how much stuff we can buy with our earnings.

Personally, I avoid those metrics for what are blatantly obvious reasons.  Like making unconventional choices such as being a Stay-At-Home Dad for 12 of my 30 primary earning years, or choosing the least marketable degree my college offered, a degree in English.  Perhaps ironically, those two choices provided deep meaning to my life.  What they failed to do was give me worth.  Last week I received a letter from the Social Security Administration that made sure I knew what it was.  

I'm in the process of applying for Social Security which means I get lots of mail.  I receive all the information the federal government has about me like when I got married and when I got divorced.  Or all the places I've lived, and where I was born.  And the exact amount of money I earned between the age of 18 and 60.  In other words, they told me what my life was worth.  Exactly.  This is what I amount to...

• I made a total of $439,894 during my lifetime.
• From the day I was born through my sophomore year in high school I made $282.
• From my junior year in high school until the day Aaron was born I made $122,336.  I was 33 years old.
• From the day Aaron was born until my divorce I made $140,182.  This includes 13 years as a Stay-At-Home Dad.
• During the period between my arrest and completing my teaching credential I made $12,576.  This includes one full year of student teaching where I was paid nothing.  I used the $90,000 I got from the divorce to get through these three years.
• From the time I got credentialed until my move to Chico I made $221,755.  I got my credential at age 50.
• I landscaped, did "labor for rent" agreements, and received Social Security during this time.

I admit, I'm not very impressive by the numbers.  In my defense, I never tried to be.  As a Landscaper, I never cared about being the biggest or the most known.  I never had a magnet on my truck with the company name or T-shirts with a logo.  I never promoted myself because I always had enough work to keep me busy.

As a Teacher, my pay was structured.  I knew what I'd be paid when I started, and how much my salary would increase each year after.  Nothing I did would change that, not being "Teacher of the Year", not working on weekends, not even being the 'cool' one.  Nothing.  I was fine with that.

In addition, I'm an INFP on the Meyers-Briggs Personality scale.  One of the primary characteristics of this type  is an emphasis on purposeful work over work that's well compensated.  Being a Stay-At-Home Dad had purpose.  So did teaching and coaching.  Even landscaping did.  I loved being able to transform a patch of dirt, or field of weeds, into a beautiful space that offered peace and solace.

What I earned didn't matter.  Contributing to the space I occupied, the one that sustained me, did.  It wasn't a moral choice or decision born from a specific set of values.  It was part of the fabric that made me, the INFP part, the set in stone trait in the foundation of the essence that made me Me.  I had no desire to change that.  I couldn't have if I tried.

I had enough money for what I needed.  Whether I earned four-hundred thousand or four-hundred million I wouldn't have had enough for all that I wanted.  No matter how much money I made I wasn't gonna fix myself or calm myself or get the validation I sought by having or getting more.  In fact, the opposite.  I was most grounded, most balanced, most authentic when I was poor.  I was the best version of myself when I didn't have anything like a sports car, or showcase property, to define me.  Because they didn't.  They don't.  I was at my best, I was most useful to others, when all I could offer was time and ability.  I did that as much as I was able.  I'm worth what I offer, what I give away.  

22. The Human Cockroach

I was riding my bike down a small slope the other day and crashed.  I was standing on the left side pedal and went to drag one foot to reduce speed.  My foot caught on something and kicked back into the rear tire causing me to fall forward.  The bike was on top of me when the motion stopped, and my foot was wedged in a gap in the frame.

I untangled myself and examined the damage.  There was a scrape on my knee and a little soarness beneath but nothing else. That's a miracle at my age, with my thinning skin, my weakening bones. It's almost super natural.

Holy shit. 

It's clear as day to me now.  I'm either indestructible and made of titanium (which is highly unlikely) or I'm a frickin Super Hero. I knew it, I've always known it.  I mean, how could you not?  I'm more than just a mere and mortal man trying to find a purpose for my life on Earth.  I'm super human. A diety.  I'm a Human Cockroach, impossible to kill.  It's time I claim my place in the world.

A few hours after I crashed my knee swelled to the size of a small cantaloupe.  It grew stiff and painful so I spent the rest of the day lying down, too afraid to move.  The Human Cockroach isn't afraid of anything.  He ignores even the sharpest of pains.  He'd never spend an afternoon napping and hoping it will take the swelling down.  He sure as hell wouldn't blog about it.  What the fuck am I thinking?  

Thanks for asking. I'll tell you.

I'm thinking how hard it is to know wether you've lived an authentic or decent life unless you know, for sure, you've had an actual decent and genuine moment to reference by.  I'm thinking It's almost impossible to identify what you want most in life when you can't know until you've actually had it all.  I'm thinking the way I've approached my life guaranteed I got it wrong.  I'm not a guy in a giant cockroach costume and a cape and I don't aspire to be.  Not anymore.  Ever since I arrived at the place I never expected or intended to be, the place I live in now, I know the me I'm being is the one I was meant to be.  I got to the place I've been trying to go after being convinced it couldn't be found.  I got here because I stopped looking.

I followed the advice of others for the majority of my life.  I listened to what others said about what it meant, or what to do, to be happy.  I read books written by others claiming to have a sytem or a specific number of steps, that if followed, would result in an authentic life, one that was well lived.  I even claimed to know some of that shit myself.  I don't.  I never did.

What I didn't do was ask myself if the people advising me were actually happy themselves.  I didn't ask myself why authenticity mattered to me before I began to pursue it.  It's not like there's a universal reference chart providing evidence that an authentic life is more rewarding than a superficial one, or that a 'happy' life is more valued than a life lived in despair.  So why bother?  Seriously, who gives a fuck?

The truth is I pursued what most others pursued because I didn't want to be alone, not because those things mattered to me.  That's a stupid way to live. To be candid, I never expected or wanted to be happy all the time.  I don't think that's possible, or realistic.  I'm more democratic.  I believe in equal time for all emotions.  Even the dark ones. I want my time on Earth to be textured and diverse.  'Safety' never motivated me. Fear did, and when you're afraid you seek safety.  You become a slave to what you fear.

I followed the ways of others because it was easier than the alternative.  Every path I needed was a well worn scar you could see in the world.  The alternative meant turning inward where there was less light.  It meant descending into a place uncharted and clearing a path myself. Ironically, or perhaps serendipitously, doing so made me happy.  It taught me how to be real.

*Turns out I had a hemotoma (puddle of blood) from the top of my thigh to just below the knee. Could feel it slosh as I walked. Very painful.

21. Alone And Not In Bali

I don't get lonely often but when I do I own it.  I square up.  I look it in the eye. If it ambushes me, or comes in a bum rush, I rush back.  I'd rather collide and feel the impact than be rolled and consumed.  Lonely is less lonely if you aren't afraid of it. Lonely ain't nothing to be feared. 

The best way to alleviate loneliness is to enter and feel it.  You need to locate its source.  When I get lonely it's usually because I feel a lack of connection.  When I feel connected to self, and that I'm a valued part in a larger community, I feel whole.  I feel my life has purpose.  I feel that way in a trailer on a horse ranch here in Chico.  

If either of those factors weakens, however, shadows form and light will turn to darkness. Something akin to that occured today and I was bathed in shade.  The cause?  Aidan boarded a plane to meet his brothers in Bali in a far away part of the world.  All three boys are gone for now and when they're gone everything seems darker.  When they're gone the sun sits lower in the sky and I, inevitably, feel lonely.

It also leaves me feeling perplexed.  I'm accustomed to not seeing my sons for months at a time.  That's not unusual.  It's normal.  But when they're someplace foreign, someplace beyond my reach, the way I miss them changes.  It affects me on a spiritual level.  I feel a void that can't be filled.  Some folks say hat's part of being a parent.  I'll take it another step further.  When you become a parent you become a practitioner of a sustained meditation on Loss.

So much of what it means to be a Father is defined by the way you allow space to grow between you and what you're terrified of losing.  It's a   Preparatory School for when you're asked to vacate the space you've held for decades, and allow what's meant to grow beyond you, to take over.  For me, that's my sons.  I live in gratitude, thanks to them.  I'm humbled to know such depth of decency, and character, will follow.

I feel alone during the moments I'm meant to feel alone, moments created by Life and circumstance to impose hibernation and dormancy on me when I neglect to do so.  Moments like this one where my sons are building their future together and I'm left to reflect on what's been lived, and what has long since passed.  Theirs is a future I won't see or shape.  I understand that.  And like most things we deem difficult, I accept it.  Still, it's a fucking lonely task. 

Acceptance is a simple idea.  It's a relatively basic concept.  It's also the difference between feeling bitter, cheated, and angry when something we love is lost, or being grateful and feeling blessed instead.  It's a very simple concept.  But it's a hard hard behavior to embody, and enact.

I'm proud of my sons for breaking from the societal herd and making time to reflect and redefine themselves in Bali.  Most people don't understand the importance of doing that.  Even fewer at their age.  It's a good use of time, never the wasting of it. It's a display of the kind of confidence and courage necessary to live a meaningful life.  It's a foundation for a purposeful future.  It's a pledge to acknowledge the fragility of Life, and live in the present moment.  

I'm proud they chose to do such a thing together. It warms my fading heart to see the affection they have toward each other.  It's comforting to see the effort they'll make to show up for, and support one another.  It has been  the greatest privilege of my lifetime to participate in their lives, even if it has been from afar.  I owe so much to the times that I felt lonely.

20. Big Shit

 When I wrote the post "A God Thing" I mentioned I had a feeling I needed to do something for God as a form of repayment for all he's done for me. I also said I didn't know what that thing is.  My life is instructing me on it now.

A few days ago I had a minor stroke that landed me in the emergency room. They did an MRI and found a small growth on my pituitary gland. We hear about other people being informed of things growing in their bodies but when it's you who is told it's dream like, surreal.  Only two things grow in the human body - babies and diseases. I can't have a bany so I'm leaning toward disease.

I didn't panic or worry when I was told.  In fact, I had no reaction at all.  I didn't react because I didn't know how. I had no reference point to instruct me. I sort of assumed everyone has things growing in them that shouldn't be so I took it with the same casualness you would a weather report. 

In the hours that followed I tried to process the information I'd been given. Does this mean I'm dying?  Does it need to come out or is there space for it to occupy without affecting what occupies space around it?  Should I be concerned, and if not why did you tell me it's in there? Do I keep this to myself or share it with the people I love? Will I turn into a genius like John Travolta did in the film 'Phenomenon' when he had something growing in his head? And most importantly, am I ready for something like this?  Something that could profoundly change your life, or inform you that this will be the end of yours.  Doesn't matter, because ready or not, it's here.  I'll know if I'm ready once I'm in it.  

One thing is for sure: I'm entering a space I've never been in before.  That means an opportunity to grow, and the probability of psychological pain.  It means being partially dismantled, and completely re-arranged.  It means I'll be okay. I'm at my best in spaces like that.  Buckle me up, and here we go.

God doesn't ask us to do things for him that are easy, common, or mundane.  We're not farm animals or lab mice, and we're not errand boys sent to pick up his dry cleaning.  God asks us to do big shit, shit that matters. Shit that shakes people up, or breaks them down.  Shit that creates controversy, or ends one.  God asks us to do shit that forces us to question what we're certain of.  He asks us to do shit that reveals what's left after what we were certain of is carried away in a flood.  I don't know what's growing in my head.  All I know is this.  I'm gonna have to deal with it and that's big.  That's some really big shit.   It's the kind of big shit I love.                

When you ask God to give you direction, or show you how to best serve othetrs as I sometimes do, he usually gives hints about which path you're meant to follow.  The choice to follow the path is always yours, and yours alone. And there aren't repercussions or consequences if you choose not to go where beckoned.  The only difference between the ones who say 'yes' and those who say 'no' is the depth of awareness and perspective they hold.  And readiness.  To say 'yes' to anything requires preparedness.  " Ready" doesn't happen for everyone, all at once.  It comes to those who seek it and we all seek at different speeds.  We all have different capacities for what we're asked to carry.  In general, the more you carry, the more you know.  And the more you know, the easier it is to accept you really know nothing at all.  

Those who say 'yes' feel the profound and expansive weight that is the world as their normal.  They mourn what they overlooked and under valued.  They understand it's a mistake to ascribe measurement to anything, and the importance of seeing things 'as is'.  Nothing exposes the inherent and resplendent beauty in everything that exists in the world like a confrontation with the possibility it may be your time to leave it.  Like learning you have a mass growing in the brain that lives inside your head. 

Admittedly, some people are better equipped to live in the unpredictable and unexplored spaces of the world. People either shaped by their Creator, or a series of uniquely specific life experiences that enables them to enter places others don't like to acknowledge.  People who come to exemplify resilience and survival.  People who have been relegated to the fringe of society for so long it's what they know as home. I am one of those people. I'm proud to be a member of that tribe.  Big shit happens out there all the time.


I feel more alive today  than I have in years. 

19. Experimental Miracles

 **This post was originally written for the dying year and published in May, 2014 

This blog is not a soap opera, it’s serious business.  I’ll be dead in seven months.  Unless I die toward the end of my 52nd year, then nineteen months.  But I’ll be dead, anyway, someday. 

When I die so does everything inside me, and that sucks, because there’s so much in there it hurts.

Most of what I carry is a beautiful collision of wonder and amazement, and most, if not all of it, is there because I got to be a Father.  My sons need to know that.  The entrance of each one into the world coincided with my decision to genuinely try to become a part of it.  

We all carry a burden of gratitude.   One that asks us to stand in front of what we love and deliver the ovation it deserves before we draw our last breath.  We need to confess to whatever it was that allowed us to wake each day, that we might not have, if it wasn't there.  We need to instill value in what we depended upon for ours.  

This ovation is for my sons.

If we're lucky, each of us will locate something in the world that blindsides the certainty we develop about our limitations, with an awakening that we have none.  We'll get a peek behind the curtain, and see the Wizard.  One brief glimpse will guarantee the caution we need to temper any future doubt, or agreement, we make with the middle.   

Since I don't have a constellation in my adult life that I trust for navigation, I revert to the one that guided me at their age.  My heart is stalled in its youth, so I go there when I need counsel.  And since it's not clear who I was important to, or if I was ever truly loved, I keep my counsel to myself.    

My recent dismissal by my remaining family members sent a reminder that nothing's changed about how they see me.  In fact, the two dead members of my family have been replaced by two new living ones.  Both have their own history's to feed, and even though neither was part of our internal chaos and distress, they've slipped in with ease.  That's not easy to do. I think my ex and my aunt were assisted by dysfunction of their own,from the families they came from.  Both proved it wasn't a problem to use, and disregard me.   

    If I have the power to change anything it's in the way that my sons are loved, and it won't be in the manner that I was.  I won't do it perfectly, but it will be done graciously,  That's not a lot but it's enough.  If I can't be certain of where I stood with others, I'll be adamant about them knowing where they stand with me.

   Becoming a father was synonymous with becoming human for me, and being human is bewilderingly beautiful.  I didn't know that until I started a family.  The family I created has healed some of the wounds I received from the family that created me.  I have to admit I didn't see that one coming.

I didn't know what to expect when I became a father, and now that I am one I know not to expect anything.  My sons don't owe me squat.  The choice that subjected them to a human lifetime was mine, not theirs, so the only thing they're obligated to is the discovery of how to live it.  I'm not owed thanks for what wasn't asked for.  

Me, on the other hand, I owe  all that I am to them.  I asked for the world before they arrived.  I asked for more than a child.  I was asking for a savior, or a sacrifice, without knowing which I might get.  I knew all along, however, whichever I got would depend on me.  I was asking to be healed by becoming a father even though I was unsure I could be one.  

So God called my bluff and delivered three sons, no daughters.  He gave my wife a six-figure income and took away my potential to earn one by making me an Actor.  He went all or nothing when he made me the primary parent.  And, in case I thought he was just fucking around, he reached down and took my mother.   If I wanted to heal it was gonna be earned, and it would be earned, in part, by forgiving my father.

If I ever hoped to understand the deficiencies in my parents I'd need to admit my own.  There is nothing more certain of bringing them to the surface and exposing them like the relentless demands of a child.  If you want to take things down to ground zero you turn one child into three, make  them all boys with athleticism, imagination, and kindness, and cram all three under the age of six.   The torrent behind them is atomic.  I was dismantled in no time.  

I no longer knew who I was in the world, and my righteousness was just ugly insecurity.  Every answer I'd been sure of was embarrassingly wrong.  The place I thought I'd occupy in the world vanished like a mirage.  And the person I was so sure I'd be laughed in my face and waved good-bye.  I was stripped bare with no alternative but to attempt a bloom.  What else can follow the bursting of a bud?

There is nothing my sons ever need to do to earn my love.  There is nothing they need to accomplish to convince me of their worth.   My love was a lifelong contract before that, and I knew it going in.   What I didn't know was my gratitude would be eternal. 

     I also know I'm not allowed to dictate who they become, or encourage it this way, or that.  Don't really want to, either.  What I had to discover was what my role in their lives would be, so I became an attentive witness to each.  I observed.  A lot.  I wanted to be able to remind them who they are (based on what they'd shown me) if the world stepped in to derail them.  

     I'll have to observe a long time to be able to do that, so I'llbe an obligated audience to all three.  Quantity of time, not quality.  If we could actually control the quality of our time we wouldn't need so much time, would we?

Every single one of us is an experimental miracle of love and hate, good and evil, pain and joy, right and wrong.  Everyone of us is engaged in the internal warfare between each.  And each of us deserves an ally.  My sons will never have to doubt that I am theirs.

My oldest has a singular and natural ability to see depth with understanding.  My youngest is a complex blend of profound decency and courage in the face of pain that culminates in an expansive empathy.  The one between them has a sixth sense, a seventh, and an eighth that I imagine almost makes his heart too big to carry.  None of them is confined by anything, and all three will set their own limits around who they finally are in the world.  No matter what they decide, this world will be a better place because of it.

It was observing them during the twelve years I stayed home that gently prodded my re-awakening.  I was so determined to provide for them what my father didn't know how to provide for me, I missed what was being taught.  

Until now.  

None of us knows what another needs, so the best we can do is provide what we have.  What I have is Love, and I only have it because I know how it feels to have it withheld.  I know how it feels to want it.  I have it because I know it broke my parents hearts as they were learning to give it.  You know, I may have gotten something wonderful from them, after all. 

Mom.  

Dad.  

I'd like you to meet my sons.  

Now, stand up with me, and roar......

18. The Genius of Being a Moron

I don't have a lot fun.   I usually have something pressing to do.   Not because I'm important, or because I take myself too seriously, which I do.  I don't have a lot of fun because I don't think I deserve any.   That's messed up, even for a messed up guy like me.

 We all have thoughts that run through our minds like an undercurrent in a river, thoughts that control every surface ripple, every swirl,  every contour.  Thoughts that convince us whether we're bad or good, just or unjust, pretty or ugly, smart or dumb.  Thoughts that shape self perception. Thoughts we buy into when deciding who we are.

Unfortunately, many of those thoughts are unoriginal.  They're born out of comments made by others with ulterior motives, or just plain bad ones.  The moron tells the genius he's stupid, not because he actually is, but because he knows he isn't.   The moron knows he's a moron.  He also knows how much work it would  take to change that if he could, but can't, because he's a moron.  It would require more effort than convincing the other that they're the bigger idiot, so that's what morons do.  And for whatever reason, some of the so called geniuses  believe them.  Most moron's aren't as moronic as we think.

I don't have a lot of fun because someone told me I've done too much damage to others to deserve any.  Someone told me that so many times, I still don't know what's true.  Don't worry, I'll abstain from having any fun in public until I know the truth.  I'll keep my fun to myself and only have it in privacy, like I've always done.  Just so you know, however, I have a shit ton of fun. I mean, like a lot. Like laugh out loud we should do this more often kind of fun.  All of you 'geniuses' think on that one awhile. Fricken morons, you really should go out and play more often.

17. A God Thing

Let me apologize in advance if you've heard this story.  I'm telling it again because the context in which I've held it has changed.  Before I explain how let me tell the story so there is a point of reference.

I was driving through Capitola one night just after I'd been arrested. Relationships with my siblings were already ending. Your mother was in the process of keeping you away from me and she was determined to do so. I was becoming an outcast to the community I'd invested myself in for nearly two decades. And the foundation of what had been a very stable life was falling out from under me. I was terrified and lonely.  I had no idea what to do.

As I drove up the hill on my way out of Capitola my body started to shake, and by the time I made the turn toward Aptos at the top of the hill, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn't breathe or see so I pulled over and let my body be racked by an unanticipated despair. My head was bowed and I was holding the steering wheel with both hands in a violent clinch. I didn't know it then but I was experiencing the lowest moment I'd ever had. And then as quickly and as unexpectedly as the moment started, it ended the same way.

Something shifted. I felt it in the cab of my Durango and in the void that was inside me. I went from feeling completely and utterly alone to an unshakable awareness that I never had been, or would be again. I went from one place to the next in an instant. The best way to explain it is like this: You know how when you're in a dark room by yourself? You know when someone else has entered even if you can't see them. You know because the energy in that space changes, and you feel them. 

That's what happened that night. Something was in the car with me. Something comforting and calming. God was there, and he wanted me to know it. To acknowledge his presence I made the following statement out loud. "Okay," I said, "I'm going to let go of everything your going to take away, and I'll walk through anything you put in front of me, no matter how scared I am. I'll do it because I trust where you're taking me, and I know deep down I need it." I lived up to that vow.

The context that existed when that incident happened was one of collapse. I had no illusion that I could somehow regain control, or make things stop by imposing my will. I knew I wouldn't be able to bargain in exchange for more favorable conditions. There was something very liberating about that.

The context that exists now, at the time of the Story's retelling, is one of complacency and stagnation. I've felt stuck for a while now, and all of the ways I've used to get myself unstuck in the past have failed. There is no need or use for a career change, or a job that pays more money.  There is no relationship rut that needs addressing. And trying to get in better physical shape, or making a change to my appearance, would simply be a waste of time. I'm too old for what is superficial.

God kept the promises he made that night in Capitola. I didn't lose anything that genuinely mattered, even though I had to separate myself from them for a while. I entered every door he opened and came out better on the other side despite how difficult it was to get through things. God wasn't taking anything away from me. He set up challenges so I would know the depth of my Being. He did that because He knew I wouldn't. He showed me my real value in the world when everyone else said I had none. He gave me a gift. I can't be certain, but I think I need to do something for Him this time.  Something to show my gratitude, to show I understand. I just don't know what it is yet.

16. Cold Turkey Thanksgivings

I didn't know it at the time, but the end of my marriage would result in the end of Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And the Fourth of July.  The end of my marriage was also the end of all major holidays as I'd previously known them.  This wasn't a universal result experienced by every member of my family. This result was exclusive just to me.  I didn't anticipate spending all future holidays in solitude, just me by myself, all alone.  But in retrospect (and to be fair), I should have. 

There's no one to blame for this circumstance.  Its not any one person's fault. Well, not really. If it was the fault of anyone it would be my fault. It would be my fault, and mine alone.  You see, I initiated a slow and gradual concession when the boys were young. And that concession unknowingly layed the groundwork for where I stand today.  I'll explain.

I didn't like the standard practice of the 'every other' theory inherent in modern divorce, so I considered this when my divorce was young.  Those considerations led to the implementation of my concession , and the reasons for it.  I believed divorce should have its most profound effect on the ones who chose it, rather than the ones who didn't, wherever possible.  And I knew the 'holiday' I would provide wouldn't compete with what a holiday would be at their mother's.  I started to present an option to the boys based on these conclusions.

I knew what they would lean into when I presented the choice and they confirmed my belief when they chose to spend holidays at their mothers.  There were things there that I couldn't offer, necessary things to the formation of any sound, emerging identity. Things like family, and community, and abundance.  Things like consistency, and tradition.  I offered them a choice because I knew they'd never make one on their own. They wouldn't make that choice if they thought it might hurt me, so I made it for them.  I knew it would hurt. It did. But that's part of being a parent.  I also knew I'd survive. And I did.  I've been a survivor my entire life.

I don't regret giving my sons a choice. I've never second guessed my decision. I can see the joy my sons have during holidays, and providing a model that brings them joy has been my objective since they were born.  Sometimes providing something is acknowledging that you can't and identifying who can, instead. I'm proud of my ability to do that. 

The problem is that things change, and things have changed for me. I'm older now. The boys are now young men. The gratitude I feel is aimed at things I didn't think about as a new father who was grateful mostly for that. I don't know how many Thanksgiving or Christmases I have left, so each one I spend alone where my phone doesn't ring, I wonder if that one was it. I'm sad it's likely to end that way.

I'm a survivor. I've been a survivor my entire life. There are others who know that too. As a result, survivors like me aren't seen as a priority when deciding who one has time to call, or to visit.  Survivors like me work hard not to need basic needs that would destroy someone else if those needs were to go commonly unmet.  We learn how to do this through necessity, not by choice.

I'm as strong today as I've ever been, perhaps I'm even stronger.  I'm proud of my strength. I went through a lot to build and earn it.  I'm also inescapably human. Others may forget that when you spend so much of your time trying to prove to them that you're not. 

It never bothered me that my phone didn't ring on Thanksgiving or on Christmas.  It didn't bother me because it meant my son's knew that I was fine. Now when no one calls on those days I wonder if I may have taken things too far. I wonder if there is anyone on Earth who associates a thought of me with the fond nostalgia most holidays leave us saturated in. I wonder if anyone will feel a loss when I'm gone, or if loss was the expectation I cultivated?  I wonder if any of this will matter in the end, at all.

We make the choices we make because those choices need to be made. We do the things we do because those things need to get done. And we are learning all the while. The truth is Christmas and Thanksgiving and the 4th of July are days like any other, and all of our days end up in a pile. What we do with those days doesn't have anything to do with the date on a calendar, or a tradition.

If you miss someone tell them you miss them, no matter what time or day it is.

If you love someone you should say it without any regard for what might be said back.

If your needs are unmet ask someone to meet them and if they can't go meet them for somebody else.

It's not the problems we face in life that matter, it's the solutions we find for them.

Happy Thanksgiving, boys.  I'm grateful for being allowed to participate in your lives. I'm grateful you were part of mine.

Merry Christmas, boys. I hope you fill your own homes with the communal warmth and love you found at your mother's, and in the process, spread even more.

And God Bless the USA.

15. Jesus Moment

Some final thoughts before  I have any reason to believe they're actually final, or that I'm already in the place people hold you before you fade away for good, and are forgotten.  In no particular order of importance or depth, here they are....

Sitting still requires more self-awareness than 'keeping busy'.  It's a lot harder, too.  One is a direct confrontation with an honest accountability, the other is done to avoid it.

What we desire often greatly exceeds what we actually need.  As long as your basic needs are met there is very little usefulness to being anxious or worried.  Both of those psychological states are generally toxic, and unnecessary.  Both are more closely associated with what we have in excess than to what we are without once our basic needs are securely met.  And both are entirely optional. 

What I had or didn't have says nothing about who I was.  It doesn't define my character, or measure my abilities or ambitions.  It doesn't rank my status in community, or with others. It simply states an inconsequential fact. 

Declarations like 'He didn't have a car' aren't viable supporting arguments for the way others may, or may not have judged me. Nor are they evidence that prove one person's opinion of another is right, or that another's is wrong.  The same holds true for declarations about whether “He was in a relationship or not”, how much or how little money I had in the bank, the number of Facebook friends I had or denied, how many Christmas cards I received each year, how many contacts I amassed in my phone, or how many people attended, or avoided, my funeral.  The only people wanting those things to be the best way for others to define me are the people who seek to do so.

The things that say the most about me are things I did when I was alone.   Things I did when I was well beyond the limit of those casting a critical gaze.  I purposely kept those things close and quiet after witnessing the way my tribe misrepresented, or mischaracterized, what I did for all to see.  Things I thought should be kept confidential by people I trusted, and expected, to be a realm of safety for me.  People that were family. 

The actual things that say the most about me are things I did for, and kept to, myself.  Things that were ‘the right thing to do’, and things unsolicited but obviously needed.  Things that brought profound joy or sadness depending upon why they were done, and for whom.  Things I learned to do for myself when it became obvious no one would do them for me.  The things that say the most about me are what I learned to do for myself after a lifetime of thinking they were only deserved by others.

Things like offering reassurance, or granting forgiveness.  Things like standing up for myself, or by my side, when others said I didn't deserve that. Simple things like showing up so I'd know I wasn't alone in the world.  I purposely kept those things close and quiet because they weren't done for anyone who might be watching.  I did them for me, and keeping them to myself was how I preserved their power. Keeping them to myself meant keeping them from my family and their insatiable need to diminish, or discount them.

Just because you're unable to see the love in someone’s life doesn’t mean it isn’t there.  It may mean they knew if you saw it you'd attempt to destroy it.  Just because you see the material items accrued by one as a stark measure of what another believes is lacking doesn't mean anything is.  It simply indicates the process of the observer's growth isn't yet complete.  The value of anything has no relation to what that thing cost.  The true value of anything we may have, or want, is in its ability to simplify the laborious tasks distracting from the  psychological growth essential to the manifestation of an authentic spirit.  Doing those things was important to me so I tried doing them on a daily basis.  I didn't do them perfectly so I did most of them out of sight.  I didn't allow Danielle or my family to observe them because they'd shown an unwillingness, or inability, to understand what they were observing.

The actual things that say the most about me are things I only needed to say to myself.  The entire world can share a perception of you and claim because it's unanimous, it's right.  The only perception that matters, however, is my own because I did the things required for it to find focus.  I was both the Healer and the Healed.  I was guided by both types, as well.  I think I provided a similar guidance to others.  I believe my life has gone full circle.  I have faith it has gone the way it was meant to...

14. Chicobali Buddha and An Oreo Cookie

I need to remind myself to forget more often because I have a tendency not to do that, to forget.  I was talking to Aaron and Ethan (who are in Bali now) and listening to them describe the distortion of time that occurs when you remove yourself from a daily routine and plant yourself in a place without one.  It doesn't take long to forget the habitual lives most of us lead if you're in the right place to do that. Someplace like Bali.  Or Chico.

I moved to Chico for a variety of reasons.  Lower cost of living.  Fresh water sources instead of that big one with salt.  A deck to sleep on to assist the transition.  One son and his buddies who live with the deck.  And a clean slate.  No one in Chico knew who I was, or cared.  Most importantly, no false narrative existed for folks to impose on me.  There's just truth and the choice to live it.  It's been over a decade since that was an option.

I introduced myself to the Chico community by exposing my narrative a piece at a time, and it was accepted.  It was held up against my behavior and verified, and each time that happened my community expanded.   It took a long time, but I began to feel Human again.  It was like taking a months leave from work to cowabunga in Bali.    

Hmm?  What were we talking about?  Right.  Forgetting.  

We were talking about the importance of decluttering your mind.  We were talking about how it's good practice to uproot yourself from the routine of life once in awhile, long enough to remember yourself without one.  It's good practice to hit pause, and reflect.   

There's the "you" you are when the wave you're riding is the wave of roles, and routine.  And there's  another "you" that is the bedrock for all of the versions you've been, and the ones that will follow.  It's what's left when the routines and labels that define you, fall away.   It's good practice to step off the treadmill and reconsider what gives your life meaning. Or redefine it, altogether.

I don't know if Life actually has a meaning.  If it does, I can't say what it is.  But I do know this.  If there is one it's not exclusive to the space that wears us down, or the one that builds us up.  It's somewhere in between.  It's not in what we remember about where we found joy or sorrow.  It's in the stuff that gets lost, or eludes us.  It's in the forgetting.  It's in what a trip to Bali, or a move to Chico,  can prompt its re-emerging.

We must forget what we determine to be good or bad within us.   We must forget what we’ve been told to be ashamed of, or to apologize for, especially if someone else hid behind it.  No one who claims to speak with authority knows for certain what is black, or what's white.  In fact, if they claim to, it's likely they don't. 

Forget what you think you know about what's good, or what's bad.  There's no such thing outside of how we define it. There's what you can confront and what you might not be able to, because it's still too daunting.  Learn to embrace both equally, with forgiveness, and with love.  Do this even if no one else will.  Especially if no one else will.  You are who you are because all of what's in you collapses and converges, together. 

Buddha found peace by bringing what's different so close it had no choice but to see it was the same, not by standing what's different apart.  So did Nabisco with the Oreo cookie.  Crispy chocolte wafer, meet soft vanilla cream.  There is no harmony in separation.  Only in blending together.  Life of responsibility and obligation, meet being present in the moment.  Chill out and be here, where you are.  Forget all that other shit.  

You.

Are.

ALIVE.