Absopositively

2025-01-01T08:32:00.000-08:00

On December 31, 2023, I read an article about unique ways various people used to mark their journeys through the previous year. Essentially, each person embraced a method that forced them to take a short beat to make observations about themselves while navigating what's become an often tricky, nasty, and unforgiving world. The article left me greatly inspired.

So, on January 1, 2024, I decided to write a short sentence or two every day about something that brought me joy. What followed was a delight. No matter how god-awful or magnificent the day had been, I stopped to contemplate it, taking micro and macro perspectives along the way. And I didn't miss a day.

Granted, writing a couple sentences a day isn't a monumental undertaking. For many years, I've typically written many thousands of words daily. Still, this ended up being an incredibly meaningful adventure.

In 2012, I did something similar, writing a blog post each day during the year focused on positivity, motivated by a considerable need to introduce more of it into my life. (I was truly a pessimistic soul.) That effort demanded far more time and effort, and completing the mission brought tremendous satisfaction. In some ways, though, 2024's project has been even more rewarding.

By any stretch of the imagination, 2024 was a tumultuous year pulsing with way too much anxiety, conflict, and continuing separation. Despite the heaviness, there was always joy to find. Plenty of it, actually. From the most mundane moments to those that will long impact me profoundly, 2024 was brimming with happiness to be experienced and cherished.

What was the best benefit of documenting joyful moments? Easy, the gratitude that closely followed. I am an incredibly fortunate man, not for any wealth, intellect, respect, or power I've accumulated. I'm lucky because I recognize it's family, friends, nature, art, pets, good food, sunshine, a bird's song, a candy bar, diligence, perseverance, discipline, loyalty, love, insights, and many other intangibles that cause me to rejoice and prosper.

If you're interested for whatever reason, here is my list of joyful moments, complete with typos, misspellings, and other mistakes that hurriedness and excitement will introduce.

1-1-24: Today, I found joy in lazily curling up in bed with my wife and watching, for the second time, “True Detective,” Season 1.

1-2-24: Today, I found joy in working out for the first time in 2024. I got after it hard and took pride in the effort.

1-3-24: Today, I found joy in writing in my journal over lunch, contemplating the benefits of saying “No” when appropriate and the importance of not squandering time on frivolous, unproductive activities.

1-4-24: Today, I found joy in learning that today, my wife performed a medical procedure on a gorilla named Timu at the Henry Doorly Zoo. Flipping awesome. Timu is the first test tube gorilla ever. My wife was thrilled to provide her expertise, to say the least.

1-5-24: Today, I took joy in working hard to complete several articles without procrastinating or avoiding the more difficult tasks until later.

1-6-24: Today, I took joy in going to the Kiewett Luminarium and then having supper in the Old Market.

1-7-24: Today, I took joy in being productive, including taking down Christmas decorations, going to the grocery store, and doing the dreaded picking up of dog poop.

1-8-24: Today, I took joy in taking an afternoon walk with my wife in the falling snow; breathing in the cold, fresh air; listening to nature’s silence; and being thankful for the moisture that's becoming increasingly less abundant where I live.

1-9-24: Today, I took joy in making it to work safely in the blowing snow and on the ice- and snow-covered interstate.

1-10-24: Today, I took joy in getting my car tires replaced. I took no joy in the price charged.

1-11-24: Today, I took joy in getting a raise at my job. What followed, however, was a nagging feeling that something bad would soon follow, as well as stupid, self-loathing questions like, “What did I do to deserve this?” and “What’s the catch?”

1-12-24: Today, I took joy in relaxing inside my warm house while a blizzard raged outside.

1-13-24: Today, I took joy in working out hard, going way beyond what was required, and obtaining the feeling of being very accomplished.

1-14-24: Today, I took joy in being indoors, as the outdoors only offered -40 temps with the wind chill.

1-15-24: Today, I took joy in the fact that my truck, sitting at nearly 300,0000 miles driven, started like a champ in -8 degrees weather.

1-16-24: Today, I took joy in eating supper with my wife and catching up, after a long day.

1-17-24: Today, I took joy in finishing my first book for 2024, “The Storyteller” by Dave Grohl. Much of it felt like reliving my childhood through music due to some shared common experiences, which I very much liked.

1-18-24: Today, I took joy in taking my dad out to lunch for his birthday.

1-19-24: Today, I took joy in powering through writing an article I wanted no part of writing. I stuck with it, though, and got the job done.

1-20-24: Today, I took joy in sipping my morning coffee in near silence, looking at the snow-covered ground outside, watching the birds dart about, and knowing that I was warm and cozy inside.

1-21-24: Today, I took joy in one of the most peaceful walks I can ever recall. Trudging through the deep snow down in the valley near my house, I followed the tracks of deer, coyotes, and rabbits in and out of the woods, stopping often to listen to the wind, the birds, and the silence. It was magical.

1-22-24: Today, I took joy in writing an entry into what I hope becomes a book. It was a cathartic and long overdue topic, and it felt good to explore it in the depth it deserved.

1-23-24: Today, I found joy in writing a really meaningful journal entry over lunch. Exploring thoughts, beliefs, and intentions each day is powerful and purposeful, and it often leads to real results.

1-24-24: Today, I took joy in watching Episode 3 of “The Last of Us,” a wonderfully surprising 60-plus minutes of television I never expected. It was a true pleasure, despite the tears I leaked.

1-25-24: Today, I took joy in playing my electric guitar very loudly.

1-26-24: Today, I took joy in the power of women and the tenacity, strength, and grace they regularly display.

1-27-24:Today, I took joy in watching the Royal Rumble, reliving a little bit of my childhood.

1-28-24: Today, I took joy in another long, slow, and meditative Sunday morning walk, pacing in and out of the woods along the Salt Creek, following animals’ tracks, sitting in silence, and wishing it was my life each day.

1-29-24: Today, I took joy in doing a solid day’s work, knowing that it will lead to greater outcomes.

1-30-24: Today, I took joy in seeing increasingly more women post and speak about Taylor Swift and the subsequent triggering of men it caused. I wonder what it’s like to be inside her mind, thought processes, insecurities, self-securities, peace, and more.

1-31-24: Today, I took joy in resting on my bed with my dog Maybelle watching TV, just relaxing while engaging with the writing, acting, direction, and musical talents of others. Life’s simple moments are her best.

2-1-24: Today, I took joy in watching the last episode of “The Last of Us,” despite and being left with many questions, thoughts, and emotions–always the sign of a quality television. I was sad for it to end.

2-2-24: Today, I took joy in walking along the Platte River, watching and listening to the ice flow, watching an eagle, and basking in the geese flying over my head.

2-3-24: Today, I took joy in watching the wonderful, thought-provoking film “Poor Things.” It was brilliant, sad, funny, sexual, and more.

2-4-24: Today, I took joy in playing with my grandson and hearing his interesting perspectives on aliens, school, and more.

2-5-24: Today, I took joy in the restorative beauty of taking a nap.

2-6-24: Today, I took joy in cooking supper for my wife and daughters and sitting around the table after eating sharing memories and laughs.

2-7-24: Today, I took joy in getting deeply involved in a good book (“Lost Souls”), to the point I didn’t want to put it down. There is no better feeling.

2-8-24: Today, I took joy in overcoming a poor mental outlook toward working out, only to not only get the job done, but going above and beyond what was required. The joy I get from surpassing workout goals is intoxicating.

2-9-24: Today, I took joy in having supper with my daughter and grandson to celebrate his awesome day at school.

2-10-24: Today, I took joy in watching the powerful and wonderfully directed “Oppenheimer.”

2-11-24: Today, I took joy in taking an early morning, silent, peaceful, and restoring hike on Super Bowl Sunday. Running water. Geese in the sky. Deer tracks in the mud. My walking stick plodding along my side.

2-12-24: Today, I took joy in completing my longest post-workout run to date. I didn’t set out to achieve that, and the fact that it came naturally made it more enjoyable.

2-13-24: Today, I took joy in waking up after having a wonderful night’s sleep, which doesn’t happen much. In fact, it rarely happens.

2-14-24: Today, I took joy in spending a wonderful Valentine’s Day supper and evening with my wife. Steak, salmon, and cheesecake.

2-15-24: Today, I took joy in watching Caitlyn Clark break the all-time women’s basketball scoring record for the NCAA.

2-16-24: Today, I took joy in the return of the evil Rock. Yes, I'll never outgrow pro wrestling.

2-17-24: Today, I took joy in eating popcorn. It made me happy in the simplest way.

2-18-24: Today, I took joy in picking up dog pop, a chore I've put off far too long.

2-19-24: Today, I took joy in realizing what seemed like a very successful and real computer scam turned out to be a phishing attempt.

2-20-24: Today, I took joy in helping my wife with computer issues. It made me happy to help her because computer issues make her so unhappy. (It took until after 2 a.m. to complete. I haven’t been up that long on purpose in a while.)

2-21-24: Today, I took joy in working out in the morning, with more time and energy to maximize. I wish I had this capability every workout.

2-22-24: Today, I took joy in attending a basketball game with my cousins Daryl and Dan at the high school from which we all graduated, And we won.

2-23-24: Today, I took joy in watching the last episode of “True Dectective, Season 4” with my wife.

2-24-24: Today, I took joy in eating a New York strip for supper.

2-25-24: Today, I took joy in playing my guitar on the from step in the warm sun.

2-26-24: Today, I took joy in cleaning my house and fixing the lazy Susan.

2-27-24: Today, I took joy in eating pizza, the most glorious of all foods.

2-28-24: Today, I took joy in watching “Purple Rain,” which I came across unexpectedly flipping through the channels. I’ll never not love “Purple Rain” and the memories it conjures.

2-29-24: Today, I took joy in preparing for a short weekend trip to Ponca State Park, to stay in a cabin, to relax, to hike, to chill to the utmost.

3-1-24: Today, I took joy in looking at the stars under the darkest skies. They popped like diamonds.

3-2-24: Today, I took joy in taking a long hike to reach an oak tree over 350 years old.

3-3-24: Today, I took joy in taking an incredible hike in Ponca State Park with my wife along a trail littered with trees, hills, and valleys. I could have stayed all day.

3-4-24: Today, I took joy in having breakfast with my wife, preparing taxes, and feeling accomplished.

3-5-24: Today, I took joy that I received a clean bill of health at my dental checkup. Never a sure thing for an avid candy eater.

3-6- 24: Today, I took joy in giving blood, something I’ve done consistently for years and am proud to do.

3-7-24: Today, I took joy in watching the President’s State of The Union. I came away with at least a glimmer of hope and faith.

3-8-24: Today, I took joy in starting the last season of “Peaky Blinders.” I've been saving this for a long time because I don’t want to let it go. (I really don't watch as much TV as it may appear.)

3-9-24: Today, I took joy in working out, exchanging texts with my friends, eating dinner out with my wife, and taking a nap.

3-10-24: Today, I took joy in watching the Oscars (or “Huskers,” as my grandson put it) with my family.

3-11-24: Today, I took joy in traveling to Council Bluffs to walk a trail with my wife and spend the day together.

3-12-24: Today, I took joy playing my guitar, practicing riffs and scales, and simply enjoying that I can make music.

3-13-24: Today, I took joy in watching the series finale of “Peaky Blinders.” I’m sad that it has ended but thrilled I invested the time. It’s among my favorite television shows ever, and I actually clapped and audibly yelped at certain scenes in the finale.

3-14-24: Today, I took joy in taking time to do some meaningful reflection and contemplation, really questioning certain positions and thoughts, and really exploring new ideas and possibilities.

3-15-24: Today, I took joy in writing in my journal over lunch and really making some good insights.

3-16-24: Today, I took joy in watching two basketball games with my wife. I love when we can watch sports together.

3-17-24: Today, I took joy in spending St. Patrick’s Day with my daughters, wife, and grandson.

3-18-24: Today, I took joy in receiving an unexpected present from my wife (a capo and a guitar pick with my initials etched in), which made my day.

3-19-24: Today, I took joy in eating a tremendously good apple. It crunched. It juiced. It bit my taste buds like a shark. What a treat.

3-20-24: Today, I took joy in powering through writing a difficult article, one that I was dreading doing.

3-21-24: Today, I took joy in watching games from the first day of the NCAA Basketball Tournament, including #14 Oakland beating #3 Kentucky in a thriller.

3-22-23: Today, I took joy in buying tickets to see “Late Night With The Devil” tomorrow night in the theater with my wife. I can’t wait.

3-23-24: Today, I took joy in going to the movie theater with my wife, enjoying snacks in our reclining chairs, and seeing a good, not great, movie.

3-24-24: Today, I took joy in spending a very lazy Sunday with my wife, eating Hawaiian BBQ, watching basketball, reading “Golf Digest,” and starting a new TV series, “Tokyo City.”

3-25-24: Today, I took joy in handling some stressful moments with composure and discipline, working through some tense situations with a fluid, even mind.

3-26-24: Today, I took joy in going to the store and buying food for my hungry dogs. I know they appreciate the effort.

3-27-24: Today, I took joy in eating a delicious steak, cooked by myself. Damn good, and hit the spot.

3-28-24: Today, I took joy in completing a terrific workout, one in which I busted my ass and exhausted my reserves.

3-29-24: Today, I took joy in playing guitar.

3-30-24: Today, I took joy in having breakfast with my parents and catching up. I wish there was more time for this.

3-31-24: Today, I took joy in spending Easter with my family.

4-1-24: Today, I took joy in reading Tao wisdom right before bed, sending me into my dreams a more peaceful person.

4-2-24: Today, I took joy in a great, great workout. I usually struggle at least somewhat mentally and physically during workouts, but today flowed in all respects.

4-3-24: Today, I took joy in my daughter visiting us at our house.

4-4-24: Today, I took joy in taking a nap in the middle of the day. Glorious.

4-5-24: Today, I took joy in making myself pancakes for breakfast, drinking coffee at my leisure, and hitting the golf range, all on a vacation day.

4-6-24: Today, I took joy in watching the first night of Wrestlemania. .

4-7-24: Today, I took joy in watching night two of Wrestlemania. I was reminded yet again why I love professional wrestling, and I always will.

4-8-24: Today, I took joy in the hoopla and spectacle of the total eclipse.

4-9-24: Today, I took joy in working out outside rather than in the garage. It was awesome to feel the sun on my skin, as well as the sweat it helped pour out of me.

4-10-24: Today, I took joy in watching “Repo Man,” starring the wonderful Harry Dean Stanton, and remembering how glorious my “punk phase” was during the 80s. I did have a bad-ass punk haircut, and I did take some shit for it, but I didn’t care.

4-11-24: Today, I took joy in eating steak for supper.

4-12-24: Today, I took joy in golfing on a beautiful Friday afternoon.

4-13-24: Today, I took joy in finishing my 52nd straight week of working out as well as Graves birthday, seeing Kent Taylor after many years, and eating pizza and ice cream.

4-14-24: Today, I took joy in doing a lot of yard work.

4-15-24: Today, I took joy in visiting with my parents, including about my dad’s brother who recently passed, the weather, dogs, and much more.

4-16-24: Today, I took joy in writing about motorcycles, and fantasizing that one day, I may just actually get my own.

4-17-24: Today, I took joy in listening to “Doolittle,” one of my favorite albums. It was released 35 years ago on this day, which doesn’t make me feel so good.

4-18: 24: Today, I took joy in receiving a video from my daughter of wild horses she saw in New Mexico while on vacation. They were beautiful, and I’m envious of their lives and freedom.

4-19-24: Today, I took joy in hitting a bucket of golf balls at the range, entirely alone. Took my time, enjoyed the afternoon’s freedom, and hit pretty well.

4-20-24: Today, I took joy in having a fantastic meal (yakisoba beef) with my wife at Wave Bistro, our go-to restaurant.

4-21-24: Today, I took joy in getting a massive amount of yardwork done, although my body is paying the price.

4-22-24: Today, I took joy in making a healthy food choice instead of a poor one. It felt good.

4-23-24: Today, I took joy in being humbled, brought down to earth, put in my place, and reminded that anyone can be gotten at any time. It was a stoic lesson that I needed.

4-24-24: Today, I took joy in sitting in the sun reading, hitting golf balls at a nice, slow pace, and watering new grass seed.

4-25-24: Today, I took joy in listening to the great Leon Russell sing and play as only he can.

4-26-24: Today, I took joy in knowing the tornados that hit my state yesterday didn't do as much damage as was possible. It could have been so much worse.

4-27-24: Today, I took joy in my grandson’s sixth birthday party.

4-28-24: Today, I took joy in playing with my grandson, wrestling, and helping him with his magic potion toy and fart gun!

4:29-24: Today, I took joy in being thankful for what I have and what I’m not doing. First thing this morning, I saw the old Kaiser Painting van at a gas station and recalled the early mornings decades ago when I would sit on a bucket in the back of that van, riding to some house to do woodwork or painting, getting compensated in peanuts, and knowing I wasn’t living my best life.

4-30-24: Today, I took joy in being super active. A nice walk in the morning. Worked out after after work, and then mowed the backyard. Feels good to have nice, warm weather back again.

5-1-24: Today, I took joy in giving blood. This has been a regular thing I’ve done for many years now. It’s so easy to do, and it’s meaningful. And it makes me feel good.

5-2-24: Today, I took joy in cleaning the house, which always brings great relief to my anxious, chaotic, and probably psychotic mind.

5-3-24: Today, I took joy in watching John Mulaney, who never fails to make me laugh.

5-4:24: Today, I took joy in spending the day with my wife and catching up.

5-5-24: Today, I took joy in spending time with my daughter, Ella; golfing; catching up with my dad’s side of the family; and planting a tree.

5-6-24: Today, I took joy in working out in the garage while it was raining outside of it.

5-7-24: Today, I took joy in listening to “Fisherman Blues” by The Waterboys, journaling at lunch with pretty good contemplation, and watching “Stop Making Sense” after I finished mowing the entire lawn.

5-8-24: Today, I took joy in cleaning my golf clubs. I like menial tasks that let me sink my mind into the details and nothing else. The meditative benefits are fabulous.

5-9-24: Today, I took joy in traveling to the nearby golf course over lunch and hitting a bucket of balls. I’m mad at myself for not doing this on the regular starting many years ago. I’ve truly been missing out.

5-10-24: Today, I took joy in the wonderful simplicity of soup.

5-11-24: Today, I took joy in playing golf for the first time this year. I didn’t play great, but the weather was excellent and the company was too.

5-12-24: Today, I took joy in spending Mother’s Day with my family, including my daughters, grandson, and parents. We had an excellent brunch, and it was a great time.

5-13-24: Today, I took joy in spending the day at the zoo with my wife, and then having a fantastic lunch.

5-14-24: Today, I took joy in rereading Flannery O’Conner’s “The Prayer Journal.”

5-15-24: Today, I took joy in sharing my peanut butter sandwich with a sparrow. He enjoyed it, although it seemed to cause a little tension with his buddies who kept trying to steal from underneath his beak.

5-16-24: Today, I took joy in watching Marty Stuart and His Fabulous Superlatives on Tiny Desk Series. Masterful, fun, energetic, spiritual, and magical.

5-17-24: Today, I took joy in planting my garden plants and restructuring the garden itself. I hope the effort pays off.

5-18-24: Today, I took joy in taking a late-afternoon walk along the Platte River. The birds circled my head from above. The fish were jumping. People were kayaking. I wanted to jump in and float away with them.

5-19-24: Today, I took joy in playing with my grandson. We built a piggy bank and created cool, swirling drawings using one of his birthday presents.

5-20-24: Today, I took joy in watching storm clouds roll in from the West, getting ready to pounce. The movement inspired me to write two poems.

5-21-24: Today, I took joy in playing the guitar before bed, which put me in the best mood I had been in all day.

5-22-24: Today, I took joy in being at the golf course where no other place to be. I can’t wait until I’m retired.

5-23-24: Today, I took joy in playing frisbee with wife. We don’t have the hops we used to, but we can still wing it with the best of them.

5-24-24: Today, I took joy in playing golf in the late afternoon and finding my groove.

5-25-24: Today, I took joy in cooking hot dogs on the grill for our family and friends.

5-26-24: Today, I took joy in planting a new bush in the front yard.

5-27-24: Today, I took joy in spending a lazy day watching movies after a hard morning of working out.

5-28-24: Today, I took joy in watering my garden and seeing it come to life and prosper.

5-29-24: Today, I took joy in eating pizza for lunch. I’ve been so good generally about not doing this kind of stuff at lunch, but it felt so good being so bad.

5-30-24: Today, I took joy in playing guitar in the garage while it was pouring rain outside. I also took joy in watching our court system play out the way it was designed to.

5-31-24: Today, I took joy in eating fried chicken.

6-1-24: Today, I took joy in eating Thai food with my wife. Drunken noodles, yum.

6-2-24: Today, I took joy in playing golf with my friend, Chris, even though I played fairly poorly.

6-3-24: Today, I took joy in completing a new and much harder workout than I’m used to. It kicked my ass, but in a good way. I was tapped at the end, but felt strongly mentally, which is much better.

6-4-24: Today, I took joy in assembling a new Blackstone grill that my parents very generously got me for my birthday. I’m excited to start putting it to use.

6-5-24: Today, I took joy in taking a late-evening walk down the country road behind the cemetery. In the cornfield off in the distance, the setting sun’s light was shining off the backs of two deer, leisurely enjoying a snack. I stood in the middle of the road and watched them for several minutes before they slipped into the treeline and disappeared.

6-6-24: Today, I took joy in watching the first game of the NBA Finals championship. The game was a stinker, so I practiced guitar at the same time. Win-Win.

6-7-24: Today, I took joy in the excellent comedy of Pete Holmes while the rain poured outside. My laughter nearly drowned it out.

6-8-24: Today, I took joy in attending with my wife the last Omaha Arts Fair ever. I bought an excellent print that moved me, and I overfilled my belly with Indian food from Safran.

6-9-24: Today, I took joy in spending all morning outside with my grandson, Graves. He's fond of space, so we traveled to many planets on his swing/space ship. We later walked to the stored and bought hot dogs, which we grilled and ate outside.

6-10-24: Today, I took joy in my birthday, reflecting on my years past, present, and future; enjoying birthday cake; enjoying a birthday dinner; enjoying spending the lunch hour at the golf range hitting golf balls; and ending the night by watching the bats fly above me, catching their later-night supper.

6-11-24: Today, I took joy in spending my half day off from work golfing 18 holes with Chris, who was enjoying his birthday. We’ve been paired with some interesting people this summer, including today when we golfed the first nine with a pair of brothers, one very much a chatter.

6-12-24: Today, I took joy in watching the sun set behind a train in the foreground, passing along on the tracks slowly but surely, nowhere to get to eagerly but determined to keep moving. The summer vibes were strong.

6-13-24: Today, I took joy in taking a walk along the country road near my house, watching the sun slowly set as I walked. I saw a kitten, deer in the field, a shedded snake skin, and weeds surrounding the headstones of my relatives in the cemetery. Those weeds have been removed!

6-14-24: Today, I took joy in picking weeds in my garden. Weed-picking is one of the most zen activities I know. Locked into the moment, clear mind, and acting with intent. Wonderful.

6-15-24: Today, I took joy in a great, hard workout in the morning, during which I really pushed myself mentally and physically. The sweat was pouring, and it felt great.

6-16-24: Today, I took joy in a nice Father’s Day, including playing golf in the morning with my dad and my daughter (she did great), and then having lunch with my wife, daughters, and parents.

6-17-24: Today, I took joy in a peaceful break from the world, reading a book while swinging on our wicker chair as the sun set behind me.

6-18-24: Today, I took joy in watching a hard, fast rainfall as the power went out, leading me to light several candles and enjoy the different types of illumination.

6-19-24: Today, I took joy a very nice dinner with my daughter, eating good Mexican food, and having a terrific conversation.

6-20-24: Today, I took joy in watching a Major League Baseball game played at Rickwood Field in Birmingham, Alabama, that focused entirely on the Negro League and Willie Mays. I was moved many times by the strength, grace, and enduring nature of the men presented to the us.

6-21-24: Today, I took joy in viewing the full moon rising over the cornfield near my house. I wish I'd taken a lawn chair just to sit and bask in its glory.

6-22-24: Today, I took joy in going to a baseball game with my wife, daughter, and parents. It was a beautiful night. I ate good baseball park food, and we made it home just after the sun went below the horizon.

6-23-24: Today, I took joy in making and eating a Sunday morning breakfast outside with my wife, listening to and watching the birds entertain us as we did.

6-24-24: Today, I took joy in diving into memories of my aunt Teri and my childhood, letting myself feel the joy of that happiness as well as the sadness of her passing.

6-25-24: Today, I took joy in watching “Godzilla Minus One,” a genuinely good movie, and one that took me back to being a young kid, staying up late watching monster movies while laying in cousin Jerry’s waterbed in my uncle and aunt’s basement.

6-26-24: Today, I took joy in reading a book on my back patio while the sun went down in front of me, the birds sang songs from their throats, and the stubborn heat generate happy memories of summers gone by.

6-27-24: Today, I took joy in playing a really good round of golf (for me). If there’s anything better than hitting a really good golf shot, I don’t know what it is. I’m not sure why playing golf resonates with so many people, but it’s fast become my favorite game to play. The life-related metaphors it offers (dealing constructively with frustration, not dwelling on success because failure is close at hand, resiliency, etc.) are endless.

6-28-24: Today, I took joy in wrapping up a difficult but productive work week and topping it off with a hard-ass workout that let me sweat it all away.

6-29-24: Today, I took joy in sipping coffee on the porch in the early morning hours, feeling the cool breeze pass swiftly over my bald head.

6-30-24: Today, I took joy in attending a great concert in Colorado with my wife. Cat Power, Modest Mouse, and Pixies. I loved being among my people again and in an atmosphere of nonconformity and acceptance

7-1-24: Today, I took joy in the fortune I've been blessed with in life. This morning, a young man came into the hotel breakfast area where we were staying. He filled his plate and started eating at a table beside us. I felt he wasn't a guest and was probably homeless. Sure enough, the manager soon asked him what room he was staying in. He hesitated before making one up. She asked to see his key, but he said his mom had it. She asked for her name so she could look it up. He made an excuse and left. My heart sank. So much food left behind at every table around us, wanted by people who didn't need it anyway.

7- 2-24: Today, I took joy in seeing and visiting with so many family members from my mom’s side of the family. Despite mourning the death of my aunt, it did me good to see so many faces it seems I rarely get to see anymore.

7-3-24: Today, I took joy in gutting through a difficult workday. It was satisfying to take on challenges and meet them without hesitation.

7-4-24: Today, I took joy in spending the holiday with my family and sharing my grandson’s experience of watching his first big fireworks show.

7-5-24: Today, I took joy in spending time at the golf course, hitting a bucket of balls, and then practicing my chipping and putting, all at a leisurely pace.

7-6-24: Today, I took joy in going to a movie with my grandson and wife, after which we ate dinner and enjoyed a few minutes at the park downtown.

7-7-24: Today, I took joy in taking a long walk through the cemetery, providing the opportunity to reflect and calm down. The birds were singing loudly, and the sun was shining bright.

7-8-24: Today, I took joy in listening to the sweet sounds of Bonnie Light Horseman on my earbuds while all around me the worker bees buzzed loudly.

7-9-24: Today, I took joy in looking at the moon, just a sliver in the sky, late in the night while letting my dogs out for the last time that day. I was tempted to grab a blanket, curl up in a lawn chair, and spend the night out there. Younger me would have.

7-10-24: Today, I took joy in setting up my hammock in the backyard, despite the anger the birds living in the birdhouse hanging from the tree I used. The mosquitoes were also not cooperative, but I managed.

7-11-24: Today, I took joy in playing golf in the afternoon and later watching “Disciple,” a wonderful documentary on Steven Van Zandt.

7-12-24: Today, I took joy in having an early lunch with my wife. What a great way to break up the workday.

7-13-24: Today, I took in watching “The Bear,” Season 3. This series has brought me so much joy.

7-14-24: Today, I took joy in going to our little buddy Trip’s third birthday party, seeing some old friends, and having chocolate pudding. Yes!

7-15-24: Today, I took joy in eating lunch in the park. I should have stayed there.

7-16-24: Today, I took joy in finishing “Deliver Me From Nowhere: The Making of Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska.” It wasn’t a good as I had hoped, but it did conjure up a lot of experiences and emotions from listening to this album countless times. It’s good to know the songs mean as much to others as they do me.

7-17-24: Today, I took joy in putting my head down and getting to work. Whenever facing a significant task, just get to it. Stare it down. It won’t make it easier, but it will get you started, and you’ll be one step closer to completion.

7-18-24: Today, I took joy in spending the afternoon golfing on a perfect day, and playing really well.

7-19-24: Today, I took joy in spending the entire day with three of my oldest friends. I value those friendships with extreme gratitude.

7-20-24: Today, I took joy in watching two movies, one much better than the other, and taking the time to reflect on them from many different angles.

7-21-24: Today, I took joy in taking a long, slow walk across the river, stopping often to observe everything that caught my attention, including the birds buzzing through the air catching gnats, the water slapping against the logs jammed against the bridge’s support beams, and the lucky men and women floating aimlessly down the river in their kayaks.

7-22-24: Today, I took joy in mowing the entire yard after work. Given the choice between sitting at a desk all day and mowing a lawn, I’d take the latter on most days. I do some of my best thinking pushing a mower.

7-23-24: Today, I took joy in being humbled, in several ways, that reminded me to stay even, grounded, and resilient. They reminded me not to fly too highly, and not to hover too low for too long. What is done is done. Learn from it. Use the knowledge. Move on.

7-24-24: Today, I took joy in completing a hard-ass workout right after work, outside in the heat, sweating, hurting, and hanging on for dear life. The taunting voice in my head (which I’ve named Clive Fandango), often tells me to just quit. “You’ve done enough.” I didn’t listen. And it felt fantastic.

7-25-24: Today, I took joy in meditating on the notion of accepting my faults, but not settling for them. Accepting my shortcomings and weaknesses, but knowing there’s work to do always to improve upon them.

7-26-24: Today, I took joy in surviving my self-damaging thoughts, which want to break me down instead of up, sometimes.

7-27-24: Today, I took joy in playing Bob Dylan songs on my guitar on the back patio as the birds ate and the sun creeped around the corner.

7-28-24: Today, I took joy in doing the prep work for a kitchen remodel project, which I hope goes smoothly.

7-29-24: Today, I took joy in a hard day’s work, first getting in a kettlebell and cardio workout in the morning, followed by taping, sanding, and other work in the kitchen. I’ll sleep well tonight.

7-30-24: Today, I took joy in wishing my mom a happy birthday and having supper with old friends and their three wonderful kids.

7-31-24: Today, I took joy that my house wasn’t damaged and my family remained safe during the devastating storm that happened in our state. Our very old and very huge trees were severely damaged, but no one was hurt.

8-1-24: Today, I took joy in the fact I have the physical capability to do hard work for long hours, such as cleaning up a crap-ton of tree damage. I also took joy in the tremendous assistance and generosity of my family and friends who helped clean up, finding us a generator to use, as we remain without power, and more.

8-2-24: Today, I took joy in waking up to the birds singing outside my open window, knowing that despite a long, hot night with no AC or power, the world keeps moving, people keep moving, and I’ll keep moving.

8-3-24: Today, I took joy in appreciating the gift of electricity. After 2.5 days of no power in some pretty hot weather, waking up after having actually gotten some sleep was terrific. I also took joy in knowing there are good people out there who will stop to help, without having to be asked.

8-4-24: Today, I took joy in putting in a hard but productive day filled with lots of cleaning, mowing a big yard, laundry, and getting back to a normal state of being.

8-5-24: Today, I took joy in doing three things that make me feel better: working out, playing guitar, and reading a good book.

8-6-24: Today, I took joy in watching Cole Hocker win the Gold medal in the 1,500-meter run at the Olympics, coming from behind and exceeding everyone’s expectations. Anything is possible if you believe. As he crossed the finish line, I actually yelled, “Hell yeah!” It felt so good.

8-7-24: Today, I took joy in playing Bruce Springsteen songs on guitar on my porch on an absolutely wonderful night. I’m fortunate to play an instrument. The mental and emotional benefits are endless.

8-8-24: Today, I took joy in eating pizza. Really good pizza, with an excellent crisp crust, tasty meatballs, and a mix of cheeses melted to perfection.

8-9-24: Today, I took joy in sitting by a fire on a beautiful August night, watching the moon rise into a clear sky.

8-10-24: Today, I enjoyed spending a great meal with my family to celebrate my mom’s birthday.

8-11-24: Today, I took joy in completing a long-overdue bathroom project. It looks so much better, and I feel so much better.

8-12-24: Today, I took joy in having an excellent journal entry at lunch, leaving me feeling as if I had made some major headway.

8-13-24: Today, I took joy in playing guitar right before bed, working in some Lucida Williams’ songs, and soloing with the pentatonic minor scale.

8-14-24: Today, I took joy in what turned out to be a day full of contemplation on death, including via a stoic meditation, journaling, watching interviews on the subject by chance with Nick Cave, and then walking through the cemetery after a soft rain, where a rainbow crossed in front of me.

8-15-24: Today, I took joy in playing the last round of golf for the league I’ve been playing in all summer. It was a great experience, my game improved a lot, and I nearly hit a hole in one.

8-16-24: Today, I took joy in staying up late. I'm a night person by nature. Responsibility, though, has me in bed early most nights. One day, this will change.

8-17-24: Today, I took joy in working in the garden first thing in the morning, listening to the birds get excited about the day ahead, pulling wet weeds, and feeling alive.

8-18-24: Today, I took joy in working out in the morning while a rain fell slowly and steady outside. The fresh air was cool and welcomed.

8-19-24: Today, I took joy in walking into a cornfield to take in the glory of the super blue full moon. It was red, glowing, peaking through whispering clouds, and stunning. Nature truly humbles humans.

8-20-24: Today, I took joy in petting my dog and giving her a good neck rub, which she really likes and appreciates. I can see it in her eyes.

8-21-24: Today, I took joy in getting projects done for others. Giving is where it’s at.

8-22-24: Today, I took joy in picking weeds (one of my favorite zen activities), until I stood up and my back went out. The universe gives and it takes.

8-23-24: Today, I took joy in receiving two compliments about my writing.

8-24-24: Today, I joy in reading a book while sitting in the sunshine. I am a child of Ra.

8-25-24: Today, I took joy in watching a squirrel licking a wrapper that it apparently found. I'm not sure what the wrapper was from, but my man sure enjoyed it.

8-26-24: Today, I took joy in eating lunch in the park under the shade of several trees while the temperature soared near triple digits. I only eat lunch at work if the weather is crazy cold. I need a break from those surroundings for at least part of the day. That said, the park does pose some difficulty, as I never want to leave.

8-27-24: Today, I took joy in swinging in the backyard while the sun went down in the West. My dog, Apollo, joined me in the festivities.

8-28-24: Today, I took joy in giving blood, reaching 6 gallons and 1 pint and my 49th donation overall. There were a few years there when I was sick that I couldn’t give blood. I’d like those years back.

8-29-24: Today, I took joy knowing I won't be working the next four days.

8-30-24: Today, I took great joy in spending the day with my daughter Ella, golfing, eating lunch, and taking a walk over the Platte River.

8-31-34: Today, I took joy in sipping hot coffee on a warm, sunshine-filled porch, followed by a great workout.

9-1-24: Today, I took joy in sharing a wonderful smoked pork lunch with my parents and family.

9-2-24: Today, I took joy in painting and going to the park with my grandson.

9-3-24: Today, I took joy in putting together a cabinet in the garage as the night crept in and its sounds expanded all around me. The peace and focus on the task at hand created something wonderfully satisfying.

9-4-24: Today, I took joy in watching videos on the art of moviemaking, emphasizing my appreciation and love of film even more.

9-5-24: Today, I took joy in taking a mid-morning walk, something I try to do each work day to take a deep breath and refocus.

9-6-24: Today, I took joy in eating tacos.

9-7-24: Today, I took in watching the Nebraska vs. Colorado football game and witness people in my state enjoy themselves thoroughly in victory.

9-8-24: Today, I took joy in walking and sitting by the river, watching the hawks float above my head, and the frogs hop along the mud below.

9-9-24: Today, I took joy in a memory from a very long time ago, as well as just making it through the day during which I didn’t feel great. Perseverance is powerful.

9-10-11: Today, I took joy in going to a movie with friends and then, afterward, reading about the Vice President’s excellent debate performance.

9-11-24: Today, I took joy in reaffirming my knowledge that many people are enlightened and aware in knowing that integrity and character matter greatly.

9-12-24: Today, I took joy in standing on a hill and looking west as the sun disappeared into the horizon while a half moon climbed on the other over my shoulder. The shades of fall are magnificent.

9-13-24: Today, I took joy in being super productive all afternoon and into the night, whether it was working on the yard, getting the kitchen ready to paint, or cleaning.

9-14-24: Today, I took joy in listening to loud music as I painted the kitchen and front door.

9-15:24: Today, I took joy in finishing painting the kitchen, front door, and working around the house.

9-16-24: Today, I took joy in playing guitar with great focus and passion.

9-17-24: Today, I took joy in taking an evening walk through the cemetery and viewing the harvest supermoon ascending into the sky.

9-18-24: Today, I took joy in realizing my good fortune. The country I was born into. The freedom I enjoy and have enjoyed daily. The comfort of good dogs. The ability to read, write, and comprehend. The insight into what matters and what doesn’t. I’ve been gifted a life beyond good fortune, and I’m grateful.

9-19-24: Today, I took joy in helping my parents get their plane tickets sorted out for a trip their taking to Ireland. I’m excited for them. Although I’m jealous, it’s a much deserved trip.

9-20-24: Today, I took joy in getting a compliment at work.

9-21:24: Today, I took joy in watching an Elvis impersonator and his Elvis impersonator sidekick on my wedding anniversary.

9-22-34: Today, I took joy in spending a very lazy day not doing much of anything, and it felt great.

9-23-24: Today, I took joy in watching the sun rise ever so slowly in my rearview mirror as I drove to work. I was tempted to cross the median and head back toward the west to take in the full beauty.

9-24-24: Today, I took joy in drawing in my sketch pad, something I’ve started to do again recently, primarily to make myself laugh at the awfulness of my work.

9-25-24: Today, I took joy in getting a solid, strong, and exhausting workout in after work. It’s been hard working these in during the past few weeks, but I always feel great mentally and physically making the effort.

9-26-24: Today, I took joy in changing a flat tire. It's good to have such abilities. Tomorrow, I'm painting my bedroom. Another fine skill to posses.

9-27-24: Today, I took joy is decluttering all around the house.

9-28-24: Today, I took joy in painting my bedroom. The first time in nine years and long overdue.

9-29-24: Today, I took joy in playing golf with my cousin on a beautiful Sunday morning and then later, hearing from an old friend.

9-30-24: Today, I took joy in going to a movie (“The Wild Robot,” in 3D) with my daughter and grandson. The movie was good, and so was the popcorn and company.

10-1-24: Today, I took joy in reading in the fall sun. It was the perfect temp, and I didn’t want to move. Ever.

10-2-24: Today, I took joy in having the windows in the house wide open, allowing cool fall air to blow through every room.

10-3-24: Today, I took joy in learning a new song on guitar. There’s no feeling like making a song you’ve heard a million times come alive through your own fingers on the strings.

10-4-24: Today, I took joy in sitting outside after a long week of work and feeling the sun do its magic on my face.

10-5-24: Today, I took joy in playing what I believe was my best round of golf ever.

10-6-24: Today, I took joy in drawing, playing guitar, reading, and writing a song.

10-7-24: Today, I took joy in celebrating the life of our cat, Beck, who we had to say goodbye to after 21 years of life. We’ll miss you, buddy.

10-8-24: Today, I took joy in diving deep into meditation, focus, and purpose, exploring where I want to steer my life in the coming years.

10-9-24: Today, I took joy in listening to music very loudly on the drive home from work, singing along with no limits on my loudness.

10-10-24: Today, I took joy in taking a beat and exhibiting composure in a situation in which I really didn’t want to exhibit that. I want to rail and roar, which would have been the worst approach, as usually is the case.

10-11-24: Today, I took joy in spending a fantastically warm autumn afternoon outside, taking a walk with my wife over the river looking at the many incredible changing colors of the trees.

10-12-24: Today, I took joy in spending the afternoon with my wife and then eating at one our favorite restaurants, all topped with a hot fudge sundae for me.

10-13-24: Today, I took joy in playing what will likely be the last round of golf this year. It was cold and chilly, but I really enjoyed it, and I really enjoyed playing so much this year. By far, the most I’ve played in one year. I love the game, and it will be my pastime in my later years.

10-14-24: Today, I took joy in knowing that in times of turmoil and unexpected events, as happened throughout today, I’m fairly apt to keep my head.

10-15-24: Today, I took joy in receiving a clean bill of health at my annual checkup.

10-16-24: Today, I took joy in staring blissfully at the supermoon, wondering what the view looks like from the other direction.

10-17-24: Today, I took joy in the improving health of a co-worker.

10-18-24: Today, I took joy in the powerful, re-energizing feeling of the arrival of 4:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon, the minute I’m free for the weekend.

10-19-24: Today, I took joy in shooting baskets in my driveway, playing guitar, and being active all day long.

10-20-24: Today, I took joy in taking a fabulous bike ride with my wife, observing the many colors of fall in the trees, feeling the warm air blowing in our faces, and generally feeling very much alive.

10-21-24: Today, I took joy in a much-needed rainfall soaking some very, very dry land all around me.

10-22-24: Today, I took joy in eating a candy bar.

10-23-24: Today, I took joy in giving my 50th blood donation and my fifth donation for 2024. It’s an easy thing to do, and it makes a difference. That’s what it’s all about, really.

10-24-24: Today, I took joy in sitting in the sun directly after work, wishing it had been that which I had been doing all day.

10-25-24: Today, I took joy in spending a warm afternoon in the sun, reading Bukowski, and laughing out loud.

10-26-24: Today, I took joy in having a birthday dinner with my daughter, who turned 30.

10-27-24: Today, I took joy in spending a lazy day of playing guitar, writing in my journal, sketching, reading, and watching TV. It was lovely.

10-28-24: Today, I took joy in sketching and writing on a warm afternoon in the fall, listening to the leaves blow across the ground.

10/29/24: Today, I took joy in knowing that I have the ability to grind through a day that isn’t going well or is meeting me on the best of terms.

10/30/24: Today, I took joy in hours and hours of falling rain.

10/31/24: Today, I took joy in a full house for supper and then reveling in the excitement of little kids going out to trick or treat.

11/1/24: Today, I took joy in eating ice cream cake to celebrate my wife’s sobriety birthday.

11/2/24: Today, I took joy in seeing the movie “Here” with my wife. No popcorn caused less joy.

11/3/24: Today, I took joy in sitting on the porch during a very warm morning, after a night of rain. The smells were crazy good.

11/4/24: Today, I took joy in doing my due diligence in studying political candidates and issues in anticipation of voting in tomorrow’s national election.

11/5/24: Today, I took great joy and pride in voting in the election. Now, we wait.

11/6/24: Today, I took joy in the small things that brighten a day, even ones that feel very heavy and full of impending doom. Also, I saw my daughter over lunch. Saw my other daughter at supper. Watched “The Blues Brothers” before bed, laughing hard. Pet my dogs. Sketched. Wrote. All to maintain a good outlook moving forward.

11/7/24: Today, I took joy in listening to music, and specifically Lil Simz, a terrifically talented singer, artist, conceptualist, and more. I love music so much. It’s a little frightening how much I count on it.

11/8/24: Today, I took joy in staying up late watching TV. It felt like it did when I was a little boy. Wonderful.

11/9/24: Today, I took joy in meeting the new kitties we’ve added to our family. They are cute, but already rambunctious, which kitties are prone to be. Thank God.

11/10/24: Today, I took joy in taking a late-afternoon catnap. The sun’s warmth may be the greatest blanket ever invented.

11/11/24: Today, I took joy in finishing one book and finding the next. If only time allowed for nothing but reading.

11/12/24: Today, I took joy in eating a homemade chocolate chip cookie. Actually, it was three chocolate chip cookies that I took joy in eating.

11/13/24: Today, I took joy in having lunch with my wife. It’s always nice to split the workday up with a friendly face you appreciate.

11/14/24: Today, I took joy in doing something nice for myself.

11/15/24: Today, I took joy in watching the Paul vs. Tyson boxing card. The last fight was bad, but enjoying a night of fights was great.

11/16/24: Today, I took joy in spending the day with some of my kids.

11/17/24: Today, I took joy in raking up leaves and then watching two good football games back to back.

11/18/24: Today, I took joy in watching a full day’s worth of rain fall slow and steady.

11/19/24: Today, I took joy in watching Season 2, Episode 6 of the “The Lord of The Rings: The Rings of Power.” I love the world of Tolkien, and I’m definitely enjoying this series. Humans think they have problems today. Ha. (I know, it’s all fantasy . . . or is it?)

11/20/24: Today, I took joy in playing my electric guitar while sitting with my dogs in the cozy, warm, non-windy downstairs.

11/21/24: Today, I took joy in spending the afternoon doing housework that needed done. A clean home is a clean mind.

11/22/24: Today, I took in climbing into my PJs right after work, slipping into bed, and letting the week slide right off my back.

11/23/24: Today, I took joy in cleaning up the yard of leaves, again. This will be the last time for 2024. Four times is enough.

11/24/24: Today, I took joy in feeling the warm sunshine while I played with my grandson outside, swinging, climbing trees, and pretending.

11/25/24: Today, I took joy in watching Jack Nichelson act. That’s plenty of joy.

11/26/25: Today, I took joy in making homemade pizza. The best.

11/27/24: Today, I took joy in really cleaning my house and liking the results.

11/28/24: Today, I took joy in spending the day with my family, enjoying their company. I wonder sometimes, how much they enjoy spending time with me. It can’t be an equal amount.

11/29/24: Today, I took joy in playing with our new kittens. Need some excitement (and exasperation) in your life? Get kittens.

11/30/24: Today, I took joy in watching a documentary (“Yacht Rock”) and other good, lazy TV.

12/1/24: Today, I took joy in undergoing some deep contemplation. Needed and overdue. Always make the time.

12/2/24: Today, I’ll be honest, it was difficult finding something to take joy in. Depression can be a dirty slickster with no mercy or empathy. But I take joy in knowing it’s beatable.

12/3/24: Today, I took joy in being motitvated and inspired, propelling me to do good work at my job and home.

12/4/24: Today, I took joy in picking up the Christmas tree and placing it in its stand. The dogs and cats were thrilled with the introduction of nature to our indoors. So was I.

12/5/24: Today, I took joy in seeing my daughter unexpectedly at lunch. Unfortunately, I had to go back to work after only a few minutes of visting.

12/6/24: Today, I took joy in getting a tooth fixed. Ah, the sweet relief.

12/7/24: Today, I took joy in seeing “Wicked.” Although not as good as I'd hoped, I very much enjoyed it.

12/8/24: Today, I took joy in hanging up Christmas lights (and cleaning the gutters at the same time), although one section didn’t light up, so the mission continues.

12/9/24: Today, I took joy in finishing the Christmas lights job. It was cold as hell, but Christmas cares not for cold bones.

12/10/24: Today, I took joy in playing with the kittens, teasing them with a cat toy they seem to both love and despise given the way they attacked and mauled it.

12/11/24: Today, I took joy in my good fortune of having a house to come home to every night, one that’s warm, lit, functioning, and full of things I love.

12/12/24: Today, I took joy in having a really long, good conversation with my youngest daughter. I wish that happened more often.

12/13/24: Today, I took joy at work in moving back to the original building I started in 27 years ago. The last time I was in this building, all my older children were still in grade school. It was a surreal, nostalgic experience.

12/14/24: Today, I took joy in spending the day with my wife, taking a long walk in the rain and ice, watching a movie, eating dinner together, and staying up late.

12/15/24: Today, I took joy in buying my grandson a few Christmas presents. I hope he likes them.

12/16/24: Today, I took joy in overcoming a good bit of anxiety, stress, and chaos and remaining calm and productive when it was needed most.

12/17/24: Today, I took joy in my daughter’s birthday, celebrating the joy she’s brought into the world and mine.

12/18/24: Today, I took joy in the birthday of my youngest daughter and wife, both treasures and gifts.

12/19/24: Today, I took joy in doing a favor for a friend and easting a cheeseburger. The latter tasted better but wasn’t as satisfying.

12/20224: Today, I took joy in having a difficult but necessary conversation. Don't avoid hardship. Things only get harder if you do.

12/21/24: Today, I took joy in walking through downtown Omaha with my wife, taking in the beautiful Christmas lights, all while shivering but thankful.

12/22/24: Today, I took joy in wrapping Christmas presents for many different people.

12/23/24: Today, I took joy in standing outside right before bedtime, staring up at the winter stars, extremely bright and seemingly very close. And everything seemed OK for that instant.

12/24/24: Today, I took joy in remembering Christmases of past years, as a child, as a son, as a father, as a husband, and as a friend. I’ve been fortunate to have been loved, to have been gifted important relationships, and to have been blessed with comfort, discomfort, fortune, misfortune, luck, and the opposite, all contributing to countless invaluable lessons.

12/25/24: Today, I took joy in being amongst my family all day long, seeing plenty of smiles and happiness, and realizing the countless moments I’ve spent with these people in my life and how lucky I’ve been.

12/26/24: Today, I took joy in cleaning, regrouping, reorganizing, and getting back into the swing of things post-Christmas. It was a good, lazy, yet productive day. My favorite kind.

12/27/24: Today, I took joy in making a slow, thoughtful drive to work in the darkness, fog, and mist. For a little while, I felt like I was in another land.

12/28/24: Today, I took joy in watching the Nebraska football team win a bowl game in New York City. Many thanks, Gotham.

12/29/24: Today, I took joy in doing laundry, cleaning my truck, doing dishes, and other productive things you can only avoid for so long.

12/30/24: Today, I took joy in laughing–at our kittens, at myself, at the TV, and at others (without nasty intentions).

12/31/24: Today, I took joy in the fact that I followed through with this project for the entirety of 2024. I found something to take joy in. Not a small feat for some, but really not that difficult if you’re half alive. The world will always have good to share. It will always have pleasantness available if you look hard enough to find it. It will always have sources of brightness, including within.

A Letter To My Grandma

2020-09-25T14:18:00.013-07:00

When the cities are on fire

With the burning flesh of men

Just remember that death is not the end

And you search in vain to find

Just one law-abiding citizen

Just remember that death is not the end

Not the end, not the end

Just remember that death is not the end

Bob Dylan

Hi Grandma,

I’ve been thinking of you a lot lately. I know that sounds strange considering I have no memories of the physical you. You passed just a month after my fifth birthday so many years ago. But I’ve never stopped thinking of you really. Every time I stop at your headstone in the cemetery to say “hi,” pick the weeds, and just think about what could have been, I feel like we’re talking and knowing each other, but there’s so much I’ll never uncover because there’s so much that never was.

I’m not sure what it is about walking in the cemetery I like so much or that’s so comforting to me, Grandma. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the reverence for life I feel there. Or the obvious reminders of how fragile life is and the motivation that provides me to not squander it. Maybe it’s simply the realness the atmosphere forces on me as I walk through the iron gates—the realness that death may be inherent, but it’s not the end. Instead, it’s a return to the beginning.

There is no sidestepping death, right, Grandma? I wish there was because I find myself missing you more these days than ever before—or at least missing the idea you. The potential of you. The possibilities of knowing you. We never got that chance, to seep into one another’s bones, memories, and souls over a long period of time. I know you exist in those places; I just don’t know how to reach you there. And I feel driven to.

I wish I had live memories of your face. And recollections of your laugh. Of your scent and the touch of your hand. Of the tone of your voice. The gait of your walk. The look of your clothes and how you wore them. I don’t remember your presence, Grandma, but I want nothing more than to.

The world you left long ago, you wouldn’t recognize today. It’s changed dramatically, as you’d expect it to over 50 years, but much wasn’t for the better. Especially now. We’re in a strange, divided, often ugly, bitter, lonely time. We’ve never been more connected yet more apart. Never been more intelligent yet so unaware and stubbornly blind. We’ve never been so rich yet so destitute—in wealth, character, and action. And still, Grandma, it’s a wonderful life and a fantastic world to explore. It’s that’s dynamic that makes it worth living. I wish you had been here to pass the days with. To learn from. To listen to. To believe in. To rely on. I would have given you all those in return.

My only true memory of you is one I don’t know if is even real, and if it is, I’d rather it wasn’t. It’s of Brooke and I sitting in the back seat of a car. I can smell cigarettes and gum—seemingly the combined odor of every car of that time. We were following an ambulance, which I’ve told myself was taking you to the hospital. But I’m not sure. It’s a fuzzy, hazy image, and one I tend to muddy up even when I ask for clarification. Accurate or not, little by little, that memory has become a painting exposed to too much sunlight, wind, and rain—faded in its vibrancy and detail, but still powerful and everlasting.

It’s hard for me to believe you were just 57 when you had to go. I’m just four years younger than that now. I’m sorry it’s taken so many years to write you directly. Funny, because this is what I do for a living, Grandma, write. You’ve turned up so many times in my words elsewhere, but I’m sorry to say, I’ve kept you at a distance until now on such a personal level. I’m not sure why. I guess I was afraid of where it would take me.

My sister and I never had strong grandparent relationships. None to speak of, to be honest. You were gone so early. My paternal grandfather was gone before I was even born, and there just was never access to the others. At times, I convinced myself I wasn’t missing anything I wasn’t getting somewhere else, but I know now that wasn’t true. I missed the influence, the ideas, the wisdom, and the exchanges of family history, pride, and love that goes with having a grandpa and grandma. I missed the security and the safety.

I’ve seen how much grandparents mean and have meant to my own kids, and I’m a grandfather myself now, Grandma. He’s a wonderful little boy my daughter Mikah gifted us. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to being part of his life for as long as life lets me. To making his path less complicated and congested. To enabling him to believe in himself always. To trust his potential, his worth, and his purpose. That’s what grandparents do, isn’t it? Plant the tree their descendants draw shade from? I wish I’d done a better job of that as a dad, but I’ll keep trying.

I’ve known so many people through the years whose grandparents lifted them up, extended them, challenged them, and enriched them. People who might not have made it otherwise. My dad, your son-in-law, has often said his grandparents meant everything to him, and knowing the cards he was dealt, I believe him. The same with my wife. She says her Grandma Ruthie saved her life as a teenager. She died young, too, and I’ve never heard a group of siblings speak so highly and fondly and with as much love as her uncles and aunt have through the decades. I’ll admit, Grandma, it’s made me envious.

When we’re visiting in the cemetery, I ask you often what you’d think of me now. If you’d approve? If you’d be proud of what I became? Of how I’ve conducted myself. Of what I believe in and don’t. Would you want to spend time with me? Would we make each other laugh? Would we share secrets? Would we gossip and giggle? Would you have broken through my little-boy shyness and found anything special to draw out? Would you have recognized yourself in me?

You should know your daughter is and has been good mother. The same is true of your son-in-law. They started with very little but always gave so much. You should know your other daughters and sons and grandkids were and are good, smart, talented, hardworking people. You probably know already, but we’re opinionated and passionate. We’re individuals and unique. We don’t always all see eye to eye, but I don’t think that matters much in the end. We’re family and attached.

You should know they treated me well, and I have fond memories of them all. There are traits in them I’ve admired and secretly coveted, too. Everything from Gary’s magnetic personality to Brenda’s effortless ability to spread joy. From Jerry Lynn’s patience and effort to teach his younger cousins the finer points of life to Daryl’s artwork to Roger’s musicianship to Cindy’s unwavering passion to Dennis’ humor to Dicky giving me a summer job to Tony’s athletic ability to Ronnie’s much appreciated matter-of-fact approach of showing me how to shoot a basketball. I’m the clan’s last-born grandson, Grandma, and Brooke is its last-born granddaughter. I know we benefited from having so much of your blood available to us.

I don’t hear as many stories about you these days. Our family, like a lot of families, has drifted some and splintered into smaller pockets. The big gatherings are fewer and farther between, and that’s a shame. There was a bond that doesn’t exist as strongly anymore. Maybe that’s why I visit you so much. I’m yearning for that connection as I age. Maybe that’s why I find myself walking in your direction so often these days on the less-traveled gravel road from my house to your resting place. The dirt under my steps hasn’t changed since you were here. The farm fields that the gravel road borders are still rolling and magnificent. And the path that road leads yo remains constant. When seemingly everything else shifts and morphs so drastically by the second now—and often for the worse—I guess I need the stability of our visits.

I’m sorry you passed so young. I’m sorry you couldn’t experience more that life gives us. I’m sorry we never grew older together. I’m sorry for the time we lost. But I’m never sorry you are my grandmother, or that I am your grandson, whether I remember your face, voice, and presence or not. We’ve had long, meaningful, entertaining, tearful, and entirely honest conversations in my head and heart. We’ll continue to until we can’t. Then, it’s my sincere desire we’ll do all our talking face to face.

With love,

Your grandson

My Dog Slim: A Love-Hate Relationship To The Bitter End

2018-04-07T09:25:00.002-07:00

This is my dog Slim. He's nearly 14. He's handsome. He's strong. He's gentle and kind. He's also a pain in the ass.

I love him. I really do.

I also can't stand him. For Real.

That's our relationship. It's brotherly. It's contentious. There's little pretense that goes on. It is what it is.

Before you pin me as some kind of unfeeling, unloving monster with hate in his heart, though, hear me out. I probably still won't come out looking good, but the facts are the facts.

Slim is a full-bred chocolate Lab. He was a beautiful pup. He was funny and endearing. He didn't take long to to learn to take his business outside when he needed. He wasn't rough or mean. He seemed like a hit. Considering his lineage, he should have been.

Slim, though, started to show some indications early on that he was going to be a pain in my ass, no matter how much time, energy, patience, and understanding me and everyone else in my family poured into him.

I could probably paint a better picture, but the simple truth is that Slim turned out to be a dufus. A big, brown, bulky, boorish dufus.

I'm not the only who has come to this conclusion. Here are some things I've never heard anyone say about Slim over the years:

- Slim is such a great dog.

- You're lucky to have Slim.

- We'll watch Slim anytime you need.

- I want Slim to sleep in my room.

Here's the crux of Slim's problem, aura, being, philosophy, and so on: He has little to no dignity where food is concerned. Namely, he'll stop at nothing to get lips around it. Food is, has been, and always will be the sole, driving interest in Slim's life.

He's never progressed. Never matured. Never acquired more patience. Never showed any passion for anything other than grub. To put it bluntly, Slim does little else but eat, sleep, and shit. A lot.

In a weird sense, I admire him for this. He's simplified life to the essentials. But he carries it too far. For example, he literally follows me everywhere from morning to night hoping I'll drop food, make food, spill food, or somehow manage to get food within his reach. When I write "follows," I mean this in the literate sense. Everywhere. All the time.

Imagine your little brother following you for 13-plus years everyday, all day. Imagine now that little brother bugs you a good half of that time. That's our dynamic.

Now imagine that little brother has eaten entire rows of corn in gardens (I emphasize the plural here in bold) you've planted, leaving the stocks knocked over, demolished, and in tatters. Imagine also that he worked his way through wire and wooden fences, ropes, cords, and much more that you erected to keep him out to get to it. That's our dynamic.

From my gardens, Slim has also eaten pounds and pounds of zucchini, cantaloupes, tomatoes, watermelons, carrots, beans, and more.

He once ate through a solid tin can to get to Valentine’s Day chocolates.

He once ate 400 pieces of bubble gum, wrappers and all. (I could describe to you what I picked up in the yard for days after, but there's no need to go there.)

Slim has eaten pans of bacon grease.

He's enjoyed pans of gravy.

From the stove and sink, he's secured and pulled to his dog bed countless spoons, ladles, forks, spatulas, bowls, cups, pots, and plates.

Slim has, without any sense of guilt or remorse, devoured loaves of bread, boxes of cereal, bags of popcorn, crackers, apples, pasta, chips, soup, stew, steak, hot dogs, hamburgers, and so much more without permission.

There is even a sordid story the members of my family pass about periodically that concerns Slim and a baby diaper, but I won't go there, either.

Slim has stolen sandwiches off the plates of toddlers and adults alike.

He once ate roughly three dozen Christmas cookies I baked in one quick sitting. I didn't get a single one.

One year, Slim stole and ate food associated with every major holiday. I think he liked Halloween best.

And the number of garbage cans Slim has knocked over and spread about to get to his gold are far too many to count. So are the times he threw up the results of his gluttony all over floors, dog begs, children's bed, carpets, rugs, and garage floors.

Behavior like this was cute as a puppy. It got old quickly when he grew into a 100-pound dog-child.

Truth be told, the up-and-down relationship Slim and I have isn't all his fault. I wasn't ready for another dog. Shortly before we got Slim, we lost our golden retriever Miles. Now, Miles was a once-in-a-lifetime dog. The kind that stays with you year after year after year. The kind I still shed real tears for 15 years on. And Miles was that kind of dog to many people.

So, while I never ignored Slim or treated him poorly or withheld my love, I didn't exactly embrace him, either. So, Slim and I settled into a big brother, little brother relationship that we've had since.

But here's the present-day sad kicker about our relationship: As much as he drives me mad, I regret our standing with each, something that's coming more to the forefront with each day because Slim isn't long for this world. He's deteriorating rapidly and sadly. He has time left, but he's undoubtedly traversing the final stage of his life, and I'm not sure how long that's going to be.

This isn’t exactly unexpected. His eyesight is poor. His hearing is unreliable. His hips are stiff. His whiskers and coat are gray. He is nearly 14, after all. That's a lot of years for any dog, and it pretty much maxes the life expectancy of a lab.

From what you've read so far, you may not believe that all of this greatly upsets me, but it does. Sincerely. My relationship with Slim may be the most real relationship I have. We just exist as we are, and we're both OK with that. Nothing phony or fake. No forced hellos and goodbyes. No falsehoods.

So I give Slim extra attention when I can during these days he has left. Give him an extra dog biscuit here and there. Sink into longer, deeper hugs when the moment offers. Talk to him more. Sit with him more. Let him follow me around all he wants. But he still annoys me. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

Slim has been a problem child that never grew up. He's the sibling you just accept will always need looked after. But he is a beloved member of our family and always has been. Who doesn't love a dufus, after all?

And the thing about being a pet owner that doesn't get talked about much is that you aren't always going to bring home the perfect match. Your pet may not be all about the touchie feelies. Your pet may just be ordinary, but that doesn't mean you get rid of him. That you kick him to the curb. Because he is family, warts and all.

Years from now, after Slim is gone and I'm walking through a lush, green yard of grass that he hasn't dug up or matted down or burned with his pee, and when I'm picking weeds in my uneaten garden, and when I think of Double Bubble gum, I'll think of Slim and (maybe) remember fondly what a pain in the ass he was, but also how much about patience, diligence, and unconditional love he taught me.

Thoughts On Aunt June, A Better Soul Than I

2017-10-11T07:26:00.000-07:00

If you’re fortunate and willing, you will meet people—common, everyday people with no agenda, no self-serving intentions, and no motivations other than curiosity and care—who will leave an impression on you that runs so deep, so intense, and so profound that you have no control over how it shapes you. It just will.

The impression those people make on you will weave itself so decisively into your core, you will be changed, even if you can’t fully realize and understand it. You will be new, and you will be better for it.

If you’re fortunate enough in your time in this world, you will meet those people who will cause you to stir. Who will cause you to question. Cause you to look hard within and question your intentions. Cause you to take inventory, size yourself up, and make some hard conclusions.

If you’re fortunate, you will meet individuals who will cause you to see your surroundings in a new light. Who will make you think in ways you didn’t know possible. Who will present you with insight and information you didn’t possess. Who will ask about you. Take interest in you. Hold you accountable to yourself and others. Who will exchange honesty. Who will teach integrity. Who will invest in you because that’s who they are: Others come first, self comes last.

When that happens, if it happens, it’s redefining. It’s integral. It’s authentic. It’s intoxicating.

When it happens, you aren’t left the same. You’ve been remolded. Reshaped. Reformed. Reinvigorated. You’ve been lifted up and made more powerful. More complete. More competent. More responsible. You’ve simply been made more.

June Preston—dear, sweet Aunt June to my family—is one of those people for me.

We were introduced through my wife, her niece. We bonded initially over discussions about religion. She’s a devote Catholic and practices her faith with conviction and honor. She believes because it’s in her heart to. It’s in her mind to. It’s her calling to. It’s her plan and destiny. That made me believe in her. Later, it made me believe in myself.

We bonded over stories of her time in Philadelphia and Memphis, places she lived and raised a family in.

We bonded over our mutual fascination of the South, a place she went to as a girl during the summers to spend on her grandparents’ farm, and the lessons she learned there, which touched me decades later.

We bonded over our mutual love our children, her love for mine and my love for hers.

We bonded over our love of nature and sunsets and sunrises. Of mystery. Of the magic of beauty. Of our explainable attraction to nature’s gifts.

We just bonded. Because I was fortunate. Because I was willing. Because I needed her in my life, and I didn’t even know it.

Now, she’s in her last days, surrounded by the family she’s loved and who have loved her. I know in her heart and in her mind, she’s prepared. Her faith has readied her. Her belief and her love have made her brave and able. Made her deserving for what surely awaits her lovely soul.

I’d like to take her hand right now. In these divisive, bitter times, when my anxiety is at its worst, when my faith is bottoming out, when my discipline is constantly being tested, I’d like to take her hand.

I’d like to hear her sweet voice circle those delicate but confident words around my ears one more time.

I’d like to let her infectious laugh empower my spirit like it always has.

I’d like to let her in to investigate my opinions, my thoughts, my faith.

I’d like another chance to sit down over tea and learn from her.

I’d like to give her time.

But I don’t really fear death. And I don’t fear that the years ahead, when our words and lessons and backyard conversations watching the sun dip into the horizon are no longer possible.

I don’t fear that our bond will fall apart. We toiled together to construct it. During our visits in person. During our conversations delivered digitally. During my own moments alone when a sunset or sunrise floored me so complete with its presence that it demanded I think of Aunt June and wonder if she’s seeing what I am right now, knowing if she was she’d be as humbled and grateful as I.

I don’t fear that time and the unknown will even chip the bond in the slightest, let alone cause it to crumble.

I don’t fear this because I’ve been fortunate and willing. To meet her. To allow her in. To embrace the impression she carved in me. It runs too deep and true and long to dissipate or disappear with time.

I don’t fear death or time because I celebrate what she gifted me, which regrettably was far, far more than I gave her.

For that I celebrate her and hold her up high.

I’ve been so very fortunate.

Greg Allman & The Five Songs That Matter Most To Me

2017-05-28T12:06:00.002-07:00

I really liked Greg Allman, particularly as a musician (a pretty underrated one, for me). The truth is, though, I didn't love his individual work by any stretch. I did, however, very much love the Allman Brothers. Very much. And he was a big part of the fondness and reverence I have for the band. Greg Allman was also very much a renegade, and I like people who live according to how they see fit.

Southern Rock was popular when I was discovering music on my own as a kid. Everyone liked Skynard. AB, though, seemed on another level. Beyond the music, which speaks for itself, they had several things going on right away that I liked. One was possessing two guitarists on equal footing. Two styles that differed but blended and talked to one another perfectly. In other words, making music.

Another was they played the blues. And they played it exceptionally well. Personally, along with Cream, The Stones, and Zeppelin, the AB opened the proverbial door to the blues for me. Opened me up to new information that I had to travel to the past to get. What is this "Statesboro they're talking about?" I remember thinking when listening to "Statesboro Blues." Then I'd set out to discover, which led me to the masters who I've been listening to since. The blues, for whatever reason, grabbed me by the throat when we met and said, "Here it is, baby! This is the music you'll always listen to, now get to studying!" Without exaggeration, Greg Allman is partly responsible for that gift.

The AB also got me stoked because they had two drummers. "Is that even allowed?" Damn. Alright then, playing by their own rules here. Nice.

Finally, the AB got my attention way back when simply because it had brothers in the same band. For whatever reason, I've always liked the idea of brothers and sisters in the same band. CCR, The Black Crows, The Kinks, Van Halen, AC/DC, The Breeders, and so on. Right now, I can think of scads of three- apnd four-piece sister groups that will haunt you in a good way with their harmonizing. Siblings in a band either works gloriously it seems or ends in disaster. The AB were pretty glorious.

What I like about Greg and Duane Allman was that they looked cool, they looked different, and they never seemed to stop looking like they existed in a different, simplier era. Read about them, and you'll learn about a bond that existed on a lot of levels. I envy that.

These are the five songs I'll always tie to Greg Allman:

1. "These Days." He didn't write it, but it was always his song.

2. "Whipping Post." Soul bared. I don't know how else to describe it. Epic in every sense.

3. "One Way Out." The Allman Bros did as much to progress the blues as any American band early on, I'd argue. I wish more people knew about men like Sonny Boy Williamson.

4. "Melissa." The essence of really great Southern rock: Musical mastery, sincerity, a classic melody, and vocals for days.

5. "Statesboro Blues." Truthfully, I listen to this primarily for the guitars, but this is my favorite lineup of this band, one I truly love and one Greg Allman was part of. .

,

My New Old Hometown

2017-02-06T10:04:00.001-08:00

As of mid-December, the place I’ve called home is Ashland, NE. From 1967 to mid-1985, this is the same small town where I lived. Where I grew up. Where I left. At 18, I couldn’t wait to get out. Couldn’t wait to escape. Couldn’t wait to take any of the roads that led to Highway 6 and beyond. To head east or west. North or south. To see what I could find. To break out. I knew I had to.

Not because I held any deep resentments against my place of origin. I didn’t. It was the opposite really. I knew what I had there. At 18, I just hadn’t learned to appreciate it yet.

In many ways, my upbringing was idyllic. Small town parades. Friends to play with up and down the block, and the block past that one and all the ones past those. Swimming pool friends in the summer. Picking green apples off trees. Back trails that cut precious minutes off the walks required to get anywhere and everywhere.

Fishing in the creeks. Paper route in the morning. Bike pedaling all day long. A dime store on the corner. A bowling alley downtown. The Gateway Inn for a hamburger on a Friday night.

Train tracks running straight through town. Sledding hills spilling downward. Climbing trees standing tall in the park. Narrow, cracked streets to exhaust steps on at night with a gang of friends. Schools dances with sweaty palms. Girlfriends to plot impossible dreams with. Country roads to kick up dust.

It was pre-cable television. Pre-Internet surfing. Pre-mobile phone distractions. Use what you had to pass the time and not pass the time lamenting what didn’t. And freedom. So much freedom. Probably too much. Probably undeserved. But essential to being really born and really coming alive.

And still, despite the innate protection and security and comfortableness that a small town can pour over its people, there was a sense of isolation I tasted in the air. A bubble that formed. A naiveté I choked on. About the expanse that existed outside the streets that reined in the familiar. About the ideas, perspectives, possibilities, and scenery I was temporarily exposed to whenever we ventured beyond those imaginary boundaries. That newness spoke to me. Strongly. Clearly. Purposely. I wanted to see more. Hear more. Feel more. Explore me. Find more.

So, I got out. I embraced the unfamiliar voices. I welcomed the new faces. The new streets. The new buildings. The new ways of identifying and solving problems. The new conversations. New choices. New dangers. New challenges. New obstacles. New intentions. New possibilities. And I liked what I saw.

But I always kept coming back. Always kept tabs on the town my parents never left. The town many relatives and friends never stepped away from. The town I never stopped feeling a kindred spirit with. The town that brought temporary peace whenever my car wheels touched the faded red bricks that line Silver St. Bricks that better men than me lined one by one.

Over time, a town takes on a certain character. Within you. Within the people who live there. Within the people who visit. Within the people who stay and within those who leave. That character takes on a different form for each soul. A different shape. It tastes slightly differently. It beckons and repels slightly differently. For some, the character drips sadness. For others, that character represents pride. For some, it’s innocence that dominates. For others, that character signals stagnation. For others, promise. For me, the character of my hometown has always sung peacefulness. Calmness. An authentic silence. A welcomed silence. Silence in which to think. Resolve. Partake. Retreat. Rethink. Retool. Re-establish. Revel in a pace more desirable. Accept that there’s less availability but fewer distractions. For me, the character of my hometown encourages me to just be.

Nothing stays the same, nor should it. My new hometown isn’t the same old hometown I left as a teenager. Some names are the same, but many are not. There’s greater diversity. More businesses. More choices. More wealth on display. Everything is bigger. Everything is smaller. Everything feels alien but simultaneously well-known.

And then there are the finer details. To uncover. To circle around. To appreciate. At 18, the finer details escaped me. I was too busy plotting my path to reach what awaited outside to notice their presence. That’s no longer the case. Now, the finer details are vivid and entirely apparent. And they’re welcomed.

I’ve been thinking some about Thomas Wolf the past few months. About separating reality from nostalgia. About weighing fond remembrances against what’s really best. Best for myself. Best for my family. Best for the future. But I’m finding verification in the details. The finer details. The kind of details that existed all along. I just had to grow up, leave, and then come back to notice them.

At Peace Alone Under The Super Moon

2016-11-13T19:44:00.001-08:00

Tonight, I took my dog for a walk down to the trail that's behind the park near my house. The trail cuts through a wetlands area that remains pretty much in tact. Pristine. Native. Untouched. It's exactly what someone traveling by covered wagon back in the 1800s would have seen and felt. Bumpy, unforgiving, but still beauty forged in Nebraska's harshness.

To the east, Salt Creek winds slowly, trailing toward the Platte and then on to meet the Missouri. The Salt's steep banks rein the wetlands in at that direction. A line of houses, gifted with fantastic views of all this glory, border the wetlands in going the opposite direction. To the north snails Interstate 80 about a mile's walk away. To the south, a small tributary that feeds the Salt Creek forms the fourth barrier. Beyond it is the city. In the middle of all this snakes an oval loop about a half mile in length.

Along this path, you can loom over the Salt's cliffs to look down. If you're lucky, geese will greet you in the water below. The trail will also put you among dying trees where deer have worn a path in and out among. Trees already dead. Trees waiting to die. You'll stand beside trees aged and snarled by winds running wild for centuries. You'll stand below trees stuffed with black birds who will mock you. You'll peer upon trees fallen and torn, now soggy in the creek's water, causing long, steady ripples.

That's the place my dog and I are headed. Off to see the moon. The soon-to-be Super Moon. Mother of all moons, the space experts tell us. We take the path to the middle of it all. And we stand there, prairie grass up to my belt. Crunchy. Brown. Wise with age. Just my dog and I staring at that moon. Huge. Bursting. Damn glorious. Crevices visible like an X-ray. Visible in a way humans don't get often with the naked eye. Commanding attention. Demanding thought. And so I do.

I think about how humble she makes me feel. How small. I think about how limited my view is compared to hers. I think about how I feel inspired. And grateful. And I wonder if others somewhere else are also staring. Attention all in. Thinking. Wondering.

Then I see something move. Maybe 35 or 40 yards to the southeast. A deer. Just walking. Oblivious to me and my dog. Desensitized by the civilian life that's constantly creeping closer. The homes. Storage spaces for rent. Schools. Gas stations. Businesses. My dog, otherwise perpetually nervous, twitchy, full of anxiety, is utterly still and quiet. He knows something is up. And then I reach for my camera. And I ruin everything. I upset it all. The deer knows we're there. We lock eyes. She's waits for me to jump. I wait for her to do the same. The only difference, she views me as a threat. So I don't move. And Slim, my dog, he's like a statue.

We stay that way. Minutes go by. Until the deer starts to walk. Not run. Not trot. Not even looking at us anymore. Just walking like before. And I go back to staring at the moon, but the significance of what just happened isn't lost on me. That two things that don't want anything from each other can just do their thing. Like stand in a field alone. Isolated. Sheltered from the nonsense going on outside this small space. The chaos. The constant barrage. The negativity smelling up the air. But not out here, under this moon. Out here, the air is fresh. It's better. It's right. Why can't it be the same out there, too?

And I start to think how it is. I start to think about a friend. More like a brother really. A brother I might not agree with as much anymore about some important life issues, but a brother I identify with. Someone I've went through shit with. Someone who worked hard for what he has. We both did. We got what we got by doing quality work consistently. But he's a proud Trump supporter. I voted proudly for the other candidate. We're both passionate about what we believe. He texts. Asks to have lunch. To talk about these things. Like brothers. I realize, it can be this easy--sincere dialogue. You just have to ask for it. And I think, I'm lucky to have these friends who are like brothers.

My dog and I start to walk back, stopping every so often to stare at the moon some more. I look at my phone to check the time. "5:55." Three of a kind. Good luck. So I make a wish. And as Slim and I reach the sidewalk near the street, my wife drives by, and I'm reminded of something she told me the previous day, something her cousin's wonderful girlfriend said about the two of us: "You two always seem so much in love." And I think, "What better compliment is there?" "How many people never get anywhere near this?" And the coincidence of her driving by just then isn't lost on me.

And Slim and I keep tracking the moon all the way back to the circle where we live. To the house that's been our home for 15 years. The only home Slim has known. The place I raised my kids. Watched them grow. Watched two go out alone. The home we're moving away from in a few weeks. To a new home. To a new beginning in a familiar place. And my surroundings, this circle under this big, bloated, beautiful moon sitting low in the sky, aren't lost on me. This moon throwing off light. Commanding attention. Demanding thought. Which I do. Humbled at the possibilities.

What The World Needs Are More Matt Dillons

2016-09-29T15:00:00.002-07:00

Matthew Dillon stood about 6’6”. His shoulders were impossibly broad, and his chin was chiseled from a mountain. He cut a bad-ass, intimidating presence while talking straight, walking tall, and drinking coffee black as night. He drew his pistol with speed and efficiency, and he drew it with confidence pure.

Matt Dillon was a man’s man, and by that I mean a man of integrity. A man of compassion. A man of principle. A man of virtue. A man with an iron-clad set of ethics that he might have wavered from time and again but never completely abandoned. He carried a gun, but he only drew it to defend. He could have married Miss Kitty any time he wanted, but he didn’t because he knew the pain a lawman’s life would cause her. Matt Dillon knew that sometimes self-sacrifice is the only choice.

Matt Dillon was a man of honesty. He didn’t lie—not to friends, not to outlaws, not to himself. He didn’t quibble. He didn’t make excuses. He didn’t placate the masses for his own favor. He didn’t hide from controversy. He didn’t revise history. He didn’t deny the past. He didn’t meander. He didn’t stray. He didn’t hem or haw. In no way was Matt Dillon full of shit.

Matt Dillon was a man of honor. He lived by his word. He used truth to filter muddy waters. He saw a phony a mile away, and he didn’t hesitate to call him out. He was fair, but he was no pushover.

Add all his traits up and Matt Dillon was decent, confident, and not to be trifled with.

We could use more people like Matt Dillon right about now.

I spend a fair amount of my lunch hours watching Matt Dillon police the mean, violent streets of Dodge City, Kansas, as a U.S. Marshal. The streets he walked on “Gunsmoke” were rough ones, for sure. Unapologetic murders rode into town without warning. The innocent routinely got lead-forged holes blown into their bodies. Rapists roamed among the populace. Robbers lurked around every street post. Swindlers. Cattle rustlers. Horse thieves. Card cheats. Racists. Misogynists. Conmen. White-collar criminals. Blue-collar criminals. Matt Dillon encountered them all with the same approach—steady, fair, and true.

Damn, I admire the hell out of Matt Dillon.

Sometimes, after watching a “Gunsmoke” episode, I’m left thinking, “What if Matt Dillon was alive today, walking down our own city streets? How would we greet him?” More often than not, I conclude that half the townsfolk would view him as a bleeding-heart, whore-loving, “Indian” sympathizer who is ruining the country. The other half would see him as a gun-toting law enforcement thug who shoots first and asks questions later.

I try to view Matt Dillon by not associating him with any one mindset or ideology but instead as someone who wouldn’t give one crap what any one group thought about him. He’d be too committed to remaining on the path he’d chosen for himself. He wouldn’t and couldn’t be recruited. He’d make up his own damn mind.

I tend to look at Matt Dillon as a sage. A guru. A cowboy boot-wearing mystic who is always on point. Sure, he’s flawed, but he’s flawed while living by his own moral code. He’s a samurai in a white cowboy hat. A clear-eyed warrior with a heart pure. Someone who fights for those who can’t fight for themselves. Someone who takes a stand and is willing to accept the fate of doing so. Someone who won’t ask for permission to slap the piss out of the mouth of some black-hat wearing punk who dares to touch a lady inappropriately, who takes advantage of a child, who steps on the weak to get ahead.

I tend to look at Matt Dillon as someone who isn’t worried about the damage that’s waiting on the other side of taking action. He just sees that action needs to be taken and takes it. Matt Dillon doesn’t suffer fools because he is no fool. He lives the way he believes.

Damn, I admire Matt Dillon.

Many lunch hours while watching “Gunsmoke,” it’s painfully clear that many of the issues Matt Dillon and the people of Dodge dealt with are the same ones people still deal with today, and in many respects, it doesn’t seem like we’ve made much progress. Persecution for religious beliefs. Gender inequity. Sexual assault. Racism. Poverty and the shame that goes with it. Addiction. Mental illness. Illiteracy. Gun violence.

The majority of time, I admire how Matt Dillon deals with the issues when they confront him. His tact and bravery and conscience consistently leave me feeling inadequate in comparison—but inspired. Further, I’m often left admiring the perseverance that’s demonstrated. The continued pursuit of happiness under less than ideal circumstances. The fortitude.

I really do admire Matt Dillon.

The problem is that Matt Dillon isn’t real. He’s fictional. An idea born in someone’s mind. He doesn’t really exist. He’s a creation—a wonderfully ethical, strong, courageous creation, but still just that. 59 minutes after appearing on my TV screen, he’s gone. Poof. And I find myself missing him until the next day when he comes back to visit.

Importantly, though, he has a real, lasting impression. The influence is real. The notions implied are real. Call me idealistic, naïve, or even desperate, but I believe in Matt Dillon, or at least the idea of a Matt Dillon-like existence. I believe in the possibilities he hints at. In the justice and rightful execution of such. I believe in personal strength. I believe in embracing confrontation when required. In living by a code. I believe in the idea that compassion is the most powerful weapon of all.

If Matt Dillon was indeed real and alive today, I have a hard time picturing him in front of a keyboard pissing and moaning via half-baked, crowd-catering Facebook posts about the state of his country. He’d do something constructive to better his community. Not seek approval from others he already knows are going to pat him on the shoulder not matter what he says.

I have a hard time picturing him picking fights. Laying out unrealistic hypotheticals or shading the truth to paint a pretty picture that’s nowhere close to ever having existed.

I have a hard time picturing him revising history for his own benefit.

I have a hard time picturing him lobbing threats he’s not prepared to make face-to-face.

I have a hard time imagining he’d see merit in lies, bully tactics, and threats to quit at the first sign of conflict or criticism.

I have a hard time imagining he’d see merit in repeatedly stepping outside the rules and not taking full responsibility for it.

I sure in the hell have a hard time picturing Matt Dillion blindly following along and taking up positions without doing his own due diligence. I have a hard time picturing him dealing in insults and putdowns. In buying into stereotypes. In seeing the world in shades of black and white.

Real or not, he’d better than that. We can and should be, too.

On Terrorism, Elections & A Stanford Swimmer--A Summer Of Bliss Shattered

2016-06-14T09:04:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been giving serious contemplation to the benefits and rewards of isolating myself. Of going into isolation in the personal sense, as in taking the summer months and devoting them exclusively to self-learning, self-betterment, and all that other personal "self" stuff meant to make a better man or woman. I wanted to read more books instead of news. Read more philosophy instead of current events. Read more about explorations than read more opinions. Basically, my aim has been to escape from the often grim reality that is living in 2016. More Thoreau. More John Muir. More stuff steeped in nature that I've only dabbled in up to now without full concentration and the appropriate amount of time.

So, I made the move. First, I backed away from social media. I decided to still post photos to my Instagram account because I like having them in one place. Maybe even link a photo every so often to Facebook but not actually spend time on Facebook for the summer. Instead, use the time to get back to basics because frankly, I've kind of forgotten and misplaced my own set of basics. Forgotten what I built my beliefs and ideals on in the first place. I've let my personal foundation rot a bit, to the point there's renovation work that needs done. So, I backed away, dug into my books, dug into my journal, dug into my guitar . . . just dug in and bunkered up. And it's been blissful, productive, and eye-opening. But time and time and time again some kind of unsavory shit pops up and bursts the bubble.

The election. The candidates. The sharp divides. The racism. The historically high number of inner city deaths due to violence. Refugees. The environment eroding before our eyes. Terrorism. Terrorism. Terrorism.

But I kept backing away, digging deeper into my bunker. Deeper into rediscovering and honing my basics. Back to my reading. Back to Neil Peart's "Ghost Rider," a sad but inspiring real account of the Rush drummer's crisscrossing travels on a motorcycle trying to repair his own mind and self. My dream on two wheels. I kept backing away enthusiastically.

But always the storms move in, and always they grow bigger and stronger. Terrorism inside our borders. Again. Just when I was finding a place within myself where the Boston tragedy wasn't so fucking up my opinion on humanity, along comes Orlando, after Paris and after San Bernardino. And once again, I'm forced to deal with the modern world and try to make sense of this level of violence and hate.

But I can't. I'm not capable. The vast, vast, vast number of us, no matter our political or religious or sexual preference, no matter our origin of birth, can't. Killing dozens of people in a single blow simply never enters our thoughts. Having lived my entire in the Midwest, I can say without hesitation that 99% of the people I've known live lives that involve treating people decently the vast majority of time. We don't see this level of hatred up close. It's not our world. But it is now. Can't deny it. Can't ignore it. It's here.

And still, I somehow managed to put all that in a neat little box where I decided when to look inside and deal with it. Mostly in very small doses. And as more time passed, the less I was lifting the lid on that box to look inside. Ignorance can be bliss.

Instead, I sunk my nose back into "The Inner Game of Tennis" in an effort to keep learning how to approach my daily life with a calm but determined purpose. Something I need. Instead, I started reading random encyclopedia entries again, just as I did as a kid during those long, patience-testing winter days in Nebraska. Just to learn. Instead, I began playing guitar for an hour every day instead of a few minutes squeezed in here and there because I was satisfying my soul with YouTube videos and magazine articles and the latest news about the latest problems. Instead, I was drawing more. Listening more. Learning more. Complete and utter bliss.

And then it happened again, some turbulent storm came along and shattered all the touchy-feely goodness I was pouring all over myself. And wouldn't you know that it was some snot-nosed punk kid who came along and ruined everything. It always seems to be some snot-nosed kid. This time it was a dopey-eyed brat who has spent a concerning amount of his life bobbing up and down in water. Another kid highly focused on some ultimately meaningless purpose in the big scheme of things. Some All-American boy wonder swimmer who fucked my bliss all up by putting my least favorite issue of all right smack up in my face: rape and sexually assault.

Gets me going every damn time. Men attacking women just because they feel they can. Every God damn time.

I’d gladly give up the rest of my life if it meant not one more girl or woman would ever have to worry about being raped or sexually assaulted—something that pretty much every woman in every part of the world deals with day in and day out on some level just because of their gender. I would give up all my remaining days in a single heartbeat to make that happen. Without hesitation. Without regret.

It would mean my daughters would never again have to contemplate the notion that a stranger, family friend, employer, co-worker, blind date, or any other man they know and don't know might seek to hurt them at any second of any day. It would mean my wife would never have to worry about being preyed upon by one of the apparently endless supply of dead-eyed heartless cowards walking among us.

It would mean my mother, sister, sister-in-law, aunts, cousins, friends, friends’ wives and daughters, confidants, teachers, doctors, neighbors, co-workers, and every other woman I have and haven’t crossed paths with would never have to worry about being in the wrong place at the wrong time with a man looking to do her harm for his pathetic pleasure.

It would mean my wife's colleagues who are nurses could walk from a hospital to their cars in the parking lot after finishing up a 12-hour shift without having to ask a security guard to escort them out—and who really knows if he is even completely trustworthy?

It would mean my daughters and their female friends and their female friends and their female friends would never have to hatch an escape plan for that one day at work when, God forbid, they got left alone with the asshole in charge, a guy who is always coming on way too strong (without any ramifications) and who they know wouldn't take “no” for an answer if push came to shove.

It would mean no woman getting ready for a well-deserved night out would have to stand in front of her closet and actually have to take the time to think, “Nope, can’t wear that. Too risky. Not worth it.”

It would mean no woman would have to worry about riding down a bike path too late on a beautiful summer night because there could be a guy waiting behind that tree to jump her.

It would mean a woman just trying to exercise wouldn’t have to always stay off the more scenic residential street and instead stick to the more trafficked one when jogging because there’s always the chance some woman-hating psycho could be lurking in the bushes.

It means no woman would have to keep her hand in her purse holding a can of mace while walking through the mall parking lot alone because she had the nerve to do some shopping.

It would mean no college-age girl would have to worry about walking into a frat party (or any party) without having to have backup and backup for the backup in tow in case a rabid pack of dogs whose mommies and daddies led them to believe the world's riches are theirs for taking decides to bite.

It would mean no woman would ever be questioned again after being attacked about why she wore that dress or was she flirting too much or did she do anything to give the wrong impression or “What did you expect was going to happen?”

I’d sincerely forego living one more second if all that were possible. But it’s not. It’s never going to be. That’s the sad fact. There will never be a time in this world when women don’t have to worry about men sexually assaulting them—physically, verbally, or otherwise.

Doesn’t matter if it’s a privileged Stanford swimmer. Doesn’t matter if it’s an uncle everyone always thought was cool. Doesn’t matter if it’s a boss. Doesn’t matter if it’s an elected official. Teacher. Coach. Church member. Lifelong friend. Doesn’t matter. Every man is a threat to a woman because to be safe, women have to think this way. They can’t trust us. Me. You. Him. No one.

Sadder is that so much of the despicable reality women live with daily is due to too many men not giving enough of a shit to do something to change the situation. To do something before the attack. Before it’s too late. Before a daughter has been harmed and changed and demeaned. Before a son “who would never do anything like that” attacks and destroys a girl just looking to get by like the rest of us.

If you’re a father of daughters stepping out into their own worlds, places beyond your direct protection, direct eyesight, direct reach, and you haven’t warned them about who is out there waiting, you have work to do. If you haven’t started planting the seeds that this is the world we’ve allowed to exist century after century, you have work to do immediately.

It isn’t pleasant work. It isn’t satisfying work. It isn’t work that going to make anyone feel comfortable. But it’s work that needs done.

If you’re that guy who thinks getting revenge on someone who touches your little girl is the whole answer, it's not. Even if you get your revenge, which is a big maybe, your daughter is still forever changed. Even if you actually carry your revenge out—which honestly, I wouldn't begrudge you a bit or even put myself above—there's still going to be long-term, deep-seated hurt that's not going to go away and that you may have very little ability to soothe.

The hard reality is sadly 1.) your daughter's attacker may never get caught, including because “bros before hos” and “bitches be bitches” and all that moronic bullshit that thrives in our country and covers this shit up, 2.) some people will blame her for what happened, 3.) some people will think and say she’s lying, and 4.) even if caught, your daughter's attacker will be behind bars where you can’t reach him.

The motives of men who assault women is something so alien to me I can't even process it in the slightest degree. I can’t begin to fathom what tiny little desire a man who attacks a woman (or a child or anyone else) satisfies by doing so. I don’t understand at what point it becomes acceptable within one’s mind to cross that blatantly obvious line that states “this is wrong, it’s illegal, and it’s pathetic.” I don’t understand how guilt and shame don’t rise up within someone who rapes a woman and eats them whole from the inside out.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter if I understand. It's not really my job. That’s for others more qualified and educated and even keeled to try and make sense of and fuel meaningful change. What is my job is to do everything possible to position the women in and out of my direct circle in such a way that their odds of becoming another heartbreaking statistic are reduced. It’s my job to do whatever possible to see that they don’t become less than whole. This includes by educating my daughters in an honest, realistic way about what I know to be true about my gender. And what I know about too many men I've come across isn’t pretty. It isn’t flattering. It isn’t encouraging.

But that’s not enough, either. As a man and as a human fucking being, it’s my job to step in EVERY SINGLE TIME IT’S NECESSARY TO DO SO. It’s my job to step up. To speak up. To shut that shit down. To do what’s right. To take a stand, alone if necessary. To cut ties if necessary. To sever friendships if necessary. To lose everything if necessary. To fight.

The thought of my eight-year-old girl growing up in a world in which she can’t fully trust any male is so utterly depressing and demoralizing, it's beyond my ability to come to terms with. There are literally few moments when I can force myself to think about what’s actually possible in the realist, ugliest, and rage-inducing sense because who the fuck wants to think about that?

But that’s the task of hand. My hand has been forced. She means everything to me. Everything. My well-being. My blood. My will. My life. It’s my job to prepare her for the threats. It’s pathetic and moronic and shameful I must, but that's world we've allowed to exist.

This is the battle. Men are destroying women in alarming and increasingly higher numbers. It’s not just a headline. It’s not a news blurb. It's not another meaningless stat. It’s not a period of time. It’s year after year. It’s the sober truth, and it’s not going to change without a committed, solid, unflinching reaction from those who care enough to act.

Stanford swimmers, entitled momma boys, entitled daddy boys, criminals, mother haters, hate-fueled ex-husbands, jilted boyfriends, bands of bros without a conscience to spare among them—they’ve thrown down the gauntlet. Time to meet them head on. Time to shame them. Time to shame those who would protect them. Time to punish those in charge of punishing rapists but won’t. Time to stop making excuses. Time to stop ignoring the facts.Time to come out of the summer bunker I so desperately wanted to live in and just ignore the world outside.

It’s time that raping and sexually assaulting women stops.

RAINN is a good place to begin learning about the damage being done.

National MS Awareness Week: Day 1

2016-03-07T07:34:00.000-08:00

This week is MS Awareness Week. Not that long ago, if those last three words would have popped up in front of me, honestly, I would have ignored them. Straight up. I just would have kept moving right along. Until recently, I didn’t know anyone with MS. I’d never had a conversation with anyone about MS. I knew what MS could do to people generally, but I didn’t know the deep particulars and it didn’t impact my life personally. I know people with cancer. I know people with diabetes. I know people with heart disease. I didn’t know anyone with MS. Not any longer. I have MS, and it’s opened up my word in ways I didn’t anticipate.

Not long ago, I would have read a headline or heard a PSA or glanced at the Subject line of an email declaring March 7-11 as National MS Awareness Week and I would have moved on to the next article, turned the station, or pressed Delete. At the very best, I might have thought, “That’s a great cause, but it’s not my cause.” I doubt, though, if I’d have bothered to even give that much thought to it. Not any longer. I have MS, and it is my cause.

I can’t afford to ignore this week. Whether I like it or not (and I most certainly do not), this week is about me now, and it will be until I die. I have MS. I have to deal with this now. I have to on a daily basis. On a weekly basis. On a rest-of-my-life basis. It’s not someone else’s problem or responsibility. It’s not someone else’s experience. It’s mine. I have MS.

I keep writing “I have MS” because it’s taken me many months to really come to terms with what “I have MS” means. I have to keep that reality right there in the front of my mind or I’ll lose it and stray. I have to keep it there because it’s my reality now. I know myself well enough to accept that if I don’t give this the attention it deserves, I’m failing myself, my family, my purpose.

Right now, I know what having MS means on a physical level. It means I give myself shots several times a week. I means I get really fatigued when I never used to in the same way. I know it means I get pain in my back and neck, and on certain days, it’s not pleasant. I know it means I stumble now and again like I’ve been drinking. I lose my balance. I feel shaky and anxious. I know it means now and again my words don’t come out of my mouth the way they form in my head. I seem to have to search for words a little harder. It means I grow paranoid I’ll lose my memories. It means my eyesight gets a little weird. I know it means a lot of things have changed and may continue to. I have MS and I can’t ignore that.

I also know having MS means I’m now a part of a bigger community of people struggling for answers and looking for solutions. I’m part of a movement that’s dedicated to doing something positive. I’m a member of an association of people who have something very much in common. I have the chance to make a difference, no matter how small or how large. I have the ability to make positive change. I have the chance to spread the word and hopefully provide some comfort and aid. How could I not view that as a gift?

Look, it’s no secret to the people who really know me that I’m a fairly serious person admittedly too much of the time. There aren’t too many days when I’m not questioning some cosmic force or trying to figure out my place in the universe. It’s not too many days when I don’t feel like I haven't created enough. Not put in enough thought. Enough effort. Haven't given enough thanks and gratitude. That’s become even more so now. But having MS sincerely and truly has forced me to slow the hell down and prioritize my days in very positive ways. I linger a little longer on my daughters’ smiles and laughs. I dig a little deeper into what my son is expressing. I appreciate a little more the care my wife has dedicated her life to giving others professionally. I take a few more minutes to pet my dogs. To appreciate my parents’ lessons. I hold more dearly the friendships I have and the wealth of knowledge I’ve gained from them. How could I not view having MS as a gift?

There’s no time for me (or any of us) to screw around. There’s no time to take relationships for granted. There’s no time to be complacent. No time to be satisfied. I have stuff I need to get done. I have kids I need to see make their way through their lives. I have help to lend. How is not becoming more aware of those things not a gift?

This is National MS Awareness Week. That means everything to me. Having MS is not a death sentence. It’s not something I feel sad about. It’s not something I regret having been handed. It’s not something I need or am seeking pity for. I know very well what could and couldn’t happen to me. And I know very well that it pales in comparison to what many people live through every single day. I know I’m of good faith and good mind, and I know I hold the keys to how I confront whatever it is I need to confront moving forward.

This is National MS Awareness Week, and I am aware. Aware I have MS, but also very, very aware that things could be so much worse, and I’ll never take that for granted. Never. As long as I’m able, I’ll do what I can, when I can, to make others with MS that better off. Isn’t that what it means to be aware as a human being period?

I have MS. This is important to me. It’s vital to me. I want you to be aware. Below is a good description of MS. For me, though, being aware of MS is being aware that everyone has a struggle they're fighting. Let’s cut the crap. Cut the hate. Cut the party lines. Cut the distinctions and classifications. Cut the labels. Cut the judgement. Let’s accept the gifts we’ve been given and using them responsibly.

“MS is a disease where your body attacks itself, specifically the fatty coating called the myelin sheath on nerves in the brain, spinal cord, and eye area. This causes many scars to develop, which prevent the nerves from communicating as they should. This communication breakdown creates a range of symptoms from mild to severe, and from temporary to permanent. No two people experience MS exactly the same way. Certain treatments (disease-modifying drugs) can help slow the progression of disability associated with MS, and the time between relapses varies greatly. Currently, there is no cure. People with MS have it for life.”

The Unlikely Resurrection Of A Second-Grade Basketball Coach

2016-02-11T14:38:00.000-08:00

I’ve been spending my Saturday afternoons this winter coaching basketball to seven second-grade girls. It’s both the most exasperating, patience-sucking couple of hours I spend every week and the most soul-enriching that I’m gifted. Generally, we get rolled each week by some team that’s been handpicked and stacked with girls so tall and athletic they could easily pass for fourth-graders. I really could care less about winning (we don’t keep score anyway), but I would like an even playing field so my team could experience more success. Our first game, not only didn’t we score, we only got four shots off total and none of them drew iron. Worse, I’m too competitive for my own good and always have been. So, some Saturdays leave me defeated, deflated, pissed off, and more on edge than I have the right to be. Thankfully, I have an eight-year-old daughter wise beyond her years who puts things in perspective on the drive home. (After-game snacks make everything better.)

Still, despite her beautiful perspective and the power of time and distance to ease any misery, as much as I love coaching and spreading my love for basketball to little kids just starting with the game, I’ve struggled to enjoy the process and experience this winter as much as I have during pretty much every other season. I’ve coached a lot of kids in a lot of sports for a lot of years, and almost without fail, every experience was wonderful. I’m positive I’ve lost far more games than won, but I always felt soothed by the notion that I was leaving the kids I coached better off than when we started. I’ve always felt sure we had fun and they learned something along the way.

I wasn’t getting that feeling this year. For different reasons, life has been a bit of a confusing, frustrating mess of late, and my heart and mind just weren’t into the coaching gig to the extent they should have been. Some people look at coaching as something they have to do because no one else wants the job. Some people do it because their ego needs the power and attention. Some people, though, coach because they love passing on their passion and knowledge. I’ve always loved coaching because I love teaching. I love explaining. I love charting progress and success. I love seeing transformations taking place. I love seeing growth. I absolutely love getting outside of my own head and being part of something that isn’t about me. This year, though, I was just going through the motions. Not exactly faking it, but not exactly looking forward to Saturdays either. That really bothered me.

But as seems to happen if you’re willing to keep an open mind and recognize gifts when they’re presented, something unexpected parted the clouds a little and put things into a different, welcomed perspective. In a word, that unexpected something was a kid named Holli. Damn if this kid isn’t the best. Outside of basketball, I barely know Holli. Our paths have only really crossed on a basketball court. Other than a few hours on Saturday afternoons starting last year, Holli has been another girl that my daughter goes to school with. But man, if she hasn’t had a big impact that extends way beyond basketball.

I’m not sure that Holli even likes basketball. Lately, I’m pretty sure the more she plays, the less enamored she becomes. Much of that is due to Holli being deathly afraid of the ball. I mean really afraid, to the point that the second she believes someone is even thinking of passing her the ball, she throws her hands up to her face as if to ward off the attack of some lunatic coming her way. Then she physically turns her back to the ball and ducks. Sometimes, this results in the ball smacking her right in the face, which does little to ease her fear. The more she gets smacked, the less she wants to play. The less she wants to play, the more she asks me to sit on the bench. The more she asks to sit on the bench, the more badly I feel. The more badly I feel, the more I’ve wanted to say, “Screw it. I’m failing here, and I have enough going on. Time to move on. These kids are better off with another coach.”

That was until last week. Holli and her dad came to me before the game and said it was OK if Holli didn’t play much this week. They confirmed she was afraid of the ball and maybe this basketball stuff wasn’t cutting it. As always, Holli let me know all this with the biggest, brightest smile imaginable. With the type of enthusiasm I wish every kid possessed. And the truth is, Holli isn’t a bad player really. She executes most skills better than the other girls on the team. Her fear, though, holds her back. So while everyone else dribbles, shoots, or passes 10 steps ahead, Holli lingers behind where there’s less chaos and noise and less chance of the ball smacking her in the face. I get it, but I’ve never liked it. But as Holli and her dad stood there telling me all this, the thought foremost in my mind was “have I done or said something that made them think I don’t want Holli to play?” After all, my grand advice up to then to Holli has been “Holli, you can’t be afraid of the ball” or “Holli, the ball isn’t going to hurt you.” Brilliant stuff.

So, even though Holli is just in second grade, and even though basketball might be something she doesn’t give two shakes about years from now, and even though I couldn’t be more certain that great, great things await Holli in her future well beyond basketball, something about Holli telling me she was OK with sitting out hit me hard. It made me pissed at myself. It made me realize I was doing her a disservice, and that wasn’t OK.

Holli lit a fire in me I think I’ll always be grateful for. In that instant, I was determined to quit bringing my crap into these Saturday afternoons and to just be a flipping coach that does what good coaches are supposed to do: inspire, support, and build up kids. And that goes just playing a damn sport with a damn bouncing orange ball. It entails helping prepare them for everything they’re going to encounter. I really wanted Holli to just have fun, something she obviously wasn’t having if she was asking me to play less instead of more. Moreover, I really wanted to take ownership.

So, Holli and I talked alone about fear. About pain and how fleeting it is if you don’t give it control. About ignoring the little voice in our heads that tells us, “You can’t do this” or “You don’t measure up” or “Don’t even try.” I told her about things that scare me and how I push them back. We talked about it being OK to be frightened, but it’s not OK for that fright to define us or to paralyze us so that we quit or never even try. We talked about jumping out of planes, about cheerleading, and about all sorts of things we wanted to do that excited us but would never do if we listened to that little voice. We talked about the dragon inside us that we have to let out once in a while to wreak havoc. What Holli and I didn’t talk about was basketball. Not once. All cheesy, cliché stuff for sure, but I can’t remember a time when I felt as good about being a coach.

I have no idea how much of what we talked about resonated with Holli, but damn it she didn’t have the best practice and game in the two years she’s played. She still cowered at a few passes, but she caught more than she dropped. She got in the middle of the action on defense instead of staying out of harm’s way all by herself. She was a part of the game instead of a witness. I couldn’t have been more proud of the kid. That my daughter told me unsolicited afterward that “Holli did great today” only cemented that pride. And personally, at least temporarily, Holli made me focus on something bigger and better than myself. Anyone who says you can’t learn anything from kids isn’t listening.

I’ve been thinking a lot this week about my team this year and Holli and fear and coaching and more stuff than I can count. One thing that keeps coming up though is the friends and acquaintances I have who have or who are also coaches. My dad was a coach. My uncles and aunts were, too. My cousins. My best friends. My co-workers. My classmates. And so on. I think at the core, the good ones I’ve known all shared something in common—a greater concern for the kids’ well-being than for their own. It's pretty damn nice, though, when the well-being of both parties benefits from the relationship.

One Man's Opinion On Your Advice

2015-11-16T15:48:00.001-08:00

Since the attacks in Paris I've been getting a lot of unsolicited advice to "wake up" and realize what's going on.  

A lot of advice warning me what a dumbass my president is.  

A lot of advice telling me how our country got to this point.  

A lot of advice telling me to arm myself because ISIS is coming to take what I cherish.  

A lot of advice pointing my attention in the right direction. 

A lot of advice to stop these "god damn Muslims" and these "god damn Syrians" from entering our country to destroy me.  

A lot of advice to change my way of thinking.  

A lot of expert advice on how to shape my views on foreign policy and foreign cultures and foreign people and foreign lands.  

The problem is I'm getting this advice from a lot of short-sided thinkers with racist tendencies who can't look beyond their pointy, turned-up noses to see the medium-sized picture, let alone the big one. 

From biased followers getting their information from biased followers.   

From sheep.  

From lemmings.  

From squawkers.  

From reactionaries.  

From hypocrites.  

From broad-sweeping generalists who ignorantly avoid the truth in favor of embracing what's been conveniently wrapped up for them in tidy little soundbites of hate.  

Thanks for the advice, but no thanks.  

I didn't ask for it.  

I don't want it.  

I don't need it.  

I've been doing my own thinking for a real long time now.  

I've been forming my own thoughts and my own beliefs and my own opinions all on my own for many a year.  

A lot of us have.  

All without your help.  

All without your fear-mongering.  

Including in moments in crisis.  

Including in times of confusion.  

Including in periods of turbulence. 

This may come as a surprise, but I learned to think for myself right here in the good ole' USA.  

I learned to be an individual in classrooms right here in this country.  

I learned about other lands right smack here in the middle of the USA.  

I learned to think independently from history and civics and political science and philosophy and religion teachers and instructors and professors who taught me all about how our country came to be. 

How it formed. How it withstood previous attacks and corruption and attempts to tear it down, including from the inside.  

I learned to form my own thoughts from interacting with people of all races, creeds, and religions.  

I learned by witnessing people with different origins laughing together. Crying together. Worshiping together. Playing together. Competing together. Breathing together. Living together. Loving together.  

I learned from neighbors who are Asian, Russian, Jewish, German, Irish, Polish, British, Scandinavian, African, Indian, Native American, Canadian. . . .  

I learned by not by isolating myself.  

I learned by realizing those who scream the loudest are often those who lack the intelligence and control and compassion to speak wisely with a soft voice.  

You think because you and I were fortunate enough to be born through no doing of your own in the greatest country in the world that makes us inherently superior. I think that makes us extremely lucky. I think that makes responsible to spread the fortune to those who weren't gifted with such luck.   

Your advice is flawed.  

Your advice is weak. 

Your advice is based on simplicity. 

Your advice is one-dimensional.  

Your advice is nothing but hate.  

Frankly, too many of those giving the advice have no business doing so. They're not qualified. Worse, deep down, I think they know it. But strength in numbers. Gang mentality. Fucking sheep.  

Here's some advice: Stop blaming one fucking man for every problem that surfaces in every land. Stop blaming one person who was legally elected according to the system set forth by very wise men with great foresight for every crack in every sidewalk, for every broken window in every building, for every gunshot that's fired, and for every damn thing that's gone wrong in your life. Take a look at our decisions. Learn how our government actually works.  

I don't need you to tell me how to feel. My conscious does that for me. 

I don't need you to tell me where to place my anger. The sympathy I feel for all of humanity, not just a select few who happen to look like me, lets me know.  

I sure in the hell don't need you to tell me to take a look at what's going on.  

I've been awake my entire life.  

Every time innocent people just trying to get through another day by loving their family, just trying to find purpose, just trying to survive in a world that can be intolerably cruel and unforgiving and incredibly lacking of understanding and sympathy, I'm aware of just how awake I am.  

Basketball Gods, I Choose Coaching

2015-02-20T08:35:00.001-08:00

There’s nothing in basketball that beats making a last second shot to win a game. Nothing. I know. I made one. 1985. Ashland-Greenwood High School gymnasium. Long-time rival Wahoo Warriors lead the good guys by 1. Six seconds on the clock. Timmy Washburn inbounds to Tom Anderson at the far end of the court. Tom brings the ball up the court in a hurry and passes to me on the left side of the lane. I take a step to the basket but there’s not an open lane. I take three hard dribbles to the left toward the baseline and heave up a 30-footer with a hand buried in my face. Sailing out of bounds, I wind up against the stage watching through the back of the glass backboard that beautiful, orange pumpkin spin with perfect rotation touching nothing but the proverbial net. Game over. Why do those six seconds still come through so clearly 30 years later? Because nothing beats making a last-second shot to win a game.

Nothing except coaching. I mean that sincerely. I love coaching. I think I love it even more than I loved playing, and there was a time when I lived to play. I was a decent player, but I'm a better coach.

Tomorrow, my team of first-grade girls will play its last game. We don’t keep score, but if we did, I’m confident we haven’t come remotely close to winning all season. We’re shorter than every team, and of the six girls on the team, only three can get the ball to the rim, and that’s on an 8-foot basket. Hell, one squints every time she shoots or passes. When I ask if she wears glasses normally, she says no. I’ve suggested she look into it.

I could care less about our would-be losing record. There’s no other place I’d rather be on Saturday afternoons. They don’t know, and they probably don’t care, but they’ve come so far in so little time, and that’s a beautiful thing to witness. It makes be believe in same area of my life, I’m making a positive difference. That I’m a good influence. That I’m becoming a better person. And I’m truly enjoying myself. I leave the gym every Saturday afternoon feeling so much better than when I walked in.

I've coached boys and girls basketball teams spanning more than a dozen years. Some of those kids are still playing, and it warms my heart watching them. Still, my biggest regret in life is not trying to make coaching basketball a full-time job. Not making the gym my home away from home. Not surrounding myself with basketball. Not following through on the dream I had growing up while shooting all those baskets on the driveway in the snow and rain and triple-digit heat. I just let the dream slip away. Instead of making it squirm out of my cold death-grip, I just let slip away and took another path.

I often wonder how much more of a difference I could have made if I hadn’t. I think a lot about all the relationships and struggles and successes and special moments I cheated myself out of. The thought grows in magnitude every winter when a new season rolls around. It comes to the forefront every time I try to lessen the regret by coaching one of my kid’s teams. That’s why I covet those Saturday afternoons so much. As cheesy, romantic as it may come off, for a short time, I’m reminded why I had the dream in the first place.

I love watching little kids put 2 and 2 together and experience their first success. I love the moment when all the pointless blither blather some adult has been spewing at them for weeks on end finally makes perfect sense—when the fog dissipates and the sunshine smacks them full on. I love the witnessing the twinkle of recognition beaming in a little kid’s eye.

I love seeing a little girl make her first shot ever and immediately spinning around, frantically searching for her mom and dad sitting courtside with the biggest flipping smile possible stretched across her sweaty face and everything in her presence screaming at full volume, “DID YOU JUST SEE WHAT I DID?”

I love when a kid makes a great pass and I instantly hear every mother, father, grandma, grandpa, uncle, aunt, big sister, big brother, cousin, or simple bystander who is basketball-savvy and appreciates the finer details of the game acknowledge it by collectively letting out a “Nice pass!”

I love yelling “hands up!” and seeing 10 arms shoot skyward in unison.

I love saying “reach for the cookie jar” and a girl shows me perfect follow-through.

I love that in no other place in life do the words “three,” “point,” and “stance” or “box” and “out” make sense to a grade-schooler when used in succession.

I love teaching fundamentals and seeing them used. “Butt in the gut.” “Hands up, tails down.” “Pick and roll.” “Help defense.” “We push, push, push; not slap, slap, slap the dribble.” “Pass to the numbers, not the knees.” “The backboard is our friend. Show him some love.”

I love when a little girl, who on the first day of practice, can barely summon the bravery to squeak out her first name because she’s so shy makes her first layup, slaps me a high five, and realizes she belongs here as much as anyone.

I love when I get to the gym and the kids I’m coaching are already there, practicing the things they’ve been taught without knowing I’m watching.

I love the lessons I receive. The reinforcements. The affirmations. The wisdom. The humility. The pride. The laughs. The patience. Even the frustration. I love being reminded that I don’t know everything. That no kid is the same. That kids are so much smarter than they’re given credit for. That parents mean well, even when they’re a pain in the ass. That words matter. That sports aren’t for everyone. That kids with nothing in common can still be friends. That kids want to be challenged. That they want to be part of something. That they want to contribute to a cause. That they need to goof off. That even if a kid is only playing because her parents are making her, you can make her not regret the experience. That a trophy or medal for participating is fine (I guess), but it’s not what they’ll take away from their time.

Honestly, if the basketball gods came down from the sky and said, “Blaine, sorry, man, but we’ve decided you only get to keep one thing, either that last-second shot or the years of coaching. What’s it going to be?”

It’s not even a tough decision.

The Summer Of A Lifetime

2013-06-19T15:01:00.003-07:00

I’ve always felt that every person should be fortunate enough to experience that “summer of a lifetime.” To be so lucky as to get those three months or so when everything comes together in perfect harmony. When the world stops moving and time stands still. When senses are heightened and most aware. When every moment seems monumental and meaningful and defining. When every day and night plays out better than the ones before. When living into the early morning hours exposes all possibilities and actually delivers them. When the nighttime sounds popping and hissing and exploding outside a bedroom window no longer are scary but instead are entirely exhilarating and enticing. When all boundaries and barriers that previously contained and held back youth fade away and cease to exist. When nothing or no one stands in the way of exploration and passion and turmoil and debauchery and insight. When all conversations seem to reveal truth. When you dare and brave and live on the edge like never before and let fate determine the outcome, whatever that may be. When tolerance has never been greater, inhibitions never fewer, and limitations a distant memory. When energy is in full supply, sleep is in no way a factor, and rules and regulations are just cracks in the sidewalk to step over.

I wonder how many people ever receive such a gift. I wonder how many people ever live through such a period of time. I also wonder about the events that define these periods can vary and how these periods themselves can hold such different meanings for people.

The summer of my life was 1983, the year I turned 16 and the walls came down fast and hard. Just like a movie, my summer began like a dream, fittingly kick-started at the party following the last day of school. It was my first such party. It was in the country. And it didn’t disappoint. Just like a lot of movies, that party and my summer were fueled on the power and influence and excitement of alcohol, whose influence on me had yet to be soiled or spoiled or filtered or dirtied by alcohol’s dark side. The sips from the bottle poured bravery down my throat, letting me do things I didn’t know were possible, both in actions and in words. The right level of alcohol consumption let me speak in ways I couldn’t prior and helped me engage with people I’d always wanted to but had been too shy or insecure to before. Namely girls.

The summer of 1983 was the summer I fell really hard for a girl the first time. Head-over-heels hard. Into-the-mystic hard. Puppy-dog hard. Can’t-wait-to-see-you-again hard. You-have-the-most-beautiful-eyes hard. Have-we’ve-really-been-talking-on-the-phone-three-hours hard. Nothing about falling so deep and so fast was disappointing, either. Even when she broke my heart. Even after she shattered the love and lust and craving and yearning and the butterflies and self-confidence to pieces. All that badness was still intoxicating. If anything, being broken so thoroughly only confirmed to me I was never more alive. It confirmed all the possibilities that were within reach. It confirmed there was indeed magic in the air, and if willing and able to grab ahold, the magic could sweep me away and take me places I never wanted to return from. The magic was blinding.

The summer of 1983 was the summer I drank the hardest. Ran the fastest. Strayed the farthest away. The summer I demolished all caution and rode the snake wherever that bad boy wanted to take me. And we traveled to some incredible places. The summer I literally spilled out of car doors, beer cans falling in unison closely behind. The summer I sidestepped the police down backroads with 12-packs in the back. The summer I drank on seemingly every country road. Fell asleep in the park walking home way too late at night and way too out of step. The summer I drank before carnivals and rodeos, at beaches and river banks, in garages and basements, in cars and pickups, in backyards and on doorsteps. The summer I drank for no reason and every reason. It was the summer my friends carried each other to their respective front steps, dumped each other in their respective beds, and managed to wake up each morning unaffected and ready for more. It was the summer we survived and lived to tell about it.

The summer of 1983 was the summer my parents were forced to accept that I was no longer a boy. The summer I threw that fact in their faces, selfishly and (now) regrettably. It was the summer I believed my friends were more important than the confines of home. It was the summer I snuck out at night and didn’t feel guilty afterward. The summer I showed up late and had no regrets upon being caught. It was the summer that “curfew” took on a new meaning and became something to ignore. The summer I started to want more. Need more. Expect more. It was the summer I realized there was more waiting for me out in the great beyond. The summer I spent less time at home and more time away. Independence. Speed. Recklessness. Aggression. Departure.

The summer of 1983 was the summer I grew comfortable being alone. With my thoughts. With my ideas. With my future. It was the summer I started to look ahead and look for ways “to get out.” It was the type of summer I expect not enough kids get to live. The type of summer that should be mandatory. It was the type of summer that deserves to be remembered. Revered. Returned to. Re-examined.

Has it really been 30 years? Is it possible? How is it I still so vividly recall the details? How is it I still hear the basketball ricocheting off the neighborhood houses like gunshots ripping the air after midnight? Why can I still hear the gruff tones of my old man’s voice so intensely shouting from his bedroom window, “stop pounding the damn ball!”? Why can I still sense the buzz of the carnival coming to life downtown and still marvel in the lights and still smell the popcorn and taste the snow cones and still embrace the possibilities like they’re right under my nose? Why can I still feel the smoothness of her tan fingers slipping in between mine? Still feel the hardness of the faded wood lawn chairs we sat on talking way past the last glimpse of daylight disappeared? Why can I hear the songs of The Police escaping the car radio and circling my head? Every Breath You Take. King Of Pain. Synchronicity. Why can I still taste and feel the dirt on kicked up from car tires tearing down the country roads in my mouth? Why can I still feel the beads of sweat treading down my forehead standing in that decaying barn, throwing up hay bails, swatting away wasps, wondering why I didn’t become a lifeguard? Why can I still feel the murky-warm lake water climbing up past my knees on those late-night swims? Still feel the stinging that water put on my face, arms, legs, and ass falling hard time after time on those damn water skis? Why do I still feel nervous, as if I’m still waiting anxiously in that car outside The Crow’s Nest wondering if she really could score the beer with that impossibly fake license like she said she could? Why can I still remember all the lyrics to those songs we sang riding bikes up and down those lonely streets, bored but somehow entertained? Why do I still feel the loneliness of you heading off to college without saying goodbye because you said it was too hard? Why do I still not believe your reasoning? Why can I still taste those beautifully red tomatoes from my dad’s garden? Why do I still expect my cat Tom to climb on my lap sitting underneath the stars, looking for a friend with a willing petting hand?

30 years on. Why is the summer still as important? Still as meaningful? Still the summer of my life?

I sincerely hope everyone is as fortunate.

Back By Special Request: Inspiration, Doubts & Shout-outs

2013-04-10T13:48:00.003-07:00

First things first: I sincerely had no intention of making another blog post here. I set out to do what I wanted. That said, some of you fine people have told yours truly that you miss the good old days. That you need a little positivity in your day. That you want a few words baked up in the dark recess that is my mind. Although I can’t fathom why, who am I to deny your wishes? I only hope I don’t disappoint. So, without further ado, this is for you, friends.

Damn, I wish there was a way to bottle up inspiration when it strikes and save it for another day. How sweet the world would be if only we could dial up The Great Muse on the phone whenever we yearned for a hookup and know that she’d head right over without a hint of hesitation.

But The Muse doesn’t work that way. For whatever reason, Miss Inspiration sprinkles her goodness on our heads when she sees fit, not when we do. But that doesn’t mean we can’t anxiously await her. It doesn’t even mean we can’t seek her out. You only have to keep your eyes open and accept her gifts willingly and wholeheartedly when she does surface.

I’ve been running into inspiration seemingly everywhere of late. Today, if even only for a brief period of time, inspiration swallowed me whole. She dangled a big, fat carrot in front of my face; led me down a path of deep personal fulfillment; and she didn’t disappoint when we arrived. No pain. No doubt. No hesitation. I’ve never felt better. The Muse truly gets around, and that’s a good thing. You just have to recognize her and treat her right.

I’ve been fortunate to have been inspired by countless people through the decades. I only wish I would have paid respect to each one along the way. While it might not be the equivalent of a firm handshake, sincere hug, or words of gratitude delivered face to face, here’s a rap-style shout-out (because I’ve always wanted to deliver a rap-style shout-out) to the peeps I owe a debt of gratitude to for inspiring me in some way. I’m sure I’ll forget a few, but trust that my aim is true.

My Familia

What up, sweet RJ, my Little Fists of Fury: Your pure smile and unadulterated joy get me out of bed every morning to fight the good fight. Gift from above.

Easy-E, “you ugly little spitter”: You’re the truth, straight up. No punches pulled, and I respect the hell out of that. Fighter’s fighter.

My Boo: It takes a mighty individual with mighty strength to come correct. You do it consistently, and you’re a damn strong soul for it.

El-Shayne-yo: You walk the walk and don’t care who follows. I don’t always like where the path leads, but I admire greatly that you embark on journeys few have the guts to. Much respect.

My Misses: You had a rough start, but you dropped haymakers on fools who tried to hold you down. Strength is infectious, and I’m glad I caught your disease.

My Pops: Work ethic. Work ethic. Work ethic. Work ethic. Work ethic. Work ethic. Lessons taught by example, and I learned from the best.

Mamma: Every home needs a foundation that won’t break. You kept the walls upright, and that’s the real deal.

Sis: You spit in the face of convention every day in the name of love. Screw convention. Praise be to love.

Miles: Gone but never far away. A best friend doesn’t have to have hands and feet. Paws and a tail will do just fine. The king of all dogs and the sweetest soul I’ve encountered. Tear in the eye, brother from a furry mother.

My Crew For Life

Super D: Noble. True. Sincere. Devoted. Always striving and never jiving. No bigger compliment I can give.

G-Money: Remember in the trailer court climbing the tree to connect the cable TV because we lacked the dough? You worked from pauper to being the man. Much pride.

C-Keck: The filter. The BS detector. The God of Humor. We’re all recipients. You’re so money, and you don’t even know it.

Key Players

Weiner: Back In the day you let a wanna-be drummer play the Go-Gos on your drum set after school? You don’t know it, but you shared the gift of music early on, and it changed my life.

Della D: What a soul. What a smile. What a beautiful spirit. Never change.

The Linder Bros: You shared your toys. You shared your food. Your shared your booze. You even shared your ma and pa, and it meant the world. Great memories.

Rivermud Doug: You listened to my bad poetry and offered up honest critiques. They may have hurt, but I had it coming. A kindlier, gentler soul I can’t imagine. Much inspiration I’ve drawn.

Clarky: Mountain man. Wild man. Word man. Joke man. Law man. Daughters’ man. Man’s man.

Georgie: The older brother I never had. You gave, gave, and gave. I regret what time and space have done. I’ll never regret a minute shared.

K: You believed. You listened. You trusted. Life’s greatest gifts bestowed.

Scho: My Basketball Jones. RIP.

Brenda K: Your sweet, sweet nature is contagious. More goodness like yours is what this world desperately needs.

Special K: I’ve never seen you angry. Never seen you down and out. Never seen you quit. If you think I wasn’t paying attention, you’re crazy. Great, great man.

R-Stop: Chairman of The Father’s Club. You’re the real deal, Holyfield. You hate the Yankees, but I’ll forgive you.

Jody Simps: The woman who taught me that birthdays matter. I’ve never forget that lesson.

Mighty Marge: Just thinking of your laugh makes me feel good. What a gift.

Chef Randy: A true shining spirit. Spreader of warmth.

Ginny B: Spreader of love.

Sono: You don’t have to be born in this country to appreciate all it has to offer. You’re proof positive. Long live 2U.

Thomas Martin: You put Plato in my head and Solzhenitsyn in my heart. Much thanks.

Liz Watts and Jill Clafin: You humbled me early. I didn’t like it then, but I damn sure appreciate it now. #Payingdues

Stevie P: Wisdom + virtue = game changer.

Little Jerry: You played basketball with a little kid when you didn’t have to. Thank you.

Jerry V: See above.

Simone: Thanks for The Police and the best summer of my youth. Motivated to be bigger and better.

“Chief”: We painted many a house in the day. Long, miserable days weren’t so long or miserable with you around.

Mother Agnes and Aunt June, Marianne, Peg & Bernadette: You taught me in-laws are family, too.

Kay S: A man can never have too many moms looking out for him. Thanks for always looking.

Pam: Thanks for reading, and thanks for the long-time crush I’ve had on your voice.

Hammers: Happy birthday. Thanks for sharing “The Wizard of Oz.”

Snakeulus: You went back to Cali, and I couldn’t be happier. Living the dream.

Tamra: The darling of all darlings. So fortunate we crossed paths.

Codr: Co-chairman of The Fathers Club. Perpetually searching. Perpetually creating. Embracing life doesn’t take wealth. It takes doing.

Kent T: Co-co-chairman of The Father’s Club. I constantly learn about patience from your teachings.

Brother Ray: Never a dull minute. Never a party unintended. Thanks for sharing.

Duncan: My spiritual beacon. You baptized me in my 30s. You saved me seemingly every day. I can never repay you for the doors you opened.

Day 366: A Year Absopositively Well Spent

2012-12-31T13:37:00.000-08:00

Few of us write great novels; all of us live them. — Mignon McLaughlin

I used to have a girlfriend back when I was a teenager who I would spend hours with talking on the phone, talking on the back steps, talking in school, talking while driving around town, talking while we walked, talking while we sat in the park staring at stars, and talking in notes and letters. Often, what we talked about was what we saw for ourselves inour lives. What we wanted to be. What we wanted to do. Where we wanted to live.Who we wanted to surround ourselves with. What we thought would make us happyand fulfilled.

Always, my visions and aspirations of what would mean the most to me circled around writing. I wanted to live in England and wash dishes by day so I could drink myself into oblivion by night with the fuel to write the great, great works of fiction of my time. Or making my way to the big city and landing a job that put me in the same company with rock stars who would come to know me by name, who would request me by name, who would respect my name. Or settling in a nearly abandoned town in the middle of a desert that was populated only with the small lot of fellow loners committed totheir given craft—painters and poets and me, the silent guy who spent his days alone writing great novels that would only be discovered upon his untimelydeath. Or living in an isolated cabin in the woods, writing haunting works about man’s inner workings that were so pioneering and revolutionary that he’d make people forget every notion on the subject that had been considered previously.

I was lucky very early on. I knew withcertainty as a teenager what it was that turned me on most. Writing. I liked to write. I liked writing anything. I liked words. I liked the idea of having a blank page sitting in front of me and being responsible for filling it up with something engaging and meaningful. On many late nights, I’d sit up in my bed deep into the night with a pen in one hand and a notebook of blank pages on my lap with the window wide open to the world coming to life in the darkness outside. The crickets would serenade anyone who bothered to listen. The whistles of the trains off in the distance would moan with all flavors of romanticism. Cars would sneak down the road in front of my house filled with bored kids just like me, all with no particular place to go and in no particular hurry to get there. And I'd write, line after line. Crossing out words and putting new ones in their place. Forging phrases and abandoning them just as quickly. Always writing.

If I close my eyes, I can put myself back in that room and surround myself with those pale-blue walls and my torn posters and the books on the dresser and the stereo in the corner. I love that room now for both for its simplicity and its promise. In so many ways, it’s where I was born and became who I am. It’s certainly where I learned that I loved to write and believed anything was possible due to writing. Therapy. Self-confidence. Expressions of love. Expressions of rage. New worlds. New meanings. Writing was the answer.

A funny thing happened along the way,though. I went down a completely different path. One I didn’t foresee, and one I didn’t really plan for. The path curved and swerved, but it didn’t lead me overseas or to big cities or the desert or woods. Eventually, I accepted that my chances of being a pioneer or friend to rock stars or being exulted upon my death probably weren’t great. Gradually, I accepted that I wasn’t bound for glory, whether it was to occur while I was living or dead. Living with the reality I’d never bask in waves of glory used to bother me. I guess I talked myself into believing that I was destined for great things and writing was the ticket.

The problem I now realize wasn’t that I believed I could achieve great things; the problem was how I defined “great things” in the first place. It’s taken a while, but I’ve learned that “great things” very often simply come about by doing the simple things. Great things are accomplished every day. I’ve learned that doing great things doesn’t take great abilities or great skills. Instead, doing and accomplishing great things just requires a great deal of caring. Further, I’ve learned that “great things” have little to do with yourself and almost everything to do with others.

This year, the greatest thing I did was open my eyes, and I did it through writing. By writing every day, I learned to see what is real vs. what I thought was real. I learned how very, very lucky I am, and how many “great things” I’m capable of doing on any given day-- just by doing. I’ve learned thatI have much to feel positive about. Much to feel gratitude for. I learned that I'm a very rich man. I possess many treasures, and I’ve become much wealthier than I ever thought possible.

All of this “I’m a better person now”stuff sounds corny, I know. The fact is I’m no “self-help” or “new age” devotee. Not by a long stretch. Ask anyone who really knows me. But damn it if there hasn’t been something remarkable about just being willing to look at the world in a new light. To let go of regret and self-loathing and the pessimism that can sink into your pores by living in this world year after year. In many ways, this is a horrible, disgusting, unforgiving, vile, cruel, and demented planet welive on. That’s undeniable. But damn it if this planet isn’t also populated bycountless people who step up day after day to do great things. That’sundeniable, as well. Great fathers and mothers. Great leaders. Great providers. Great thinkers and doers. Great children. Great planners and achievers. Great protectors. Great builders. Great movers and shakers. Great teachers. Great sharers. Great people who aim and seek to lift others up.

Good Lord, if the man who is writing these words now on Dec. 31, 2012 doesn’t feel infinitely more learned and wise than the one who existed on Dec. 31, 2011, if only for really grasping on to the concept of what being positive and being optimistic can do and by accepting and putting that concept into true, meaningful practice.

I’ve really loved bringing this blog to life. I didn’t know what to expect initially, and I never could have imagined what it gradually morphed into. I love what it helped me accomplish and see. I love how much it taught me about myself and about how I want to approach my years going forward. As strange as it seems, this blog helped me grow and expand in ways I’m still learning about every day, and it’s been worth every second that I’ve poured into it.

I never set out with the intention or the thought that other people would actually make a point to take time out of their days and read the words I wrote, but I’ve been touched and infinitely pleased they did. If you’re someone who read even one post, thank you so much. If you’re someone who inspired me (and there are so many who did) with your actions, words, memories, and how you approach life every day, thank you. I can’t express how much 2012 will continue to mean to me hereafter.

Day 365: The Countdown To The End: Part V: Myself

2012-12-30T19:18:00.003-08:00

Today and tomorrow. That's all that's left of the year. That means I'm down to my final two posts. I set out way back at the beginning of 2012 to spend some time each day writing about something positive, all in an attempt to change how I tend to perceive life. For the most part, I've done just that.

I've spent the last few days writing about those things that rose to the surface during the last year and have been most positive to me, including my friends, my foes, my kids, and my marriage. Today, I want to write about myself.

I've found myself putting today's post off just about as long as I can. I don't want all this to end really. I'm feeling a bit in denial that this project is actually coming to an end. This last month, the last few weeks, and especially these final days have come upon me much quicker than I expected or wanted. In some ways, I feel like I'm just getting started in cutting through the layers and getting to the bottom of what really matters most. I feel like I'm just beginning to understand what it means to look at the world in ways that leave me feeling like I want to act in an effort to make change vs. merely react and point out the flaws. I feel like I've only begun to tap into the potential that lies below the surface. I'm also feeling a little afraid that by not stopping to take the time to write about something positive each day that I'm going to backtrack and resort to my old habits. That I'm going to fade back into my old ways of seeing the negative first. Of seeing the dark before the light. And yet, I also have faith in myself that I won't.

The other day, I went back and read the first post I made at the beginning of this year. The way I described myself was spot on. Although I feel like I've always been a pretty good person for the most part, I've also been a predominantly pessimistic person. I have been someone who for whatever reason finds it easier to see what's wrong with a situation instead of what's right. I have also been someone who is especially skilled at pointing out what's wrong to anyone who would listen.

In some respects these traits have served me well. In others, leaning toward the dark side hasn't done me any favors at all. Having a tendency to wade in the murky waters leaves you mostly feeling tired, exhausted, and alone. It's definitely a harder road to travel. It's definitely less populated. It's definitely less fulfilling. And being more personally fulfilled is a great part of why I set out at the beginning of 2012 to make a change and attempt to view life in a different way.

This year, after a great, great deal of introspection and reflection and digging deep and deeper, I can honestly say that I've made some major strides, and I can honestly say I'm proud of myself for doing so. I can honestly say that I had some gigantic doubts that it was possible. I may be even more amazed that I've been able to come as far as I have.

I'm ending this year in the best physical shape that I've been in in at least 15 years. That in of itself is a small miracle and something I contribute entirely to this blog and forcing myself into having a more positive frame of mind.

I'm ending this year feeling more confident about the path that I'm traveling on and my desire to want to be on that path. I feel mentally fit and able. I feel able to act upon my beliefs. I feel engaged and committed to my causes, but not out of a sense of anger or resentment primarily but more out of a sense of sincerely just wanting to do what is right.

I'm ending this year feeling like I understand my kids better than I ever have, but also more confident about my ability and my desire to want to figure out those things I still don't understand.

I'm ending this year feeling I know more than ever what it means to be a good, giving, patient, compassionate father. And even though I'm not always capable of actually practicing those traits, I feel like I'm better able to recognize when I'm falling short and make the effort right the ship.

I'm ending the year with a better understanding of the positive influences that my friends are in my life and knowing how valuable they are to me. I'm ending the year knowing what I have to offer to those friendships.

I'm ending the year feeling more enlightened. More in tune. More responsible. More content. More secure. More confident.

Throughout most of my life, I've tended to be pretty hard on myself. I don't suspect that will change. I do suspect, however, that I won't let that cripple me. This has been a damn good year. A damn productive year. An exciting year. A fulfilling one. Maybe more than at any time than I can recall, I care more about what I can accomplish than what I haven't.

Day 364: The Countdown To The End, Part IV: Marriage

2012-12-29T14:40:00.002-08:00

Three posts remaining. I can remember when I had written post No. 3 for the year and wondered how I was every going to manage to write something every day. Funny how attitudes can change. In these last few posts I've tried to concentrate on writing about things that have been particularly positive to me this year. Up to today, that's include my friends, foes, and my kids. Today, I'll write about marriage and tomorrow about myself.

I was lucky. I grew up in a home in which if I was sure of anything, I was sure my parents were always going to be together. They married when they were 17 and 18, and they're still married today. That's an excellent example and motivation.

There are some marriages you just know by being around them that they are solid and concrete. You know they might shift and budge a little, but they're never going to completely crack. That type of edifice seems to be fewer and farther between these days. It's as if people almost expect that they're going to divorce at some point in there lives. I can remember when divorce was the exception. The big exception. It isn't anymore. It's commonplace. That's good and bad I suppose. It's good, for example, that women don't have to feel beholden to stay in a crappy marriage in which they're regularly beat and/or berated. In which they're belittled and ignored. It's a shame, though, that people get married so young and give up at the first sign of trouble. To get to the gold, you have to trudge through some sludge first.

Marriage isn't easy, but it's worth the effort. I hope that my kids will walk away with that idea. I hope they find that someone who helps them build something solid and concrete. I hope they find that someone they can lean on and confide in. I hope they all believe in marriage and what it can represent as much as I do.

Day 363: The Countdown To The End, Part III: Kids

2012-12-28T16:59:00.003-08:00

Four posts left until the end. I'm starting to feel a little sad about that realization. But also proud.

Two days ago I set out to use these final posts to write about the things that have been particularly positive in my life this year. I started with my friends. Yesterday, I wrote about my foes. Today, it's my kids and then my wife and finishing up with myself before I conclude it all for good. On to my kids.

I sometimes think God or Mother Nature or whoever gifts us with kids does so to let them serve as some kind of barometer for how much sh*t we can endure. Kids are like a never-ending triathlon. A perpetual SAT. Kids are the puzzle that's complete but for that one missing piece that can never be located.

Some of us can definitely endure more as parents than others. Some of us don't even try. We just run for the hills at the first sight of trouble and are never heard from again. (I hate these people.) Some of us who should run for the hills don't and end up screwing our kids up more than if we had run. Some of us stick around a while before going completely bonkers. Some of us weather the storm like it's nothing at all. Most of us, though, fall somewhere in the middle. We stick it out and remain functional, but we lose a bit of sanity in the process.

I'm definitely someone who belongs somewhere in the middle. I'm never going to run for the hills, although I have to admit they look pretty inviting and comforting sometimes. I'm also never going to be someone who whistles merrily through each and every day that I spend with my kids, as if I'm top of the world and have all this craziness figured out. I don't and I never will.

No, I'm solidly somewhere in the middle, and I'm good with that. I have definite strengths and definite weaknesses, and having been in this parenting game for a while now, I think I'm able to recognize both pretty easily. I'd like to say that I've been able to correct all my shortcomings, but I'm not even close. I'm still working on them, and that's what's important. But rather than being a failure as a parent, the weakness I believe just make me normal.

I think that I weather the storm that is my kids fairly well most of the time, and they do the same of me. It hasn't always been easy. These are complicated and often weird lives we're talking about. These are even weirder times we're living in. We soar together to the highest of highs and then sink to the lowest of lows. Seemingly, we spend less time seeing the sights in the middle. While I crave the sanity that dwelling more often in the "middle" would most likely bring, I also realize there's a hell of lot to gain from seeing the very best and the very worst that a person has to offer, even if it's your kid.

I think when you travel to the extremes, you form a bond that becomes incredibly strong and resolute. I'm not sure we're even aware of it as that attachment is growing, but I know that bond has been created with my kids and continues to. How? I hear it in the conversations that I have with my kids and the topics we're able to discuss. I see it in the loyalty that surfaces between them. I sense it in the walls that have gone up and then been toppled over.

My kids are complicated, intelligent, independent, prideful, and stubborn creatures, and while that doesn't make it easy or even enjoyable at times being a father, it does leave me proud feeling confident and secure knowing they're not fools. They're not chumps. They're not suckers. For every instance that they test me and my nerves, they fortify my belief in them by showing me levels of compassion and intuitiveness that surpasses what I ever expected, and I expect a lot from them. My kids are the real deal, right down to the bone.

Honestly, the people who challenge me most in this world are my children, and I use "challenge" in the most positive way. They challenge my patience. They challenge me intellectually. They challenge me to look within myself and find my own flaws. They force me to confront myself, and I'm not sure that's something that would occur with the same amount of force and importance without them in my life.

Just as important, the people who keep me grounded and humble and youthful and enthusiastic are my children. The people who help me keep my eyes on the prize are my children. The people who motivate me to live a (mostly) moral and ethical life are my children. I strive to make them proud. Even when I'm not sure they notice, they serve as a reminder as to what this is all about.

Yeah, sometimes the hills look extremely enticing, what with all the peace and quiet there seems to be up there. What with the lack of responsibilities that all those people meandering about don't seem to have. What with all the disposable income and the freedom to come and go at will. Yeah, it's damn tempting to run for the hills some days. I think any parent who says different isn't being honest. Parenting is by far the damn hardest job I've ever had. It's filled with the most pain and the most worry and stress and tension and fricking toil, day in and day out.

Those hills also look lonely. They look desolate. They look a bit barren and less than fulfilling. In short, they look incomplete, and I don't want any part of that.

Day 362: The Countdown To The End, Part II: Foes

2012-12-27T15:29:00.003-08:00

Just five posts left. Yesterday, I wrote about the positive influence that my friends have had on my life throughout the past year, as well as throughout all the years of my life. Today, I flip the coin and explore the positive aspects that my foes have brought forth. In coming days, I delve into the topics of my kids, my wife, and myself.

Upon initial consideration, the idea that a foe could offer something positive might seem kind of odd. Upon further inspection, it makes all the sense in the world. Without a villain, for example, how would we distinguish what constitutes a hero? (Not that I'm equating myself to a hero by any stretch of the imagination.) Without a foil, where is the challenge to battle, fight the good fight, and overcome?

In many ways, I consider a good foe every bit as important as a friend. In fact, I don't think the two have to be mutually exclusive. I've had plenty of friends who have also served as foes. In many regards, the most formidable foe I have is myself, but more on that later.

This year, I didn't have to look too high or low to find worthy foes. They were seemingly everywhere. I noticed they started to surface in the strongest numbers starting around early October. Coincidentally, there was a heated presidential election not far off on the horizon. But the foes showed their faces early than that. They were there when Wall Street was being occupied. They were there before and after when guns became the hot topic of the day. They were there when same-sex marriage was grabbing headlines. No matter what side of any issue I leaned toward, there was a foe waiting to face.

And all that brings me back to the foe I fear the most: myself. My fear, hesitation, reluctance, tentativeness, insecurity, and self-defeating prophecies are the dirty, hairy, gnarly monsters that have too often kept me looking in from the outside. Historically, it's taken me too long to convince myself that I'm able and worthy and can make a difference for me to just get in the game. There's nothing positive in that. If this year has taught me anything, it's that failing to engage is worse than dying. It's taught me that everyone can make a difference.

So, with all due respect to you foes, detractors, friendly combatants, and haters, f*ck you. Let's get it on.

Seriously, I've done a lot of of honest introspection and contemplation this year, and I've learned that I'm not so concerned with fighting anymore. I've learned that my commitment to certain causes has never been as strong and unwavering. My devotion to my beliefs has never been as deep. It's never risen to as high of levels as they currently reside at.

I'm not sure why that it is, but I suspect that as I started taking a longer, more serious look around at the conditions surrounding me, I started to notice that the opposition was arming itself more heavily and with more powerful ammunition. I started to notice those holding opposing beliefs to my own were committed themselves, and while I didn't always approve of their tactics, I did admire the lengths they were ready to go to. In other words, it was time to up my game.

So be it. Moving forward, I'm ready to engage. I'm ready to go to battle with those who hate "fags." Those who want to send the immigrants "back to where they came from." Those who dare me to pry the gun out of their cold, dead hands." Those who beat women. Molest children. Steal from the old and poor. I'm committed to feed the hungry, shelter the poor, reverse the damage done to the climate, and hug every damn tree I can wrap my hippie arms around. I'm committed to fight anyone who questions my loyalty to my country. Who throws inaccuracies my way. Who speaks without truth.

I'm never been as excited to make change as I am now. With all sincerity, thank you, foes. You fuel the fire.

Day 361: The Countdown To The End, Part I

2012-12-26T15:02:00.000-08:00

As of today, I’m down to my last six posts of this great endeavor to explore all things positive every day for entire year. In the few days that remain, I want to use five of the last six to write about those topics that have been most important and most positive not only this year but throughout all my years: Friends, foes, my kids, my wife, and myself. (That last one isn’t nearly as egotistical as it might seem.)

I’ll start with friends, without whom I’d be nothing and I’d be nowhere. I’ve written about many of them previously, but honestly, there’s too little time and too little space to ever give them the full and due representations they deserve. I’ve been blessed with absolutely unbelievable people in my life, and I’m completely and utterly aware of the great fortune of such.

I have friends who are family and family who are friends.

I have friends I’ve never met in the flesh and friends I’ve grown up with.

I have friends who live around the world and friends who live right next door.

I have friends who are republicans, democrats, and everything in between.

I have friends who believe in God and who don’t.

I have friends so brilliant that I can’t begin to fathom how their brains work.

I have friends so artistic and creative I’m simultaneously jealous and inspired.

I have friends who have guided me in prayer and who have drank me under the table.

I have friends who put me in precarious situations and friends who have literally pulled me out of the mud.

My friends have fixed my broken-down cars, patched holes in my ceiling, cared for my kids and my pets, repaired the cavities in my teeth, and gave my guitars new life.

I have friends who have lent me their ear, their books, their music, their cars, their movies, their labor, and their advice.

My friends have mowed my lawn, scooped my driveway, dry-walled my basement, and wired my house for electricity.

I have friends who have lent me a dollar when I needed it, bought me a meal when I was hungry, gave me a ride when I was stranded, and gave me a place to sleep when I needed the shelter.

I’ve played basketball, football, baseball, softball, handball, racquetball, volleyball, and pinball with my friends, not to mention tennis, kick soccer, badminton, and golf.

I have friends who are teachers, professors, doctors, lawyers, writers, editors, mechanics, musicians, filmmakers, artists, marketing gurus, salesmen, nurses, photographers, house painters, plumbers, dentists, software programmers, chefs, daycare owners, physical therapists, firemen, police officers, students, furniture makers, social workers, state workers, city workers, country workers, federal workers, engineers, architects, bartenders, therapists, military veterans, active servicemen, homemakers, preachers, stay-at-home dads, volunteers, business owners, and so much more.

I have friends who are gone but not forgotten.

I have friends who live in big cities and the smallest of small towns.

I have friends who ride motorcycles and who ride skateboards.

I’ve laughed, cried, argued, debated, and fought with my friends. I punched and been punched by my friends.

I’ve cursed and praised my friends.

I’ve admired and worried about my friends.

I very much miss some of my friends this very second.

Throughout this year, I’ve been so blessed to have been in better and more consistent contact with so many more of my friends than was the case in previous years. I could not be more thankful for that. I can’t begin to describe the positive influence so many of them instill in my life on a daily basis. I can’t begin to put a value on those friendships. I’ve learned so much in regards to faith and passion and purity from my friends. I’ve learned so much about parenting and fatherhood. I’ve learned so much about giving back to others. About being true to thyself.

Like anyone I suppose, I have some friends who I especially covet and who I especially draw inspiration from. Some of them might be surprised to learn that. Some of them have long had that kind of influence on me. Some of them I don’t have the opportunity to keep in contact with nearly as much as I’d like, but their influence remains as strong and true as could be.

I’m not always an easy person to be friends with. I like to kid myself into believing that being an “artist” makes me “dark” and “moody” and “somewhat of a loner,” but the truth probably lies closer to the fact that I haven’t always felt all that optimistic about the world I live. Thank God I’ve had smarts enough to surround myself with people who counterbalance those tendencies.

I’m truly a blessed man to have such good people available. When I begin to wonder about the hope this world has to offer, these people are living, breathing reminders of what’s good and what’s possible.

Day 360: Christmas Day

2012-12-25T17:20:00.001-08:00

Today, I woke up to the sounds of a four-year-old girl's excited, ecstatic voice. When I crawled out of my bed, opened the door, and came out of my room and walked down the hallway, I could see her sitting at the kitchen table all by herself. Lord knows how long she had been awake and sitting there. But there she was nonetheless, as content as could be, just drawing a picture for Santa Claus and letting the rest of the people in her house sleep away with all those presents just a few feet away. How tempted and enticed she had to have been. How full of fantastic anxiousness she must have been sitting on and trying to contain. But there she sat at that table, talking to herself, giddy, bubbling, and enraptured as she drew that picture. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything so beautiful.

To me, the vision of that child is what Christmas has become.

To me, seeing my four children, spanning four to 20 years in age, sitting in the same room, that's what Christmas has become.

To me, gathering around a table and eating good food and feeling utterly fulfilled is what Christmas has become.

To me, feeling as if time outside the walls of my house was standing still and there was nothing bad or evil or tainted that could enter them is what Christmas has become.

To me, Christmas has become an event that seemingly has to have very little to do with me for me to enjoy. Christmas has become a long, steady day of observation. Watching my kids. Watching my wife bask in their company. Watching them interact. Watching this intimate life that I've become part of play out so wonderfully. No complaints. No hidden agendas. No selfishness. Nothing but purity. That's what Christmas has become.

Never before on Christmas have I opened so few presents, and never before on Christmas can I remember feeling as much joy.

It's an amazing feeling being able to provide such happiness. To be able to work hard and have the means to let that work make happiness for others possible. And not just the happiness that is buying and giving gifts, but the happiness of being able to create a home in which they can gather. A diverse but intertwined home. Not a house. A home.

I'm going to carry the vision of my daughter sitting at that kitchen table with me for many years to come. I'm going to let the vision of her innocence and excitement roll through my memory over and over. I'm going to hold on to those fleeting seconds when I just stood there and watched her, and I'm going to remember her childish beauty. What a gift, and what a day. I truly am a lucky man.

Day 359: The Day Before Christmas

2012-12-24T16:48:00.001-08:00

I've been a sucker for those big traditional gatherings. The kind you see on television specials where family comes traveling from all parts to congregate in one, big, warm, cozy house and proceed to have a the merriest damn time of their lives.

My own Christmas Eves have been pretty good for the most part. What they've lacked in tradition, they've made up for in other ways. When I think of Christmas Eve, I think I'll always think first of my mom and dad and our early houses and all those years we ate a big supper before breaking into the gifts. Usually it was my dad who couldn't hold out, and I loved that about him. My parents wrapped those presents way early, so I had weeks to suffer through, temptation biting me right on my big, fat face the entire time. Damn, I miss those years and being that young and innocent and eager and full of curiosity. If I knew then what I do now, I would have made them last as long as I could have.

Christmas Eve also brings me back to my own kids. Nearly 15 years ago, I took my two older kids sledding for several hours on what was a bitterly cold day. They didn't notice the cold a bit. We had a tall hill that was a fast as a hungry cat. We had good sleds, and we had all the time in the world. We explored every inch of that hill that day. Sometimes, I wonder if they even remember that day. If they remember the absolute blast they had piling on top of me and us crashing to the bottom of that hill. If they do remember, I doubt they remember much. They were young and it was many years ago.

Today, I took my youngest daughter sledding. It was just as cold as all those years ago, but she didn't mind a bit. I had to drag her inside, but before I did, we made run after run after run, and if she didn't laugh as hard as I ever seen her. I wish I would have captured it in images or video, but I was too busy having fun to give the event much forethought. I only wish she could hold on to this memory as long as I will.

Tonight, we'll write Santa a letter and leave some cookies for the old man. That I will take photos of..

Day 358: Save Your Advice

2012-12-23T17:48:00.001-08:00

There are certain people in certain times in certain situations that find their way under my skin and touch the rawest nerve I possess. I wish more than anything I could avoid those people. I wish there was a mechanism I could switch on or off and be rid of those people. I wish I had a time machine in the garage that I could climb in and transport my way to a better time and place. A place free of people who irritate me. Who rub me raw. But I can't. None of us can. We can only hope that we surround ourselves with enough people to balance that out. When it doesn't work, you live through the circumstances as best as possible and move on.

I'd like to believe I could tackle these unavoidable confrontations with such people with calmness and dignity and level-headiness, but it doesn't always work out that way. Sometimes, I let my emotions take over. I have little problem with facing most confrontations. I don't seek them out, but I'm not afraid of them, either. I'm not afraid of tackling issues head on. Some people are. Others avoid confrontation for all it's worth. Some people like confrontation as long as they only have to deal with one aspect of it--the part where they're dealing out all the cards and forcing their views and actions for everyone to follow. I've found, though, that these people don't like to play the shitty cards they've been dealt. They're more apt to fold them than to play the game out.

Take people who like to dole out moral, righteous advice like they're dishing out candy, for example. They're fine with confrontation until it's their turn to be on the receiving end. People who give me advice about raising kids but who don't have kids themselves, for instance, crack me up. And by crack me up, I mean piss me off. Also high on my list of people I could do without are those who preach on and on in a superior, smug tone but don't actually apply any self-realism to the words. Just a lot of hot air. They crack me up, too. And by crack me up, I mean humor me. And people who give me advice about raising kids who not only don't have kids but also don't follow the same advice they're willing to hand out, well, I really don't have much use for them at all. But worse yet are the people who hand out the advice, unsolicited mind you, but don't want to hear advice for them in return, which would be, "Thanks, but keep it to yourself." It's amazing how thin-skinned people who incessantly poke and prod and nitpick and spew their moral indignation really are. People who criticize, it seems, are absolutely incapable of taking criticism. Incapable.

The thing is I should be at a point by now where I can just let matters like that pass through one ear and go out the other without it even making a blimp. For some reason, there are those days when I can't. It's the hypocrisy that sucks me in. I have a hard time swallowing hypocrisy. And seemingly, there's so much to swallow. Some days I choke on it and barely make it back up to the surface. I have a hard time with people who don't live by a code. Who instead live by moving from one self-serving situation to another until they find the one that suits them just swell. Take a little from here. Take a little from there. Give nothing there. Give nothing here. The hypocrisy cripples me. And I should be past it. But it's hard. It's hard when people take and take but contribute little to nothing but want a equal voice. It's hard when people live off the hard work of others but want to pretend we have everything in common. That we stand on equal ground. That our aim is the same. It's not. Never was.

I should be past giving too much attention to too many people who don't deserve it. It's a flaw I need to work on. Not for them. For me. I'm pretty much to the point where I'm concerned with looking forward and not back. Looking ahead and obtaining what I want to obtain. I'm not really interested in dead weight. It's gotten to be too much of a burden to carry, and my back is beginning to hurt.

Carry your own weight.

Make your own way.

Just save your advice.

Day 357: The King Of The Castle

2012-12-22T16:29:00.001-08:00

Today, after my daughter and I made a fine snowman to grace our front yard, we set about building a snow castle. I've had a lot years' practice at making snow forts, so I've gotten pretty good at making icy edifices in a hurry. Well, truth be told, there isn't much to it, really. You just grab a shovel and start piling snow upon snow upon snow. Pack it down and dig out a center. Bam! That's it. Then you lay back and relax, staring at the blue sky.

My daughter, though, expects more than the mundane of minimum. She expects a castle that can hold off the hordes of evil-doers that will embark upon us soon enough. So also expects the walls to be just the right size on all sides. There's no slacking where she and snow castles are concerned. There's also no question who the king of the castle is. She is. Always. And I'm guessing she'll want to be forever.

That's fine with me. I don't mind being the princess, which I always seem to end up being in any game we play. It's a good distinction to hold. There's merit in being the lady of the land. But what bothers me a little bit is my daughter is under the illusion that to hold real power in this world and gain respect among your fellow humans you have to be a man. I explain this isn't the case, and that there have been very fine queens who have ruled ably and justly throughout the years, but she really doesn't want to hear any of that. She wants to be king.

And so she is. I have to say, though, that she's a bit of a tyrant. She rules with a iron fist. Bossing her subjects around. Demanding more weapons (snowballs) to fight those who would approach her domain. Ordering the princess to "get busy." I'm not sure where all of this is going, but I guess I'll take solace in the fact she's using her imagination and is shooting her sights high. I'm sure somewhere along the line she'll realize that it's good to be the king, but it can be even better being the princess.