Day 366: A Year Absopositively Well Spent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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. 

Day 356: "Always Be Closing"

One of my favorite movie quotes ever comes from Alec Baldwin's character Blake in "Glengarry Glen Ross." 

"Always be closing," he barks to the salesmen who he's gathered around for a little ass-kicking, motivational speech. Blake is snarling and deliberate and cutthroat. He's brutally honest in his expectations. He has no time for losers. No time for compassion or patting men on the back. No time for second-best. He wants results, and he really doesn’t care how they come about.

Take the monthly sales contest that Blake is in the office to pimp, for example. The winner gets a Cadillac Eldorado. 

"Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you're fired," he states with no sense of joking whatsoever. 

I have no desire to be a salesman. I'm convinced I'd suck miserably at it. I lack both the skill and the heart for the occupation. I'm not cold-blooded by nature where sales are concerned. I’m not motivated by money primarily.

Where I am cold-blooded is my desire to win. I don’t like losing. I’m ultra-competitive by nature. I don’t like losing a game of checkers. I don’t like losing a pickup basketball game. I don’t like losing a debate. I don’t like losing.

Now, I’m not a blinded freak who will cut your legs off in order to come out on top, but I’m not one to do you any favors or back off, either.

As I’ve gotten older, though, my competitive outlets seem to have grown fewer and fewer in number. Nowadays, I’ve pretty much resigned myself to satisfying my competitive juices by pushing myself in things I do alone. Take golf, for example. I don’t really compete against those I’m playing with because I’m typically not good enough to expect to. Instead, I compete against my previous rounds. And this kind of approach really has been good enough to fulfill me until lately. This year, I’ve wanted to step up my game and go further out on the ledge.

That’s why today I signed up to run a half-marathon in May. It may turn out to be a terrible, huge mistake, and I have all kinds of doubts, but if I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that I’m capable of more than I ever gave myself credit for. Further, I’m capable of setting myself up for more than I previously ever would have considered.

In short, I’m finding great fuel and joy in sticking my neck out there and seeing if I can keep my head intact.

Sticking the neck out, however, is the easy part. Putting in the work to keep the head attached is the hard part. I’m stoked to do the work, and I’m stoked to try to close this deal.

“Always be closing.” On a personal level, sealing the deal is where it’s at for me right now.

Day 355: On Guns, Opposing Views & Lessons Learned

I’ve never really had much respect for wishy washy people. As testament to my own weaknesses, my tolerance level for such people has never been what it should be. People who float from camp to camp, belief to belief, opinion to opinion—not because they’re adapting their stances upon serious contemplation but because their inherently too lazz to do the required research to form their own thoughts—bug me. In other words, I don’t like sheep.

I do respect people who take a stand. People who put their foot down and defend that stand. People who defend their position. Who aim to prove their point—as long as that stand isn’t a knee-jerk, hastily conceived one that refuses to take reality into account.

Hey, I’m as much of a knee-jerk (or just jerk, for that matter) reactionary as there might be, but I like to think I put in at least a respectable amount of thought and research in on the given subject at hand prior to popping off. I like to think I’ve done my homework before spewing forth. I like to think I know enough to know that if I don’t have a solid foundation about a topic, I shut up until I do. Not always, but I try. I’ve been in enough arguments and debates to know that you can only bullshit so long before someone smarter and more adept comes along and calls your bluff. When that happens, you better be prepared with a better reply than “just because” to back up your claim.  

The topic of guns is front and center these days, as it should be. Everyone has an opinion it seems. Everyone has a stance. Many of them are set in stone. What’s alarming to me is that many of them were based upon a reality that excited decades and decades ago. This history is not the present.

On the topic of guns, I have to say I’ve offered up a few of my own knee-jerk reactions in the past several days, reactions primarily fueled on years of tears and frustration and anger concerning needless deaths. I’ve also read more knee-jerk reaction than I can count. I’ve had my fill of knee-jerk reactions, especially those lacking a wide scope of the issue. I can’t count the number of comments I’ve read and heard in the past week wanting to know why “honest” and “decent” and “law-abiding” gun owners should have to give up their guns. Why a few “evil” people or “criminals” or “f*cking idiots” should spoil things for the rest of us. This black-and-white, all-or-nothing sentiment drives me crazy. Some are so misguided and off-putting and defensive in tone, it’s difficult to even read them or take them seriously. The same can be said of those on the other side of the fence who are deaf to any countering opinion.

But there are those who have formed opinions filled with well-informed and thoughtful words. Thus, for every tweet I read and saw reported earlier this week that lambasted our “n*gger” president for having the gall to interrupt their Sunday Night Football game in place of his speech at a memorial service in Newtown, I’m relieved and happy to also know there are those taking the gun debate seriously and approaching it with the respect and compassion it deserves.   

It’s been a long, difficult, strange week since so many kids were taken so, so early, but I been pleasantly surprised along the way. Take, for example, the completely encouraging exchange I had with a 19-year-old or so kid that marked perhaps the most intelligent and even-keeled conversation I’ve had since the Newtown tragedy. A kid who is a gun-owning, avid hunter, mind you. A kid passionate about the subject and grounded and stately in expressing his thoughts and beliefs. I don’t agree with them or maybe even respect them, but damn it, I respect him.

And that’s the lesson I think I’ve learned in the days following Sandy Creek: Opposition to my beliefs is everywhere, but not all of it comes from ill-informed knee-jerk reactionaries more concerned with making their point than also making a concerted effort to hear and respect the point of others. In recent days, I’ve been prone to want to let my anger and sadness do my talking. I realizing that’s not going to cut it if I want things to improve. I'm ready to fight for my stance, but I'm convinced I fighting responsibly is the way to proceed. 

Day 354: Dreaming Of The Dead

I have a surprising amount of dreams about people who are no longer living. I had one last night. It wasn't a particularly eventful dream, but it was beautiful all the same.

I've grown to really appreciate these dreams as a chance to catch up with those who are no longer in my physical world. The dreams are never sorrowful or filled with sadness. Like most of my dreams, they typically are just alternative versions of my actually life. Me driving in a car, for example, having a conservation, turning the radio stations, checking out the scenery, and so on--except I'm doing it with someone who is no longer alive. It's all very comforting really. Peaceful and sublime.

The only thing I'd change about these dreams is how they play out. I'd like to be able to pick the person who is revisiting my life via the dream world, for instance. I'd like to push a button and be able to dream of one of the grandparents I never got to know. One of the uncles who could tell me about my family. I'd like to be able to change the age of the person reappearing in my dreams. They're always the same age as when they left this world. I'd like to be able to dictate our surroundings and what we talk about. I'd like to ask them certain questions and seek their advice. But it doesn't work that way.

Despite the lack of control, I'm thankful for the time we share. I'm thankful for the memories these dreams rekindle. I'm thankful for the reminders of what they meant to me while they were here. It's a wonderful gift to have a relationship live on, no matter where it takes place.

Day 353: Nebraska Winters

Tomorrow, the weather gurus are predicting that the snow will fly crazy mad where I live. The winds will blow with hopped-up force, too, they say. Conditions will get nasty, the temperatures will dip, and there will be an excitement in the air that’s been missing in my neck of the woods for too long.

The snow gods have not been good to us here as of late, and we’ve noticed. I’ve noticed. Winters in Nebraska should be snow-filled. They should be white. They should be icy and treacherous. They should be bitter and biting. Winters in Nebraska should be as harsh as the summers in Nebraska are. Winters in Nebraska without snow aren’t really winters in Nebraska. They’re like a circus without clowns, incomplete. That’s the kind of winters we’ve seemingly had too much of in Nebraska lately.

Don’t get me wrong. I hate the winter. I hate everything about it, other than the snow. The snow I love. I always have. I hate being cold. I hate scrapping frost off of windshields. I hate wearing sweaters. I hate having to wear a stocking cap inside to keep my bald head warm. I hate long johns and gloves. I hate ice. I hate snowplows. I hate it all. But if I’m going to live in Nebraska, give me snow. I love the snow.

I love the isolation that only a long, contemplative walk in snowy woods can offer.

I love the goofy energy that my dogs get when the snow is drifting down. I love watching them burn that energy off by romping through the white stuff, bearing those noses as deep as they can, and tearing through one drift to get to the next.

I love the romanticism that is a snow floating from the skies on a winter night.

I love the grace of a lilting snow falling on my face with the backdrop of the black sky up above.

I love the magic luminance that the street lights conjure up.

I love the way the sun dances like a child on the newly created banks in the morning.

I love the snow.

That’s why I’m looking forward to tomorrow, when inches and inches of the fluff are expected to congregate. My memories that involve snow are good ones and they’re numerous. Like the ones of sledding as a kid south of Ashland, past the grocery store, past the Giles’ house, and into the canyon where at the bottom of the hill you had better duck your head or risk having your dome taken off by the barbed-wire fence waiting menacingly down there for children to approach.

Memories like coming home from college with my friends, only for a blizzard to force us to hole up inside—with no alcohol, with no girls in proximity, and with no way to escape.

Memories like sledding on the hill near Wiggenhorn Park with the scores of other kids who had the same idea. Run after run we’d make, all in complete and utter safety thanks to the good-minded town leaders who blocked off the hill from traffic.

Memories like the hill directly beside my own house, where for the last 10 years all of my children at some point have zoomed down, fallen down, rolled down, and tumbled down, laughing and smiling and basking in what it means to be a kid.

Memories like riding in Rick Hammers Volkswagen bug, bumping from snow bank to snow bank like a pinball and loving every minute of it.

Memories like the monster eight-foot sledding ramp my cousin Daryl built by hand next door, going so far as to get the garden hose out and water the thing to create a nice thick sheet of ice overnight.

Memories like walking with my dad as a kid while he checked his traps, wondering if this was how the early mountain men did it, too.

Memories like scooping off the back patio in the dead of winter so my sister and I could shoot baskets and keep our skills honed.

Maybe winters in Nebraska aren’t so bad, after all.

I really do love the snow.  

Day 352: Sunday, Feb. 5, 2012

Feb. 5, 2012, the day I failed to publish a post to this blog. 

Feb. 5, 2012, you haunt me. I set out this year to make a post each and every day of 2012 with the intent of documenting something positive. Something appreciative. Something hopeful in scope. I haven't managed to meet those expectations fully. Some days, I got sidetracked with current events, my current mood, my current situation, etc. and wrote about frustration or sorrow or what have you. But by and large, I have stuck to the game plan. I have made a post with a positive spin to it each and every day. Except Feb. 5, 2012. 

For weeks now, I've been searching for that lost day, but to no avail. I couldn't find it. Coming into today, the number of posts that I've published totaled 351. The number, however, should have been 352. I looked high and low for the discrepancy longer than I care to remember, but it eluded me. Until today. Finally, today I found the little bastard. Feb. 5, 2012. That's the day I failed to make a post. 

I'd like to think that I actually wrote a positive-filled post that day and just failed to publish it, but I honestly can't remember. It's been too long, and I'm too old to expect to recall specifics about yesterday let alone months ago. Maybe the hour grew late on that day, I got bleary-eyed and reckless, and by some accident deleted the draft I was stringing together instead of published it. But I can't say for certain. 

So I did a little investigating. Feb. 5, 2012 was a Sunday. Guess what it also was? That's right, the Superbowl. Ah, now it's all coming back to me. New England vs. The Giants. I watched in the living room. I was in severe multi-tasking mode, watching the game while also playing with my daughter. The game was a good one. I'm sure I watched until the end. I know I was happy with the outcome. But did I write something that day? I don't know. Like the Patriots I came up short. 

Damn, it. 

What happened to you Feb. 5, 2012, I'm sorry I lost you. I'm sorry I let you down. I should have been there for you. I should have paid you more attention. I wish I could make it up to you, but you're long gone. You're history. I squandered you. I took you for granted. I've learned my lesson. I apologize. 

Day 351: It's The Little Things

Now, more than ever, I'm starting to realize that it's the little things with our kids that matter most. I don't think it's the life lessons they're after. It's not the Ward Cleaver moments they desire. It’s the things that don’t appear in parenting books that they remember and appreciate the most. 

I'm starting to realize that it's the self-deprivation that makes them take notice. It’s the poking fun at one’s self that hooks them and convinces them your "one of us." It’s exploring the unfamiliar with them, showing your awe and appreciation of the moment. It's presenting yourself without shields up. 

It’s letting them show you the way. 

It’s enabling them to come out on top. Take charge. Bath in the glory. 

It’s being willing to go places they don’t expect you to go. It's dancing with them, badly or otherwise. It's making yourself available when they need it, not the other way around. 

It’s making certain you don’t take yourself or your life too seriously. 

It’s not telling them that they’re a priority but showing them, repeatedly and often. 

It's adapting to their schedule as much as you expect them to adapt to yours. 

It’s recognizing your mistakes, and when you do, backing up, sizing up the mess you created, and righting the wrong. 

I'm starting to realize all this isn't as hard as maybe I've made it out to be. Maybe the pressure of being a parent doesn't stem from the parental responsibilities expected of us but from giving the responsibilities a larger platform than they deserve. 

I'm starting to realize that to really impresses my kid and make a lasting impression, I have  to focus less on what I need and want and more on what matters to them. 

Want to build up really credibility. Admit when you make a mistake and mean it. 

Want to prove to your kid how strong you are? Don't hide your weaknesses. 

Want to show your kid that you’re trustworthy? Don’t break promises. 

Want to show them you’re dependable? Be there, and be there on time. 

Want to show them that you’re a force of life? Be full of life. 

Want them to have confidence in you? Don’t be afraid to fail in front of them? 

Want to earn their respect? Show grace vs. disgust. 

Want them to hear your words? Speak with truth. 

Want them to view you in a different light? Share your past and the future you envision. 

Want to floor your kid? Ask her to go for a walk. Write her a note. Freestyle a rap on the ride to school. Ask her opinion. 

It’s the little things.

As much as I’d like to fancy myself as the “Father’s Knows Best” type, the guy that dispenses meaningful, life-altering advice with a calm, even-keeled voice, even in the most dire of situations, the guy who makes serenity fall like rain drops from heaven, the model of consistency and dependability, I'm not. Not even close. 

I’m someone who panics, fails, flails, stumbles, and disappoints. But I'm also someone who tries. Who strives. Who seeks to improve. Who works hard. Who plays. Who attempts to sooth and comfort and fulfill expectations. Someone who seeks to do the right thing, even when I’m not. I’m typical. Normal. Good and decent. Boorish and judgmental. Steady. Stubborn. Up. Down. Down. Out. Soaring. Boring. Roaring. Thoughtful and dim. Conflicted and complex. Simple and predictable. Grounded. Flighty. Patient. Irrational. Sane. Delusional. Glad. Sad. Good. Bad. 

I’m typical. 

I’m normal.

I'm starting to realize there's a lot to like about typical and normal. About being happy in the pursuit of “the little things.” 

I want to create memories. A sense of reliance. A sense of ease. Assurance. Strength. Joy. 

I’m realizing that I'm serious too often for my own liking, and I swim against the flow just as frequently. But I'm also realizing I’m smart enough to recognize opportunities when they present themselves. 

Now more than ever, it’s the little things that I’m convinced are worth keeping an eye out for and seizing. 

Day 350: Come Together

One of the things I like most about this country and that a great many people seemingly to really, really care about their freedoms, and they're passionate about defending them. One of the things I like least is that passion seems to get in the way of meaningful dialogue. There a million and one examples present currently, including the obvious "leave my guns alone vs. it's time for a ban" debate now happening. Unfortunately, it seems more important to engage in debate than engage in debate to make a change. I pray this changes. 

Day 349: Happy Birthday, Little Girl

Today, we celebrated my baby's fifth birthday.

Today, we celebrated life.

We celebrated each other.

Today, I took a good look around and reminded myself of everything I love. I saw the beauty. The potential. The fruits of my labor.

Today, I watched little children gather for a party. They laughed and smiled and giggled and played. They were of life and joy. They were everything kids should be.

I thought of the children who were lost yesterday as I watched my daughter and her friends. I counted my blessings. I thanked God. I appreciated the moment.

Today, life gave back to me.

Happy birthday, sweet baby. Thank you for the gifts you give me each day.

Day 348: Sandy Hook Elementary

There’s a space that exists somewhere between extreme anger and extreme sadness. That space is filled with darkness and uncertainty. It just lingers there, waiting for the time that you’ll return. And we always return. Events that transpire in this world dictate that we must. We always find our way back to that space because it’s unavoidable. There’s too much sadness and hurt and destruction for us not to know that the space exists and that we must make the occasional trip there.

I’m deep in the  middle of this space today, this place where I’m alive but without purpose. I’m too numb and cold to feel purpose today in this place where I’m enraged and ready to take action but too frozen to take the first steps.

I’ve been in this space all too often it seems. We all have. I’m starting to recognize the finer points of this ugly, sickening place. I’m starting to know the environment too intimately. It’s gotten so I know my way around here, where emotions seem to cease to exist and shock and disbelief rise to the surface and push me down.

But I’ll never be comfortable here, and I’ll never accept this as a place I want to stay in. This space is only temporary because my emotions are pure and my thoughts are alive, and I'll fight to keep it that way.

Just when I truly believe I seen the most horrific or demonic things possible, something occurs to still manage to bring tears to my eyes and remind me there are depths that men and women can sink to. But those actions anger and fuel me. Just when I believe my senses can no longer be surprised and that they have been dulled and ground to nothing, something sticks me sharp in the side to wound. But I’m only renewed and ready to take action.

On days like this, my heart aches. My lungs are heavy. My faith is severely challenged. But I’m  committed. I’m intent.

I’m conflicted today--between my extreme anger and my extreme sadness. I’m deep in the funk, but I’m seeing clearly. Renewed. Still committed. Still intent.

Fucking kids. Tiny. Defenseless. Innocent. Unaware. Just fucking kids.  

Aurora. Columbine. Virginia Tech. Gabby Giffords. Portland. Omaha. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Seriously, fuck your guns. With every bit of conviction I can muster, fuck your guns. Fuck your right to bear arms. And fuck you for defending them. I may be reacting with a heavy dose of irrationality, but these are irrational times, and I’ve had my fill of the stupidity.

Save your petty arguments. They carry no weight. Save your references to your constitutional rights. They’re antiquated. Prehistoric. Shameful. Senseless.

No civilian needs a gun. Not one. It’s that simple.

If you're a responsible gun owner and this rubs you the wrong way, I don't care. I don't blame you, but I'll fight you every step of the way to make your guns unlawful to possess. 

I hate this space. The tears. The continual loss of life. The loss of humanity. I hate these continual plunges into deeper and murkier waters. I’m tired of sinking.

Right now, I’m trying to remain positive. I really am. I’m trying to stay true and reflective. I’m trying to stay even and think clearly. But it’s hard. Really fucking hard.

I’m a lucky man today. My beautiful children are alive and walking this earth. They’re here. They’re present. They’re with me of this earth.

I’m a lucky man. My grief takes place from a distance. My loss is not immediate. 

I’ll wake up tomorrow without the void that these people of Connecticut will suffer with the rest of their lives. 

Tonight, I'll tuck my beautiful little baby into her bed and hug and kiss her goodnight. Tomorrow, her beautiful voice will be the first child’s voice I hear, and it will ring angelic in my ears.

Tomorrow, I’ll watch my beautiful older daughter take to the court play basketball, and my pride will soar.

Tomorrow, I'll walk out into my living room in the morning and find my other daughter sleeping peacefully on the couch, right where she falls asleep every night, and I'll thank everything that is holy that she's there. 

Tomorrow, I'll walk through my day with the knowledge that my son is living his crazy, wacky, unique life just the way he wants, and I'll smile a big fat smile. 

Tomorrow, I’ll do as I do every day: think of all my children and know they’re a phone call or a text away.

Tomorrow, I'll remain committed and intent and renewed in believing there are great, great people in this world and they can and do great things. 

I’m a lucky man. And I’m so, so sorry for those who after today no longer possess that same luck.