Day 55: Patriotic Duty

There was a time when I was fairly obsessed with politics. I was a current events junkie. When major news events broke, I jumped from network to network to absorb the various perspectives. There was a time when I could listen to talk radio for hours. Those days are over.

I still follow politics, but now, it's primarily because I feel a sense of duty to do so. It's not because I enjoy. In fact, I despise it. It's rotten to the core. It's snide and dirty and completely muddied. It's a shame. Still, I follow politics because I don't want to be left behind. I don't want to be hoodwinked. I don't want to be categorized or stepped on or stepped over. It happens every day to honest, decent people, and I don't want it to happen to me.

Years and years ago I sat at a campfire with a friend and debated politics until the sun came up. I took the position that politicians weren't inherently evil. I reasoned that they didn't enter politics and run for office for selfish reasons. I reasoned they had good intentions. How naive I was. Today, I see politics being played on just about every level of my life, from Washington D.C. to the streets and sidewalks I walk every day.

What's the positiveness in all this? That I'm aware. I don't have to like having to participate, but I thankful for the ability to do so. 

Day 54: When Doves Cry

Last night, I heard Prince on the radio while driving my daughter across town. You don’t hear Prince much on the radio these days, which is a shame. In fact, you don’t hear Prince much at all anywhere. A great deal of the blame for that is Prince’s. He’s a hermit. He’s a bad business strategist. He's fiercely independent and bullheaded. Eccentric. His fashion sense is suspect. And he somehow defies the laws of aging. I’m not sure Prince is even human or of this earth. Man, I love Prince.  

I’ve known Prince longer than I’ve known my wife, kids, or a good chunk of my friends. By “know,” I mean “known of.” His Purpleness and I have never actually crossed physical paths, but it feels as if we have. For as damn weird as Prince can and has been, I’ve always felt like I was in tune with what he was going for at any particular time. I don’t know if that makes me damn weird, too, or even a “Slave,” but over the years, no matter what strange, career-killing move Prince was making, I somehow understood and even approved of it.

I first heard Prince at around 15 years old at a party I wasn’t supposed to be at. “1999” was spinning on the turntable, and “Little Red Corvette” was getting played over and over. I quickly went about scrounging up any dubbed tapes of Prince I could weasel my way into. It took a while before I could get my hands on all the songs from “Dirty Mind,” but I was persistent and eventually made it happen. From there, I made it my life’s mission to get “Controversy” and “1999.” By the time “Purple Rain” rolled around, I was fighting off urges to convert my entire wardrobe to purple pants, shirts, and scarves.

Prince came along at the perfect time in my life. I was in high school, and he was an oddball who opened doors to all sorts of oddballness that I wanted to explore. Eventually, he found massive popularity. Although I’ve always hated when musicians I like make it big and I had to start sharing them with others, I didn’t mind so much in the case of Prince. I thought more people deserved to be let in on the magical madness he was conjuring. When “Let’s Go Crazy” and “When Doves Cry” and “Darling Nikki” blasted through the stratosphere, it justified my adulation for his music. The “Purple Rain” craze also warmed my heart, as I took great satisfaction in watching all the “open-minded” kids who had once labeled him as a “sawed-off f*g” now dancing their little hearts out on the dance floor at the big high school dances.

I don’t listen to Prince much these days, and I haven’t bought much of his music since “Diamonds and Pearls” (seriously, “Get Off” is the baddest, funkiest song ever), but good Lord, my memories tied to Prince are incredible. I’ve seen “Purple Rain” dozens of times, and I’ll even waste an hour or two every few years or so suffering through “Under A Cherry Moon.” I fished for hours and hours at the Wahoo Creek with my boy Daryl listening to “1999” on a portable boombox, and the night that my man Tim and I went bonkers at a party trying to woo girls lip-syncing to “I Would Die 4 U” was, well, embarrassingly beautiful. (Poor Lynette.) “Purple Rain” may be my favorite song of all time, and I truly believe “The Beautiful Ones” is about as good as music gets.

Whenever I hear Prince, like I did last night, I think of being in my small bedroom, staying up way, way deep into the night, my head stuck directly between my two crappy stereo speakers, listening to “Purple Rain” over and over again. I miss that stereo. 

Day 53: Growing Up

I take so much joy in seeing how people I grew up with turned out. There’s something oddly fascinating about not having seen, heard from, or have had access to people and then one day all that changes. It’s as if this magical bubble carrying years and years of history floats right in front of my face and bursts open to reveal all sorts of varying details, some great and some, unfortunately, the opposite. Especially in those cases in which the person has turned into someone completely different than I would have ever guessed or suspected or even thought possible, the experience has been all the more gratifying and brilliant. I love alternative endings.

I can’t pinpoint why it is, but it’s fascinating seeing people I thought I knew once upon a time take on likes and interests that they once either denounced outright or never gave any indication whatsoever they would eventually gravitate to. Kids who found the darkest corner of the gymnasium during P.E. back in the day, for example, are now avid Husker fans. Kids who showed no inclination for sports are now running marathons. Kids I never would have guessed had leadership skills tucked somewhere inside themselves have evidently found their inner pioneer and now letting those skills roar. Kids who I once deemed unsocial or shy or inhibited are now full of life and living on the edge. Beautiful.  

All this is exactly why life is such a tremendous experiment. At any given time and in any given place, you can decide to become whatever you want. You can literally change everything about yourself, and it’s allowed. You can flip-flop, backtrack, rearrange, morph, tear apart, and build and destroy in a mere second, and there’s nothing that can stop it.

I try not to live in the past, but I like to revisit it, and I love when perceptions I held in the past are decimated and turned to dust. I love surprises, and I love more the surprises people from years ago continually spring on me.

It makes me wonder how I was perceived and if those perceptions have changed.  

Day 52: The Gift Of Realizing The Gift

I might play the role of a part-time philosopher now and again, but I don't have any better idea of what the meaning of life is than probably 99% of the rest of the population does. What I do know is that I'm alive today. That's the most important aspect of my life now and tomorrow and until I die. I'm alive, and that makes all other things possible. Don't take that for granted. Don't fail to appreciate the gift. Don't fail to recognize the potential that the gift provides. Pay proper respect to the people, places, ideas, tears, laughs, and more that the gift introduces. Make the gift my own. Make the gift your process. This is mandatory.

Sometimes, it takes a struggle or uncertainty or questioning one's self to reaffirm that this magic exists and is always at work. It takes being stood up straight to be reminded that the gift wants to work for me. I think I've always been pretty good at noticing the small details present in any given day, but I haven't always been good about using those details and applying them to a larger purpose. I was reminded of this today. I was reminded that defining a life's purpose should be up to the individual, not others. The personal work I produce should have meaning to me and stem from me and reside in me. If it resonates in others, that's a glorious bonus. If not, the work and the journey required to produce it are still worthwhile and of value because it involved growth and realizations and truth.

Some days, it takes reality spitting in my face, mocking me, taunting me, and challenging me to get me off the mat and fight back and re-establish priorities, to be able to witness true "essence." I'm always up for a good fight, but I'm learning that I don't have to win the fight this second. Some battles are long and drawn out and painful. Today, I was reminded that pain isn't evil. I was reminded that pain can motivate. Confusion can result in beauty. Uncertainty can pay dividends. Today, I was reminded that the process is where I really grow, if I choose to participate. I can read or listen to how others arrived at their purpose, but there are lessons lost in that approach. Being a bystander is ultimately senseless if you're unwilling to apply what you've seen and learned.

Every day, the question I should be put forth is, "Do I choose to participate?" If so, get to it. If not, ask what are you afraid of? What are the barriers? Where do the obstacles lie? Then, how do I work past the fright, overcome the barriers, and knock down the obstacles? But always I must realize the opportunity to do so is a gift. Always a gift.  

Day 51: Coffee Is King

I pay my respect to coffee every morning by drinking it with much love and support. I happily spend my money on coffee because it never fails to bring me enjoyment. It never fails to brighten my morning. It never disappoints. I’m not picky; I can buy or make my own coffee. I’ll drink either type with the same gusto.

I drank my first cup at about eight years old. No lie. It’s been a long love affair since. Admittedly, a great deal of the initial allure was that I simply wanted to sit at the same table that my mom and aunts were at and listen to them gossip about whatever it was they gossiped about. When there were vanilla or chocolate cream-filled cookies to dip in my cup, bliss ensued. Even though at the time I sort of believed the warnings they’d shoot my way that coffee was “going to stunt my growth,” I didn’t care. I loved the coffee experience then, and I love it now.

I love the allure of coffee’s aroma. The smell that rockets out of the can and blasts me in the nose is intense beauty. The odor that coffee creates as it’s brewing in the machine is brilliance. That coffee can fill rooms of my house with sweet, sweet love isn’t lost on me.

I love the sounds of coffee nearly as much. Listening to coffee beans grind isn’t distracting; it’s angels singing. Listening to the pitter pat of individual drops adding to the pot’s collective is a chorus singing gospel. The swirling, chugging sound that coffee makes as it’s entering the mug is my favorite of all. I love picking out the mug I’m going to drink from. I love the act of adding cream and sugar. I love the “tinks” and “clinks” of the spoon banging against the mug’s sides.

The first sip of coffee is always utopia. The hesitation experienced from not knowing if the liquid will be too hot for the lips and tongue never grows old. I love coffee’s aftertaste, and I even love the little puddle the last remnants make at the bottom of the cup.  

On Sunday mornings growing up, I loved making coffee for my mom and waiting for her to tell me how it tasted. In college, coffee united my friends and I around a table where we’d discuss life between sips and draws from cheap cigarettes. On camping trips, I’d argue that coffee is the one thing you can count on that will be truly great about the coming day. On Sunday golfing mornings, coffee is my fuel. During desserts, cake isn’t cake without coffee to wash it down. And don’t get me started with donuts, pancakes, French toast, or scrambled eggs.

I love knowing how people “take” their coffee. (Cream and sugar for me, thank you.) I love that some people only drink coffee from the same mug. I love that some people drink coffee all day long. I love that people make their own coffee at work instead of drinking what some schmoo concocts. (I refuse to drink my company’s coffee unless absolutely mandatory. Coffee is not meant to be chewed.) I love that I can buy a cup of coffee from the same gas station every weekday morning and each and every person behind the counter not only knows my name, but expects me to present my coffee card to get my deserved discount. If I don’t, they ask for it. Hell, I even love the movie "Coffee & Cigarettes." 

Much respect, coffee. You’ve been a good friend. 

Day 50: Where The Wild Things Are

I recently saw this interview with Maurice Sendak at Open Culture, which itself is possible the best Web site online. Like just about every other kid who ever had "Where The Wild Things Are" read to him and then read himself a billion times over, I love the simplistic brilliance of the book and the illustrations and the deeper and deeper meaning I find in every time I flip the pages. And I'm still reading it some 40 years later. I've read it to all my children, including now my four-year-old, and I've read it for my own enjoyment even more. Some days, I'll just stare at the pages and forget about time and space. What a gift.

How does this book hold so much power and charm? How is it so completely engaging and frightful and happy and sad and peaceful and turbulent and uniting and dividing and painful and soothing simultaneously? I understand this book, yet I don't understand it a bit. How can a book with so few words be so universally appealing and demand every reader and looker's attention instantly? I don't know, and maybe these questions are not to be questioned. Magic is magic, after all.

I'm coming to feel the same about Spike Jonze's cinematic retelling. I've watched it on and off the past two days with my daughter, and I'm falling more and more in love with it. Again, simplistic brilliance. I can't pinpoint why the movie has sunk so deeply into my psyche, but I'm content to just it roll around in there a while and work its own magic. Perhaps my growing attachment stems from reveling in the inspiration Sendak had on Jonze who is now giving to others himself. Magic is magic.

My daughter and I just finished watching the movie again, and I would be content to just press Play and relive the last few hours all over with her. Her questions about the characters and their motivations and actions are so keen and spot on, I'm so fascinated to know exactly what thoughts are being created in her mind. I want a peek inside to know if she's seeing what I am, if she feeling the same emotions as me, etc.

I've seen a lot of movies, and I've read a lot of books, but I'm not sure there's been a better marriage where one book inspired a visual creation. 

Day 49: Playing Like A Kid

In the last two days I've played I Spy, Who Am I?, Hide n' Seek, Candy Land, Hot Wheels, video games, babies, bus driver, wrestling, and about a dozen other games I'm too tired to think of right now. My kid wears me out, and that's a great thing. Some days, when I wake up already exhausted, I wonder how I'm going to make it through the day, but I always do. And I always seem pretty happy, if not a little relieved to be laying down again. I've been pretty blessed to have kids who want to and like to play for pretty much 20 years now. Having a baby at 40 years old presented all kinds of physical and mental challenges, but man, she's kept me young and on the move. What a wonderful gift she's given me. I'm always forced to think young, and if you don't think that's a blessing, then you really wouldn't understand even if I tried to explain it to you. I'm blessed to have days like these, days that I don't worry about the outside world. Days when I don't think about my problems or what I don't have enough of or what I'll never have. Days like these make appreciate what I do have. And the thing is, I had a blast today, and it didn't cost me a cent. All I had to spend was some free time, and that was a price I was glad to pay.