Day 167: Inspiration

I think it's funny sometimes where you draw inspiration from. This morning, for example, I'm running a 5K, and for whatever reason, I'm struggling a bit. Couldn't bring myself to breathe really easily and was just fighting to maintain any kind of focus for whatever reason. Ahead of me were plenty of people I could have looked to and try to have caught, or at least looked to and tried to keep up with. But I didn't really. I was just letting them get away without much fight. I was having enough trouble putting my own steps one in front of the other without worrying about their steps, too. But then something weird happened, as it always does when I'm in situations like these. As I rounded this particular turn and started making my way back to the starting point, I came across an older man running who wasn't in shape, didn't look like your stereotypical runner, and looked to be struggling just as badly as me. But man, he had attitude. Big, black headband holding his glasses in place. Old black shoes hitting the ground with determination. And a look of joy on his face that was unmistakable. Man, I saw that look and just felt good. As much I was wanted to turn in a good time and do well for myself, it didn't really matter anymore. At that point, seeing that man competing and not giving up told me everything I needed to be thinking in a split second. I needed to worry less about keeping up and worry less about thinking about what I should be doing or what I was doing wrong and just worry about why I was doing it. Why was I there? Why was it important? And what was each step getting me?

I was there for a cause, to raise money for the homeless population in my city. It was important because every person without a home is every much a person as those with homes. They have dignity that needs paid attention to. They have problems that they can't take care of themselves. And they are our fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, our children, and our friends. Each step was getting me closer to the reality that I'm part of a big world that should be less about my group or your group or my wants and your needs but more about what can help us all get through each day with some happiness and fulfillment. What a lesson. What a morning. 

Day 166: The Competitive Fire

I've never liked losing--at anything. I've never been so weird and full of myself that I haven't let my kids beat me at games of basketball or Candy Land or whatever else it was that we were playing, but I don't like losing at things where the competition is real and on an equal level. It could be a meaningless mid-week softball game or a pickup basketball game or a trivia game in some bar, but I don't like coming out on the losing end. I'm not some psycho who is going to throw a tantrum or beat his wife when he gets home because I came in second, but I'll curse myself and relive the minutes over and over an unhealthy amount of times if I take a loss hard.

The thing I find fascinating is that over the years, I've put myself in less and less situations where I've had something to compete for. Let's face it, I love playing fantasy sports, but I'm not doing it for the competition. I don't have the time or inclination to spend countless hours fine tuning my lineups, so I typically resign myself early on in the season to accepting the fact that I'm going to lose. I play fantasy sports mostly for the social aspects.

And having a four-year-old doesn't leave much time to seek out competition elsewhere, like in the form of rec sports. I'd rather spend my spare time doing things she wants to do. I also have a daughter who plays competitive sports herself, and my duty these days is to watch her and not put my desires first where that stuff is concerned. Still, when you're a person who has sought out competition and made it a fairly big part of his life for decades, there can be a big void as you age and it's not there anymore.

Another thing I've found fascinating about getting older where competition is concerned is relying less on meeting my competitive addiction from others and relying more on myself. I'm begrudgingly learning to like running a bit more and more, but I'm not sure it's something I'll ever really grasp onto with a full heart. Still, I'm really learning to love the aspect of hitting personal bests again. I thrived on that feeling decades ago as a kid when I ran competitively, and for whatever reason, that feeling hasn't totally gone away today. When I'm running, I'm thinking about how I can make up time, what's possible, what's not possible, what's realistic, what's something I can look to that can propel me to surpass where I've already been.

Tomorrow, I'm running in a 5K, and as much as I'm looking forward to it because it's something that's keeping me fit and off the couch and able hopefully to add years to the duration of my life, I'm looking forward to it just as much to see where I'm at running-wise compared to people my age and where I can be in the future. I haven't been running all that long this time around, but if I'm going to keep it up, I know I'll need motivation, and the best motivation I know is trying to satisfy the fire that burns within. Stoking that fire. Making it soar and feeling its heat.

Ultimately, I'd like to test myself in other individual ways. Take myself to places I didn't believe capable. Test myself on levels that I shouldn't have been able to reach and move beyond. I've always desired, for example, to have a boxing match. I know I'll get punched in the face repeatedly, and it will probably hurt, and I'll probably wonder what the hell I got myself into halfway through, but I want to know what it's like to chew on that kind of fear and swallow it and then push myself beyond it into unknown territory, into places that I don't recognize and maybe not even like. I want to know what it's like to burn with pain but still keep moving forward.

Day 165: Summer Camp

I never got to go to summer camp. I never really even thought about it much as a young kid. Growing up, summer camp seemed like something rich kids on the East Coast did because their parents didn’t want to have to deal with them all summer.

On one hand, I kind of envied those kids for the chance to get away to the woods, hang around other kids their own age at some lake where they could canoe or swim or fish all day. How flippin’ sweet it must have been to sit by a campfire every night before going retiring for the night in some cabin with a bunch of other guys and laughing deep into the night at fart jokes or creeping out to pull pranks. Hell, maybe you would even meet a cute girl if you were lucky at the end-of-the-camp dance and live the summer to end all summers.

On the other hand, the thought of heading off alone to some strange place with a bunch of strange people all under suspect supervision didn’t sound so enticing. I’d miss out on baseball season. I’d miss out on the swimming pool social scene. Would they have fireworks at camp? You probably couldn’t sleep until noon or beyond. There’s probably no air conditioning or TV. Do they have popsicles?

Later on in life, seemingly every summer camp I witnessed through the power of TV or movies was either filled with lunatic serial killers, oversexed teenagers, or a band of misfit losers trying to find their place in the world by conquering the suckheads who had the world handed to them on a silver platter. Always there was beer and girls in short shorts involved. Always there were cutoff shirts, bad headbands on the boys, and some nerd who mucking up everyone’s good time. Still, if Jodie Foster could have a good time at camp, why couldn’t I, I’d reason.

As an adult, I’ve been able to look at summer camp through the eyes of a parent. All of my kids have headed off to some summer camp or another, including my four-year-old who has ventured off each day this week for a few hours at the YCMA camp. My older kids did the church camp and week-long overnight camp scene. I truly believe those camps were as tough on me and their mom as it might have been on them being away from home. I’m not sure to what extent they enjoyed their stays, if they did at all, but I know while they were away I seemed to do nothing but wonder what they were doing and if they were happy and OK the entire time.

But each time they went, I also envied them a little bit. The only camps I went to were basketball camps, which obviously centered around basketball day and night. Seeing some of the camps my kids went to made me want to jump in a canoe and paddle around the lake. Climb up to the top bunk. It made me wonder what if I had made friends with kids I stayed in contact the rest of my life. What if I had met a cute girl? What if I had got to play pranks and learn skills and met different people from different places with different ideas and ways of doing things.

I’m happy my daughter is camping this week, fishing and making crafts and going to a different park each day and making new friends. I even like it when she tells me each night, “The teachers are so bossy; they don’t even let us take our shoes off.” I like that she’s seeing the world from new and different views. I hope it helps her always look forward to summer and hold summer in a special regard.

Day 164: My swing set is smaller than yours, so what?

I wish the world was a place in which every kid had his or her own swing set, if even only for a few years during their childhood. If even only a cheap metal swing set that soon enough attracts rust and bends and cracks and falls inward under the heavy duress of kids happily climbing, swinging, and hanging upside down.

My sister and I had our own swing set. Seems like everyone else did, too. I vividly remember heading outside on summer days bright and early at 7 a.m. while the grass was still wet on my bare feet and the plastic seats of the swings were also covered with dew. I sat down anyway and started to swing. I remember how peaceful those mornings were but also lonely in some ways. The rest of the world still seemed asleep, including any would-be friends who could fill the other swing. A swing set never seemed boring to me. It seemed like a safe place, with its worn out dirt patches carved out of the grass and its chain links and squeaking and dented slide and missing bolts.

It’s amazing to me how sophisticated and intricate swing sets have become over the years. How many hundreds a person can spend building complicated structures features multiple forts and tunnels and enough apparatus to entertain an entire pre-school full of kids. They’re monstrosities. They’re equivalent to houses. In fact, I’m quite sure some the stuff I’ve seen popping up around my neighborhood is larger than what people in some Third World countries reside in. Amazing but not surprising, I suppose.

A couple years ago when we started contemplating a swing set purchase for our youngest daughter, I felt this weird social stigma starting to take hold. Should I buy her a swing set that was on par with the lifelike pirate ships and space shuttles and full-blown edifices being erected in seemingly every other backyard surrounding my house? Or should I stick with the simplicity of tradition A-framer made of good ole’ steel? My heart wanted to pull the trigger on a monster-size set. My bank account screamed “No!” For whatever reason, I couldn’t justify spending a kazillon dollars on something that she was only going to play on for so many months a year and for only so many years of her life. I argued she’d probably not care anyway.

Turns out that I was wrong. Not long after she learned to walk and talk and climb and swing, she started noticing the much bigger and much more fun-looking swing sets in the neighbors’ yards. And then her questions started to come. “Why don’t we have one of those?” I was tempted to tell her “because you were born with a great big imagination and ability to make your own fun without having to have a three-story building in your backyard to do it,” but I didn’t. I just mumbled something about money, groceries, a roof over your head, and other stuff she didn’t give a flip about and changed the subject.

Still, not having the best in outdoor play gear hasn’t stopped her for a second from playing on the mid-level gear that her old man bought instead. She still swings with a smile. She still zooms down a slide. She still climbs on the bars, and soon enough, I’m sure she’ll be hanging upside down risking broken bones. And damned if she doesn’t play on her far less expensive swing set a hell of a lot more than the kids next door with their fancy castles and split-level, ranch-sized hideouts. I’ve no clue what those kids do all day and night all year round, but I rarely see those kids outside getting dirty, getting physical, and getting sweaty. They must be inside playing with their overpriced, fancy indoor toys.

Day 163: Summer Songs

Nightswimming, 
remembering that night, 
September's coming soon,
I'm pining for the moon,
and what if there were two,
side by side in orbit around the fairest sun? 
The bright tide forever drawn
could not describe nightswimming. 


- REM

O can't you see

You belong to me

How my poor heart aches with every step you take

- The Police

There were few things I loved more growing up than the radio. My first radio was a tiny blue transistor. I listened to it constantly, including in bed well after my bedtime. My sister got a matching red one, which she loved as much. Through that radio, I listened to everything. Ball games from distant AM feeds. Talk radio. The CBS television feed. Public radio. Country music. Classical music. Z-92. The Eagle. KFRX. Golden Oldies. KFMQ. You name it. 

I listened to the radio year around, but without question, the summertime was my favorite time to listen to music. I'd sit outside on our patio in one of those old steel and nylon lawn chairs I'm not sure they make anymore with any radio I could get my hands on and listen to tunes deep into the night. On Sundays it was Rockline and The King Biscuit Flower Hour where I'd listen to interviews with whatever musician was featured. On any other night, I just constantly turned the dial up and down, stopping at whatever I like or that intrigued me. 

As the years passed and my tastes became more refined, I started listening to the radio less and less and tapes and CDs more and more. Still, the summertime was my favorite time for some reason. To this day, I associate more songs with certain summers than any other time of the year. If I hear certain songs, whether on the radio, an iPod, a loudspeaker, whatever, it takes me back to a certain age in a certain time and place. Arguably, no two songs have as powerful affect on me in this way than "Nightswimming" and "Every Breath You Take." I'm not sure why, but I don't even question it anymore. I've heard both so many times, there's seemingly nothing new I can learn about either one, but still I do. And somehow, each helps me continue to learn things about myself. Each takes me back to certain social settings. Each takes me back to certain conversations. Certain nights. Certain emotions. Certain situations. I play those out. I revise history. I question actions. I relive laughs and smile. I explore all the places I was so fascinated with originally. The fantastic thing about these songs, and songs in general, is that somewhere, someplace, I know there are certain people who share of  the same feelings I do when they hear those songs but also experience their own intimate memories and emotions. 

I love that music gives people their own special emotions. I love that songs can transport people to specific moments lived out in different eras. I love that summer songs can elicit certain smells, certain sensations, certain power. Today, by whatever cosmic force that's at work, I heard both "Nightswimming" and "Every Breath You Take" at different times in the day. Both times, my day became just a little bit better, if only temporarily. 

Day 162: Just Move On

What a weird day. I was on vacation. That's good. I got a lot done. That's good, as well. I got to play quite a bit with my little girl. Definitely good. Going to have some pizza for supper. Not bad on any day. Still, I have to say, this day mostly sucked. Why? Who knows. I'm too tired to examine the why and ifs and buts. Sometimes, you have to accept that they came along at the wrong time and place and there's not much you can do about it. It is what it is. Let it go. Look to the next minute. And just move on. It's a Monday. I tend to think that's what Mondays are for anyway. Now, Tuesday, what do you have in store? 

Day 161: 6/10/67

Glad to be alive another year. To watch my kids grow. To see my wife smile. To hear my dogs bark. To feel my cats' fur. To hear music. To feel the sun. To read meaningful words. To learn and reason. To be in the midst of friends and family. To help the cause. To play my guitar. To be inspired. To hear music. To walk and talk. To forgive and forget. To lift up. To experience. To love.