I'm Catholic. There are many misconceptions about the Mass, both from outside and inside the Catholic Church. Sure, there are the sexy arguments about praying to saints and stuff like that, but that conversation is short. People who pray to saints are committing idolatry. The Catholic Church doesn't sanction idolatry.
But that's boring. I'd rather talk about the nature of Mass (or services, if you aren't Catholic). For many, the Mass is a chance for a personal encounter with God. They go to Mass and start praying and maybe sing and encounter God and hop in the car and go home. And except for wishing a few people peace, they may not say another word to anyone.
I would submit that all that stuff is homework. You ought to do that before you come. The Mass is based on the Last Supper, which wasn't a bunch of people coming together to have individual uncounters with Jesus. It was a bunch of guys having dinner together and honoring God. And when we go to Mass--my family goes on Saturday night--we're going over to our Father's house for dinner. When you do that, you aren't there for a personal encounter with your dad. You're there to be with the entire family.
In the same way, at Mass, you're there not only to be with God, but to be with your fellow family members. It's a communal experience.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Howdy. I'm tired. How are you?
Sometimes when the Darkness comes, it comes in the form of stifling exhaustion. Just a mental weariness that drains all your energy and creativeness. Life, of course, goes on, and responsibilities don't wait for you to get over it. So you press on, ill-equipped to do anything, the exhaustion warping your perspective so you can't trust what you see and feel. Everything is skewed just enough to cause you to question your reactions to everything. As a result, you treat a request as an attack, then you're too tentative to respond to an attack that's real.
At the end of the day, the process, and your missteps along the way, leave you more drained than when you started. I'm convinced that dreams play a part in this. I think that when you enter this frame of mind, whatever you dream at night carries forward and amplifies the thought process, so the downward spiral is more pronounced at the beginning of the day than it was the night before. I've no proof of this, just a gut feeling based on my own experiences. I don't remember my dreams, but when the darkness is here, I often wake with feelings of dread.
In this case, the news isn't all bad. I need a vacation to shake things up and I think that will reset me. All I need to do is make it until about noon on Friday, then I'm good. I get a week off and the time will allow the regeneration that's required. But right now, the 54 hours between now and then seems like 54 years. I'm not certain I can do it, and the doubts feed the cycle.
Finally, this is awfully close to whining. Life is hard. It's part of the rules. You're going to have periods that aren't good and they will pass, like everything else. You just need to tough it out until that happens, and usually, it happens without you realizing. But when you get stuck in a rut and you start pressing just to make it through without messing it up any worse, everything seems huge.
At the end of the day, the process, and your missteps along the way, leave you more drained than when you started. I'm convinced that dreams play a part in this. I think that when you enter this frame of mind, whatever you dream at night carries forward and amplifies the thought process, so the downward spiral is more pronounced at the beginning of the day than it was the night before. I've no proof of this, just a gut feeling based on my own experiences. I don't remember my dreams, but when the darkness is here, I often wake with feelings of dread.
In this case, the news isn't all bad. I need a vacation to shake things up and I think that will reset me. All I need to do is make it until about noon on Friday, then I'm good. I get a week off and the time will allow the regeneration that's required. But right now, the 54 hours between now and then seems like 54 years. I'm not certain I can do it, and the doubts feed the cycle.
Finally, this is awfully close to whining. Life is hard. It's part of the rules. You're going to have periods that aren't good and they will pass, like everything else. You just need to tough it out until that happens, and usually, it happens without you realizing. But when you get stuck in a rut and you start pressing just to make it through without messing it up any worse, everything seems huge.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
A day of extremes
Allow me to depart from my high-falutin philosophical spew to discuss personal issues.
Today was a bad day. The cat's sick, you see, and the vet can't give us odds on anything, or a signficant prognosis. All he can say is that there's a walnut-sized growth in her abdomen that may be cancer or may be something she ate or may be something else. It's calcified, and as a result, she's not eating or drinking and her kidneys are screwed up and she needs detoxification.
If that works, she will need exploratory surgery. If that looks good, they will remove the lump. If that works, they will send the lump to the lab. And after all that, the lab may still come back and say she's terminal. All of this will cost between $1,000 and $1,500. Which is money we probably don't have, so we'll have to scramble.
Work sucked, too. My position is largely a public relations position, which means that when something goes wrong with the system that I've become the face of, people throw it at me. Sometimes they throw it hard. And sometimes it's not a system problem, really, but they demand that I solve it anyway. I'm pretty tired of it.
So her I am, feeling tired and beaten down, and oh yeah, I bought a car tonight. It's a 2006 Kia Spectra. I like it. It's nice. I feel good about the purchase. Never buy a 1999 Sportage. It's bad juju.
I should feel good about buying the car. At the very least, it should take the edge off. Instead, I feel like I've been through the wringer.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle and sometimes I'm deep in despair. And some days it's both.
Today was a bad day. The cat's sick, you see, and the vet can't give us odds on anything, or a signficant prognosis. All he can say is that there's a walnut-sized growth in her abdomen that may be cancer or may be something she ate or may be something else. It's calcified, and as a result, she's not eating or drinking and her kidneys are screwed up and she needs detoxification.
If that works, she will need exploratory surgery. If that looks good, they will remove the lump. If that works, they will send the lump to the lab. And after all that, the lab may still come back and say she's terminal. All of this will cost between $1,000 and $1,500. Which is money we probably don't have, so we'll have to scramble.
Work sucked, too. My position is largely a public relations position, which means that when something goes wrong with the system that I've become the face of, people throw it at me. Sometimes they throw it hard. And sometimes it's not a system problem, really, but they demand that I solve it anyway. I'm pretty tired of it.
So her I am, feeling tired and beaten down, and oh yeah, I bought a car tonight. It's a 2006 Kia Spectra. I like it. It's nice. I feel good about the purchase. Never buy a 1999 Sportage. It's bad juju.
I should feel good about buying the car. At the very least, it should take the edge off. Instead, I feel like I've been through the wringer.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle and sometimes I'm deep in despair. And some days it's both.
A Small Blessing
My daughter is going into eighth grade. One of the great pleasures in life is watching her turn from a sweet little girl into a wonderful young woman. She drips with potential and has the drive to turn it into an awful lot. She's smart and accomplished, and yet gentle and almost completely free of attitude.
She attends an academically demanding school and it's not uncommon for her to be doing school work until after my bed time.
School's out here in Florida and yesterday she had a friend over. Most of her friends are scattered throughout the county, so she doesn't get to see them as often as she would if they lived down the street. Last night, I saw her the way I rarely see her, chumming around with a buddy, being silly, doing frivolous things.
This is me smiling.
She attends an academically demanding school and it's not uncommon for her to be doing school work until after my bed time.
School's out here in Florida and yesterday she had a friend over. Most of her friends are scattered throughout the county, so she doesn't get to see them as often as she would if they lived down the street. Last night, I saw her the way I rarely see her, chumming around with a buddy, being silly, doing frivolous things.
This is me smiling.
Monday, May 29, 2006
The Purpose
It's kind of ironic that this blog has gone where it has, because in my Saturday morning men's group, we're starting The Purpose-Driven Life by Rick Warren. This book (and it's 8 billion ancillary items, all available at your local bookstore) has two premises:
- You need to figure out your purpose in life and live according to it. If you do that, you add meaning to your life and decision making becomes much easier.
- God has a purpose for you and it's all part of a big plan--His plan.
The first premise is very attractive. It's the core of strategic decision-making. If you don't have an overriding purpose in life, then you make a series of reactive, tactical decisions that might keep you afloat, but will never advance you toward your goal, except by accident. If you determine your purpose, then you have a litmus test for everything you do. Will it advance my purpose? If the answer is no, you don't do it.
In a Christian context, I suppose if the answer is no, you might be about to sin. And while it's not okay to sin, we all do it, and we need to make room to allow people to be redeemed, but that's another topic.
By having a purpose, you can play to win, rather than playing not to lose. In all honesty, I've spent a good deal of my life playing not to lose.
I suppose now that life seems more finite to me, there's more urgency for me to figure out my purpose and advance it. Personally, I think I've started that, but I still have more to do. My purpose is to be a good father and husband first. It makes decisions about advancement pretty easy, but I also strain against it more than I should.
As for the second bullet, I believe that God probably has a purpose for each of our lives, but it's a very loose-fitting purpose. I think we exist to get to know Him and love Him so we can go home to Him later on. And what a joyful thing that will be! I think He gave us a spirit of boldness to use the gifts and abilities we have to their best. That's what the parable of the talents is all about. We have a light and should not hide it under a barrel.
But I don't believe that we are part of a giant divine chess game. I don't think God's purpose for me was to work in the New York State Legislature, then go to programming school, then work on DOD contracts, then do training... I think the purpose is at a higher level than that.
To deal with reality, as it occurs, with open eyes and a bold spirit; to love others, even when it's hard; and to find my way to Him.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
The Plan, Part 2
"God has a plan"
How many times have you heard that? Usually--almost always--you hear it when something bad has happened. If you hear it and nod knowingly, chances are something bad has happened to someone else. If you hear it and want to take a tire iron to the person who said it, chances are something bad has happened to you.
And yet, if the suffering is part of something bigger, then it's easier. If God has a plan, there's maybe nobility in suffering. In your suffering, you're furthering God's causes here on Earth. Why me? now has an answer.
I submit that while God probably has at least one plan--probably more than that--your suffering may not be part of the plan. If God has a plan that includes your suffering, that means suffering is not the norm. It's a special circumstance that God has set forth that profoundly advances His cause. And yet, if you believe in the Bible, God clearly indicates in Genesis 3 that life is supposed to be hard. The statement in Genesis is agricultural in its literal meaning. It's no less true of non-agricultural work and interpersonal relationships. If you own a Kia Sportage with more than 60,000 miles on it, it's true of just getting your stupid car started.
In other words, the problems you're having are part of life. If you breathe, you suffer. God is probably not playing a chess game and giving you problems in order to advance your salvation. As the great Dread Pirate Westley once said, "Life is pain. Anyone who says different is selling something."
God's plan, if He has one, is born of our response to what happens, whether good or bad. God's plan is as much forwarded by how you use the big bonus you got as it is by how you react to the terminal illness that someone else might have. Or you might have.
It's with the suffering that we are to pray as if everything depended on God and work as if everything depended on us. Until it's time to stop working. In other words, sometimes the answer to the prayer about removing suffering is "No." Jesus begged God to not go through the crucifixion. And yet it happened. Paul asked three times for God to remove the thorn in his side. God didn't.
Sometimes, the only answer is acceptance. If you've discerned that the problem is God's will, the best way to deal with it is to accept it. When Jesus prayed in the garden to remove this cup from Him, the last phrase was "yet not my will, but your will be done." Paul accepted the answer that the thorn wouldn't be removed. Battling against something that's intractable is counterproductive and only leads to strife and bitterness.
As long as I'm reaching to Lost for the meaning of life, I'll also reach to it for the meaning of acceptance and maybe even death. One of the characters, Bernard, is 57 years old and has never found true love. And yet he finds it in a woman named Rose. For him, she is like drinking from a cool spring after wandering all his life in the desert. And then she lets him know that she's dying. But even if he only gets to drink from the cool spring for a few months more, it's better than walking away from it, so he says he doesn't care and he wants to marry her.
In the story, this is not Rose's first battle with whatever it is that's killing her. But she seems to be tired of the battle. Bernard, of course, isn't. He takes her to a faith healer in Australia. On their honeymoon. When she finds out, she's furious with him.
"I didn't want this," she screams at him in a Jeep in the middle of the outback. She's made her peace with it. She knows that she's going to die and she's chosen to face it head on. She's tired of the battle and wants to live out her remaining days at peace. Bernard's desparate need to do something is robbing her of that peace.
Sometimes, it's time to stop fighting and accept. Life is hard. It's promised to us. Sometimes it's worth the fight, and sometimes the path to peace is acceptance. That's the real plan. The deeper meaning isn't in the suffering. It's not in the strained marriage or the car that won't start or the seemingly endless struggle to find a job. Or in watching someone you live die slowly from within.
It's in the response. It's the discerning what's appropriate and in fighting what can be fought, and accepting what cannot. And though that may be God's plan, we have to figure it out and execute it. And the figuring out is an ongoing, humbling experience that will sap your energy and drive you to your knees.
Because life will be hard; He said so. The living comes when you decide what to do after accepting that premise. In what you do after acceptance, is God's plan played out.
How many times have you heard that? Usually--almost always--you hear it when something bad has happened. If you hear it and nod knowingly, chances are something bad has happened to someone else. If you hear it and want to take a tire iron to the person who said it, chances are something bad has happened to you.
And yet, if the suffering is part of something bigger, then it's easier. If God has a plan, there's maybe nobility in suffering. In your suffering, you're furthering God's causes here on Earth. Why me? now has an answer.
I submit that while God probably has at least one plan--probably more than that--your suffering may not be part of the plan. If God has a plan that includes your suffering, that means suffering is not the norm. It's a special circumstance that God has set forth that profoundly advances His cause. And yet, if you believe in the Bible, God clearly indicates in Genesis 3 that life is supposed to be hard. The statement in Genesis is agricultural in its literal meaning. It's no less true of non-agricultural work and interpersonal relationships. If you own a Kia Sportage with more than 60,000 miles on it, it's true of just getting your stupid car started.
In other words, the problems you're having are part of life. If you breathe, you suffer. God is probably not playing a chess game and giving you problems in order to advance your salvation. As the great Dread Pirate Westley once said, "Life is pain. Anyone who says different is selling something."
God's plan, if He has one, is born of our response to what happens, whether good or bad. God's plan is as much forwarded by how you use the big bonus you got as it is by how you react to the terminal illness that someone else might have. Or you might have.
It's with the suffering that we are to pray as if everything depended on God and work as if everything depended on us. Until it's time to stop working. In other words, sometimes the answer to the prayer about removing suffering is "No." Jesus begged God to not go through the crucifixion. And yet it happened. Paul asked three times for God to remove the thorn in his side. God didn't.
Sometimes, the only answer is acceptance. If you've discerned that the problem is God's will, the best way to deal with it is to accept it. When Jesus prayed in the garden to remove this cup from Him, the last phrase was "yet not my will, but your will be done." Paul accepted the answer that the thorn wouldn't be removed. Battling against something that's intractable is counterproductive and only leads to strife and bitterness.
As long as I'm reaching to Lost for the meaning of life, I'll also reach to it for the meaning of acceptance and maybe even death. One of the characters, Bernard, is 57 years old and has never found true love. And yet he finds it in a woman named Rose. For him, she is like drinking from a cool spring after wandering all his life in the desert. And then she lets him know that she's dying. But even if he only gets to drink from the cool spring for a few months more, it's better than walking away from it, so he says he doesn't care and he wants to marry her.
In the story, this is not Rose's first battle with whatever it is that's killing her. But she seems to be tired of the battle. Bernard, of course, isn't. He takes her to a faith healer in Australia. On their honeymoon. When she finds out, she's furious with him.
"I didn't want this," she screams at him in a Jeep in the middle of the outback. She's made her peace with it. She knows that she's going to die and she's chosen to face it head on. She's tired of the battle and wants to live out her remaining days at peace. Bernard's desparate need to do something is robbing her of that peace.
Sometimes, it's time to stop fighting and accept. Life is hard. It's promised to us. Sometimes it's worth the fight, and sometimes the path to peace is acceptance. That's the real plan. The deeper meaning isn't in the suffering. It's not in the strained marriage or the car that won't start or the seemingly endless struggle to find a job. Or in watching someone you live die slowly from within.
It's in the response. It's the discerning what's appropriate and in fighting what can be fought, and accepting what cannot. And though that may be God's plan, we have to figure it out and execute it. And the figuring out is an ongoing, humbling experience that will sap your energy and drive you to your knees.
Because life will be hard; He said so. The living comes when you decide what to do after accepting that premise. In what you do after acceptance, is God's plan played out.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
The Plan, Part I
Cursed be the ground because of you! In toil shall you eat its yield all the days of your life. Thorns and thistles shall it bring forth to you, as you eat of the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face shall you get bread to eat, Until you return to the ground, from which you were taken; For you are dirt, and to dirt you shall return. -- Genesis 3:17b-19
Do not mistake coincidence for fate. -- Mr. Eko, Lost
Thursday, May 25, 2006
The Realization that Frees You
See, here's the thing. I know it's messed up, the way I'm thinking. I suppose that's good. And I know the place I need to get to so I don't think that way. And I suppose that's good. But I'm not sure of how to get there.
There's a guy named Steven Hayes, who has a new approach to all this. He calls his approach acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT). ACT emphasizes that you should accept who and what you are and work from there, rather than trying to unlock some deep, dark secrets and change yourself. Here's a quote from Hayes:
Parts of life are going to be horrible. In order to be successful, you need to accept this as fact. Just as much as a certain parts of your life will be horrible, the cycle will repeat and other parts will be wonderful. Unless life ends, the cycle continues. So, if nothing else, if you wait it out, you will eventually find a wonderful cycle. And that's the worst case.
If parts of life will be horrible, you don't have to focus on how horrible it is for you. For me, at least, this extreme self-centeredness...this emphasis on how bad things are for me is a warning that I'm not where I want to be.
The key is how to get back. I'm still working that out.
There's a guy named Steven Hayes, who has a new approach to all this. He calls his approach acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT). ACT emphasizes that you should accept who and what you are and work from there, rather than trying to unlock some deep, dark secrets and change yourself. Here's a quote from Hayes:
Based on what I know about this theory, I think it's the right one. To that extent, I've accepted that this is a part of me, and I think I can live with it. And then the hard work is getting out of it.ACT is based on the idea that psychological suffering is usually caused by running away from difficult private experiences, by becoming entangled in your own thoughts, and as a result of all of that failing to get your feet moving in accord with your chosen core values.
Parts of life are going to be horrible. In order to be successful, you need to accept this as fact. Just as much as a certain parts of your life will be horrible, the cycle will repeat and other parts will be wonderful. Unless life ends, the cycle continues. So, if nothing else, if you wait it out, you will eventually find a wonderful cycle. And that's the worst case.
If parts of life will be horrible, you don't have to focus on how horrible it is for you. For me, at least, this extreme self-centeredness...this emphasis on how bad things are for me is a warning that I'm not where I want to be.
The key is how to get back. I'm still working that out.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The Darkness, Part I
Okay, now that I've taken care of some administrative things, let me continue on the topic of the darkness. From what I've read, everyone has a name for it. I call it the darkness. There's a writer named Tracy Thompson who wrote a book about it called The Beast. For me, it's the darkness.
I don't remember the day the darkness came, but I remember the circumstance. It was a few months after my mom's mother died. Ever since both my grandfathers died around 1970, I've struggled with death and it's hit me harder than it should. This was no different. It would have been late 1999, probably close to Christmas.
I'd been sleeping horribly, averaging a little more than three hours of sleep per night. When I got to work in the morning, I just sat in the car. Sometimes I sat for as long as five or ten minutes before I got out. Just getting out of the car seemed a Herculean effort. And the effort to navigate the mine field at work was nearly as large.
At the time, I managed a group of five technical writers, one of whom did no work and was actively trying to get fired and the rest of whom more or less despised me. (Much of the blame for this is mine.) One of them was a guy in his fifties, and just the slightest request often escalated into a brawl. Not all of that problem was mine, as I found out when we crossed paths later, when I'd found equilibrium.
One Thursday afternoon, we'd gotten into it over something, only at the point where we normally went for each other's throats, we both stepped back. It was progress. It was also the last straw. The fight happened late in the day, and when I started to drive home, the last safety net of sanity broke.
The darkness was like a dark, incredibly cold presence within me and for the first time, it dominated me. All through the drive home, I had to physically restrain myself from driving my car into a tree as fast as I could. Some Christians consider hell a dark, cold place where the presence of God is completely removed. If that's the case, I felt a sliver of hell that afternoon.
The compulsion for self-destruction faded substantially that afternoon, and though it has been back since, it's never been nearly as strong.
Aside from the typical symptoms, the lack of drive or desire to do anything, the sleep changes, and the loss of interest, depression--for that's what the darkness is--robs you of the very tools you need to combat it. It robs you of perspective.
Imagine trying to maneuver through a maze, only this maze is filled with deep dark pits. And as you start out through the maze, you lose your depth perception. That's what depression is like. It fills you with self-doubt and you lose the ability to gauge how you're doing. The ability to determine whether you've been reasonable is stripped from you. What's more, your perception of what other people are thinking is taken, as well. So you wind up worrying that you're not doing the right things, but unable to tell use other peoples' reactions as a guide, as you are pretty much assured that you'll misinterpret them, too.
My ability to maneuver the maze was completely removed. Fortunately, that was the bottom. It got better from there. It got better with Celexa (more on that another time) and Zoloft, and with some minimal therapy. The darkness was controlled, but it never went away.
I don't remember the day the darkness came, but I remember the circumstance. It was a few months after my mom's mother died. Ever since both my grandfathers died around 1970, I've struggled with death and it's hit me harder than it should. This was no different. It would have been late 1999, probably close to Christmas.
I'd been sleeping horribly, averaging a little more than three hours of sleep per night. When I got to work in the morning, I just sat in the car. Sometimes I sat for as long as five or ten minutes before I got out. Just getting out of the car seemed a Herculean effort. And the effort to navigate the mine field at work was nearly as large.
At the time, I managed a group of five technical writers, one of whom did no work and was actively trying to get fired and the rest of whom more or less despised me. (Much of the blame for this is mine.) One of them was a guy in his fifties, and just the slightest request often escalated into a brawl. Not all of that problem was mine, as I found out when we crossed paths later, when I'd found equilibrium.
One Thursday afternoon, we'd gotten into it over something, only at the point where we normally went for each other's throats, we both stepped back. It was progress. It was also the last straw. The fight happened late in the day, and when I started to drive home, the last safety net of sanity broke.
The darkness was like a dark, incredibly cold presence within me and for the first time, it dominated me. All through the drive home, I had to physically restrain myself from driving my car into a tree as fast as I could. Some Christians consider hell a dark, cold place where the presence of God is completely removed. If that's the case, I felt a sliver of hell that afternoon.
The compulsion for self-destruction faded substantially that afternoon, and though it has been back since, it's never been nearly as strong.
Aside from the typical symptoms, the lack of drive or desire to do anything, the sleep changes, and the loss of interest, depression--for that's what the darkness is--robs you of the very tools you need to combat it. It robs you of perspective.
Imagine trying to maneuver through a maze, only this maze is filled with deep dark pits. And as you start out through the maze, you lose your depth perception. That's what depression is like. It fills you with self-doubt and you lose the ability to gauge how you're doing. The ability to determine whether you've been reasonable is stripped from you. What's more, your perception of what other people are thinking is taken, as well. So you wind up worrying that you're not doing the right things, but unable to tell use other peoples' reactions as a guide, as you are pretty much assured that you'll misinterpret them, too.
My ability to maneuver the maze was completely removed. Fortunately, that was the bottom. It got better from there. It got better with Celexa (more on that another time) and Zoloft, and with some minimal therapy. The darkness was controlled, but it never went away.
Periods of Darkness
In my life, I enter into these periods of darkness, when my alignment changes and everything seems less hopeful and a few shades darker than it might normally seem. During these times, rather than being something that has to be dealt with for a finite period of time, the struggles seem to be as immoveable and permanent as mountains.
The car I have now, the one that still rarely starts the first time after $1,500 of parts and labor, will be mine forever. The chaos at work will go on indefinitely and I will continue to be the face of everything that's wrong with the system I support. You get the picture. It's like a slump in baseball. The harder you try to break the slump, the deeper it seems to become.
This is my Achillies Heel. I can go from well adjusted to down in the dumps without ever really trying very hard or even realizing that it's happening. I don't know why, and the harder I seem to push back against it, the deeper the hole seems to get. You see, if I recognize that this is something wrong with me, that it's somehow something that makes me abnormal and it's a flaw, then it's proof that my original thesis--that this is all self-inflicted--is true. And, in its uniquely absurd way, it deepens the hole even more.
This is not a rational thought process. And I guess the fact that I see it for what it is, is progress. Mornings are worse than the rest of the day. I have a theory about that, but it's another topic for another time. So I know that if I wait long enough, the day will get better. I know that there will be people around me at work today, and many of those people seriously care about me. And I know that if I can make it until sometime between 4:30 and 5:30, I won't have to worry about it again until tomorrow.
I know these things. But sometimes I forget them.
Anyway, if someone who might want to hire me sees this, my name is Steve, I live in Mount Airy, NC, and my phone number is 336-867-5309. Ask for Jenny.
The car I have now, the one that still rarely starts the first time after $1,500 of parts and labor, will be mine forever. The chaos at work will go on indefinitely and I will continue to be the face of everything that's wrong with the system I support. You get the picture. It's like a slump in baseball. The harder you try to break the slump, the deeper it seems to become.
This is my Achillies Heel. I can go from well adjusted to down in the dumps without ever really trying very hard or even realizing that it's happening. I don't know why, and the harder I seem to push back against it, the deeper the hole seems to get. You see, if I recognize that this is something wrong with me, that it's somehow something that makes me abnormal and it's a flaw, then it's proof that my original thesis--that this is all self-inflicted--is true. And, in its uniquely absurd way, it deepens the hole even more.
This is not a rational thought process. And I guess the fact that I see it for what it is, is progress. Mornings are worse than the rest of the day. I have a theory about that, but it's another topic for another time. So I know that if I wait long enough, the day will get better. I know that there will be people around me at work today, and many of those people seriously care about me. And I know that if I can make it until sometime between 4:30 and 5:30, I won't have to worry about it again until tomorrow.
I know these things. But sometimes I forget them.
Anyway, if someone who might want to hire me sees this, my name is Steve, I live in Mount Airy, NC, and my phone number is 336-867-5309. Ask for Jenny.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Loving is not the same as liking
This I command you: love one another. -- John 15:17 Some days the closest I can come to loving someone is to not throttle them when they deserve it. Sometimes those days run in packs. Some days, it is a supreme effort to not enter throttling mode.
I think that God values the effort.
Hurry up...no, wait.
I looked at my son as he slept this morning. I just stopped and looked at him. He's eight right now, and I took him to his first big-league ballgame yesterday. Scott Kazmir was lights out. He struck out eleven and we got vouchers for free pizza because of it. He and his friend Brandon paid attention to parts of the game, but mostly they were concerned with what there was to eat and whether there were strings on the little blimp they fly around Tropicana Field, and where the mascot was.
And yet, I hope, this will be a memory that he cherishes. I sure will.
He's eight now, and when you have an eight-year-old, if you're going to be involved in his activities, it's like a job of its own. I'm going to be Cubmaster next year. And we have a chance to work some USF basketball games as a fundraiser. I said I would do that, too. And, of course, that's on top of the Bucs games we work for my daughter's swim team. And so on, and so on.
It's going to be another busy school year next year. My daughter's ride to school is moving to the Phillipines, which means either I drive her, or she gets on the bus at five minutes to six. School is about fourty-five minutes away. She's twelve and she bought her first gown yesterday, for her eighth-grade banquet next year.
And my son is eight right now. And he will never be eight again come October. And my daughter will never be a pre-teen again come next month. Some day I won't have to run around like a nut to support all their stuff.
Maybe the running around isn't so bad.
And yet, I hope, this will be a memory that he cherishes. I sure will.
He's eight now, and when you have an eight-year-old, if you're going to be involved in his activities, it's like a job of its own. I'm going to be Cubmaster next year. And we have a chance to work some USF basketball games as a fundraiser. I said I would do that, too. And, of course, that's on top of the Bucs games we work for my daughter's swim team. And so on, and so on.
It's going to be another busy school year next year. My daughter's ride to school is moving to the Phillipines, which means either I drive her, or she gets on the bus at five minutes to six. School is about fourty-five minutes away. She's twelve and she bought her first gown yesterday, for her eighth-grade banquet next year.
And my son is eight right now. And he will never be eight again come October. And my daughter will never be a pre-teen again come next month. Some day I won't have to run around like a nut to support all their stuff.
Maybe the running around isn't so bad.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
My Favorite Characters
I think you can tell a lot about yourself by who your favorite character is. I have a progression of favorite characters that mirror things in my life.
When I was a kid, I really thought Captain Kirk was cool, except that he kept spending time with girls, instead of hanging out with Spock and McCoy and shooting things with his phasers. My dad liked the girls' outfits, though, and somewhere down deep, I knew that the outfits were praiseworthy. And Yeoman Rand, in spite of being a girl and all that, was really pretty.
Then I thought Fonzie was cool. Imagine my disappointment when, after not having seen Happy Days for fifteen years, I realized that Fonzie was a loud-mouthed ass.
I used to think Magnum was pretty cool. Still do, in fact. I mean, how can you not like a guy who was the starting QB at Navy, was a Navy SEAL, a captured POW, and now he's staying at this big estate in Hawaii and driving a Ferrari. And yet he's still a regular guy. He even got to date Dana Delany and see her in really tight-fitting white jeans. What's not to love?
Around that time, I discovered Spenser. Not the guy played by Robert Urich on TV, but the real Spenser from Robert B. Parker's novels, a guy for whom honor and autonomy were important. I've always tried to act honorably, but I was probably drawn to Spenser because I've always ceded way too much of my own autonomy.
After a while, I identified with Drew Carey. The guy who worked for Winfred-Louder and fought with Mimi, not the Marine who struggled with depression and ran his sitcom into the ground. A decent, unspectacular man who likes beer and does the best he can to maintain some sense of being a good person, in spite of being kicked in the teeth. Just an ordinary guy you might want to have a beer with.
There's quite a step down from Magnum, Spenser, and Captain Kirk to Drew Carey. Drew Carey is just Norm Petersen seen through different eyes. Yeoman Rand is still cute. But Grace Lee Whitney, the woman who filled out the red minidress back in the sixties went through a hell of a time from 1965-1980 or so. Life is never like our favorite characters have it.
Still, that doesn't keep you from having favorites. I was flipping around the movie channels this morning. DirectTV has seen fit to let us watch all of them for free this weekend. There's a movie called Rocket Gibralter that Burt Lancaster was in. He seemed very similar, at least in the one scene I watched, to his character in Field of Dreams. Gentle, wise, and softspoken. I like that.
I also like Ecko on Lost. Ecko is a guy with a past filled with regretable decisions. In order to save his life at one point, he had to pretend to be a priest. At some point, the pretending ended, and he believed. Now, he really is a priest, in deed, if not in name. He is gentle, wise, and softspoken, but not a doormat.
I guess you reach a point in life where you recognize that there are more important things than being cool and driving a Ferrari and claiming autonomy and just trying to be a decent human being.
The thing is, I've been pretending to be gentle, wise, and softspoken. I still battle with softspoken, but at some point the pretending ended. I've become gentle and wise. Maybe I always was, underneath, but I was too busy trying for the other stuff. I don't know.
I do know that there are worse things to which to aspire.
When I was a kid, I really thought Captain Kirk was cool, except that he kept spending time with girls, instead of hanging out with Spock and McCoy and shooting things with his phasers. My dad liked the girls' outfits, though, and somewhere down deep, I knew that the outfits were praiseworthy. And Yeoman Rand, in spite of being a girl and all that, was really pretty.
Then I thought Fonzie was cool. Imagine my disappointment when, after not having seen Happy Days for fifteen years, I realized that Fonzie was a loud-mouthed ass.
I used to think Magnum was pretty cool. Still do, in fact. I mean, how can you not like a guy who was the starting QB at Navy, was a Navy SEAL, a captured POW, and now he's staying at this big estate in Hawaii and driving a Ferrari. And yet he's still a regular guy. He even got to date Dana Delany and see her in really tight-fitting white jeans. What's not to love?
Around that time, I discovered Spenser. Not the guy played by Robert Urich on TV, but the real Spenser from Robert B. Parker's novels, a guy for whom honor and autonomy were important. I've always tried to act honorably, but I was probably drawn to Spenser because I've always ceded way too much of my own autonomy.
After a while, I identified with Drew Carey. The guy who worked for Winfred-Louder and fought with Mimi, not the Marine who struggled with depression and ran his sitcom into the ground. A decent, unspectacular man who likes beer and does the best he can to maintain some sense of being a good person, in spite of being kicked in the teeth. Just an ordinary guy you might want to have a beer with.
There's quite a step down from Magnum, Spenser, and Captain Kirk to Drew Carey. Drew Carey is just Norm Petersen seen through different eyes. Yeoman Rand is still cute. But Grace Lee Whitney, the woman who filled out the red minidress back in the sixties went through a hell of a time from 1965-1980 or so. Life is never like our favorite characters have it.
Still, that doesn't keep you from having favorites. I was flipping around the movie channels this morning. DirectTV has seen fit to let us watch all of them for free this weekend. There's a movie called Rocket Gibralter that Burt Lancaster was in. He seemed very similar, at least in the one scene I watched, to his character in Field of Dreams. Gentle, wise, and softspoken. I like that.
I also like Ecko on Lost. Ecko is a guy with a past filled with regretable decisions. In order to save his life at one point, he had to pretend to be a priest. At some point, the pretending ended, and he believed. Now, he really is a priest, in deed, if not in name. He is gentle, wise, and softspoken, but not a doormat.
I guess you reach a point in life where you recognize that there are more important things than being cool and driving a Ferrari and claiming autonomy and just trying to be a decent human being.
The thing is, I've been pretending to be gentle, wise, and softspoken. I still battle with softspoken, but at some point the pretending ended. I've become gentle and wise. Maybe I always was, underneath, but I was too busy trying for the other stuff. I don't know.
I do know that there are worse things to which to aspire.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Thanks to parents...
The school years is winding down here in Florida. Baseball ended last week. Scouts ended this week. My daughter's school activities have just ended. For her, at least, synchronized swimming is mostly over. She helps out a Brownie troop and that has just ended, too.
And as I look at all these activities, I'm frankly amazed at the amount of adult time that goes into these activities. The number of people who need to do work to make these activities run amazes me. From the outside, it doesn't look all that hard. From the inside, the work is astounding.
For the Cub Scouts alone, there are den leaders for each den. For each pack, there's a committee chair, a camping chair, and advancement chair, a popcorn chair, a charter organization representative, a cub master, and one or more assistant cub masters. Then you have people who coordinate and execute the camping activities, pine wood derby, blue and gold dinner... You get the idea.
Until I got involved in these things, I never really knew how many people were required for these things to work. It amazes me. And it humbles me to think that these parents--all of whom have jobs and families and lives outside these activities--would do such a thing for my kid.
When kids have activities, it benefits everyone. So if you do stuff with your kids or others', thanks to you. Your time can make a difference that can't be measured with money.
And as I look at all these activities, I'm frankly amazed at the amount of adult time that goes into these activities. The number of people who need to do work to make these activities run amazes me. From the outside, it doesn't look all that hard. From the inside, the work is astounding.
For the Cub Scouts alone, there are den leaders for each den. For each pack, there's a committee chair, a camping chair, and advancement chair, a popcorn chair, a charter organization representative, a cub master, and one or more assistant cub masters. Then you have people who coordinate and execute the camping activities, pine wood derby, blue and gold dinner... You get the idea.
Until I got involved in these things, I never really knew how many people were required for these things to work. It amazes me. And it humbles me to think that these parents--all of whom have jobs and families and lives outside these activities--would do such a thing for my kid.
When kids have activities, it benefits everyone. So if you do stuff with your kids or others', thanks to you. Your time can make a difference that can't be measured with money.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Insomnia
For whatever reason, I struggled to get to sleep last night. Usually, I drop off quickly, right about ten o'clock. Last night, it was nearly 11:30 before I fell asleep. I've been sleeping pretty well lately, usually sleeping until five. This morning I woke up at 2:50. If you want to see how fragile our hold is on sanity, go a few nights without sleeping.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Memories and worries
There was a guy named Bob Lassiter who used to work at WFLA, the main talk station here in Tampa. His radio career effectively ended when his contract wasn't renewed at the end of 1999. I've been reading his blog recently and now I'm listening to his last show from December 1999.
At the time, I couldn't stand this guy. Now, with the benefit of experience and the last six years, my view of him has changed. And my view of his last day has changed.
I got laid off on May 25, 2001 by a company that badly miscalculated in the high-tech bubble. They got a whiff of the gold fever that was floating around then, when the new economy was supposed to get you rich without making any money. They ate from the venture capital trough and were forced into some really bad decisions. All the while, there were promises of incredible riches, but in reality, you knew who would participate in the riches and who wouldn't.
A couple months after the bubble burst, I got two weeks' severance, which is half the package that the woman I had to fire a few months earlier got. After that, I worked for whatever I could get and managed to stay afloat for nearly two years before I landed with my current employer.
When my current employer hired me, they told me that I would be there in my current position for 12-18 months, then they were going to let me go when the project was over. I appreciated their honesty, and it helped motivate me to find another position to move to before that day came.
I'm doing a good job for my current employer. The people I work for currently seem to appreciate the work that I'm doing. I might even get promoted next fiscal year. Some days, I even enjoy the work. But what happened that Friday has changed my viewpoint forever. The first second someone decides that there's too much overhead, and that we need to cut back, it doesn't matter how good a job I've done. When that day arrives, the only thing that will happen is that someone barked about the amount that's being spent in the backoffice function. Some will stay, and some will go. There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth, and for a few weeks, sadness and fear. And then people will adjust to the new reality and go forward. Before long, they'll be thinking about the bonus pool. And after a while, the threat of that day happening to them will seem very small.
Until the next time.
Meanwhile, the big guys will walk out to their reserved parking spots, hop into their overpriced foreign convertibles, and drive home to their gated community, lamenting how difficult the day has been. Maybe they'll have an extra Tom Collins that night to take the edge off. Then, drowsied from the extra little nip, they'll go to sleep next to their trophy wife because they need to be at the office the next day. Or maybe out on the golf course, cutting the next deal.
Across town, or maybe half a mile away, another person will get up and walk through the living room, the light of suburbia illuminating the living room. They'll look in on their second-grader, who has hopes and dreams and worries that don't include paying the mortgage. They'll wonder if they'll be able to provide for the child they brought into the world. Then they'll go back to bed and stare at the ceiling until the sky starts to brighten. And sit in the kitchen because there's no job to go to.
I guess that's life. Pardon me if it doesn't excite me.
Class warfare? Maybe. But you've got to be blind to not understand how much closer most people are to being the guy who didn't sleep, than they are to being the guy drinking the Tom Collins.
At the time, I couldn't stand this guy. Now, with the benefit of experience and the last six years, my view of him has changed. And my view of his last day has changed.
I got laid off on May 25, 2001 by a company that badly miscalculated in the high-tech bubble. They got a whiff of the gold fever that was floating around then, when the new economy was supposed to get you rich without making any money. They ate from the venture capital trough and were forced into some really bad decisions. All the while, there were promises of incredible riches, but in reality, you knew who would participate in the riches and who wouldn't.
A couple months after the bubble burst, I got two weeks' severance, which is half the package that the woman I had to fire a few months earlier got. After that, I worked for whatever I could get and managed to stay afloat for nearly two years before I landed with my current employer.
When my current employer hired me, they told me that I would be there in my current position for 12-18 months, then they were going to let me go when the project was over. I appreciated their honesty, and it helped motivate me to find another position to move to before that day came.
I'm doing a good job for my current employer. The people I work for currently seem to appreciate the work that I'm doing. I might even get promoted next fiscal year. Some days, I even enjoy the work. But what happened that Friday has changed my viewpoint forever. The first second someone decides that there's too much overhead, and that we need to cut back, it doesn't matter how good a job I've done. When that day arrives, the only thing that will happen is that someone barked about the amount that's being spent in the backoffice function. Some will stay, and some will go. There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth, and for a few weeks, sadness and fear. And then people will adjust to the new reality and go forward. Before long, they'll be thinking about the bonus pool. And after a while, the threat of that day happening to them will seem very small.
Until the next time.
Meanwhile, the big guys will walk out to their reserved parking spots, hop into their overpriced foreign convertibles, and drive home to their gated community, lamenting how difficult the day has been. Maybe they'll have an extra Tom Collins that night to take the edge off. Then, drowsied from the extra little nip, they'll go to sleep next to their trophy wife because they need to be at the office the next day. Or maybe out on the golf course, cutting the next deal.
Across town, or maybe half a mile away, another person will get up and walk through the living room, the light of suburbia illuminating the living room. They'll look in on their second-grader, who has hopes and dreams and worries that don't include paying the mortgage. They'll wonder if they'll be able to provide for the child they brought into the world. Then they'll go back to bed and stare at the ceiling until the sky starts to brighten. And sit in the kitchen because there's no job to go to.
I guess that's life. Pardon me if it doesn't excite me.
Class warfare? Maybe. But you've got to be blind to not understand how much closer most people are to being the guy who didn't sleep, than they are to being the guy drinking the Tom Collins.
A nothing day
There isn't much to say today. The kids are at school and my wife will soon venture off to work. I am off because I need to burn some vacation. And so things are quiet. It's a completely unremarkable day that no one will probably remember. These are the days on which a life is built.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Fourteen years
The night before, the fire alarm went off four times at the hotel where we were staying, so I finally gave up and went to her condo and slept on the couch.
I was a single man when I got up. After that, we spent most of the day apart, meeting at the church when she walked down the aisle. Then we went through a wedding ceremony that neigher of us particularly remembers, got in a limo that got lost on the way to the reception, then finally, went to the best party I've even been to. I wound up dancing on the tables to AC/DC.
When I finally went to bed that night--actually early the next morning--I wasn't single any more. My wife and I got up, said good bye, and took off through a low, smothering overcast to go to Disney World. The first time I said "my wife" the words almost didn't make it out of my mouth, they sounded so odd.
May 16, 1992.
Fourteen years later, I still don't know why she has stayed with me. It doesn't make any sense. But she has. For fourteen years, she has been mine. And for fourteen years, I have been the luckiest man on the face of the earth (with apologies to Lou Gehrig and Gary Cooper).
There aren't going to be any parties or DJs or drunken grooms dancing on the table tomorrow. I'll take my daughter down the street where she'll get her ride to school, then go to the podiatrist to get my Planter's Faciaitis dealt with. She'll go to school and serve lunch to a bunch of elementary school kids. Then I'll take my daughter to synchro practice and get home at 8:30 and we'll both be asleep by a little after 10:30.
The first few years were awfully tough. I'd like to think it's better now. Either way, I've gotten way more than I deserve for the last 14 years.
I was a single man when I got up. After that, we spent most of the day apart, meeting at the church when she walked down the aisle. Then we went through a wedding ceremony that neigher of us particularly remembers, got in a limo that got lost on the way to the reception, then finally, went to the best party I've even been to. I wound up dancing on the tables to AC/DC.
When I finally went to bed that night--actually early the next morning--I wasn't single any more. My wife and I got up, said good bye, and took off through a low, smothering overcast to go to Disney World. The first time I said "my wife" the words almost didn't make it out of my mouth, they sounded so odd.
May 16, 1992.
Fourteen years later, I still don't know why she has stayed with me. It doesn't make any sense. But she has. For fourteen years, she has been mine. And for fourteen years, I have been the luckiest man on the face of the earth (with apologies to Lou Gehrig and Gary Cooper).
There aren't going to be any parties or DJs or drunken grooms dancing on the table tomorrow. I'll take my daughter down the street where she'll get her ride to school, then go to the podiatrist to get my Planter's Faciaitis dealt with. She'll go to school and serve lunch to a bunch of elementary school kids. Then I'll take my daughter to synchro practice and get home at 8:30 and we'll both be asleep by a little after 10:30.
The first few years were awfully tough. I'd like to think it's better now. Either way, I've gotten way more than I deserve for the last 14 years.
Lost my way
I whine a lot. It's okay. I know it, and I'm working on it.
Lately, I've been whining about work. In reality, some of it's justified. But it's not going to change. It is what it is. After being laid off for the better part of two years, there's plenty to be said for my job. I make decent money and the benefits are good. I'm just not all that well suited for it sometimes, and the prospects for advancement...well, someone would basically have to die.
Within the past two weeks, I decided--with abundant evidence in my favor--that it doesn't matter what I do at work. And to a degree, I'm right. I am the bad guy. I'm the guy they go to when something doesn't work or isn't right. When it works or it's right, they forget me.
I have a picture on my cube of Jesus washing Peter's feet. It's very small and if you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't see it. Today, I will add a fake baseball card of my son. His season on the Citrus Park Marlins just concluded. It's too bad. I like going there and talking with the boys. I like that in Scouts, too.
I'm 42 years old and I want to be different. I want what I do to matter. The key to making what you do matter is to make it matter. When I leave my job for the last time, there's a pretty good chance that no one will remember or care. The people I've gone out of my way for will continue demanding and someone else will be there to respond to them, or not. I'm not going to change them. The ones that expect, and when they get what the expect, expect more, are never going to change. If they view me as a chess piece to getting what they want, they will view the next person the same way.
So if I can't change them, I can change me. I can change my approach.
I'm looking to move forward. But in this position, I have the ability to be with the boys playing ball and at Scouts, and to help with my daughter's swim team. It's all the quaint little things about life in suburbia. And maybe it's wrong, but that's what matters. So maybe greatness at work is the wrong goal.
Maybe the way to make it matter is to make it meaningful to me while I am doing it. Maybe, the work that I am doing at the office from the time I get there until the time I leave isn't about fixing someone's problem post haste. Maybe there's something more than that there. Maybe that something more is the same something as talking to the boys at baseball or supporting girls' sports.
Maybe the work I do there is the most important thing there is...for today.
Lately, I've been whining about work. In reality, some of it's justified. But it's not going to change. It is what it is. After being laid off for the better part of two years, there's plenty to be said for my job. I make decent money and the benefits are good. I'm just not all that well suited for it sometimes, and the prospects for advancement...well, someone would basically have to die.
Within the past two weeks, I decided--with abundant evidence in my favor--that it doesn't matter what I do at work. And to a degree, I'm right. I am the bad guy. I'm the guy they go to when something doesn't work or isn't right. When it works or it's right, they forget me.
I have a picture on my cube of Jesus washing Peter's feet. It's very small and if you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't see it. Today, I will add a fake baseball card of my son. His season on the Citrus Park Marlins just concluded. It's too bad. I like going there and talking with the boys. I like that in Scouts, too.
I'm 42 years old and I want to be different. I want what I do to matter. The key to making what you do matter is to make it matter. When I leave my job for the last time, there's a pretty good chance that no one will remember or care. The people I've gone out of my way for will continue demanding and someone else will be there to respond to them, or not. I'm not going to change them. The ones that expect, and when they get what the expect, expect more, are never going to change. If they view me as a chess piece to getting what they want, they will view the next person the same way.
So if I can't change them, I can change me. I can change my approach.
I'm looking to move forward. But in this position, I have the ability to be with the boys playing ball and at Scouts, and to help with my daughter's swim team. It's all the quaint little things about life in suburbia. And maybe it's wrong, but that's what matters. So maybe greatness at work is the wrong goal.
Maybe the way to make it matter is to make it meaningful to me while I am doing it. Maybe, the work that I am doing at the office from the time I get there until the time I leave isn't about fixing someone's problem post haste. Maybe there's something more than that there. Maybe that something more is the same something as talking to the boys at baseball or supporting girls' sports.
Maybe the work I do there is the most important thing there is...for today.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
A nice little life, twenty years later
I haven't written anything here in a year. If I went a year without doing anything, I should probably write something witty or well-crafted, filled with wisdom and truth. Perhaps I will one day, but probably not today.
I'm 42 years old. If it's true that you're as young as you feel, I'm feeling older than 42. I've been out of college more than 20 years now. Twenty years. That's a big, round scary number. I can still remember a morning, I don't know which one, but there was a morning when I left for breakfast at the dining hall. It was so sunny that your eyes needed a few minutes to adjust to the brightness. The sky was still a little bleached out; it would reach its deepest blues a few months later, when I left the safety of college for the real world. And it was still chilly enough to require a jacket, and remind you that winter had recently departed and would be back again later. But as I walked out of the shadows of the great Harrington Hall, I could feel the warm of the sun bathe the exposed parts of my body, few though they were.
I wore jeans and sneakers, as always, and a white short-sleeve dress shirt with light blue stripes and a button-down collar. I was rakish, and if the women of SUNY Plattsburgh were as smart as their college educations indicated, I'd have been mobbed before getting to breakfast.
The air smelled good and its briskness was invigorating and reminded me of the promise ahead.
I don't remember a single other thing about that day. But that day and the ones since have been more good than bad, and I suppose you can't really ask for more than that.
I have two kids that amaze me on a daily basis, though I probably don't tell them that often enough. My wife is not a model, but she is the most supportive, loving person I know and if I could pick anyone to raise my children, it would be her. We have a nice house and I have a steady job and if I can manage to sell my books, we will probably do better financially than we currently are.
In the meantime, both she and I are reaching our kids and others' though parenting, scouting, coaching, and having one of the houses the kids like to come to. That's probably more because of her than me, but I'm learning from her every day.
It's a nice little life, twenty years later, and I suppose if I were to show it to my 22-year-old self, he'd be impressed. So who am I to complain?
I'm 42 years old. If it's true that you're as young as you feel, I'm feeling older than 42. I've been out of college more than 20 years now. Twenty years. That's a big, round scary number. I can still remember a morning, I don't know which one, but there was a morning when I left for breakfast at the dining hall. It was so sunny that your eyes needed a few minutes to adjust to the brightness. The sky was still a little bleached out; it would reach its deepest blues a few months later, when I left the safety of college for the real world. And it was still chilly enough to require a jacket, and remind you that winter had recently departed and would be back again later. But as I walked out of the shadows of the great Harrington Hall, I could feel the warm of the sun bathe the exposed parts of my body, few though they were.
I wore jeans and sneakers, as always, and a white short-sleeve dress shirt with light blue stripes and a button-down collar. I was rakish, and if the women of SUNY Plattsburgh were as smart as their college educations indicated, I'd have been mobbed before getting to breakfast.
The air smelled good and its briskness was invigorating and reminded me of the promise ahead.
I don't remember a single other thing about that day. But that day and the ones since have been more good than bad, and I suppose you can't really ask for more than that.
I have two kids that amaze me on a daily basis, though I probably don't tell them that often enough. My wife is not a model, but she is the most supportive, loving person I know and if I could pick anyone to raise my children, it would be her. We have a nice house and I have a steady job and if I can manage to sell my books, we will probably do better financially than we currently are.
In the meantime, both she and I are reaching our kids and others' though parenting, scouting, coaching, and having one of the houses the kids like to come to. That's probably more because of her than me, but I'm learning from her every day.
It's a nice little life, twenty years later, and I suppose if I were to show it to my 22-year-old self, he'd be impressed. So who am I to complain?
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