A glorious morning, with the light breeze that is a constant for this house, resting on the southern ridge of the Laguna Canyon, clear blue skies, and temperatures that hover in the mid-70's belied the news awaiting me on opening this morning's Orange County Register.
It had been my pleasure and great amusement to meet Brad Dillahunty six months ago. At the time, I'd been struck by the idea that the kid had to be on some form of speed. His method of talking was fast, the ideas that flowed were always a combination of depth, humor, and succinct intellect. And always rapid fire, as if he were a reincarnation of an early 80's Robin Williams, only without the constant voice changes.
This fine, glorious morning, I opened the paper and saw a picture of Brad with his life dates as captions. Last week, after being part of a surf camp in San Diego, Brad lost his life in an car crash. He was a 24 year old passenger in a vehicle being driven by a 51 year old man, whom police suspect was under the influence. Of course, cosmic justice being skewed as it so often is in these instances, the older man survived the accident, and Bradley is lost to us.
Over time since our initial meeting, Brad's nature came to be more evident. He was a guy who was creative, musical, loving, and wickedly smart. What's more, he had an understanding that his flame burned too brightly. He admitted to me that he knew certain aspects of his life didn't lend themselves to longevity, yet he felt comfortable that like so many other artists, his lot was to make as great an impact in as short a time as possible.
He responded to Taoism, often asking about the nature of paradox, how good needed evil as much as darkness needed light. He was struck by the honesty of learning to do nothing and thereby leave nothing undone. Although quick to cling to the joys of this world, he always was striving to connect to the energy of the universe in deeper and broader ways. I looked forward to being his friend as he matured, and was anxious to see how he would continue to impact his world, and grow within his place in it.
Brad's gone now. Where his spirit has found sanctuary is not mine to guess. I thank all that is Holy that I met him, that I experienced his rich humor, his ancient soul, and his trust. And it warms my heart to know that even briefly we could connect, and that he counted me as a true friend.
Farewell, my brother. In time, we'll surf the skies.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Luck and the Shooter's Bounce
Ever know those people? You know, THOSE people. The ones who seem to get all the breaks, the people for whom Lady Luck seems to have a soft spot in her fickle heart? Seemingly, they waltz through life, carelessly exploring exciting professional opportunity after another, dating one incredibly beautiful, intelligent, and caring person after another, having amazing kids with few problems of any consequence, and connecting with outstanding people in all walks of life, left and right.
It got me to thinking, and thinking about basketball of all things. Considering those people, who get all the bounces, if you will, and how the effect of a 'shooter's bounce' works.
In basketball, if there are those unfamiliar with the sport, the idea is to throw (shoot) the ball through an iron ring from which a net is suspended (the hoop) in order to score points. This can be a modestly challenging endeavor, particularly when similarly or greater vertically-blessed individuals are striving to keep one from accomplishing the aforementioned goal. (Pedantic? Yes. Fun to write? Definitely.)
A shooter's bounce is what players refer to the ball bouncing around the rim, or taking what appears to be an unlikely bounce, only to softly fall in. Spectators and neophyte players often call such shots "lucky," but in truth they are the result of a player taking a shot that he or she has worked on, repeatedly in practice and battle tested in heated games, a shot in which the player has so much confidence, and such innate and acute awareness that he or she knows just how much pressure to apply to his or her fingertips so that even if they are slightly off the mark, the ball will still fall.
This same principle applies in life. The good things happen to the people who have the diligence to work on those things in which they believe passionately, the tools, skills and talents that kept them sane through their most brutal conflicts, and the confidence that they have "put in the work" and paid the necessary price to perform, even when all around them crumbles like pillars of sand in heavy tides.
And while no life goes unmarred, nor is devoid of toil and hardship, those people, the "Golden Children" in the family escape unscathed because of their faith in themselves and their efforts to be prepared, awake, aware, and alert.Mayhap luck is happenstance, but I believe it far more often earned.
It got me to thinking, and thinking about basketball of all things. Considering those people, who get all the bounces, if you will, and how the effect of a 'shooter's bounce' works.
In basketball, if there are those unfamiliar with the sport, the idea is to throw (shoot) the ball through an iron ring from which a net is suspended (the hoop) in order to score points. This can be a modestly challenging endeavor, particularly when similarly or greater vertically-blessed individuals are striving to keep one from accomplishing the aforementioned goal. (Pedantic? Yes. Fun to write? Definitely.)
A shooter's bounce is what players refer to the ball bouncing around the rim, or taking what appears to be an unlikely bounce, only to softly fall in. Spectators and neophyte players often call such shots "lucky," but in truth they are the result of a player taking a shot that he or she has worked on, repeatedly in practice and battle tested in heated games, a shot in which the player has so much confidence, and such innate and acute awareness that he or she knows just how much pressure to apply to his or her fingertips so that even if they are slightly off the mark, the ball will still fall.
This same principle applies in life. The good things happen to the people who have the diligence to work on those things in which they believe passionately, the tools, skills and talents that kept them sane through their most brutal conflicts, and the confidence that they have "put in the work" and paid the necessary price to perform, even when all around them crumbles like pillars of sand in heavy tides.
And while no life goes unmarred, nor is devoid of toil and hardship, those people, the "Golden Children" in the family escape unscathed because of their faith in themselves and their efforts to be prepared, awake, aware, and alert.Mayhap luck is happenstance, but I believe it far more often earned.
Being A Dad
Remember life before your driver's license? I mean, you know there was a time when you couldn't drive, and you may even be able to recall moments when you had to sit in the backseat or shotgun, which if you hadn't called, fisticuffs were likely between you and your siblings.
But odds are, you don't remember what it was like. Those feelings of those times, gone from the memory storage and retrieval bank, fog on a California summer morning, dissipated by midday.
So it is to be a parent. Well, an actively involved one, that is. I remember that there was a time when I didn't have my daughter, but good Lord, I can't remember what it was like. She's so much a part of my every day's decisions, whether in advance and smartly, or in retrospect and regretfully, she's always there.
What's more is that this love expands. Mothers probably don't experience it as strongly. After all, their love is the penultimate expression from Moment 1. And I doubt fathers who get to spend every day with their children get to feel this blossoming deep within the chest as their children grow.
Kennedi every day becomes an amazing person exponentially. As though somehow she can just double in her overwhelming awesomeness just by going to sleep and waking up the next day. There is no way to even begin to describe her, either. People ask and the only words to escape my mouth are, "She's just such a great person. I'm excited to see what she does in her life."
In the past 3 months, she's gone to Europe with the Young Ambassadors with a group of 40 kids and 4 adult leaders (none of which were named "Mom" or "Dad") and every time I talked to her over there, she was giggling with her roommates. Nothing, and I mean nothing in this world puts a more complete sense of peace in a man's being than hearing his child laugh uncontrollably with other kids her age.
When she returned, her leaders told her mom and I that they were so impressed with her selflessness, maturity, and good natured spirit. And we were humbled that our little girl was someone much greater than ourselves.
One of my best friends recently revealed that he and his wife are pregnant. I almost teared up as I hugged him and told him, "Now, your life really starts."
Being a Dad is about the best damn thing a guy can be when he does it right.
But odds are, you don't remember what it was like. Those feelings of those times, gone from the memory storage and retrieval bank, fog on a California summer morning, dissipated by midday.
So it is to be a parent. Well, an actively involved one, that is. I remember that there was a time when I didn't have my daughter, but good Lord, I can't remember what it was like. She's so much a part of my every day's decisions, whether in advance and smartly, or in retrospect and regretfully, she's always there.
What's more is that this love expands. Mothers probably don't experience it as strongly. After all, their love is the penultimate expression from Moment 1. And I doubt fathers who get to spend every day with their children get to feel this blossoming deep within the chest as their children grow.
Kennedi every day becomes an amazing person exponentially. As though somehow she can just double in her overwhelming awesomeness just by going to sleep and waking up the next day. There is no way to even begin to describe her, either. People ask and the only words to escape my mouth are, "She's just such a great person. I'm excited to see what she does in her life."
In the past 3 months, she's gone to Europe with the Young Ambassadors with a group of 40 kids and 4 adult leaders (none of which were named "Mom" or "Dad") and every time I talked to her over there, she was giggling with her roommates. Nothing, and I mean nothing in this world puts a more complete sense of peace in a man's being than hearing his child laugh uncontrollably with other kids her age.
When she returned, her leaders told her mom and I that they were so impressed with her selflessness, maturity, and good natured spirit. And we were humbled that our little girl was someone much greater than ourselves.
One of my best friends recently revealed that he and his wife are pregnant. I almost teared up as I hugged him and told him, "Now, your life really starts."
Being a Dad is about the best damn thing a guy can be when he does it right.
LA NFL Team Name
Preparing for this weekend’s playoff football games, it occurred to me for approximately the 12,732nd time that the LA area really could use a football team. While one could argue that cold weather is almost a requisite to play professional football, the lack of inclement weather hasn’t kept San Diego, Arizona, Carolina, and Miami from fielding decent teams, and their fan bases are pretty darn passionate. The real challenge in having an LA area team is, of course, in the naming of said team.
The name of a team plays a significant role in a lot of things. Find a great name, people get excited to declare their allegiance. Find a crummy name, and people will take a long time to care. After all, the Houston Oilers pissed enough people off to get kicked out of town, out of the county, and even out of the state to Tennessee. Where they promptly took the name Titans. Alliteration alone has kept the locals there from running the team out on a rail.
A great name is one that speaks directly to the people of the area. Using the aforementioned Titans as an example of what not to do, the team is subtly indicating that Tennesseans either have a deep-seeded love for all things deep-fried and have grossly expansive waistlines as proof, or that people from Tennessee are actually the forebears to Greek gods and that they’ve been banished to Tennessee by Zeus where they are as far from Mount Olympus as possible. This latter explanation, however, is doubtful, as people from Tennessee don’t even speak Greek.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, there is the team from Pittsburgh, the Steelers. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, is a town that grew up out of the twin industries of mining and steel manufacturing. The emblem on the Steelers helmets actually typifies three elements in the manufacturing of steel. The yellow hypocycloid is coal, the orange is iron ore, and the blue is scrap steel. The team has long been known to play a rugged, hardnosed, and defensively-oriented type of football, all of which speaks to the blue-collar nature of the town and its inhabitants.
Where then, does that leave LA? 5 teams in the league are named after birds (Cardinals, Ravens, Seahawks, Eagles, Falcons) but the LA Seagulls doesn’t really strike fear in anyone’s heart, and to LA people, they’re akin to flying rats. 4 teams in the league are named after predatory big cats (Panthers, Jaguars, Lions, Bengals). It’s doubtful that there are or ever were any lions in Detroit or Bengal tigers in Cincinnati, but these names have worked these franchises for so long, people have stopped paying attention. LA Lemurs or Los Angeles Cheetahs just won’t put asses in the seats.
There are then those teams with names that are fairly self-evident. Broncos are wild horses that can be found littered through Colorado, so Denver had a shoo-in with that name. San Francisco is one of the best known gold rush boom towns, so 49ers is pretty easy. The Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Kansas City Chiefs, Dallas Cowboys, New England Patriots all fall into this category as well.
But really, where do we stand with Los Angeles? Miami has the Dolphins, and we could use the Sharks, but San Jose, another California professional sports organization, already has the name taken. Plus, the name is a little too negative an image for a surf-based culture such as ours. Sea lions are pretty mean, as anyone who’s had the displeasure of dealing with one knows, but they don’t really project intensity, toughness, or excitement. (We’ll ignore the Cleveland Browns in this argument.)
Around and around I’ve gone, trying to make sense of this. What in the world is just so LA and is at the same time a name that works for a football team? The Los Angeles Traffic? The Los Angeles Cougars sounds too college. The Los Angeles Mayans, Aztecs, or Incas would generate more hate mail and ACLU lawsuits than a video of hooded Klan member punching a kitten in the face.
So, if Sharks and Dolphins are out, how about Orcas? The Los Angeles Orcas has a nice sound to it, but their other name is Killer Whale. And frankly, in a town that loves to raise kids on gunplay, graffiti, and violence-as-entertainment, having a name that so inherently objectifies the ending of life, this may be a little too graphic. So, with that in mind, I did a little fiddling, stuck with the mammal of choice and came up with the right name:
The Los Angeles Cetaceans of Ill Intent.
The name of a team plays a significant role in a lot of things. Find a great name, people get excited to declare their allegiance. Find a crummy name, and people will take a long time to care. After all, the Houston Oilers pissed enough people off to get kicked out of town, out of the county, and even out of the state to Tennessee. Where they promptly took the name Titans. Alliteration alone has kept the locals there from running the team out on a rail.
A great name is one that speaks directly to the people of the area. Using the aforementioned Titans as an example of what not to do, the team is subtly indicating that Tennesseans either have a deep-seeded love for all things deep-fried and have grossly expansive waistlines as proof, or that people from Tennessee are actually the forebears to Greek gods and that they’ve been banished to Tennessee by Zeus where they are as far from Mount Olympus as possible. This latter explanation, however, is doubtful, as people from Tennessee don’t even speak Greek.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, there is the team from Pittsburgh, the Steelers. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, is a town that grew up out of the twin industries of mining and steel manufacturing. The emblem on the Steelers helmets actually typifies three elements in the manufacturing of steel. The yellow hypocycloid is coal, the orange is iron ore, and the blue is scrap steel. The team has long been known to play a rugged, hardnosed, and defensively-oriented type of football, all of which speaks to the blue-collar nature of the town and its inhabitants.
Where then, does that leave LA? 5 teams in the league are named after birds (Cardinals, Ravens, Seahawks, Eagles, Falcons) but the LA Seagulls doesn’t really strike fear in anyone’s heart, and to LA people, they’re akin to flying rats. 4 teams in the league are named after predatory big cats (Panthers, Jaguars, Lions, Bengals). It’s doubtful that there are or ever were any lions in Detroit or Bengal tigers in Cincinnati, but these names have worked these franchises for so long, people have stopped paying attention. LA Lemurs or Los Angeles Cheetahs just won’t put asses in the seats.
There are then those teams with names that are fairly self-evident. Broncos are wild horses that can be found littered through Colorado, so Denver had a shoo-in with that name. San Francisco is one of the best known gold rush boom towns, so 49ers is pretty easy. The Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Kansas City Chiefs, Dallas Cowboys, New England Patriots all fall into this category as well.
But really, where do we stand with Los Angeles? Miami has the Dolphins, and we could use the Sharks, but San Jose, another California professional sports organization, already has the name taken. Plus, the name is a little too negative an image for a surf-based culture such as ours. Sea lions are pretty mean, as anyone who’s had the displeasure of dealing with one knows, but they don’t really project intensity, toughness, or excitement. (We’ll ignore the Cleveland Browns in this argument.)
Around and around I’ve gone, trying to make sense of this. What in the world is just so LA and is at the same time a name that works for a football team? The Los Angeles Traffic? The Los Angeles Cougars sounds too college. The Los Angeles Mayans, Aztecs, or Incas would generate more hate mail and ACLU lawsuits than a video of hooded Klan member punching a kitten in the face.
So, if Sharks and Dolphins are out, how about Orcas? The Los Angeles Orcas has a nice sound to it, but their other name is Killer Whale. And frankly, in a town that loves to raise kids on gunplay, graffiti, and violence-as-entertainment, having a name that so inherently objectifies the ending of life, this may be a little too graphic. So, with that in mind, I did a little fiddling, stuck with the mammal of choice and came up with the right name:
The Los Angeles Cetaceans of Ill Intent.
A Life Inventory
Not that I want to go. No, no, not at all. In fact, I'm finally learning how to really enjoy my time here, and it would be a damn shame to miss out on some cool stuff.
However, after reading this morning's ESPN special coverage on the kids of Willows, California, the idea of mortality and the chance to live life, to experience life, and to walk away from this beautiful orb of glowing passion with lessons learned, has been bouncing around my lower cranial cavity all day. You know when stuff does that? It's in the subdermal mental layer, getting digested into some form of spiritual energy, like a Snickers bar consumed on the chair lift midway through a day of snowboarding. ZING!
So, it occurred for me that it's already been a pretty noteworthy life. All the things the human animal requires to call it a 'life,' I've been blessed to enjoy. Holding a newborn as a parent, watching them develop and blossom, laughing with the depth of the heart, and making someone else laugh just as hard as they ever have, passionately loving, passionately losing, dancing until the feet hurt and the sweat stings the eyes, competing with every single charge of ATP in the molecule, crying with joy, crying with despair, protecting the weakest lives, flirting with Dionysus and having that fickle god thoroughly exact his heavy penance the next day, feeling adrenaline ignite every sense, giving and receiving the utmost pleasure, tuning into the higher power, learning to ignore the basest instinct and the joy of giving with earnest kindness.
Granted, there's much left to do. Walking my daughter down the aisle, watching my nephews play football, going on my last first date and discovering my life partner (if she truly exists), buying my firsts: boat, house, expensive watch, publishing my first novel, seeing my first screenplay on the screen, going to a Steelers game in Pittsburgh on a snowy day, holding my first grandchild, celebrating our 10 million dollar mark year, backpacking through Europe and Asia, and diving in the Barrier Reef. These are all things, though, and some of them, admittedly, are fairly shallow.
It's been a wonderful 36 years, with strife, struggle, love, laughter, pain, heartache, and joy. The universe has seen fit to provide me with so much, I hardly feel as if I deserve it. So, then, this is my accounting, the scales of balance as I see where they measure, my personal precis: It has been full.
I pray there's much more to come.
However, after reading this morning's ESPN special coverage on the kids of Willows, California, the idea of mortality and the chance to live life, to experience life, and to walk away from this beautiful orb of glowing passion with lessons learned, has been bouncing around my lower cranial cavity all day. You know when stuff does that? It's in the subdermal mental layer, getting digested into some form of spiritual energy, like a Snickers bar consumed on the chair lift midway through a day of snowboarding. ZING!
So, it occurred for me that it's already been a pretty noteworthy life. All the things the human animal requires to call it a 'life,' I've been blessed to enjoy. Holding a newborn as a parent, watching them develop and blossom, laughing with the depth of the heart, and making someone else laugh just as hard as they ever have, passionately loving, passionately losing, dancing until the feet hurt and the sweat stings the eyes, competing with every single charge of ATP in the molecule, crying with joy, crying with despair, protecting the weakest lives, flirting with Dionysus and having that fickle god thoroughly exact his heavy penance the next day, feeling adrenaline ignite every sense, giving and receiving the utmost pleasure, tuning into the higher power, learning to ignore the basest instinct and the joy of giving with earnest kindness.
Granted, there's much left to do. Walking my daughter down the aisle, watching my nephews play football, going on my last first date and discovering my life partner (if she truly exists), buying my firsts: boat, house, expensive watch, publishing my first novel, seeing my first screenplay on the screen, going to a Steelers game in Pittsburgh on a snowy day, holding my first grandchild, celebrating our 10 million dollar mark year, backpacking through Europe and Asia, and diving in the Barrier Reef. These are all things, though, and some of them, admittedly, are fairly shallow.
It's been a wonderful 36 years, with strife, struggle, love, laughter, pain, heartache, and joy. The universe has seen fit to provide me with so much, I hardly feel as if I deserve it. So, then, this is my accounting, the scales of balance as I see where they measure, my personal precis: It has been full.
I pray there's much more to come.
6 Years Later, 6 Years Wiser, 6 Years Happier
Walking along with you in the mall
Seeing you look at me during a dinner
Knowing what's on your mind
But not being able to address it because of your fear
My desire to have you forever
Your desire to be had forever
Not the old woman with hundreds of cats
You can have the love of a lifetime
If you'll just open up, open up
You open so much else,
Why not your heart and mouth
The beach, the warm sand, running with you
Looking at your body as we lay panting together
Admiring the curves, the blatant femininity of you
Loving the sex, loving the eyes, loving the face
Carved of granite in feature, wrapped in silk of texture
Being alone in order to be safe
To be safe and what? Alone?
Better to be open, say what's there and risk
Life is risk
In the end, as you look at your assembled prodigy
Do you think you'll regret taking so many risks?
Will you regret losing me?
Will you regret losing us?
I already do.
I did long ago when I first realized you did not want me
Who was I to you?
Was I the answer?
Did I rock your world as much as you rocked mine?
Still selfish?
Still wanting only that which will help you?
I'm here.
Holding your hand walking through the scariest doors.
Leading you when you need to be the little girl
Waiting for you when you need to window shop.
Understanding all of you, waiting for you to do the same.
Love me as I love you.
Open up.
Forsake me your body if that means I can have more of your heart.
Give me you as I give you me.
What good is success and beauty without the right one to share it?
What good is life and happiness without the one who helped you seek?
Fine wine, drunk fools, hang on me girl
Slobbery, silly sex.
Take the day off and enjoy each other.
Chinese dragons, Asian Tigers.
Beef soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, Gatorade.
Loving the stretch marks, the sex of them
Hands over your hips, so powerfully deep the drive
Eyes on nipples, suckling them, watching you flinch
Bringing you again and again and again where only I can take you
Only me. Not even you. Not even you can take you there.
More than skill, purely love.
Mistakes on both sides of the ball.
Poor defense. Silly offense.
Mistakes each team can make up for with hard work.
Successful adults give up not at all.
We choose not whom we love.
We choose how we treat them and how much we forsake for them.
I would forsake all.
Would you?
Once you forsake all, you know there's nothing else.
Nothing in heaven, earth, hell or deep blue sea that compares.
Holding your hand, feeling pride.
Phone calls from you, just A T T E N T I O N from you
All I wanted, just your hands on my body
Make me feel what you won't tell me with your mouth
Through your hands
Woman needs so much from man.
What does a man need from a woman?
More.
More.
More.
Not,
More me.
More me.
More me.
My heart is yours, you can have it back.
Your heart is mine, but I can't take it back.
I wish I could.
Mistakes are here and now.
What is there tomorrow?
Shall we look together?
Shall we look while thinking of each other?
How do you let go of the love of your life?
How do you let go of the one you've dreamed of
Long before you met them?
How do you forget how perfect they were?
By focusing on how human they are?
I cannot.
Seeing you look at me during a dinner
Knowing what's on your mind
But not being able to address it because of your fear
My desire to have you forever
Your desire to be had forever
Not the old woman with hundreds of cats
You can have the love of a lifetime
If you'll just open up, open up
You open so much else,
Why not your heart and mouth
The beach, the warm sand, running with you
Looking at your body as we lay panting together
Admiring the curves, the blatant femininity of you
Loving the sex, loving the eyes, loving the face
Carved of granite in feature, wrapped in silk of texture
Being alone in order to be safe
To be safe and what? Alone?
Better to be open, say what's there and risk
Life is risk
In the end, as you look at your assembled prodigy
Do you think you'll regret taking so many risks?
Will you regret losing me?
Will you regret losing us?
I already do.
I did long ago when I first realized you did not want me
Who was I to you?
Was I the answer?
Did I rock your world as much as you rocked mine?
Still selfish?
Still wanting only that which will help you?
I'm here.
Holding your hand walking through the scariest doors.
Leading you when you need to be the little girl
Waiting for you when you need to window shop.
Understanding all of you, waiting for you to do the same.
Love me as I love you.
Open up.
Forsake me your body if that means I can have more of your heart.
Give me you as I give you me.
What good is success and beauty without the right one to share it?
What good is life and happiness without the one who helped you seek?
Fine wine, drunk fools, hang on me girl
Slobbery, silly sex.
Take the day off and enjoy each other.
Chinese dragons, Asian Tigers.
Beef soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, Gatorade.
Loving the stretch marks, the sex of them
Hands over your hips, so powerfully deep the drive
Eyes on nipples, suckling them, watching you flinch
Bringing you again and again and again where only I can take you
Only me. Not even you. Not even you can take you there.
More than skill, purely love.
Mistakes on both sides of the ball.
Poor defense. Silly offense.
Mistakes each team can make up for with hard work.
Successful adults give up not at all.
We choose not whom we love.
We choose how we treat them and how much we forsake for them.
I would forsake all.
Would you?
Once you forsake all, you know there's nothing else.
Nothing in heaven, earth, hell or deep blue sea that compares.
Holding your hand, feeling pride.
Phone calls from you, just A T T E N T I O N from you
All I wanted, just your hands on my body
Make me feel what you won't tell me with your mouth
Through your hands
Woman needs so much from man.
What does a man need from a woman?
More.
More.
More.
Not,
More me.
More me.
More me.
My heart is yours, you can have it back.
Your heart is mine, but I can't take it back.
I wish I could.
Mistakes are here and now.
What is there tomorrow?
Shall we look together?
Shall we look while thinking of each other?
How do you let go of the love of your life?
How do you let go of the one you've dreamed of
Long before you met them?
How do you forget how perfect they were?
By focusing on how human they are?
I cannot.
Casting My Own Shadow
Deciding to move in a direction away from what has been comfortable, if not profitable, is a little daunting. It's deciding that the person that one has bought into is no longer of value. Because, really, staying in one place and representing something for so long is a way of defining one's self.
In filing my own dba, starting my own business, and hanging my own shingle, I create a new way of being. It's lonely, fulfilling, and at times, scary. There is no manual or book of SOP to follow, no boss to ask, nor coworker to consult. Essentially, it's walking on the moon, only there's no NASA, and finding my way back to the landing craft is more than just following my footsteps.
It's been two weeks, and blogging might be my only way to get it all "out there." Into a place where someone can read these thoughts and impressions, and give me feedback, is where I go. And possibly (probably?), I'll be the one providing the feedback, acting the part of caring sounding board.
Right now, sitting in front of a client, and knowing the performance is all on me is liberation and manacles in equal measure. Only the manacles feel like the chains of love, and the liberation is from a weaker method of walking and finding my way. Which really means my stride is picking up.
In filing my own dba, starting my own business, and hanging my own shingle, I create a new way of being. It's lonely, fulfilling, and at times, scary. There is no manual or book of SOP to follow, no boss to ask, nor coworker to consult. Essentially, it's walking on the moon, only there's no NASA, and finding my way back to the landing craft is more than just following my footsteps.
It's been two weeks, and blogging might be my only way to get it all "out there." Into a place where someone can read these thoughts and impressions, and give me feedback, is where I go. And possibly (probably?), I'll be the one providing the feedback, acting the part of caring sounding board.
Right now, sitting in front of a client, and knowing the performance is all on me is liberation and manacles in equal measure. Only the manacles feel like the chains of love, and the liberation is from a weaker method of walking and finding my way. Which really means my stride is picking up.
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