Recourse

In all that comes along with marriage--good and bad--I am so fortunate to have the support of my wife. Presented to me is a seemingly seldom precidented opportunity. Without any tangible experience, I've been given the chance to pursue my dream full time. She, sometimes without understanding, celebrates with me in the smallest success and consoles me in great failure. And, I do find myself often in failure.

note to self...I cannot squander such a gift. I have no other recourse than to work through fear. To that end, if I am seen in public without the company of family I am at work. There is no room at the moment for leisure. All of my energy must be efforted toward repayment of such favor and I can think no other currency for such repayment, beyond love & success.

Open Apology

For whatever reason, today I feel burdened by the weight of contrition. A huge part of my maturation has been about becoming more open; sharing more of what moves me. It would appear that that openness coupled with my belief in the truth manifests itself in a way that looks a lot like aggression or a callousness. Admittedly, I have spent a great deal of time building an image of being "closed". In my mind that 'worked' image has little to do with any actual interpersonal relationship. For as long as my memory is, I would imagine that the select few with whom I would socialize had some clue as to the depth of my compassion. I assumed that, once engaged, people immediately understood my nature. I am naturally one who is willing to recede for the promotion of another's well-being. I am naturally one who is willing hold his tongue for another to save face. At least that's how I see myself; unfortunately, I'm not sure if many would agree. And, the idea that I'm not able to convey my most natural inclinations is painful. And, in that pain, I become more "closed." When I mature, I open and when the openness is misinterpreted I close. Then I get angry and hide; either behind four walls or a quick tongue; which seems to feed folks belief in my insensitivity. Except I am quite the opposite.

This cycle has been one of endless tumbling for me. At my best, I can be magnanimous in ones challenge to who I believe myself to be. At my worst, I feign disinterest as to have some manner of control over the impression I leave; for however much I'm left lonely in such a process. At some point, maybe I'll find a truth that is both true to who I am and palatable to you.

note to self...

I ventured into the mall today. Generally, since my departure from the retail trade, the mall isn't a place that I suffer well. Working from my "satellite office" put me in proximity such that I had no reason not to visit.



Not long after my re-entry into the world I tend to avoid, a couple things happened. The first is that, after witnessing a no less than veracious level of consumerism, I resolved to reduce my carbon footprint by committing to adopting a 'thrift store only' shopping policy. Save, of course, those sale items that I musn't live without. The other thing that happened was quite interesting (at least to me). I began to play "I Notice/I Wonder." I'm not sure if that game has embedded itself in my brain from my work in the city school system or because it was used as a training exercise during my time in sales. Either way, it came to me as if from the air. I simply began to make the observations organically. And, so it was.



I noticed a pregnant Jewish and wondered if Hannukkah was over. I noticed a sartorially resplendent gentleman and wondered why his pants didn't meet the tops of his shoes. I noticed a few reasonably priced bowties and wondered if they would mark the end of my 'thrift store only' policy. I noticed a lot of exasperated consumers and wondered if they could afford there purchases. I noticed a dude wearing bright red, satin slippery earls with a matching jacket and wondered "Who in Hell does that?" I noticed a lot developmentally challenged young folks in all areas of the mall and wondered if they were together, as a part of some field trip. I noticed a sweater for sale in Eddie Bauer and wondered why it was the exact same sweater that I sold quite successfully fifteen years ago. I noticed a woman pulling the walking cain away from her companion and wondered a great many things. What was the relationship; mother and daughter or simply siblings. How common is the love that challenges one to do? Why was such a young woman suffering such an affliction? How does one survive the notion of being physically less than she had been in the past? Will she realize a complete recovery? Does she define recovery in a conventional way? How would I handle a similar circumstance?



note to self...I imagine one would have difficulty understanding his own strength without it being tested.

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elephants are HUGE!

I am convicted by the notion that a greater sense of self and ones surroundings leads directly to a heightened ideal of the greater good. Unfortunately, within such a belief system exists a greater potential for disappointment. When one begins to analyze his lot in life I would imagine that the next logical thought would be “how do I become better?” and in the analysis of his surroundings, “what can I do to make this better?” Such broad questions have a tendency to begin to feel amorphous; lacking any clear answer or predetermined format for resolution. “How,” in itself, begs such deep contemplation.
There is no way for me to answer such questions in a manner that validates the gravity of the implications of such queries. Like most, I want to be better and consequently make this better—but how?

Note to self…I hear elephant tastes like chicken, so enjoy it.

Who?

Okay, so I know that I try to avoid the "heavy" posts on this blog, but recently I've seen or read about several young folks that I know personally touched by the loss of a young man that I've never met. I'm reminded of our president talkin' about "the fierce urgency now." If you consider yourself one who is working torward something more than you already have, I challenge you to a build a relationship with someone, anyone, who has not yet fully embraced the idea that he or she has the capacity to move beyond "what is." The expression "it is what it is" is tossed around without much regard to what it implies. Indeed, it is what it is until you--I--we decide that "what is" is subject to change. I will never profess to have the answers to all of our social ills, but I will say, with all confidence, that I own my responsibility in trying to instigate change in our community. My hope is that we (the patriarchs & matriarchs of our neighborhoods) can find the courage to ask ourselves: If not me--who?

The Rooster Crows

It has been suggested that I should smile more. Folks often say “SMILE!” or “you should smile more” or “you have a beautiful smile.” To the latter I often respond “Thanks, I know” being sure to add a sheepish wink.
My grandmother would always offer, when I was pouting, some completely random story of how, if the rooster crowed while I held my now infamous scowl, frown or whatever less than happy expression, my face would be locked in that position. It sometimes brought a smile to face; more often, it did not. Such a playful approach to providing emotional counsel still resonates.
My natural expression usually exemplifies my contemplative nature. I find myself thinking a lot. One thing or another is always holding my attention. Sometimes, in my car, I attempt to drown out my thoughts with obnoxiously loud music. If I’m particularly engaged, I’ll sing along.
For whatever the mood; for however I feel, neither the presence of a smile nor the lack thereof warrants comment. Just take what I give you. Usually it’s good.

Great Title

It seems that I have far more titles for books in my head than stories written. While driving to and from work I’m usually nagged by ideas for my next literary work. My mind usually works sequentially. I’ll first come up with a title for a book, and then proceed to fill its imaginary pages with a myriad of stories which are stored somewhere in the recesses of my brain. Quite often I impress myself with what’s included in any particular collection. But, there’s always some disconnect. Without fail I come home, sit down to pen this nations next great piece of literature and find myself struggling with the notion that my skill set does not match my ambition—my hands won’t do my mind’s eye justice. So I’m stuck with a great title while lacking the testicular fortitude to follow through.
I resolve today, to continue to throw shit against the wall to see what sticks.