Ride Wisely

Not often enough, we are unexpectedly tested in a manner of huge magnitude. These aren’t tests you study for by memorizing curriculum-decided drivel enroute to their desired end goal for you: an obedient and unquestioning tax-paying shell. 

Though not aware, you are always studying and preparing; by the choices you make, the stories you tell yourself, and the thoughts you hold until they’re ready to be released; all with intention, then critical reflection to sharpen.

When one of these tests occurs, you’re rattled and scared into questioning everything you knew, thought, want, need, what everything prior has meant, and what it all means with an upside down world. It is cruel, but meant to be the ultimate jarring interruption toward positive change.

This wave, you can choose to ride. You can even influence its size and direction for the greater good of all by making scarce of former comforts and conveniences-to remind, reflect, recalibrate, refocus, and/or change direction and affiliations based on how others interpret, inquire, and ride the wave. 

Callous your feet on this wave toward inclining your mind to make wise, informed choices. Be not selfish. Don't buy into needing more distractions, we've been over-stimulated prior to all this.

Now it's time to look very close at yourself and what always mattered, perhaps all that's been much neglected.....Ride wisely. 

Music For My Soul: How Did You Love, by Shinedown

On any scale, legacy is important to everyone. Some have children—those who desire parenthood but can’t conceive adopt. Founding a business or inventing products we need and/or want will also cement a legacy.

While all noble, I believe the most important legacy is how you treat others.

Those near death consistently identify their only regrets as not spending enough time with loved ones. More material things, making more money, or more sexual partners doesn't equate to a fulfilling life when one is close to dying.

Excepting common sense, considering societal norms isn't a factor for what I ought to do or be. That’s largely why identifying as a writer and its boundless avenues suits me perfectly; the words I create and share will be a big part of my legacy. The rest of it will be who I choose to share my life with, and the memories we make through this madness we call life.

Ideal is not realistic but must be persisted. Finding and vetting those whose actions prove they love and accept the entirety of you are worth the time it takes. Unworthy ones reveal themselves with their absence when you aren't an asset to them. Trust me, and be diligent.

Participation in humanity equals supporting and connecting with each other towards love; that’s what this song means to me. Fear and greed will always be unfortunate and easily accessed human drivers, especially during pandemics, i.e. this current coronavirus and COVID-19 situation. Hacking into those traits succumbs the unaware, diverting them from the big picture and hidden truths.

We all have a voice and a heart. Our altruistic use of each will be a huge part in how we positively we reflect on a life lived, except sociopaths and other hopelessly selfish individuals. How faithful and generous your love is in every facet will be your legacy.

To quote a line from the song: “No one gets out alive, everyday is do or die; the one thing you leave behind is how did you love.”

Left Hanging

Why ignorance?
Why wasted time?
How did I earn forgotten?

Anger is my closest ally, with
Zero tolerance of what you’ve perpetrated.

This coddling along of you is done.
You're clearly not on the level; I was wrong.
Projections of hope exposed my emptiness through craving
Mutual love and trust.

I...held myself accountable.
I.....apologized.
You said no big deal.

I, give; you take without consideration.
I, fully offer; you choose speed instead of careful thought.
You, tell me; then abandon.

My worth is not lost on me, nor is my vast potential.
Your abuse of both pushed my anger to halt you in motion.

My throat will be sore from processing this pain.
My mouth will be dry after
Expressing my disgust of you daring to
Squeeze the triggers I trusted you with.

The last you'll see of me is dusted footprints as I
Run away from your kind.

Closed mind with petty judgement equals
Your pathetic existence.
Enjoy eventual solitude; compromised and shallow company at best.

Your former elicited butterflies have corrected themselves to scarecrows.

My standards, realized once again.
These tears will dry, this sorrow will fade.
My feelings will renew and regain strength.

I’m not too much, as you accused...….you’re just not enough.

Grandpa

After enough life lived, one may ponder their biggest successes, failures, and regrets. Of all my regrets, the one I place above all others was out of my control.

My grandpa and I loved watching Michael Jordan play and appreciated his abilities on the court from very different perspectives. Now, the number Jordan famously wore represents the number of years my grandpa passed away.

I was in eight grade and knew this day was coming. His health was rapidly declining due to the cancer he had since the summer before, combined with the effects of chemotherapy and radiation. When our like-another-mother neighbor told my sister and me of grandpa’s passing that Thursday morning, we were given the option to stay home or go to school.

Our parents were with our grandma and aunts and uncle, consoling each other and grieving loss the one of, if not the, most important man in their lives. I remember it being a Thursday because Thursdays were Art Class and I got to see my crush, my Art teacher. The timing was fortuitous with my needed distraction already in play. I chose to attend a full day of classes.

I was a little numb, trying to be strong. However, a few days later at his wake, I cried harder and more than any other wake, before or since. The sadness that surrounded my family and me was compounded by the sheer number of people that came to pay their last respects to this great man. My grandpa touched so many lives in his 68 years that the funeral home had to open all the other rooms to accommodate the large crowd. Thankfully, his was the only wake that day.

My mom worked at the school we went to, so the faculty that was like another family came by to offer their sympathies to everyone. Despite my bashful demeanor at that time in my life, I wasn’t afraid to shed as many tears as I needed to regardless of who was in front of me. I felt so much love from everyone that came by. Many of them took turns holding me each time I broke down.

My small pond of tears were hard for me to explain at the time. I just let them flow without question. As I’ve aged over time, I’ve realized it was partly from all of us losing him, but also me losing him when I was only 13 years old.

Since then, I’ve heard tons of stories of him and how wonderful he was, especially from the love of his life, our grandma. It wasn’t until years later through those stories that I realized the full scope of who he was and what he stood for. His sense of humor and work ethic were second to none, some of which I was lucky enough to see up close.

He was the first person to take me fishing and saw me catch my first fish, a perch, which I proudly displayed in the small kid's pool in the backyard. It somehow lived for about a week until we saw it was floating. Being a reminder of hanging out with grandpa, I couldn’t bring myself to properly dispose of it.

You see, fishing with him was the first meaningful time we spent together. He was retired at this point and I was in third or fourth grade. Until then, I was intimidated by him. He was quick to yell if he’d get real upset, especially when picky eater me would scoff at what I was served at his house.

He grew up poor and never forgot the sense of appreciating every morsel he was given no matter how it tasted. During that fishing trip, I saw a softer side to my grandpa and stopped being scared of him. I realized his sporadic yelling was always short lived and came from a place of caring.

Have you ever witnessed two stubborn people argue? It is pure entertainment, or at least it was when my grandma and grandpa would argue. It wasn’t till I was much older that I realized how much they loved each other and the example they set for me. When they’d get upset and holler a little, they’d quickly go to other parts of the house to cool off before coming together more calmly to resolve the issue. No cross words were spoken or cheap shots taken, loud disagreements was all they were. Though each were quite, quite stubborn, they always came to a compromise. If that’s not love I don’t know what is.

The last time I saw him was at the house he and grandma had since the 50s, while he was under hospice care. It was prior to a basketball game of mine for my school, and he was in a bed in the middle of the always immaculate living room. My family was visiting him and grandma, and we had as nice of a visit as we could considering his impending death.

He was very tired and too weak to speak more than barely above a whisper. When we went to say goodbye, I went to his bedside to give him as full a hug as I could with all the limitations he had. We said our farewells and told each other we loved each other, and then he said, “Go and score some points.”  

As a bench warmer, I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance. After the game, I beamed of scoring a few points in relief of the much better players. Remembering the point total wasn’t important; feeling great that I scored some points when my grandpa wished me to was important. That farewell and game became hugely meaningful once he died shortly after, making it the last time we exchanged glances, words, and love.

Citing my grandpa’s death as my life’s biggest regret was and always will be for not having him around as an adult. I missed out on all of his life wisdom and the jokes he dared not recite around children. I could have also benefitted from more insight into how it was to grow up meagerly.

He died well before I played drums and became the writer I am today, and I would have loved to share those slices of my soul with him. I know he’d have been proud, even when I wasn't very good. He always admired those that tried their best instead of those that sat on their ass and did nothing. Hell, during an old-timers baseball game in his early 60s, he slid into second base to be safe. To me, that's the epitome of his spirit.

Losing loved ones sucks at any age, and I feel robbed of a huge and great opportunity. That may seem a little selfish but I don't really care. That’s life; I’ve accepted it and am grateful for the time I had with him.

The love and admiration for the man known as Belgie has only grown as I have matured, and it will never stop.

Grandma's First Year

Ever since I had the slightest grasp of language, your words have lived in my mind in your inimitable voice. Your consistently wise musings and humorous cliches won’t be forgotten by me or any of us blessed by your love. We count those as some of the many gifts you gave us while you were alive.

On this day, we celebrate one year of the end of your life on this earth. Celebrate, because of how long we had you; celebrate, because you were reunited with those on the other side who had been waiting patiently; and celebrate because your suffering is no more. The end of your suffering made this difficult transition a bit easier for us.

This first year we have gotten together to celebrate your life in a few iterations. Whether I was able to attend or not, I know your presence was strongly felt every time. The clearest example was likely you flickering and dimming the light above our table to let us know you were there with us to wish your youngest daughter happy birthday, her first without you. As a group or any two of us in conversation, or just alone in our thoughts, we’ve grieved and mourned your loss in too many ways to count and measure.

Your presence has graced my dreams at least twice a week since you passed. Not once did you dispense after-life adventures or your well-being or advice. They instead mimicked how life was when you were alive—holding court wherever you went, tending to whoever was visiting, all with your body independent the way it used to be.

With rare exception, the settings of these dreams were true to life representations of what your house, my house, and your apartment was like. In those dreams I was aware of your death but happy to be with you and your spunky personality again. When I’d wake up, my smile of interaction with you via dream was paired with melancholy in the pit of my stomach for it merely being in a dream. Still, I don't want to stop having them.

Missing you won't ever be easy, but is getting better due to the gratitude I practice of having you in my life till my mid-30s.The love you demonstrated and satiated me with will sustain my soul many lifetimes. The way you continued life without grandpa for nearly 22 years was admirable. You missed him immensely but forged ahead and lived a fulfilling life, which has largely informed my template for living without you and to bask in the memories instead. And we sure had alot!

The last gift you gave me was a huge insight to my writing process when I wrote your eulogy. I couldn’t have gotten that priceless education any other way. Paying tribute to you the best way I knew how, then going totally out of my comfort zone when I read it aloud it at your funeral completed my catharsis. That experience and resulting feedback boosted my confidence and resolve to make this my career, and has continued to be a galvanizing force as I endure the drudgery that writing can often be.

Your support of what I enjoyed and wanted to do with my life never ceased, nor did your belief in me. I know the rest of the family and those you chose as family can say the same. Stating extreme gratitude is not enough to express what your boundless love meant to me and the rest of us.

Happy first year in heaven, Flo Baby. The legacy you left behind is alive and well thanks to your words and examples. We love and miss you.

Walled

So tall, perfect and straight.
Equal inches, cement to brick.

Dare I touch it?
It’s too precious, don’t!
Too far away, can I approach?

The wind, says yes.
Go.

Ah, yes.
Been waiting for the chance.

On approach……just what I thought!
Just what I hoped, imagined.

Now, I’m here.
Wow.
The sunlight’s illumination, too good; yet it’s true.

My first deep breath, met with a pebble upon exhaling.
My eyes meet my foot, then back to the wall.

A gap, in the binding cement.
Could it be?

Dare I act upon the earlier thought?
Curiosity needs indulgence, so I touch.

More pebbles, my touch creates.
The wall, revealed to be hollow of substandard inner material,
Covered invisible by the outer beauty’s facade.

My feet hurt, for they were bare to witness the beauty that was the wall.
I’m here as myself, no hollow image.

No halfway was met, now I’m alone with bloody feet.
Scars heal, and I will.
Once again.

These feet have walked into many walls,
Bled many times.
Their scars have scars, but haven’t breathed on my heart and resolve.

There is a wall to compliment mine; I still refuse socks and shoes to make
An easy arrival.

The pain teaches me direction, the scars teach clarity.

The right one will have a rope I didn’t ask for, just as I carry one
It won’t ask for, but will be ready
In its timely climb.

My Friend

From where you’re from, a friend is a non-blood sibling. Someone worth taking a bullet for without a thought, shy of where to jump so it gets only you. That means you chose them wisely. When you were abruptly uprooted to Wisconsin without enough notice to say goodbye to your well vetted friends, the contempt you carried was a visual taste of bile.

When we first met through our mutual friend, our worlds were quite far apart. I knew some of your family, but your last name wasn’t theirs so I didn’t know there was any relation. It went unknown until we visited your cousins after school about a month after we become friends. They lived close to us and I’d been acquainted with them for a long time. They were your family, but I related to you much more than them. It’s too bad some of your family was nicer to me than you, their own flesh and blood.

We were both outsiders without much confidence, yet oddly comfortable enough in our skin to stick to our convictions without compromising for more friends in school. You were an easier target despite how intimidating you were. We were deeply wounded emotionally but for different reasons.

The kinship and trust was there from the outset and carried us through high school from the freshman we met as. There were times we were at odds. Honestly, I forgot most of why we were, except for having a crush on your sister, then cousin a year or so later. But there were many sleepovers and wonderful times had that I still fondly look back on.

We always knew the friendship would survive post high school, and it did for a long time. When we had our ups and downs, our truce was always wrestling. Whether it was watching it or in your back yard for your own “promotion,” we all got a kick out of performing in for your little camcorder with our multiple characters.

We’d run to and from different iterations and heights of ropes, limited by the trees and clotheslines and the slight hill, performing all our favorite wrestlers' moves and some of our own. We strutted to the crooked square through hung up bedsheets to music we picked out for our characters.

Tempers rarely flared and we only hurt each other when it was planned, which was you the majority of the time. You allowed a steel chair to your head, and one time went through a flaming table with thumbtacks. I still feel bad I missed dousing your back with water, prolonging your selfless pain much longer than you deserved it to be.

When we got old enough, we’d go out drinking. You were one of my favorite drinking partners. We'd play our favorite songs on the jukebox and sing out loud to the chagrin of the other patrons who were there to have a drink, perhaps with other intentions. All we needed was each other and some beers, food, and music, and some dice if we felt adventurous enough.

There was the time I was going on a trip across the country. For the fear of the something going awry, I wanted to do something brave I’d never done before to somehow salvage my short life. The night before I left, we watched a show from one of my friend’s bands. I ran into so many people I’d not seen in years, leaving you ignored; you offered your loving patience while feeling much different in your heart: your familiar emotional wounds.

Afterwards, we went to a different establishment that had karaoke. I can’t remember whose idea it was. For years by that point we would always harmonize and sing songs while joyriding, so we were comfortable with singing in front of each other, me being the worse singer.

At the karaoke place, I got over some stage fright to perform “Enter Sandman” on the grand stage of that small place. I knew I wasn’t very good, that I was a much better drummer than a singer. I never had played drums to anyone in public, shy of some friends coming over to where I lived to watch me play.

Karaoke was the next best thing to be able to say I played to a public audience of some sort. Your non-judging presence gave me the courage I was lacking. And when I came back from that trip, you were the only one I wanted to see first, so we hung out-happy I made it back safe.

The adult years gave us troubles too. When I was single, I saw more of my friends and life was good. When I was in a relationship, I saw less of my friends and life was still good, but it upset you because a romantic relationship shouldn’t always come before a friendship, especially one like ours. I let the pangs of not having enough of the love I needed early in my life haunt me, to the detriment of nearly every aspect of my life. Though those ladies filled a large void in me, you were right, and I am sorry for that.

I’m ashamed to say I had crushes on a couple of your ex-girlfriends. Your praise of them during the relationship had an effect on me in that way, just like your fandom of the Spice Girls years earlier. There was no malice on my part, and I still can’t explain more than just your sales pitches you didn’t know you were giving me. You were not happy about it and let me know about it.

The last two times we interacted was first at your grandpa’s wake. Luckily your cousin alerted me of it that day, knowing I don’t get the newspaper and that’s why I missed your grandma’s wake and funeral a year or so previous. I walked into the funeral home, nodded at the many people I knew but made a beeline for you so I could hug you as tight as I could.

I knew what your grandpa meant to you, and I wanted to give you my love and make sure you were okay. We went to your car for some shots of grandpa’s favorite liquor before the service started. I left from there because you were all I wanted to see, and your well being was all that mattered to me. You said you’ve changed a lot and wanted to reconnect.

The next week saw us as the sole muscle to help a mutual friend move into their new apartment. We had fun, but the person I saw that day was one that didn’t change as much as he said, so I decided not to contact you further. And I never have heard from you again either, directly or through our many people in common, besides returning some borrowed items back to you.

A little over a year ago I was in a town nearby where you live. I don’t live there anymore but live close enough to frequently make the drive to see friends and family. I had to get something at Wal-Mart on the way to an appointment and was on a tight schedule. After I got the item, I was walking back to my car and saw a familiar figure. It was you. You didn’t park close enough to me to know it was me, but maybe you saw my car and went further away. To this day I don’t know if you knew it was me or not. I look different these days than the last time you saw me, so maybe not.

It wasn’t till later that day when I realized it was your birthday. I recalled the look on your face. It wasn’t a happy look, so perhaps life wasn’t going so well. It was also early in the day and maybe that contributed. Your apparel was some sweat pants, so perhaps you just had something to quickly get as well. I don’t know, but hope to know.

Since then, you’ve had another birthday. And it’s been on my heart for a long time now to reach back out to you. We did grow apart over the years in many ways, but I’ve never stopped loving you like a brother or caring about you. Now in our late 30s, I want to reconnect just to know you're okay.

Though I miss you, I'm not sure if a friendship can work with how we grew apart years ago. If you don’t respond, I want to honor you and our friendship with this public post so the memories we made can live forever. I chose to highlight only a few of the ones that stand out to me for the sake of brevity and for us to further reminisce if you choose to reconnect.

As I illustrated, I wasn’t always the best friend, but I know I was pretty damn good most of the time. Nobody knew you better than me in those years. Hell, maybe I still do. The times when we had deep and painful talks, of holding each other as we cried through the pain, or making sure we didn’t choke on our vomit when we’d had too much to drink; those will never leave my memories. You are a great but flawed man, just like any other person. I miss you.

Wild Life

Seeing a dead animal or those close to their demise sends chills all over me. On a recent walk on a bridge over a lake, I saw a deceased otter floating in the water. This unexpected event was much creepier up close. It is not easy for me to see death that close with a wild animal, and it’s more heartbreaking to see domestic animals splayed out in the road.

A wild animal is part of a food chain, yet even watching one safely cross the street will give rise to the hair on my skin. I've always wondered why, especially recently, so I decided to write about it to figure this out.

Fearing what could happen to any wild animal is only part of why. How intimidating some can be isn't quite it either.

One aspect is their unflinching courage, regardless of where they are on the food chain. Not being equipped with human intelligence is a jealousy I have with all animals, especially wild; my mind involuntarily spins many webs that freeze me in place more than moving forward.

Putting myself and my thoughts out to the world is akin to a wild animal living and surviving in the same world. There is a certain degree of courage necessary to keep going out in the world, subjective to those who may pounce and injure from any direction.

Courage is something I've always admired from afar while shrunk into thinking that I could never be that brave. Recent times have provided the insight and value of courage being an asset past what fear prevents it from being, even when it doesn't work out.

Any career I will have in this field will have criticism. Fair or unfair, everyone gets it, regardless of popularity or success. An important aspect for this wild life of expression is knowing myself and my journey, regardless of what others may say or feel.

Artistic and personal integrity must always be maintained. Anything shy of that will be transparent and thus remove me from any chance of survival. My skin is already thick from years of living the life I have, and will only get thicker as time goes on.

Writing is the most difficult, yet most satisfying endeavor of my life and all I want to do for a living. Playing drums is the only thing that comes close, but writing is more agreeable to my soul. Though drumming is great for its physical and creative nature, using words and craft and perspective is a more enjoyably maddening creative adventure for me.

My mental approaches to drumming and writing have many parallels. It has been fun for me to fully realize and flesh out in the years I’ve become more serious about writing. Both of them have been the greatest outlets for my life's ills and ups, aligning myself to how to best serve the story I'm telling/song I'm playing, or to just unburden myself without concerns of artistic merit.

Reflection has helped me see that everything required for my writing has been in place for my entire life, including but not limited to informing the way I think and learn. My vast curiosity has led me to knowledge beyond what any formal education may provide, with an unquenchable thirst for more of that fulfillment. This is what I'm meant for.

There are numerous topics I’m interested in diving into, but lack the time. The bills still need to get paid, so I have a job. With my strong desire to write and research, and my current job requiring much of my time and energy, it's resulted in anxious and depressing days. On days off, anxiety has stripped away time being spent wisely, but those days are becoming more distant.

Recent and mutually beneficial changes at the job have made my life better, and I just have to keep plugging along and believing in myself. My small circle of loved ones are very supportive, but I am the one who must perspire.

Until I am earning a living only from writing, I’m left to work that regular job while feeling a different kind of wild. From living that life for over 21 years, it is more familiar. With my writing aspirations, I’ve become much more of who I’ve always wanted to be. That process created a wide divide from the old sector to a different kind of wild I'm still figuring out.

My fingers and focus being on this keyboard, at or away from my desk, and the words and thoughts that result, make the rest of my life go ‘round. More fulfillment has happened despite no money, though I hope it becomes a full time living.

Lately, I've had to make some big decisions I never thought I'd make at this point in my life. Much, but not all, of those decisions are based on writing and all what I need my life to be in order for it to be at its ultimate potential, now and in the future for an ideal wild life.

As I continue with this site and keep writing, I hope you find value in what I have to say and come back often.

If I’ve earned as much, that will result in positive chills while being seen out in the wild world of the written word; the same ones I get when I see a wild animal courageously doing what I envision my wild life to be.

Word to Ponder: Nadir

Anyone that's overcome adversities of any scale or consequence can point to the lowest point, or nadir, that showed them the only way was up. Nadirs are inevitable but sneaky, best served as a wake up call to change something.

That last drink, cigarette, hit, junk food binge, or poor financial choice before permanent change is not a nadir. Though this self-sabotage is an unfortunate human trait, you can’t be plan for a nadir; they don't work that way. Bad for you is still bad, especially if you know better and do it anyway. It only creates a permission cycle of not doing what's best for yourself, keeping you captive and farther away from ideal, no matter what you may tell yourself while in the midst of it.

Paramount to work though a nadir is a strong and honest support system outside your large and/or small ego. The cunning nature of a nadir can blind you to it, while your support system will probably see it earlier and
clearer than you. Putting together that support system is its own problem, but is clear-cut when you hit a nadir. True friends and relatives are the ones that stick around when you're at your worst, selflessly and unconditionally helping you get back to your best. But it has to be reciprocal when they need you.

An open mind is a must; though, it can backfire if you’re too open for too long, and is equally damaging as being too close-minded for too long. Ideally, you should go back and forth from your comfort zone to know where and when adjustments are needed. Too much time in or out of your comfort zone will get you off track. It is never going to be easy to identify when/how long to be in or out of that zone, but time and practice will afford that knowledge and self-awareness. That’s where the support system of accountability and praise will come in when warranted to help you make the necessary adjustments where and when you need to.

A huge problem for me was thinking I could solve all my own problems. This cycle always resulted in narrow mindedness and mental burnout when I’m overwhelmed with all I have to take care of, always magnified from reality.

I have never been good at delegating and enjoy carrying a burden. Big challenges motivate me until I’m out of wind and strength to go any further, way before I’m done with what I need to do, let alone want to do, or vice versa. When my support system tells me I’ve hit another nadir, it’s never at the right time.

I hate letting people down, even when they’re disappointed I let myself down. Not cracking the code of burning out is always abhorrent in principle, and is much worse to live it. Pressure does motivate me, but too much cripples me where all I want to do is eat poorly and sleep. And it’s all my own doing.

I recently hit another and pretty bad nadir, causing me to do things I’ve never done in my life. So, I needed time to get it sorted out. Making the time to only focus on what's been going on is so foreign to me. Though I recognize its necessity, I've had difficulty with it. I have felt so weak during this process, wondering why I couldn't just plow through this like I've always done.

I've come to realize the times I persevered was actually making me weaker and weaker over too many years. This nadir has become the full circle revelation of all the years of trauma I forced myself to go through were for the wrong reasons and without continuous and proper self-care.

I also never thought I'd be a Christian. But lo and behold, I am now a proud believer of God and that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior. I'm super early to this, but it's been a great awakening and the best thing for me. Part of my years long hesitation was the many bad examples of Christians that are in this world. I failed then to realize everyone is on their personal journey and to not judge what I don't fully know, and prayers are needed instead of scorn.

Plus, I didn't believe anything I couldn't see, but the circumstances that led me to Christ and everything that has followed was all proof I needed. The more my eyes have been opened to this world in my walk with Christ, I've been observing further proof without even asking.

I've allowed too many people and environments to dictate how I feel about myself. I've learned that I take me and what I represent everywhere I go. Anything else around me doesn't matter unless it's positive or an opportunity for me to influence positivity. Though it will always be difficult, the negativity cannot affect me anymore.

Part of my issue is giving my all, all the time, without factoring in sufficient down time for recovery. Investing all of myself is a blessing but can be a curse. I struggle when circumstances outside my control take away my full skills and abilities.

When I’m able to accomplish something I love with enough autonomy, I’ll happily go my usual 100% but rarely hit a nadir, armed with an open mind and at least enough knowledge of what I'm signing up for. I enjoy the grind and miss it when the project is done, resulting in deep fulfillment. That’s why identifying as writer resonates so deep with me. The nature of me as a writer and how I work and think about the craft is essentially this paragraph.

To be honest, I don't think I'm receiving the best professional care possible through this nadir. Life happens way too fast for the best to always be available or obvious, and that's okay. No matter what care I receive, everything begins and ends with me. All I can do is the best with which I'm given. The power of prayer has been tremendous, as has the support of friends and family the Lord has wrapped me with.

Everyone will go through different paths and endure many nadirs. When they happen, it’s just life telling you to go change direction and/or mindset. Pain is promised, but it's part of growth. The barrage of emotions you’ll feel aren’t worth over thinking. They're just an overflow of what you need to successfully unpack and process.

This will likely require a lot of time, professional help, and hard, honest conversations with your support system and said professional. They are necessary to becoming your best self and are absolutely worth it, even if you don't get the best therapist or other professional. As I stated, it's up to you to make the most of what you're able to get and utilize all of what you have been gifted.

A therapist, counselor, doctor, etc. of any kind is only as good as the person who wants to make that change and do the work. I do want to improve, that's why I don't need the best, I just need a very good one, which I have. I used to put too much on past therapists to do more work on me than I was willing to do. I was expecting magical proclamations in every session to just tell me what I needed to do, which is utterly and embarrassingly backwards.

I promise I'll never be a preachy Christian. Everyone comes to Christ on their own time, but I can speak from experience you can't do life alone. Your support system is very important, but not more important than a close relationship with your Creator.

Feel free to reach out to me in the comments, as I've yet to set up an email account for this website. I'll notify you all when I do, but until then make the most of what you have and live your best life.

Our Dad

Expectations for fathers have evolved over the decades. In some cultures, it’s still common for children to only know their dad as the guy who is married to mom and goes to work so they can afford everything they have and will have. One of my good fortunes in life is having a father that worked very hard but was also present. Till our late teen years he worked multiple jobs, even running his own lawn care service for ten years. And yes, that meant he was my very first boss.

Although we didn’t see him much due to those jobs, his love for my sister and me wasn’t ever in question. Perhaps it was instilled in each of us when he gave each of us our first bath after we were born and home from the hospital. During our youth, my sister and I would usually bargain with him if mom said no, because we knew he was a softy and hated to dash our little dreams. When discipline was needed instead of the fun we wanted to have, and knew deep down that mom was right, we still went to dad anyway to at least have a yes in some fashion, even when mom stuck to her convictions.

When he wasn't working or sleeping, he was the one of the goofiest people I've ever known, hamming it up with anyone who would participate. When in public, he'd never shy to talk to anyone. It was often an annoyance to me when I'd want to get home as quick as possible to play video games, but it left a mark on me that connecting with people matters more than anything in life.

Our dad was born and raised in a household that was sustained by his parents’ farm and gardens. Working hard from dawn till dusk was the only option for the family to survive and thrive, instilling a strong work ethic in him and his siblings that continues to this day for them all. His dad was his first boss too and set the example I was privileged to be a recipient of.

Soon after I was born, he settled into what became his primary job that had him working third shift till I was fifteen years old. He was, and still is, someone who sleeps until he absolutely has to get up and ready to go anywhere. When my sister and I were growing up, we’d hear his alarm go off and he’d hit the snooze button. Back then we didn’t know much about the consequences of being late to work, except it would upset our mother. So, we took it upon ourselves when we heard the alarm to push dad out of bed so he wouldn’t be late! There were days where he wanted to sleep in and wasn’t thrilled about being pushed out of bed, but those were few and far between. Shoving dad out of bed became a fun ritual where he’d pretend to be sleeping and make it harder for us to get him out. He couldn’t stifle his laughter very well and his distinct chuckle always gave away his possum-playing intentions.

When I started working for him, I couldn’t wait to have my own money to buy my own things. I was 12 years old and craved independence and autonomy above my youth, and money was one way of achieving that goal. I didn’t really have much discipline at the time, but I learned the difference between doing something when it needed to be done versus doing it when I felt like it. During the school year I couldn’t wait to get out so I could cut grass. I was already spending the money I didn’t have yet, and I wanted to work more to get more things. What I didn’t know at the time, but realized later in my future jobs, was I was being given a real lesson in life. It was tough at first, but I learned how to endure adversity and enjoy suffering for the greater good.

For the first time in my life, I was able to spend quality time with my dad. It wasn’t something I realized I missed, even while observing other kids having much more time with their fathers. Still, it was nice to hang out with him more often, chatting about whatever he wanted while we drove to the next lawn to cut. All these years later, I’ll still drive to the areas where he had some customers to help me relive those memories. They are very fondly looked back upon by both of us, and never fail to entertain us while we reminisce about the three years I worked for him.

For my sister, she wasn’t shorted quality time either. She and dad would reorganize the garage when the time came. Our mom would show up on the job sites at times with my sister with some food and drinks if we'd run out of what we had or wanted something special. He would make sure to give my sister some attention while mom took over the lawn mower for a few minutes.

With the slivers of time he had, he'd make time for father and daughter outings. To her embarrassment, he'd call her his baby daughter to those he'd see when they were out and about. Nowadays, she embraces the title and signs everything she writes to him as his baby daughter.

When I worked for my dad from 1994-1996, the Packers were doing really well for the first time in decades. Not in the fluky Infante and Majkowski ways, they were a solid team worth cheering in a way that only compared to the Lombardi days. I will always cherish the times we’d do a lot of work on Saturday to be done early enough on Sunday to catch the end of the Packer games. The team of Jim Irwin and Max McGee was the soundtrack to those Sundays, hustling to be done early enough, yelling at the windshield to the picture they painted with their commentary.

Then there were the days we’d hit up the local go-kart track to reward ourselves for a hard day’s work. Sometimes our close friend Greg would join us, along with some of his friends and family when the timing worked out. When that group got together, some of us were sure to get yelled at by the track employees. We could also count on at least one of us getting booted from the track for the day while trying to one-up each other. It's a fond memory we talk about to this day.

Just because I worked for my dad doesn't mean I had it easy. He made me work a lot harder than I wanted to, yelled at me when I was slacking off, docked my pay when I didn’t do what he expected, and I barely had days off. He and I are both stubborn, and that made for some interesting days, but he always won. The only times he let me stay home was when my allergies were more than I could bear after trying different masks and/or over the counter medicines. When he was hard on me, he never made it about himself and never disrespected me. He simply expected more from me because I was his kid; he didn’t want nepotism to be why he hired me. He was consistent with it all and we learned more about each other as time went on.

Unfortunately, every boss I have had since then has had to work against the high bar my dad set as my first boss. Those bosses may have seen me as problematic or insubordinate. In reality, I have consistently been disappointed I've had to settle for less than what I was shown by my dad and his stern and respectful ways.

The business eventually grew so much he couldn’t keep up with it. He was trying to hold onto it until I was 18 and could take over, but it got to be too much and he had to sell the business when I was 14. It was successful but not enough to replace his full time income and benefits. It was a bummer for him, but also a relief of the burden it became. He was working a full-time third shift job as well as cutting grass, resulting in very little sleep. Thank God our mom was a competent secretary!

A harder worker than my dad is someone I’ve yet to meet. In some ways, it hasn’t been so good for me; I’ve burned myself out more times than I care to remember trying to live up to the example I was shown. Only in very recent years have I learned how to take better care of myself instead of working myself to the bone. But I’ll never forget the sacrifices my dad made just to make our lives comfortable while his was anything but.

After selling the lawn care business in 1996, we saw dad much more. He remained a hard and dedicated worker with just one job, and for the short time he worked a second part time job. In the twenty plus years since, our dad has become more and more comfortable with himself and his life.

There was a time a few years ago when I had nowhere to go. He took me in, but a couple months later kicked me out because I wasn't living up to what he expected of me under his roof. Even then, in my late 20s, he was still my boss looking out for me and making a hard decision for my benefit when it hurt him more than it hurt me at the time.

He’s made other hard decisions over time to get where he is now, and has done the best he could to make up for what he regrets. My sister and I are proud of how he has been able to overcome the adversity of being teased and treated much less than he deserved by his family and peers, especially in his younger days, to being a confident public speaker despite his still present stutter. Whether prepared or off the top of his head, his genuine good hearted nature always comes through.

That confidence has manifested itself with the courage to be more confident in other areas of his life. Despite what life has handed him, the fact he's remained a simple and humble man while learning and becoming better from his mistakes speaks highly of his character. When the times have called for him to stick up for us and go above and beyond, he was always there.

Last year, his parents passed away 63 days apart from each other. With class and strength, our dad mourned the loss of his parents, even with their deaths so close to each other. My original intention was to have this ready for Father’s Day, but coincidence made this more special; today marks his father’s 93rd birthday. So, on this day, my sister and I celebrate the man that our father is, the man who helped shape him, and we thank them and love them both. We don't even have to ask, because he's shown and told us that being our father will always be his favorite job.