Year One

So it’s been about a year since I committed to be committed to my blog.

Listen:

It hasn’t gone the way I expected, but it is safe to say it also hasn’t gone the way I expected. It’s like swimming in the ocean, and getting temporarily caught in the undertow. At first there is panic and a sense of foreboding, surrounded by the rushing, swirling maelstrom of dark water. Then suddenly deep breath fills your lungs, and you are sitting in wet sand looking out at the horizon. Kind of like cup of soup.

I am very shortly entering into the seventh year of my new reality. The new life i forged for my family’s well being, and my professional contentment, and it has been eventful and chaotic. Change, however, is inevitable. Seven years is a lifetime to a cell, and we all regenerate in our own time. What life used to be about is no longer what it is about now – and I guess that is why it is called growing up, sliding down from the pedestal we put our daddy or mummy on. The Orient expresses a multitude of ageless and varied ways in which to find inner peace, but sometimes we just need to find a big friendly button to reset ourselves with.

Thanks to our ability to experience the passage of Time, We evolve and accept our new realities because to not do so would drive us to insanity and depression. Time away and Time alone allows for fondness of the heart to grow, and the opportunity to recognize those parts of life that are most important. Regardless of whether it is Time/She, or Time/He, is the fact that we wear it like a burden, and stake our claim to its stain upon us, really the best thing we can do with it? How do we just let it flow?

That may sound a bit philosophically full of itself, but it (if I can, just for a tic tock, turn this linguistic robot off) sure would be satisfying to know definitively that my careful thoughts don’t mean I am becoming boring.

Letting go of that which hurts us, or injures us, is the only true way to find our way in the forest. Of the nights and days I’ve already lived, I never assumed I could be the one carrying injury within me. Still, the trees shield us from the worst of the weather, and ground beneath our feet is firm and strong, giving us safe and steady passage along that long, flat line to tranquility.

As it is, i am home, and I am once again faced with my own wandering self-actualization. I am Dad. I am Husband. I am The Caretaker and The Provider. And my family looks to me for strength and support and guidance. What can I say? Except that i am as imperfect as everyone else. I believe in the mystery and wonder of the Universe, but it scares me. I am afraid of, but believe in the necessity of Death; in Heaven, whatever form it may take; and in the simple things that make life bearable – hugs, the smell of fresh ground coffee, having a place to belong.

So we get on with ourselves and our lives as best we can, despite the disappointment in the results immediately in front of us. It won’t always be this way. There will be ups and downs and sides. I will still get frustrated by laundry. I will still forget something. And, to paraphrase Bill Shakespeare, start most mornings off by saying “Get up Son, kill the moon and all that jazz” or whatever the quote was that sounded niftier in my head.

It’s Time to refocus my focus. It isn’t actually all that bad. I just need to find my Tao. Grab myself by the collar and run headlong into the great outdoors. “Let’s go, pal. You’re not quite over the hill! Into the dale, kiddo!” or some other such Tolkeinesque frolicsome blithering.

Let’s be honest – I am not a guy that frolics. I’m just not that graceful. But you get the idea. I am basically an idiot. And that’s ok.

Skip To The End…….

It’s funny. You know, things and stuff.

All that waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Hurry up to go here. Hurry up to go there. Hurry up and go. Hurry up and stay.

All that waiting for stuff to happen.

It seems like most everything takes forever. Especially things you weren’t expecting to go through, but you now find them permanently etched in the sidebar of your memory.

And then quite suddenly it has already happened and you are on to something else.

It makes me question whether or not Time actually exists. We think about Time. We talk about Time. We bitch about it, like, all the Time. We don’t have enough. We have too much.

We have a multitude of devices, habits and rituals that organize and pass the Time on our behalf so we aren’t sitting around waiting for the Time to run out.

But what if, just maybe, Time is all in our heads. The Universe, possibly, is just this big floating multidimensional puddle of cosmic vomit, slowly sliding down the drain of reality.

It doesn’t register the passing of anything. It is constantly moving in a state of Now.

Somehow, We are all just minnows, wading through ethereal puke, trying to make sense of the Now with a limited vocabulary and a severe case of Hyperopia. That’s fancy talk for farsightedness. (It’s okay – I Googled it. Took no Time at all.)

Once upon a Time, that would be just crazy talk. But fortunately, I think those days may be over.

Or maybe it’s all just a little bit of History Repeating. Like a “This has all happened before. And it will happen again. So say we all.”, sort of a thing. I guess Time will tell.

Man, I really need some down Time….

TL;dr Something something Time. Here we go into the HOME Stretch.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes……

Remember that time when I was somewhere else?

Yeah. Me too. Good Times.

I’m still there, but I’m about to find myself going somewhere else.

Something, something leaves and wind. Time to Face the inevitable. 

Seriously. I just frowned out. No, not really.

I am surprisingly melancholy. I’ve enjoyed my time here, and although I am far removed from all that I love, it has been a real education. I shall treasure it.

Next up, I will find myself in new scenic environs, with all new sights, sounds and coffee shops.

I’m not entirely sure how long this particular “regeneration” of my professional role will last, but it will, I am sure, be another fine mess I have gotten myself into.

I wonder what it will be like?

That’s not  the question I should be asking. 

What I should be asking is What will I be like after it’s all done?

Often, we find ourselves nose-pressed-to-the-silver-plate of unexpected challenge. That’s me when I’m not at home.

So I have elected to utilize my time to reach down, find some gravitas, and discover the person I really think I am. And the person I deserve to be. I “choose” the face I want to wear. 

So stepping to the edge of the diving board, I take a Deep Breath, and jump.

Before I do though:

A moment of Silence for Robin Williams, Lauren Bacall, and Sir Richard Attenborough.

It’s been a hell of a week.

 

Classic Half Empty or Classic Half Full?

I was given the option of writing this entry using the “easy” method, or I could choose the “classic” mode.

Can you tell the difference?

Yeah, neither can I, from here.

Still, I guess it’s nice to be asked.

There has been a lot of that going around. New and improved, with a nod to what was, if you want.

We just can’t seem to let go of how it used to be. 

We need to have that connection, that ongoing tether through the ether, to days of yore.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m all good with classic mode, but it is nice to change it up once in awhile.

Everything old is new again, and there is nothing new under the sun.

I wonder if maybe all our digitized what-iffing goes somewhere to be cataloged, alphabetized and stacked on neatly dusted shelves.

Like some great candy store store of wonder. Colorful jars filled with the soft chewy concepts of our purpose and our intentions…..

Overseen and tended to by a kindly old guy in a pristine white smock……

Woah….

Did I just invent God?

HA! 

That’s hilarious. Me inventing God.

That is Classic Me, all the way.

Eyes And Ears…..And All That Jazz…..

Let me lay it down for you, real easy like.

Children should be seen and not heard.

That’s an old adage that is probably older in practice than we realize.

And it is complete bull-shit.

Here’s why:

Children generally have no filter. They have no concept, in the beginning, of behaviors and attitudes that we as adults tend employ with each other on a minute by minute basis, depending on our audience.

They can only speak truths, and stop doing that when they learn the trick of deceit from us, you dig?

They are a mirror to our own twisted and misdirected pathway from innocence to guilt. And we don’t like it.

We REALLY don’t like it. We never have. Hence the saying.

How dare a child call us out, and hoist us up on our own petard?

Because they can, and they should. We need to be reminded every once in awhile that, as adults or as parents, we aren’t always right. We aren’t always correct. And we don’t always know what we are talking about.

It’s also ok to be wrong. And for our children to see us accepting the fact that we can be wrong.

If they never see it, they’ll never believe it.

Until it happens. In a big way. And their whole world changes in the blink of an eye.

All because, apparently, they should have been seen and not heard.

The correct version of that old adage is of course the obvious:

Children SHOULD be seen, AND heard.

But also:

Parents should watch, and listen.

Stop, Look and Listen, Baby. That’s MY philosophy.

Alright, so Elvis isn’t exactly synonymous with jazz, but you can pick up what I’m laying down, right?

Solid.

Resistance is Fruitful

Holy. Effing. Eff.

(I’m trying to curb my substantial swearing habit)

I did it!

I unhooked from the Big Blue Monster!

For seven long years, my main source of information regarding any and all goings on in my neck of the woods, beckoned to me like a Hollywood marquee.

Picture albums. Casual events. Random posts.

Likety Like like like.

Great epochs of time and energy spent as part of the little social engine that could.

But when reality spills over the sides of our little Ark of conformity, and soaks us where we live, it’s time to take stock of what is most important.

And Facebook just ain’t on that list.

For 50, 000 years our civilization survived without it. I think I can manage the next 40 or so.

And like any good addict can tell you, giving up the juice is easy.

Staying off is the hard part.

Here’s to Day One of being clean.

Desparately Seeking Soothing

Hi. How are ya?

Well, enough about you.

I’ve been busy.

Too busy, apparently, to drag my neanderthalish fingers across the touch screen to delight and entice my stalwart readership with my stirling demeanor and rapey wit.

Sorry.

On a brighter note, I have discovered a few things some of you may know.

First: I can be an asshole. Again, sorry.

B: Kobo has this cool self-publishing dooey on their site. I haven’t used it yet, but eventually, I will learn the whole alphabet and give it a whirl. Here’s the link: Kobo – Writing Life

iii) Writing Prompts @ Reddit. This is my new favourite subreddit. It’s how my writing brain goes to the gym instead of sitting around writing about chips and beer.

I will, of course, endeavor to pop by here and do my diligence. If I remember.

Because I really do feel better after I’ve made an honest effort at writing something. I feel the same way after going to the gym for my body too.

Trippy.

April-priate Foolishness

One Month.

I went an entire month with nothing to say.

A lot happened.

There was more snow.

A week spent in luxury with my good lady wife.

My daughter turned 10.

We overcame some big personal hurdles.

Something something Ukraine. Oh, please.  Crimea river.

New month. New plans. Still no ideas.

Theres a lot in the pipeline heading my way shortly.

Theres been a lot of neurons firing, and pathways forming, and concepts building.

My brain feels like it’s been marathon training.

My body, quite the opposite.

But the mercury is rising. And the big melt is on.

Our space brothers conspire by committee. Fists and fingers wave disappointedly across the aisles, across borders, across the airwaves.

2014 is now in full swing.

We will return shortly to your regularly scheduled blogcasting.

Sorry for the inconvenience.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being Human

Tragedy and Triumph.

Cats and Dogs.

Wookies and Pedia.

Life is all about conflict and the ever evolving sphere of our experiential development.

We are stubborn. And resistant to change.

Mostly we are afraid to ask for help.

Or tell the truth. And be ok with it.

It takes a long and winding road of frustration and hurt feelings before we finally recognize that, upon accepting our reality for what it is, and embracing the fragile, dented reflection in the mirror as our own, we can finally begin to heal.

And maybe, just maybe, give ourselves a bit of a break from the heartache.

We are a cosmos of individuals, all rowing in opposite directions, divided by our fear of being alone.

But we don’t have to be.

I know I’m not. Now.

And guess what?

Neither are you.

Because I got your back.

– BOOM goes the dynamite –

In your face, stupid bad days.

Shout out to HBG @ http://hexbegone.blogspot.ca/

It’s all fun and games til someone loses their dignity…..

Olympics.

Oh-limp-pics.

Oli Mpegs.

I digress. Apparently I have a face that digresses. Again.

So the Olympics are on.

That venerable pasttime where nations pit their brightest and best against each other in the spirit of competition and sportsmanship.

We’ve had some real challenges. Doping scandals. Scandals about dope. Herculean spectacles of advertising and money making. Terrorist attacks and political action.

A true mirror to our long-suffering interdependency.

It’s 2014. And the Olympics are in Sochi, Russia.

Tensions are high. All eyes are glaring. Conditions are less than ideal. The climate is like chilled vodka in a frosty glass.

I see what I did there.

And still, the athletes perform like gods. Amazing feats of dexterity and coordination. Wonderful displays of patriotism and teamwork.

And heartwarming visuals of solidarity across boundaries large and small.

Back home, the political benchwarmers squabble over what flags to fly. Like their opinions matter.

Because, they say, the Olympics are about the very elite of a country’s physical magicians, those finely honed and trained persons of exquisite strength and character.

It’s their chance to shine.

And the powers that wanna-be will tell you it has nothing to do with a persons preferred lifestyle choice.

And you know what?

They are absolutely right.

It’s 2014. The Olympics are in Sochi, Russia.

And what people do behind closed doors with each other, in the name of love, lust or passing fancy, has no bearing on their ability to win gold, silver or bronze.

Or, as it happens, to do just about anything else you or I might have a hankering to do in our everyday lives.

So fly the fucking colours, mate. All the colours of the rainbow.

If you don’t like it, you shouldn’t have put The Rings on it.