I'm a bit of a recovered nice guy. At first glance, nice guy doesn't sound so bad. What can be wrong about being nice, right? But it helps if you say nice guy the way you'd say it if you used air quotations when saying it to your friend.
Over the last few months, I've been trying to get back in touch with my creative side, which has proven to be more difficult to navigate than one might expect. For instance, I'm not sure what I should reasonably expect from myself. These days I'm closer to 40 than 14. I don't have the free time I once had, and now I have far more responsibility (career, family, self care and maintenance) than I could ever have imagined as a kid.
I haven't truly exercised my creativity muscle in years, so I can't hope to suddenly be flooded with fresh ideas and obsessive passions. With time and practice, I know I can build that muscle to something much stronger than it is now.
However, there is work to be done in order to allow for creativity.
It was lunchtime on November 28 before I realized the significance of the date. The revelation was discovered due to an innocent conversation with a co-worker. Details about certain family history were questioned. I considered my answer, did some quick math, and then realized what would have been obvious and dreaded by most in my situation: It was the seventh anniversary of my mother's death.
Anniversaries of deaths are a strange thing for me. I often forget about them until some well-meaning individual reaches out to me to say that she's thinking about me. I'll ask myself why this person's so concerned before realizing it's the anniversary of someone's last day on this earth. And then I feel bad for not recognizing the date earlier. It's not as if I don't remember because I don't care. In some way, it's quite the opposite. I tend not to dwell on such anniversaries because I miss my deceased loved ones every day. In that sense, the anniversary truly is just another day.
I'm not really sure how I developed perfectionist tendencies. I don't recall anyone other than myself putting such unfair expectations on me. Perhaps it was all simply a product of being the only child of a single mother before my stepfather came along. Somehow I understood at an early age that my mother had a lot on her plate and that she didn't need any extra worries. And on top of that, I convinced myself that the responsibility of making her proud fell exclusively on me.
Over many moons now I've asked myself that existential question that every writer asks him or herself: “Why do I write?” Or maybe even more specifically, “Why am I writing about this?” And I've definitely been asking myself that question in regard to this blog and how it's evolved into something deeply personal, something which may turn some people off. Something which at times may concern me. Maybe even scare me a bit. Though hardly anyone reads this blog, it's out there to be found if anyone seeks it. These posts are now public record for anyone to see. This site makes me vulnerable in a way to which I am still adjusting.
After asking these questions about my motivations again and again, I think I've finally come up with an answer that works. After much soul searching, I've concluded that I'm writing to fight loneliness.
originally posted on my original host on April 18, 2019
I'm not a fan of platitudes. They always feel so shallow, and they're often shared without any questioning of their wisdom or effectiveness. They sound good, so they must be appropriate, right?
But mantras are another matter. I am a fan of mantras. A big fan, in fact.
When used properly, mantras reinforce your vision and your goals. They keep you on the right path without requiring you to re-examine every nuance behind your ambition. In short, mantras are a great way to brainwash you into facilitating the change you want or need in your life while platitudes keep you wallowing in the same old unproductive loops of clichés and unmet expectations.
Though I am a bit creeped out by data collection, I do look forward to Spotify's end-of-year summary email. The summary always gives an interesting snapshot of the listener's year in music. How much time did you spend listening to music throughout the year? What songs did you listen to most? These questions and more will be answered.
I guess I'm not so bothered by the practice of data collection as long as I get something cool or interesting out of it. Let's face it, everyone's a hypocrite at times.
This year, the summary revealed that my favorite artist of 2018 was none other than Jason Isbell. If you know me, then this isn't a shock. Isbell instantly became one of my favorite artists when I discovered his album Southeastern a few years ago. I've since had the pleasure of seeing him live in concert on three separate occasions, each time being special in its own right.
originally posted on my old host on February 1, 2019
It seems that my blog has mostly become a medium for me to write about revelations from troubling events I endured a few years ago. This was not intentional, but little in my life has ever gone according to any semblance of a plan. Therefore, I suppose my best strategy is to just roll with it, so I'm going to take a page from the Nike handbook and Just do it.
There are any number of catastrophes that can plague an individual over the course of his life. Job loss, betrayal, a disabling or terminal diagnosis. Life is full of chaos, and you can be sure that at some point said chaos will swing by to say hi. It's unavoidable. If you haven't encountered a significant challenge yet, count yourself lucky. And then get ready. Buddha himself said it best: “Life is suffering.” You can't run from it, so you might as well embrace it.
originally posted on my old host on December 7, 2018
I wasn't seeking a video of George W. Bush (hereinafter referred to as “W”) giving a eulogy to his father. It just happened to be on the frontpage of YouTube. When I started the video, I wondered whether I'd end up watching all 12+ minutes. But W pulled me in right off the bat when he said, “The idea is to die young as late as possible.”
They always say to start with a good joke, W, and you did good. Real good.
originally posted on my old host on September 1, 2018
Dig if you will a picture
...of me with a friend at the bar.
This friend has been through something truly devastating. Let's say he's just lost a parent. So he called me for counsel, which is a smart move, because hey, I've been there.
He tells me how it happened. It was his mother who passed, and they were incredibly close. He tells me the details of her battle, how she tried to put on a good face as her disease withered her away. He can't fight the tears anymore, and neither can I, because it's all hitting so close to home. I'm embarrassed, but I don't hold back.
I'm sorry, I tell him. I'm so sorry, man. This sucks.