Well, here we are - another year come and gone, and I sit, wondering what I should write about for my holiday wishes to one and all. I'm going to borrow a phrase from the film Jerry McGuire and say, "We live in a cynical, cynical world." And right now, that world is full of anger, frustration, and outright hate - to the point where making merry and enjoying what has customarily become a season of hope and joy and peace seems but a far-off dream, a thing of fiction that once titillated us, but now has lost its lustre.
As we edge closer and closer to socio-political upheaval, I look at the world and I know I should be uneasy: things as we have known them are collapsing, and the signs of it are all around us. And yet, I'm not. I know that somehow, everything will be fine. Everything will come out OK - but it will probably require a major shift in how we identify just what "OK" really is. And so, I think that's where I will begin my wish for each one of you.
I wish you to know change. The changes that come with new definitions, new challenges, new successes, new failures - with growth of the human spirit that dwells within each of us. No, it's never comfortable. Change is scary. It's difficult to see the end result, because change is always something new that we haven't experienced. So in that change, I hope you find vision.
Change requires creativity - in redefining who we are, how we live, and how we accept the challenges life offers us, and how we deal with them. It requires us to take a chance and try something, unsure of the outcome, but working to make it work anyway. It requires us to formulate new ways of thinking and being that build upon what we already know, and we cannot do that by playing by the rules - we have to make new rules. May you find the creativity to live out that vision.
Change requires faith. To trust in the unknown, to trust in each other, to believe in the good that is within all of us with such fervor that anyone who looks at you, thinks of you, witnesses your faith in them is bound by the sheer guilt of letting you down to BE exactly what you faithfully see. That kind of faith is unshakable, and it inspires. May you have faith - in all things.
Change requires a certain bit of fearlessness. We have to put aside the fear of things working out poorly, the "worst-case scenarios" that we all dream up that only serve to hold us back. They serve one purpose: they squander the energy that we could put into being creative, faithful, and having a vision of something better.
We have done things a certain way for a very long time. It has led us to a place that isn't where any of us want to be. No one wants to read about the violence that is gripping our world, about the hatred and fear that drives people from their homes, or about the wars that no one even understands anymore. We cannot be afraid of the change - and the sacrifices that change will require - to build a world where peace is the rule, not the exception. Yes - it will turn your life on its head, but that might be a good thing. It might mean new jobs, new roles in your personal life, new houses, new cities, less stuff, a simpler existence - it can be so many things that we can scarcely imagine...yet. But they are all possible. We can change. And in this holiday season of Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, Yuletide - and the host of other practices I'm sure I've left out - I wish for everyone a new year of change.
May you know the peace and love of family and friends, and may the change of 2016 find you happy, healthy, and full of opportunity!!!
Thanks for reading,
Me.
Thursday, December 10, 2015
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Letting go....thankfully.
There are as many way to view this world as there are people in it. This, I think, is a pretty understandable thought, against which there are few arguments - though I'm sure there will be someone who claims it's false. More power to ya. But I am interested in one particular viewpoint at this very minute, and it has to do with the Lunar Cycles.
The theory, as I understand it, is that the New Moon is a time for manifesting, praying, and focusing on getting our energies focused outwardly, towards attaining goals and meeting needs. Consequently, the Full Moon is a time for receiving, for thanksgiving, for focusing inward on gratitude, and getting rid of those thing which no longer serve us. This past weekend, we were in a Full Moon phase, and I realized that have something I need to let go of: hate and anger of The Fat Kid.
I understand now that "owning" the Fat Kid persona was necessary for me - I had to accept myself as I was, in order to understand the things that needed to be changed, and then make those changes appropriately. But as much as I owned that persona, I hated it, too. Finally coming to the realization that I no longer needed that persona, I can look back and see what it really was: a way to wrap myself in a cocoon of an image that would enable me to take many small risks without there being any danger. There's really no fun in that - risk without, well, risk. It's rather like a non-fat cheesecake - no matter how much it tastes like the real thing, you know it's NOT the real thing. It was when I understood that I would have to actually take real risks, and when I was ready to step outside the persona that I became guilty of hating the Fat Kid. He was something to abolish, to be rid of, to destroy. And that was wrong.
I am thankful for him. He was a safe haven when I needed it. He was a companion, of sorts. He was necessary for my personal growth, both mentally and physically. While I've let go of that persona, I still harbored hate, anger, and probably even some fear that I would become him again. OK, definitely some fear. But hate, anger, and fear do not serve me - particularly when it comes to the Fat Kid. Hating what I was means nothing. I'm not there anymore. Fearing going back there means that I'm not letting it go and moving forward, I'm being held back. It doesn't serve me anymore. Anger at it is pointless - because the Fat Kid wasn't wrong...he just was. And I'm grateful that he was there. I'm thankful for the protection he provided me. And I'm thankfully letting go of all those notions regarding him that no longer serve me. I don't need them, in the same way that I no longer need him. I can't make space for the new stuff without getting rid of the old stuff - and it's time to usher in acceptance, understanding, and peace.
Thanks for reading,
Me
The theory, as I understand it, is that the New Moon is a time for manifesting, praying, and focusing on getting our energies focused outwardly, towards attaining goals and meeting needs. Consequently, the Full Moon is a time for receiving, for thanksgiving, for focusing inward on gratitude, and getting rid of those thing which no longer serve us. This past weekend, we were in a Full Moon phase, and I realized that have something I need to let go of: hate and anger of The Fat Kid.
I understand now that "owning" the Fat Kid persona was necessary for me - I had to accept myself as I was, in order to understand the things that needed to be changed, and then make those changes appropriately. But as much as I owned that persona, I hated it, too. Finally coming to the realization that I no longer needed that persona, I can look back and see what it really was: a way to wrap myself in a cocoon of an image that would enable me to take many small risks without there being any danger. There's really no fun in that - risk without, well, risk. It's rather like a non-fat cheesecake - no matter how much it tastes like the real thing, you know it's NOT the real thing. It was when I understood that I would have to actually take real risks, and when I was ready to step outside the persona that I became guilty of hating the Fat Kid. He was something to abolish, to be rid of, to destroy. And that was wrong.
I am thankful for him. He was a safe haven when I needed it. He was a companion, of sorts. He was necessary for my personal growth, both mentally and physically. While I've let go of that persona, I still harbored hate, anger, and probably even some fear that I would become him again. OK, definitely some fear. But hate, anger, and fear do not serve me - particularly when it comes to the Fat Kid. Hating what I was means nothing. I'm not there anymore. Fearing going back there means that I'm not letting it go and moving forward, I'm being held back. It doesn't serve me anymore. Anger at it is pointless - because the Fat Kid wasn't wrong...he just was. And I'm grateful that he was there. I'm thankful for the protection he provided me. And I'm thankfully letting go of all those notions regarding him that no longer serve me. I don't need them, in the same way that I no longer need him. I can't make space for the new stuff without getting rid of the old stuff - and it's time to usher in acceptance, understanding, and peace.
Thanks for reading,
Me
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
To DO, or not to DO...why is there even a question????
As a writer, as a reader, and frankly, as a human being - because let's face it, we humans love to tell stories - there are some stories I just cannot stand. It's not that the writing is horrible, or that it's too unbelievable, or anything like that, really. For that matter, it's not even just books that bother me, but film as well, on the rare occasions a filmmaker chooses to do this - it's the lack of plot. For my money, you can have all the engaging characters you want - anything from true-to-life people or caricatures and stereotypes of just about every variety - but if you don't have them do anything, what is the point? I don't get it.
I was taught - and here's where folks will most likely criticize me as being old-fashioned and "programmed" in my thinking (and hey, they might have a point) - that a story began with the exposition, explaining the setting, introducing the characters, and especially introducing the plot/problem/etc, and probably started to show how the characters were going to solve said problem - well, at least a little bit.
You moved on to the body of the story, in which we see the characters take action fully - which may involve a set-back or two, a murder or two, some difficulties here and there - but always, they are making some steady progress towards the goal, even if they are unaware of the progress being made. Yes, they are fully in their character arc - their unique pathway to growth from this experience, as they move toward the culmination of the action, commonly called the climax of the story.
Lastly, the epilogue, resolution, denouement - whatever you wish to call it. Yes, where the cowboy rides off into the sunset, or the happy couple lives happily ever after, etc...right before you can imagine the director saying,"..and roll credits." Otherwise known as, "the End." Maybe there's a lead-in for a sequel, maybe not. Nobody cares if it's really there or not. And this is not to say that it has to even be a happy ending - it can be down right miserable and have you hating the characters and the author, for all I care. BUT - this standard formula should probably be followed, because here's how we figured out it was a standard formula: We read books and found a theme, and then discovered that this theme was the formula, AND IT WORKS, because we are linear thinkers.
But there's a new school of thought out there ("new" meaning within the last 70-80 years or so - we're talking literature, remember) where this is not necessarily the case. It seems there are a bunch of authors out there who believe it is perfectly ok to do nothing but create beautifully vibrant characters whose sole purpose is to do nothing but be beautifully vibrant in the hopes that their beautiful vibrancy will sustain us readers through a monolithic tome in which nothing really happens. Also, I just wrote variances on the phrase "beautifully vibrant" three times in one sentence, and I liked it!! But I digress.
What is the point of spending all this time creating wonderful characters, only to have them do nothing, mean nothing, and generally not matter at all? I don't want to read about someone who does nothing, unless the problem is, of course, that the person does nothing, and everyone else is trying to get the person to change that....THAT is a plot. Granted, it's probably not a very good plot, but it's a plot, suitable for at least a one-act play...or a sitcom. But in a book, I should know in the first few pages what's going on and what should happen, even if I don't care about the characters yet.
I won't call it bad writing, and I will not say the people doing this are bad authors - they are, after all, published, whereas I am not (yet.) Often times, I have no beef with the style, the vocabulary, etc. It's good writing - but it is lazy plot development. Much like you should not have all action and very little character development (see just about every 80s action film ever made for examples) likewise, you cannot have all character and no action. It would be like biting into a piece of candy that, according to the little chart in the box says it's caramel, but ends up being coconut creme, and you're allergic to coconut. VERY. BAD. THINGS.
Why do I bring this up? I was referred to a novel - a best-seller, I might add - as a truly great and wonderful book to read. I'll be honest, I gave up about 40 pages into the 981-page behemoth, because that far into a book, and nothing worthwhile happened, other than the invention of two characters who did nothing - and they weren't even very interesting characters. Yet, the person said this book was life-changing. OK, maybe in 40 pages, I shouldn't expect life-changing. Fair enough argument there - but there should at least be something to do for the characters, something they are trying to achieve or accomplish? Otherwise, I'm reading a 981-page Seinfeld script, and...no. Just no. Besides, this didn't have the Puffy Shirt.
Then, it occurred to me how many people are constantly saying things like, "that's a great character", or they defend a writer by saying, "but his/her characters are so full!" While it may be true, if the writer only has great characters and nothing for them to do, then said writer has only done half the job. Great characters alone aren't interesting, it's the plot - the things they must endure and experience that makes them great characters in the first place.
I was taught - and here's where folks will most likely criticize me as being old-fashioned and "programmed" in my thinking (and hey, they might have a point) - that a story began with the exposition, explaining the setting, introducing the characters, and especially introducing the plot/problem/etc, and probably started to show how the characters were going to solve said problem - well, at least a little bit.
You moved on to the body of the story, in which we see the characters take action fully - which may involve a set-back or two, a murder or two, some difficulties here and there - but always, they are making some steady progress towards the goal, even if they are unaware of the progress being made. Yes, they are fully in their character arc - their unique pathway to growth from this experience, as they move toward the culmination of the action, commonly called the climax of the story.
Lastly, the epilogue, resolution, denouement - whatever you wish to call it. Yes, where the cowboy rides off into the sunset, or the happy couple lives happily ever after, etc...right before you can imagine the director saying,"..and roll credits." Otherwise known as, "the End." Maybe there's a lead-in for a sequel, maybe not. Nobody cares if it's really there or not. And this is not to say that it has to even be a happy ending - it can be down right miserable and have you hating the characters and the author, for all I care. BUT - this standard formula should probably be followed, because here's how we figured out it was a standard formula: We read books and found a theme, and then discovered that this theme was the formula, AND IT WORKS, because we are linear thinkers.
But there's a new school of thought out there ("new" meaning within the last 70-80 years or so - we're talking literature, remember) where this is not necessarily the case. It seems there are a bunch of authors out there who believe it is perfectly ok to do nothing but create beautifully vibrant characters whose sole purpose is to do nothing but be beautifully vibrant in the hopes that their beautiful vibrancy will sustain us readers through a monolithic tome in which nothing really happens. Also, I just wrote variances on the phrase "beautifully vibrant" three times in one sentence, and I liked it!! But I digress.
What is the point of spending all this time creating wonderful characters, only to have them do nothing, mean nothing, and generally not matter at all? I don't want to read about someone who does nothing, unless the problem is, of course, that the person does nothing, and everyone else is trying to get the person to change that....THAT is a plot. Granted, it's probably not a very good plot, but it's a plot, suitable for at least a one-act play...or a sitcom. But in a book, I should know in the first few pages what's going on and what should happen, even if I don't care about the characters yet.
I won't call it bad writing, and I will not say the people doing this are bad authors - they are, after all, published, whereas I am not (yet.) Often times, I have no beef with the style, the vocabulary, etc. It's good writing - but it is lazy plot development. Much like you should not have all action and very little character development (see just about every 80s action film ever made for examples) likewise, you cannot have all character and no action. It would be like biting into a piece of candy that, according to the little chart in the box says it's caramel, but ends up being coconut creme, and you're allergic to coconut. VERY. BAD. THINGS.
Why do I bring this up? I was referred to a novel - a best-seller, I might add - as a truly great and wonderful book to read. I'll be honest, I gave up about 40 pages into the 981-page behemoth, because that far into a book, and nothing worthwhile happened, other than the invention of two characters who did nothing - and they weren't even very interesting characters. Yet, the person said this book was life-changing. OK, maybe in 40 pages, I shouldn't expect life-changing. Fair enough argument there - but there should at least be something to do for the characters, something they are trying to achieve or accomplish? Otherwise, I'm reading a 981-page Seinfeld script, and...no. Just no. Besides, this didn't have the Puffy Shirt.
Then, it occurred to me how many people are constantly saying things like, "that's a great character", or they defend a writer by saying, "but his/her characters are so full!" While it may be true, if the writer only has great characters and nothing for them to do, then said writer has only done half the job. Great characters alone aren't interesting, it's the plot - the things they must endure and experience that makes them great characters in the first place.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Falling in love with someone new...
I will admit it - I am having an affair, and have completely fallen in love with someone new, whom I only recently met: For those who just spit their coffee all over their keyboards, I apologize, because the person I'm in love with...is me.
How can this be? Don't be silly, you've known yourself for a long time!
Yes...and no. Yes, I've known who I am for what seems like a very long time now, but the funny thing about it is that who I am is changing, constantly. Growing, evolving, becoming more, and becoming greater than I already am has become something I have gotten very comfortable with - and it's something I neglected to do for myself for a very long while.
I did what a lot of us do: we come up with a definition for something, and the definition works great for who we are in that moment. So, we stick with that definition. We cling to it. We hold on so tightly to it that sometimes, we begin to fear letting go of it, citing that it is so very crucial a part of who we are. Really, it's not. It represents only who were were in the moment we accepted that definition. It's a snapshot. A statistic. It's no less valuable to us as individuals, and it's no less viable a truth - it's just not necessarily the whole truth.
I labored under many such definitions of myself, of others, and of many parts of my life for a very long time. I defined myself within a specific set of parameters - boundaries that no longer reflect who I am or who I want to be. Breaking away from those parameters has been, as anyone who reads this knows, a challenge for me, and I am slowly succeeding. It has been a long process for me, even though I know it must feel rather sudden to some people.
But there are a few things lately that I have taken more to heart:
If you want to-
be accepted, you need to be accepting.
be loved, you need to love.
be cherished, you need to cherish others.
be beautiful, you need to find beauty everywhere.
be alive, you need to help others live as well.
be trusted, you need to trust others.
be better, you need to see better things as possible.
be understood, you need to be understanding.
be greater, you need to acknowledge that there is something greater than you to aspire to.
It's an idea that has been stirring in my mind for a long time now, and it's something that, while it's simple, and makes sense to read, we often forget to do. We forget because we're so convinced that the definition we accepted in those moments work forever, we overlook that they often don't allow us to practice acceptance, understanding, love, trust, compassion, mercy, faithfulness, and a host of other qualities we often define as "good."
I know - I know! Some folks will read this and say, "But it IS true, and there's nothing wrong with my definition of (insert topic here)!" You're right - there is nothing wrong with it...as long as it's authentic. Some definitions will never change, because some thinking will never change, and that's ok, too. I'm not out to ridicule anyone's thoughts - I'm pointing out why my own growth has been difficult. So, relax. Be you. We're cool, you and I. No worries.
SO, in redefining myself (back to the point), I've discovered something that I never really saw before: I am pretty damned awesome. No, scratch that. I'm amazing. Taking into account all I am, and all that I have been, and looking toward a future where I see what can be, I've discovered that am in love with me. And, I couldn't be happier.
Thanks for reading,
Me
How can this be? Don't be silly, you've known yourself for a long time!
Yes...and no. Yes, I've known who I am for what seems like a very long time now, but the funny thing about it is that who I am is changing, constantly. Growing, evolving, becoming more, and becoming greater than I already am has become something I have gotten very comfortable with - and it's something I neglected to do for myself for a very long while.
I did what a lot of us do: we come up with a definition for something, and the definition works great for who we are in that moment. So, we stick with that definition. We cling to it. We hold on so tightly to it that sometimes, we begin to fear letting go of it, citing that it is so very crucial a part of who we are. Really, it's not. It represents only who were were in the moment we accepted that definition. It's a snapshot. A statistic. It's no less valuable to us as individuals, and it's no less viable a truth - it's just not necessarily the whole truth.
I labored under many such definitions of myself, of others, and of many parts of my life for a very long time. I defined myself within a specific set of parameters - boundaries that no longer reflect who I am or who I want to be. Breaking away from those parameters has been, as anyone who reads this knows, a challenge for me, and I am slowly succeeding. It has been a long process for me, even though I know it must feel rather sudden to some people.
But there are a few things lately that I have taken more to heart:
If you want to-
be accepted, you need to be accepting.
be loved, you need to love.
be cherished, you need to cherish others.
be beautiful, you need to find beauty everywhere.
be alive, you need to help others live as well.
be trusted, you need to trust others.
be better, you need to see better things as possible.
be understood, you need to be understanding.
be greater, you need to acknowledge that there is something greater than you to aspire to.
It's an idea that has been stirring in my mind for a long time now, and it's something that, while it's simple, and makes sense to read, we often forget to do. We forget because we're so convinced that the definition we accepted in those moments work forever, we overlook that they often don't allow us to practice acceptance, understanding, love, trust, compassion, mercy, faithfulness, and a host of other qualities we often define as "good."
I know - I know! Some folks will read this and say, "But it IS true, and there's nothing wrong with my definition of (insert topic here)!" You're right - there is nothing wrong with it...as long as it's authentic. Some definitions will never change, because some thinking will never change, and that's ok, too. I'm not out to ridicule anyone's thoughts - I'm pointing out why my own growth has been difficult. So, relax. Be you. We're cool, you and I. No worries.
SO, in redefining myself (back to the point), I've discovered something that I never really saw before: I am pretty damned awesome. No, scratch that. I'm amazing. Taking into account all I am, and all that I have been, and looking toward a future where I see what can be, I've discovered that am in love with me. And, I couldn't be happier.
Thanks for reading,
Me
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Jedi Training Academy
Well, for the last month I have been actively engaged in what I have been calling "Jedi Training Academy." Some of you have been wondering what this is, precisely, I'm sure. It's been a lot of things: meditation, yoga, writing, and doing a lot of personal work on me. It's been very rewarding. One of the best times to do some of this stuff, though, is while hitting the gym, which I have faithfully been doing almost every work day at lunch - the schedule looks sort of like this:
Monday: arms, chest, and back: mainly lifting weights, but occasionally some other exercises, too - rope pulls, etc.
Tuesday: run a 5k
Wednesday: Same as Monday.
Thursday: Wild card day. Sometimes, it's taking a class, sometimes, it's core workout...sort of depends on what I'm feeling.
Friday: arms/chest/back again.
And just about every weekday, I'm waking up with crunches (60) and pushups (40-50) and a few bridges, or other such things (whatever moves me). I'm also getting a walk of about a mile and a half every afternoon, and of course, random bike rides on weekends, weekdays, etc.
Late last week, I hit the target weight of 225 lbs, and my waist is just under a 35. Now, weight is just a number, really, and if it's in shape, the number shouldn't much matter - but there simply exists no reason to be heavier than 225.
But this morning I saw something that I almost couldn't believe: I saw my reflection in the mirror, and I didn't see what was wrong. I saw what was right. I saw what was going well, what this past month has been doing for me, physically. I saw my faith being rewarded - faith in the process, faith in myself, and in this direction. For the first time ever, I didn't see the Fat Kid, or the Husky-sized kid, or anything like that. I saw what was buried under that image, and I liked it.
My physical fitness goals are not yet met, and so I will keep working - and that will likely see my weight going down some more - perfectly ok with that. I doubt I will ever see under 200 again, and since it's been since about 1991 since that's happened anyway, I've long ago made my peace with it.
Likewise, though, the meditation and yoga that I have been practicing (neither on a daily basis) have also been helping me - I have achieved a new level of balance and clarity that I previously could not - and I am just a beginner in these arenas. One area in particular is becoming more clear every day: daily writing. It's something I've tried to make stick in the past, but it never seems to work out right, mostly because I didn't think anything I had to say was worth reading. Frankly, that was a bunch of bullshit - and I listened to it for a long time. I'm done listening to it, and I am finished holding back the parts of me that I let atrophy.
I have learned much. Obi-Wan has taught me well. But, I am not a Jedi yet.
There's more to come from this journey. Stay tuned, and as always,
Thanks for reading.
Me
Monday: arms, chest, and back: mainly lifting weights, but occasionally some other exercises, too - rope pulls, etc.
Tuesday: run a 5k
Wednesday: Same as Monday.
Thursday: Wild card day. Sometimes, it's taking a class, sometimes, it's core workout...sort of depends on what I'm feeling.
Friday: arms/chest/back again.
And just about every weekday, I'm waking up with crunches (60) and pushups (40-50) and a few bridges, or other such things (whatever moves me). I'm also getting a walk of about a mile and a half every afternoon, and of course, random bike rides on weekends, weekdays, etc.
Late last week, I hit the target weight of 225 lbs, and my waist is just under a 35. Now, weight is just a number, really, and if it's in shape, the number shouldn't much matter - but there simply exists no reason to be heavier than 225.
But this morning I saw something that I almost couldn't believe: I saw my reflection in the mirror, and I didn't see what was wrong. I saw what was right. I saw what was going well, what this past month has been doing for me, physically. I saw my faith being rewarded - faith in the process, faith in myself, and in this direction. For the first time ever, I didn't see the Fat Kid, or the Husky-sized kid, or anything like that. I saw what was buried under that image, and I liked it.
My physical fitness goals are not yet met, and so I will keep working - and that will likely see my weight going down some more - perfectly ok with that. I doubt I will ever see under 200 again, and since it's been since about 1991 since that's happened anyway, I've long ago made my peace with it.
Likewise, though, the meditation and yoga that I have been practicing (neither on a daily basis) have also been helping me - I have achieved a new level of balance and clarity that I previously could not - and I am just a beginner in these arenas. One area in particular is becoming more clear every day: daily writing. It's something I've tried to make stick in the past, but it never seems to work out right, mostly because I didn't think anything I had to say was worth reading. Frankly, that was a bunch of bullshit - and I listened to it for a long time. I'm done listening to it, and I am finished holding back the parts of me that I let atrophy.
I have learned much. Obi-Wan has taught me well. But, I am not a Jedi yet.
There's more to come from this journey. Stay tuned, and as always,
Thanks for reading.
Me
Friday, May 29, 2015
Good Grief
Today, I read an exposition a friend of mine wrote, on the passing of his mother (RIP). It reminded me of something I heard once, a long time ago, and perhaps I need to be reminded again: Grieving is good. It's certainly never fun and never our first choice - it's probably not even in our top 100 choices. And yet, it's good. The loss itself - heartbreaking. And that's why we, as humans, have the capacity to grieve.
My friend wondered the same thing we all do: 'What could I have done differently, or better?" "What did I miss?" "How did I not see?" These are questions I know that I have faced in my own life, and I wish that I could tell you I have all the answers to them. But I don't. I don't think I'm even close to the answers for some of them. And, as much as we like and offer platitudes of, "He/She is in a better place," "They are no longer suffering," or even "It's better this way," the fact is simply that while the person/ situation is gone, there is still a profound feeling of loss that we experience. While those platitudes are true, we forget the one thing that is even more a necessary part of the equation: "I am still here, and I am suffering now."
And all we want in that moment is an escape - a way to not feel all the things we're feeling. Some people turn to their work, some to a bottle, or pills, or reckless behavior, and some sink into a depression that takes time - sometimes many years - to heal. Some never fully recover. It's sad, but true. And our society doesn't help us one bit - we're encouraged to put on a brave face, to bury the pain, to "just get over it," and "move on, already." This is the cold, hard logic that has taken over our thinking, and it's wrong.
No, it's not "wrong" in the sense that if you look at the logical facts, they are incorrect. Events happen, even unpleasant ones. I say it's wrong because when we do that, we are automatically discounting the essence of what it means to be alive. We bury it, we push it down, we hide it - all for the sake of "getting over it," which cannot be done. In the case of the death of a loved one - you do not get over anything. You simply learn a new way to live, without that person's presence. This is the purpose of grieving. It's an opportunity to learn, to grow, and to become a more whole person. Sometimes, it means looking at the loss and seeing the good things the person or situation presented to your life, and sometimes, it means seeing the bad things, too.
Lately, in my own soul-searching, I've looked back a lot at the pattern of events in my life, and I've come to a few unpleasant discoveries, some things I've repressed and put down because that's what was needed at the time, and I couldn't even begin to comprehend how to deal with them, As it turns out, I've never faced them. I've never grieved for the loss, and some of it still haunts me. One in particular comes to mind, when I was forced to grow up much more quickly than I should have. Without naming names - a health problem affected my family when I was in high school - and we were forced to stretch ourselves pretty thin in order to take care of it. The upshot was that I was left to take care of a bunch of household tasks, chores, etc that shouldn't have been mine. I shouldn't have HAD to deal with those things. Now, I DON'T BLAME ANYONE. In fact, it's one of my proudest times, because my family pulled together and made it through. My efforts were a large part of that, and that's just fine. But it doesn't change the fact that it was a traumatic experience for all of us - and I've only just recently realized this, and that I never have grieved for the loss of my awkward teen times of that era.
Now, if that doesn't seem like a really silly thing to grieve for, I don't know what does!! But, regardless of how silly it may sound (and really, who WANTS to get those awkward teen times back??) It's still a form of grieving, and I had never done it until recently. There's no one to blame - so there's no point in that. It was simply a rough situation, and it landed on us. And now, a little over 20 years later, I've finally called it what it really was: a trauma. I've made my peace with it, with what I've lost, and recognized it for what I gained as well. To say it wasn't "fair" is moot - but repressing it for so long, even though I couldn't really comprehend that's what I was doing, was me being unfair to me, and not allowing myself to grieve naturally, as I am built to do.
So to my friend, who said he doesn't want to hear a bunch of "I'm so sorry" comments, I say simply: Allow yourself to grieve, and do not apologize for it. Do not hesitate to honor the part of you that needs to heal and grow and learn. We are made to grieve. We are built for it. We owe it to ourselves to take however much time we need. Maybe you will find the answers to those questions that haunt you. Maybe you will find peace without those answers. I don't know. I only know that grieving is a good thing, and it's necessary.
Thanks for reading,
Me
My friend wondered the same thing we all do: 'What could I have done differently, or better?" "What did I miss?" "How did I not see?" These are questions I know that I have faced in my own life, and I wish that I could tell you I have all the answers to them. But I don't. I don't think I'm even close to the answers for some of them. And, as much as we like and offer platitudes of, "He/She is in a better place," "They are no longer suffering," or even "It's better this way," the fact is simply that while the person/ situation is gone, there is still a profound feeling of loss that we experience. While those platitudes are true, we forget the one thing that is even more a necessary part of the equation: "I am still here, and I am suffering now."
And all we want in that moment is an escape - a way to not feel all the things we're feeling. Some people turn to their work, some to a bottle, or pills, or reckless behavior, and some sink into a depression that takes time - sometimes many years - to heal. Some never fully recover. It's sad, but true. And our society doesn't help us one bit - we're encouraged to put on a brave face, to bury the pain, to "just get over it," and "move on, already." This is the cold, hard logic that has taken over our thinking, and it's wrong.
No, it's not "wrong" in the sense that if you look at the logical facts, they are incorrect. Events happen, even unpleasant ones. I say it's wrong because when we do that, we are automatically discounting the essence of what it means to be alive. We bury it, we push it down, we hide it - all for the sake of "getting over it," which cannot be done. In the case of the death of a loved one - you do not get over anything. You simply learn a new way to live, without that person's presence. This is the purpose of grieving. It's an opportunity to learn, to grow, and to become a more whole person. Sometimes, it means looking at the loss and seeing the good things the person or situation presented to your life, and sometimes, it means seeing the bad things, too.
Lately, in my own soul-searching, I've looked back a lot at the pattern of events in my life, and I've come to a few unpleasant discoveries, some things I've repressed and put down because that's what was needed at the time, and I couldn't even begin to comprehend how to deal with them, As it turns out, I've never faced them. I've never grieved for the loss, and some of it still haunts me. One in particular comes to mind, when I was forced to grow up much more quickly than I should have. Without naming names - a health problem affected my family when I was in high school - and we were forced to stretch ourselves pretty thin in order to take care of it. The upshot was that I was left to take care of a bunch of household tasks, chores, etc that shouldn't have been mine. I shouldn't have HAD to deal with those things. Now, I DON'T BLAME ANYONE. In fact, it's one of my proudest times, because my family pulled together and made it through. My efforts were a large part of that, and that's just fine. But it doesn't change the fact that it was a traumatic experience for all of us - and I've only just recently realized this, and that I never have grieved for the loss of my awkward teen times of that era.
Now, if that doesn't seem like a really silly thing to grieve for, I don't know what does!! But, regardless of how silly it may sound (and really, who WANTS to get those awkward teen times back??) It's still a form of grieving, and I had never done it until recently. There's no one to blame - so there's no point in that. It was simply a rough situation, and it landed on us. And now, a little over 20 years later, I've finally called it what it really was: a trauma. I've made my peace with it, with what I've lost, and recognized it for what I gained as well. To say it wasn't "fair" is moot - but repressing it for so long, even though I couldn't really comprehend that's what I was doing, was me being unfair to me, and not allowing myself to grieve naturally, as I am built to do.
So to my friend, who said he doesn't want to hear a bunch of "I'm so sorry" comments, I say simply: Allow yourself to grieve, and do not apologize for it. Do not hesitate to honor the part of you that needs to heal and grow and learn. We are made to grieve. We are built for it. We owe it to ourselves to take however much time we need. Maybe you will find the answers to those questions that haunt you. Maybe you will find peace without those answers. I don't know. I only know that grieving is a good thing, and it's necessary.
Thanks for reading,
Me
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Inspiration of a moment...
It was only a small part of this world,
a tiny place of land
that taught me so many things.
I knew who I was then,
though I never told anyone.
No one asked.
They all thought they knew,
and they left me alone.
I knew what was expected -
who they wanted me to be,
and I tried.
So many years wasted,
trying to be what I thought I should,
not who and what I was,
while inside, torn between
my two selves.
And I chose between the two,
never understanding
there was no choice to make -
for I am always both.
Now, a new choice looms in the darkness,
in that place that hides along the edges of the eye,
just missing it, each time I look.
Until I call it into the light,
name it, accept it,
absorb the hidden me I have long denied.
I am no longer content with the definitions of others.
I seek to define my truth.
I read some inspiring words today from my wife, and realized something about myself. The above is the result of that inspiration and realization.
Thanks for reading,
Me
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Not All Who Wander Are Lost
Wow - what is this??? Where is the black background? What is this bright-colored strangeness? Where is that all-familiar title? I don't understand!!!!!
Yeah, I know. I'm going to explain something to you. You might want to sit down - this is going to be a bumpy ride.
First, the name change. No more Fat Kid. Of course, I've always been large-boned, husky, solid, and yeah, I was fat, too. When I started this blog, I was fat. And weak. and I was very much a child, emotionally. The name made sense, and it was funny, and for the few Masquers who were around for that time period, "The Fat Kid" is an in-joke that lets us remember fond times.
But the thing is, it was a reflection of how I saw myself. I looked at the imperfections of me, and made my identity reflect those imperfections. I wore it proudly, and put on the "brave face" and laughed at those who told me, "But you're not fat!" saying, "Once a fat kid, always a fat kid." That's not true. To believe that it is true is to believe we cannot change, and we cannot grow. It is to believe that there is nothing greater than what we are right now - and if we believe there is nothing greater, then we cannot become it.
I have spent a lifetime in hiding. I've hidden who I am from the one person who needed to know it: me. I've run from the responsibility to do my best because I am worth it, to pursue the things in life that I want and need because I need and want them, and to accept all that I am and all that I am capable of. And frankly, I am capable of a lot. It's taken me a long time to recognize that. I could sit here and call myself a dumbass because it took me so long a time to discover it - but that's part of the problem. That's what the Fat Kid would do. And I can't do that anymore.
Now....onto making a better me. It means I'm going to have to drag up some pretty old stuff - some of which I told myself didn't matter, and some of which I never really considered a problem in the first place. Most of it will be bringing it up so I can simply let it go. Some will be tougher, I think. There's a lot there to deal with, and working on me is going to take some time. Finally, I'm in a place to do all the work that's necessary - and I want to do that work. It's actually the continuation of a process that started with a visit to the darkest place I've ever been.
This is the tough part. Many of you won't like reading this, and I don't blame you. I'm not that fond of it myself. Several years ago, my life was falling apart around me. Nothing made sense. I found myself standing in my workshop, a chisel in one hand, blade pointed at my wrist. In my other hand I held the mallet - to make sure I could reach. The plan was to wrap/tie myself up in plastic sheets, so there would be less mess to pick up. There would be no note. Nothing. And it all seemed perfectly logical at that time. It even felt right - because when you're in that place, everything is upside-down, from your thoughts to your feelings. I had a friend who made sure I never hit that chisel. Someone who made me accountable for a short time - but it was enough time. Not a scar exists on me from that place of darkness.
Since that moment, I have been rebuilding me - but I was doing it by trying to reclaim that which I'd lost. I wasn't focused on trying to grow, and make me a better me. I was trying to aspire to a vision, a place that I thought I should be, that would be my idyllic world. Parts of that vision were (and are) correct. But, only parts of it. The truth is that vision limited me, and held me back. There was no room in it to grow beyond a certain point. I've reached that point, and now it's time to redefine the vision.
It's going to mean a lot of honest soul-searching, and I've already started some of that. It's going to mean exploring some new areas of my life, and letting some old ones fade away. I don't regret them - they simply aren't helping me move forward. Forward is where I need to go.
This doesn't mean I'll stop riding - far from it. I won't stop writing - I love that just as much. But it does mean that what I write probably won't be comfortable to read. It probably won't be comfortable to write, either, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be said. What it means is that I can't let fear, perceptions, misconceptions, and other things stand in my way. And they won't.
Thanks for reading,
Me
"The old rules are crumbling, and nobody knows what the new rules are. So, make up your own rules." - Neil Gaiman
Yeah, I know. I'm going to explain something to you. You might want to sit down - this is going to be a bumpy ride.
First, the name change. No more Fat Kid. Of course, I've always been large-boned, husky, solid, and yeah, I was fat, too. When I started this blog, I was fat. And weak. and I was very much a child, emotionally. The name made sense, and it was funny, and for the few Masquers who were around for that time period, "The Fat Kid" is an in-joke that lets us remember fond times.
But the thing is, it was a reflection of how I saw myself. I looked at the imperfections of me, and made my identity reflect those imperfections. I wore it proudly, and put on the "brave face" and laughed at those who told me, "But you're not fat!" saying, "Once a fat kid, always a fat kid." That's not true. To believe that it is true is to believe we cannot change, and we cannot grow. It is to believe that there is nothing greater than what we are right now - and if we believe there is nothing greater, then we cannot become it.
I have spent a lifetime in hiding. I've hidden who I am from the one person who needed to know it: me. I've run from the responsibility to do my best because I am worth it, to pursue the things in life that I want and need because I need and want them, and to accept all that I am and all that I am capable of. And frankly, I am capable of a lot. It's taken me a long time to recognize that. I could sit here and call myself a dumbass because it took me so long a time to discover it - but that's part of the problem. That's what the Fat Kid would do. And I can't do that anymore.
Now....onto making a better me. It means I'm going to have to drag up some pretty old stuff - some of which I told myself didn't matter, and some of which I never really considered a problem in the first place. Most of it will be bringing it up so I can simply let it go. Some will be tougher, I think. There's a lot there to deal with, and working on me is going to take some time. Finally, I'm in a place to do all the work that's necessary - and I want to do that work. It's actually the continuation of a process that started with a visit to the darkest place I've ever been.
This is the tough part. Many of you won't like reading this, and I don't blame you. I'm not that fond of it myself. Several years ago, my life was falling apart around me. Nothing made sense. I found myself standing in my workshop, a chisel in one hand, blade pointed at my wrist. In my other hand I held the mallet - to make sure I could reach. The plan was to wrap/tie myself up in plastic sheets, so there would be less mess to pick up. There would be no note. Nothing. And it all seemed perfectly logical at that time. It even felt right - because when you're in that place, everything is upside-down, from your thoughts to your feelings. I had a friend who made sure I never hit that chisel. Someone who made me accountable for a short time - but it was enough time. Not a scar exists on me from that place of darkness.
Since that moment, I have been rebuilding me - but I was doing it by trying to reclaim that which I'd lost. I wasn't focused on trying to grow, and make me a better me. I was trying to aspire to a vision, a place that I thought I should be, that would be my idyllic world. Parts of that vision were (and are) correct. But, only parts of it. The truth is that vision limited me, and held me back. There was no room in it to grow beyond a certain point. I've reached that point, and now it's time to redefine the vision.
It's going to mean a lot of honest soul-searching, and I've already started some of that. It's going to mean exploring some new areas of my life, and letting some old ones fade away. I don't regret them - they simply aren't helping me move forward. Forward is where I need to go.
This doesn't mean I'll stop riding - far from it. I won't stop writing - I love that just as much. But it does mean that what I write probably won't be comfortable to read. It probably won't be comfortable to write, either, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be said. What it means is that I can't let fear, perceptions, misconceptions, and other things stand in my way. And they won't.
Thanks for reading,
Me
"The old rules are crumbling, and nobody knows what the new rules are. So, make up your own rules." - Neil Gaiman
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Poetry Challenge, v6.0, Days 29 and 30
Well, here we are, the end of another season of poetry. Thank you to all who read, commented, and shared this year's journey with me. All in all, I would say it was successful, and I am pleased with the product. I look forward to more next year, and maybe a little more participation...or start your own challenge (that may or may not involve writing of any sort!) The last post for this year is, of course, a two-fer, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed this last month!!!
The Artist
I wrote it,
made it,
painted it,
carved it,
poured my heart and soul,
my sweat and tears,
until the very room where I gave it life
reeked of the blood I spilled.
It's supposed to be that way -
a challenge,
a comfort,
a discord,
a statement,
that you might agree or disagree with,
but it doesn't matter -
it got you talking.
You don't have to "get it,"
want it,
need it,
love it,
or understand it -
you just have to know it was made
to make you react.
Namaste
We have words for everything,
a way to tell the world what we think,
to communicate grand ideas with a vocalization
that transcends the physical being
and lasts,
imprinted upon our souls
as an idea, a sound,
tangible and intangible all at once,
Words have meaning.
Namaste.
I look forward to the next year of growing, and invite you all along for the ride. Life is beautiful, and it's worth experiencing. May your lives be as blessed as mine!! And as always,
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
The Artist
I wrote it,
made it,
painted it,
carved it,
poured my heart and soul,
my sweat and tears,
until the very room where I gave it life
reeked of the blood I spilled.
It's supposed to be that way -
a challenge,
a comfort,
a discord,
a statement,
that you might agree or disagree with,
but it doesn't matter -
it got you talking.
You don't have to "get it,"
want it,
need it,
love it,
or understand it -
you just have to know it was made
to make you react.
Namaste
We have words for everything,
a way to tell the world what we think,
to communicate grand ideas with a vocalization
that transcends the physical being
and lasts,
imprinted upon our souls
as an idea, a sound,
tangible and intangible all at once,
Words have meaning.
Namaste.
I look forward to the next year of growing, and invite you all along for the ride. Life is beautiful, and it's worth experiencing. May your lives be as blessed as mine!! And as always,
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 27 and 28
Hi again, everyone -
We are finally into the home stretch, and it's time to really push through to the end of this year's poetic journey! Thanks again to all those who have looked it, read a little, shared some of your poems with me, and have joined me on this little journey. Poetry is good for us - it handles the tough things that are hard to talk about, and helps us make sense by evoking feelings, and giving us a safe and sane way to do so. Particularly in this troubling time, we need more safety and sanity than ever. That being said, it's definitely time for more words!!! Here's another that was sent to me and I have permission to share!
We are finally into the home stretch, and it's time to really push through to the end of this year's poetic journey! Thanks again to all those who have looked it, read a little, shared some of your poems with me, and have joined me on this little journey. Poetry is good for us - it handles the tough things that are hard to talk about, and helps us make sense by evoking feelings, and giving us a safe and sane way to do so. Particularly in this troubling time, we need more safety and sanity than ever. That being said, it's definitely time for more words!!! Here's another that was sent to me and I have permission to share!
MOISTURE...
Skiing snow, snowball snow,
Flaky soft to leaden weight,
Snowballs and snowmen
Enticing children of all ages.
Misting curtain of rain
Nurturing farm and garden,
Flooding monsoons, floating destruction.
Tears trickling down a dirty face,
Uncontrolled sobs,
Gut-wrenching heaves,
Tasting salt, altering sinuses, healing... moisture.
Hands of the King
There was a man I once heard of -
soft-spoken, unremarkable,
calm,
peaceful,
and where he walked -
kingly footsteps were sure,
steady,
forward.
He traveled far and wide across the land,
bringing his peace with him,
prosperity,
justice,
always working with his hands,
building,
healing.
We need that king today.
Nothing Changes
I tell you it's not right,
that you can't do this to me,
it's more than unfair,
it's not human -
I deserve better.
I am ignored, and nothing changes.
I am ignored, and nothing changes.
I get louder,
screaming and shouting at the top of my lungs,
go broke paying for advertisements and events
that challenge the ruling social order,
just trying to get heard,
get noticed,
get the attention of someone who matters,
someone who can do something about it -
I'm called a heretic, a problem, and nothing changes.
It happens to my friends, my family, my neighbors
and finally, to some poor schmuck who was
in the wrong place at the wrong time
who did something he shouldn't have,
or didn't -
and it boils over, erupts, and we're called criminals.
Because nothing changes.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 24, 25, 26
ok, so it's been a busy weekend for the Fat Kid: time spent in the workshop, brewing some homemade beer, and meeting new people at an event! Of, course, that means you get a three-fer today. BUT WAIT - there's more: over the next couple of days, you'll get a couple of guest appearances!! Yup, a couple people have taken me up on the challenge, and have written their own contributions. So, I will share them (with permission, of course).
First up, my mother, a retired English teacher and all-around pretty awesome lady, whom I've been blessed to really watch her blossom in new ways over the last few years. Mom, I love you, and thanks for taking up this challenge!!
First up, my mother, a retired English teacher and all-around pretty awesome lady, whom I've been blessed to really watch her blossom in new ways over the last few years. Mom, I love you, and thanks for taking up this challenge!!
OPPOSITES
Like a robot:
programmed to follow directions, accomplish tasks,
save time, unemotional, soulless, friendless, alone.
Quiet.
Like a human:
spontaneous, needy, growing, playing , laughing,
hurting, stifled, pent-up, frustrated, tired overwhelmed,
indecisive,
Choices?....eenie, meenie...pick one...just opt...
one day at a time...
Think I'll take a nap!
Meetings
Formality.
Proper handshake, look them in the eye.
So unsure,
not knowing what's lurking just underneath the surface,
searching for the story -
what brought them to this place?
where have they been?
what are they thinking of me?
And knowing they are thinking and feeling exactly the same thing
only makes it harder.
Touch
innocent gestures mean so much,
a hand holding mine for a moment,
the simple way a lover twirls fingers in your hair,
or leans into you in
just.
that.
way.
the way they move by you in cramped quarters,
and move with you when you dance,
a simple but overlooked language,
seen every moment,
understood by instinct,
known to all,
and unrecognized.
Beer
Grains and water,
make the mash,
heat, cool, repeat.
create the wort,
sanitize everything,
boil, hops, hops, hops, hops,
ferment.
Wait an hour between each step.
Wait a week.
Wait a week again.
makes one gallon.
Doesn't seem worth it...yet.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
what brought them to this place?
where have they been?
what are they thinking of me?
And knowing they are thinking and feeling exactly the same thing
only makes it harder.
Touch
innocent gestures mean so much,
a hand holding mine for a moment,
the simple way a lover twirls fingers in your hair,
or leans into you in
just.
that.
way.
the way they move by you in cramped quarters,
and move with you when you dance,
a simple but overlooked language,
seen every moment,
understood by instinct,
known to all,
and unrecognized.
Beer
Grains and water,
make the mash,
heat, cool, repeat.
create the wort,
sanitize everything,
boil, hops, hops, hops, hops,
ferment.
Wait an hour between each step.
Wait a week.
Wait a week again.
makes one gallon.
Doesn't seem worth it...yet.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V 6.0, Day 23
Today, friends of mine have to say goodbye to a loving 4-legged friend. I don't envy them this day, or task, and it makes me think of the loved ones - both human and non - that I have had to say goodbye to. So, it makes me a little sad, and today's poem goes out to all those who struggle with saying goodbye.
You Were There
Because you were there,
the days I didn't want to get out of bed were made easier,
the late nights were less scary,
I laughed more,
I cried more,
I thought of you on my way home from work,
of how I would greet you the next time we met,
and what you might like when I was at the store.
You were there to be my fashion advisor,
my confidant,
my doctor,
my security,
my friend,
my sanctuary.
Because you were there,
I didn't go out in that snowstorm,
I left early from that date,
and I learned that you always had my back when I needed a wingman.
You were always there,
and I was grateful.
But now, you're there -
and I'm here,
and I don't know what I'm going to do,
because everything reminds me of you,
and I miss you.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
You Were There
Because you were there,
the days I didn't want to get out of bed were made easier,
the late nights were less scary,
I laughed more,
I cried more,
I thought of you on my way home from work,
of how I would greet you the next time we met,
and what you might like when I was at the store.
You were there to be my fashion advisor,
my confidant,
my doctor,
my security,
my friend,
my sanctuary.
Because you were there,
I didn't go out in that snowstorm,
I left early from that date,
and I learned that you always had my back when I needed a wingman.
You were always there,
and I was grateful.
But now, you're there -
and I'm here,
and I don't know what I'm going to do,
because everything reminds me of you,
and I miss you.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 20, 21, 22
Yikes -
Well, this is what I get for tending to other creative endeavors, rather than remembering to write poetry. Another three-fer! Aren't you just the luckiest readers in the world??? Yes. Yes you are!! In all seriousness, though, we're three solid weeks in, and still going - into the closing stretch we go! I'm really quite thankful you've joined me thus far, and I do hope you're enjoying my scribblings. Now, let's get to some words!
The Pretender
I met a man, a traveler -
who bore no smirk or smile -
but he walked with his head bowed down.
I inquired why he walked thus -
for his stature was quite tall -
and he said, "I'm just walking to the next town."
I walked with him, then -
it was not very far to go -
he talked only a little, but listened as I rambled.
I told him of my life -
he seemed content to hear -
as down along the road we ambled.
At last we arrived -
and the guards at the game smiled -
and he said, "Thank you for sharing."
He put on his crown -
and stood upright, now -
And I saw before me my King.
Scene
I listen as the tap-tap-tap of
spring rain falls joyously
upon the rooftops,
lightening the
mood of all
who live
below.
The Still Small Voice
I sat atop the hill,
the last faint fire-orange rays of a warm summer sun
lighting my face,
counting the steps along the path
I had chosen.
Ever the question loomed,
like the threatening twilight to overtake the sky,
of how my trail was walked and why,
I stoop sharply, and shouted at the sky,
my voice breaking in my enthusiasm,
"Where an I supposed to be?"
And in the moments that followed,
the sun fell from view.
In the silence of the early night,
a whispered word, a sense of knowing,
came a one-word answer:
"Here."
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Well, this is what I get for tending to other creative endeavors, rather than remembering to write poetry. Another three-fer! Aren't you just the luckiest readers in the world??? Yes. Yes you are!! In all seriousness, though, we're three solid weeks in, and still going - into the closing stretch we go! I'm really quite thankful you've joined me thus far, and I do hope you're enjoying my scribblings. Now, let's get to some words!
The Pretender
I met a man, a traveler -
who bore no smirk or smile -
but he walked with his head bowed down.
I inquired why he walked thus -
for his stature was quite tall -
and he said, "I'm just walking to the next town."
I walked with him, then -
it was not very far to go -
he talked only a little, but listened as I rambled.
I told him of my life -
he seemed content to hear -
as down along the road we ambled.
At last we arrived -
and the guards at the game smiled -
and he said, "Thank you for sharing."
He put on his crown -
and stood upright, now -
And I saw before me my King.
Scene
I listen as the tap-tap-tap of
spring rain falls joyously
upon the rooftops,
lightening the
mood of all
who live
below.
The Still Small Voice
I sat atop the hill,
the last faint fire-orange rays of a warm summer sun
lighting my face,
counting the steps along the path
I had chosen.
Ever the question loomed,
like the threatening twilight to overtake the sky,
of how my trail was walked and why,
I stoop sharply, and shouted at the sky,
my voice breaking in my enthusiasm,
"Where an I supposed to be?"
And in the moments that followed,
the sun fell from view.
In the silence of the early night,
a whispered word, a sense of knowing,
came a one-word answer:
"Here."
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 17, 18, 19
Wow - what a weekend - full of good things, growth, and spending much needed time with my lovely wife. Who could ask for more than that? Well, ok, perhaps a winning lottery ticket in my pocket, but but really, this was just about the perfect weekend, topped off with about a 30 mile ride today in the bright sunshine. A very nice cap on the weekend, and I can't wait to enjoy more outdoor adventures!!! But now is a time for poetry, and so that, my friends, is where we're going now!
Prison
I came upon the prison, then,
with its gnarled iron gate with rusty pickets,
that opened up onto the boat slip.
Heavy iron bars cover what I assume are windows.
I can only see so far into the offices -
the glass on many windows has been broken:
teeth on the animal of Institution,
the blackened boxes becoming empty maws
awaiting their next victim.
I wonder what stories could be told by those gates and stones.
I am curious,
And I am afraid.
Headwind
The miles don't matter -
they could be many or few,
uphill or down,
but the terrain and the distance -
the things you think matter the most -
mean nothing
if the wind coming directly at you
slows you down.
You always want to stop.
It's easier.
Until you realize the enemy is not the wind -
it is yourself.
Sometimes I wish the world away,
to be left alone for a little time,
with my thoughts,
the good and dangerous alike,
to let life pass me by.
I wish I could be merely an observer,
to find the right answers
and stockpile,
to use when I can return to
my existence,
a participant in my own life once more.
And there we have it, kids. I hope you enjoyed, and as always:
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Prison
I came upon the prison, then,
with its gnarled iron gate with rusty pickets,
that opened up onto the boat slip.
Heavy iron bars cover what I assume are windows.
I can only see so far into the offices -
the glass on many windows has been broken:
teeth on the animal of Institution,
the blackened boxes becoming empty maws
awaiting their next victim.
I wonder what stories could be told by those gates and stones.
I am curious,
And I am afraid.
Headwind
The miles don't matter -
they could be many or few,
uphill or down,
but the terrain and the distance -
the things you think matter the most -
mean nothing
if the wind coming directly at you
slows you down.
You always want to stop.
It's easier.
Until you realize the enemy is not the wind -
it is yourself.
Sometimes I wish the world away,
to be left alone for a little time,
with my thoughts,
the good and dangerous alike,
to let life pass me by.
I wish I could be merely an observer,
to find the right answers
and stockpile,
to use when I can return to
my existence,
a participant in my own life once more.
And there we have it, kids. I hope you enjoyed, and as always:
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 15 and 16
There's only SO many days that I can write a poem in a row. *sigh* Well, here we are, we've made it halfway through, and we're still going strong. Today, the Fat Kid is feeling a little pensive. You know what that means - I shall attempt to write something deep, and probably only get about half of the thought actually down before I run out of steam, unless, of course, I keep these poems today extra short. #sillypoettroubles. I guess we'll see what happens!!
Living in the Sun
Radiance, shining brightly through the glass,
warming my face in the morning,
silken cords of light my sweet caress,
a tender and loving summons from my midnight world of dreams
breathes life into my day,
tethers me to the sky-chariot,
tracing a graceful arc through the heavens
in which I feel I am Apollo himself looking down upon the world.
For there is nothing that cannot be done while the
golden rays fall silently from above,
and there is no time such as this in which to do it.
Fitzwillies
Akimbo cattywampus
bumfuzzle hullabaloo
wishy-washy skedaddle
gobbledegook festooned
haberdashery befuddled
codswallop brouhaha
kerfuffle widdershins
Malarkey la-di-da
But her shirt read "Fitzwillies"
and in my childhood, it meant a silly game that only she and I ever played.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Living in the Sun
Radiance, shining brightly through the glass,
warming my face in the morning,
silken cords of light my sweet caress,
a tender and loving summons from my midnight world of dreams
breathes life into my day,
tethers me to the sky-chariot,
tracing a graceful arc through the heavens
in which I feel I am Apollo himself looking down upon the world.
For there is nothing that cannot be done while the
golden rays fall silently from above,
and there is no time such as this in which to do it.
Fitzwillies
Akimbo cattywampus
bumfuzzle hullabaloo
wishy-washy skedaddle
gobbledegook festooned
haberdashery befuddled
codswallop brouhaha
kerfuffle widdershins
Malarkey la-di-da
But her shirt read "Fitzwillies"
and in my childhood, it meant a silly game that only she and I ever played.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Day 14
Wow - two in a row, and ON TIME! I know, it's a little crazy, but what can I say - I like to keep you, dear readers, on your toes. Speaking of on your toes, I had a mishap yesterday: I was drinking my coffee, as per normal, when suddenly, I didn't feel so good. It felt like it was that whole , "I've had 12 cups of coffee and nothing else in my system" thing (trust me, it can be quite uncomfortable)except that it was my first cup of the morning. This was not good. My morning aversion seems to be past, however, for which I am glad. My joy is the source for today's poem, in case you were wondering!!!
Ode
I would sing of thee a ballad,
sweet equatorial nectar,
of your tireless spirit bold
and your lush green acres,
of your countless battles won,
both in country and in city,
of the thoughts you inspire,
in the meek and in the witty.
I would sing of your caress,
and the strength of your ardor,
and hold all things else
as nothing but mere odor,
for in thee, my old friend,
lies life within each breath,
and I should unto the heavens,
"Bring me coffee - or bring me death!"
Yes, it's silly. Yes, this is why I usually avoid rhyming poetry. Seriously, kids, it's a poem about coffee - it's only going to get so good. But hey, even examples of bad poetry are stuff of fun, and so I really hope you enjoyed today's offering!
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, April 13, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Day 13
One advantage waking early has - that I will fully admit I rarely partake in, is that it does give one time to write, and on a nice spring morning walk, I had a few thoughts. I don't think this one is one of my best, though it has a couple moments that offer something of quality. But's what came to mind, and as promised, this stuff is very raw, mostly first-draft stuff. So here you go!
The question hangs heavy in the thick morning air,
Amidst the fragrance of the spring pollens
that are both the essence and agony of life.
A thought: by itself, worthless,
but by wind or wing transported
finds a fertile home in which to grow,
Flourishing in the mind of Man.
The roots grow deeper,
the thought becomes an ideal,
a flowering plant in its own right,
spread now on the winds of passion,
a raging storm that cannot be controlled -
"Love thy neighbor."
At some point, I think I will sit down with this and see what I can really make of it. You'll rarely hear me say it - but I like this one. I think it offers something we need to see more of, in general.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
The question hangs heavy in the thick morning air,
Amidst the fragrance of the spring pollens
that are both the essence and agony of life.
A thought: by itself, worthless,
but by wind or wing transported
finds a fertile home in which to grow,
Flourishing in the mind of Man.
The roots grow deeper,
the thought becomes an ideal,
a flowering plant in its own right,
spread now on the winds of passion,
a raging storm that cannot be controlled -
"Love thy neighbor."
At some point, I think I will sit down with this and see what I can really make of it. You'll rarely hear me say it - but I like this one. I think it offers something we need to see more of, in general.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 10-12
Well, I get one post correct on the day, and then I have to take a little break, it seems. Oh well. This weekend has been interesting from a working perspective. I began some work on a project that's taken me a long time to think about, because it's a family heirloom. You see, my grandfather was a teach of industrial arts. He made a series of chess boards in his lifetime, and my father ended up with one. It was the board I learned to play the game on. Over the years, it's taken a beating, and now I have the time, the tools, the skill, and now the design to finally restore this board. But it's a little more than just simple restoration: I'm adding and improving to the design, giving it a pedestal and a drawer for pieces. My father worked on this board many years ago, side by side with my grandfather. I hope that someday, I can hand it down to the next generation, and perhaps a 4th generation of my family's hands will get to work on the piece. So one of today's poems is regarding this project. The rest are exploring the theme of manual labor. I dunno, I thought a theme might be nice...
Summer Day
The reel whirls as I walk,
clippings of grass flying behind,
sticking to my legs as the neighborhood kids laugh.
They stop, from time to time,
seeking to understand,
but unable to grasp the concept from our past.
I tried to teach one once -
he couldn't push it, and refused to keep trying.
The alternating pieces,
laid with care in an overcrowded basement,
gnarled hands, the maser of their craft.
A young man by his side,
watching, helping, learning -
only to pass on the knowledge.
Another generation comes,
removes the old varnish, renews the board,
ready to play again,
new life from generations past,
passed down through the hands.
scrap lumber and small boys,
hammers that never get returned,
left to rust in the rain until the lawnmower runs over them,
structures that a fierce wind will destroy,
made of old fence posts driven into the ground,
industry and imagination together,
building a summer of heroes and villains,
of good guys and bad,
adventures of all kinds,
the labors of childhood.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Summer Day
The reel whirls as I walk,
clippings of grass flying behind,
sticking to my legs as the neighborhood kids laugh.
They stop, from time to time,
seeking to understand,
but unable to grasp the concept from our past.
I tried to teach one once -
he couldn't push it, and refused to keep trying.
The alternating pieces,
laid with care in an overcrowded basement,
gnarled hands, the maser of their craft.
A young man by his side,
watching, helping, learning -
only to pass on the knowledge.
Another generation comes,
removes the old varnish, renews the board,
ready to play again,
new life from generations past,
passed down through the hands.
scrap lumber and small boys,
hammers that never get returned,
left to rust in the rain until the lawnmower runs over them,
structures that a fierce wind will destroy,
made of old fence posts driven into the ground,
industry and imagination together,
building a summer of heroes and villains,
of good guys and bad,
adventures of all kinds,
the labors of childhood.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V.6.0, Day 9
It's been a long week. No, really - longer days mean a little more activity. Warmer days make me move faster, like a lizard in the sunshine. I must be cold-blooded. Consequently, a couple days of hitting the gym has me feeling like taking a three-day nap - after eating everything I can find. But, I'm looking forward to a weekend full of workshop time, and getting a couple of projects moved along...perhaps even finished!! And if I can get more gym time in, all the better!
Pain Management
The lungs burn first,
every breath a fiery blast that lasts
only a moment before you find the rhythm
of feet pounding the roadway,
arms swishing back and forth
in extra movement.
Slowly, the deadfalls of feet begin to take their toll,
the fluids settling upon each impact,
as the legs fill with sediments,
a new burning replacing the old one
until the perception changes and you dig deeper,
point your feet, toe-heel becoming possible
as the stride increases.
The back begins,
a dull ache that won't be a problem until you stop,
and then will become excruciating.
Stiffen the shoulders, relax the arms,
stand up straighter, chest out,
shorten the gait only slightly - no - lengthen it,
and begin, at last, the mantra:
there is no pain, there is only me.
Let go.
Allow the energy to leave your body,
each footfall a charged bit of earth,
an ounce of pain,
a toxin to be eliminated with each step,
until at last,
there is nothing but the wind in your face,
and the miles of pain are behind you.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Pain Management
The lungs burn first,
every breath a fiery blast that lasts
only a moment before you find the rhythm
of feet pounding the roadway,
arms swishing back and forth
in extra movement.
Slowly, the deadfalls of feet begin to take their toll,
the fluids settling upon each impact,
as the legs fill with sediments,
a new burning replacing the old one
until the perception changes and you dig deeper,
point your feet, toe-heel becoming possible
as the stride increases.
The back begins,
a dull ache that won't be a problem until you stop,
and then will become excruciating.
Stiffen the shoulders, relax the arms,
stand up straighter, chest out,
shorten the gait only slightly - no - lengthen it,
and begin, at last, the mantra:
there is no pain, there is only me.
Let go.
Allow the energy to leave your body,
each footfall a charged bit of earth,
an ounce of pain,
a toxin to be eliminated with each step,
until at last,
there is nothing but the wind in your face,
and the miles of pain are behind you.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 6,7,8
It's been a strange week, and probably only going to get stranger....Nothing bad has happened, I just feel like I'm in a sort of fog...sometimes, that's great fodder for writing poems, and sometimes, it's not. I'm rather hoping for the former!!
Meditation
eyes closed,
seeking the place,
that quiet spot,
the center.
where nothing touches me,
and thoughts become form
in the quietness of the moment.
Ghetto
I get looks
rumbling through the
dirty streets.
past cars that don't run,
my music blasting loud enough to rattle the windows
on houses where windows are covered inside with plywood
even though there's nothing wrong with the glass.
heads turn as I roll by,
but I will not return the blank gazes,
the angry stares,
as the Requiem plays.
Quick Trip Through Walmart
Deck of cards,
Murphy's Oil Soap
Paint brush,
Shoe polish
Underwear
And a bag of cookies.
The clerk said, "Who polishes shoes anymore?"
and that actually catches me up!! YAY!!!! Ok, hopefully, I'll stay in this zone and actually write tomorrow's tomorrow!!
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, April 6, 2015
Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, days 4 and 5
Hmmm...thus far, my timely posts are...ummm..not so timely. It happens when you travel a little, and so I shouldn't really be upset or anything, but it feels a little lame, to be honest - publishing every other day or, in this case, two publishings in a day...I'll have to figure it out how to do this better!! But while I'm doing that, here's a little something to tide you over, readers!!
At the end of the street there is a house,
lonely and sad, the facade a record of neglect.
The weeds choke the once-lush landscaping,
the walkway crumbles under my feet
as I quietly approach the door.
Neighbors look on, shaking their heads -
they don't know how I can live here.
They don't see the paradise that lies behind those doors,
the beauty of the imperfect,
they do not understand the choice.
And I will not teach them.
And number 2 today.....
Sing-song, sing-song,
the little birds flit about,
their voices carry over the fields,
between the brush and brambles,
ringing loud and clear the song of spring,
the beckoning of life returning,
and moving onward, forward, becoming greater than it was.
And I cannot help but think the little birds know something that I have long ago forgotten.
I little vague, a little sobering I suppose, but hey, that's installment one for the day. Ideally, I'll get back on track later!!!!
As always,
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Friday, April 3, 2015
Poetry challenge, V6.0, Day Two and Three
Making today's intro fast and getting right to the poetry because: 1) no time 2) too many stupid people and I "just can't even" 3) I actually HAD a post for yesterday, but technology wasn't complying (read as: I couldn't figure out how to copy and paste from my phone notes into here) 4) all of the above.
So, yeah, the first two-fer of the yearly challenge!!!
The skeleton limbs of the hawthorn
nearly naked in the cold glow of a winter sun
stand sentry over the silent gardens
that await the coming spring.
Red berries on the tips,
like claws drenched in the blood of autumn past,
reminders of the life that sits just beneath the surface,
biding its time until the the spring rains.
Friends, not enemies, each bringing hope to the other,
Seasons in congress, ever aware of one another,
of the secret vibrancy that lurks just out of reach.
Resume`
The hands tell a story:
a sliver here, a slip of the chisel there,
a scrape of a knuckle because that screw was simply too difficult to reach
and my hand was too big.
Here was the place the padauk was stuck - it's poisonous if allowed into the bloodstream -
like cocobolo dust - a carcinogen.
This was from that earring hanger,
that, from a nightstand,
And that spot under the nail that's slowly moving forward -
a hammer slip courtesy of the coffee table.
So many little things,
most of them, gifts
that give back to me permanent memories,
worn on my hands.
Thanks for reading!!
The Fat Kid
So, yeah, the first two-fer of the yearly challenge!!!
The skeleton limbs of the hawthorn
nearly naked in the cold glow of a winter sun
stand sentry over the silent gardens
that await the coming spring.
Red berries on the tips,
like claws drenched in the blood of autumn past,
reminders of the life that sits just beneath the surface,
biding its time until the the spring rains.
Friends, not enemies, each bringing hope to the other,
Seasons in congress, ever aware of one another,
of the secret vibrancy that lurks just out of reach.
Resume`
The hands tell a story:
a sliver here, a slip of the chisel there,
a scrape of a knuckle because that screw was simply too difficult to reach
and my hand was too big.
Here was the place the padauk was stuck - it's poisonous if allowed into the bloodstream -
like cocobolo dust - a carcinogen.
This was from that earring hanger,
that, from a nightstand,
And that spot under the nail that's slowly moving forward -
a hammer slip courtesy of the coffee table.
So many little things,
most of them, gifts
that give back to me permanent memories,
worn on my hands.
Thanks for reading!!
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Annual Poetry Challenge, V.6.0 Day 1
Oh SNAP! It's April, and if you've ever followed me for any length of time, you probably know that means it's national Poetry Month, and that I will once again take up the challenge: What is this challenge? I'm glad you asked! Simply put - each day, I am to come up with an original poem which has never been seen before. There is no set length (so haikus count!) rhyme scheme, or anything like that. It's simply an exercise in the creative process. Often, the poems that appear here are off-the-cuff things that cross my mind. They tend to be based on outsidey-type things, because that's the kind of stuff I love. Sometimes, these can get pretty dark and twisted, though I tend to shy away from that.
With that said - I take requests. No, I don't play "stump the poet" - so requests that ask "Can you write a poem that involves a block and tackle, a toothbrush, an aardvark, and three references to True Blood?" will be promptly thrown out. Sure, I COULD do it....but nobody wants to read that. I was asked to write a lullaby once, though, and that worked pretty well.
ALSO - if anyone is up to doing this with me, I humbly invite you now. You can do the whole challenge, you can do one week, once a week...I don't care - do what feels right for you! It's all good fun!
SO, let's get to some poetry, huh?
Memory
It's funny
how I can recall
so many things
that never really mattered:
sitting in the old tree outside the farmhouse,
that failed hide-and seek moment,
the perfume of a pretty girl,
that all happened years ago -
but I can't
even begin
to guess at
Yesterday.
I look forward to comments, challenges, and people joining me!!!
Thanks for reading!!
The Fat Kid
With that said - I take requests. No, I don't play "stump the poet" - so requests that ask "Can you write a poem that involves a block and tackle, a toothbrush, an aardvark, and three references to True Blood?" will be promptly thrown out. Sure, I COULD do it....but nobody wants to read that. I was asked to write a lullaby once, though, and that worked pretty well.
ALSO - if anyone is up to doing this with me, I humbly invite you now. You can do the whole challenge, you can do one week, once a week...I don't care - do what feels right for you! It's all good fun!
SO, let's get to some poetry, huh?
Memory
It's funny
how I can recall
so many things
that never really mattered:
sitting in the old tree outside the farmhouse,
that failed hide-and seek moment,
the perfume of a pretty girl,
that all happened years ago -
but I can't
even begin
to guess at
Yesterday.
I look forward to comments, challenges, and people joining me!!!
Thanks for reading!!
The Fat Kid
Monday, January 12, 2015
Attack The Monday
It's Monday morning again. I hate Mondays. Like so many of us, I have kind of always hated Mondays. I don't have any specific dread of them, it's just that it's back to work, and the weekend must come to an end, so Monday is always a little sad.
There are some people who do not agree, and believe that Mondays are fascinating things, to be longed for and chased after as though they were a golden retriever and Mondays were the brand new favorite toy. I rather think that Mondays are like a George R.R. Martin novel, in which you better not like it, because death and dismemberment will surely follow close upon the heels of you liking it. Yes, Monday is coming.
But I had a thought this weekend, and it seemed rather appropriate for this week. Indeed, as it is the new year, perhaps it's time to look at things in a new way, to take a different standpoint on things. Particularly, on Mondays. What if, instead of dreading the day, or letting the gloom of the mundane (hmmm...mundane, Monday....) get to me, I did something a little different, and met Monday as a challenge?
In this, it's not much different than climbing hills on a bike. What? If you've ever read this blog, you know I like to bike, so this reference should come as no surprise. But seriously - hill climbing. When you see a hill off in the distance, you can approach it one of two ways: with a sense of dread, or with a sense of challenge. When you approach a hill with a sense of dread, the hill is already too steep to climb. You're so focused on the pain that you do not see the easy line up the road, you miss the cadence, and every single turn of the crank becomes an agonizing chore. All that is in your mind is how hard it is, and that only makes the hill harder to ride.
When, you approach the hill with the thought that you will get up it, get over it, and move on to better things, There is room to focus on your cadence, to see where the easy line of ascent is on the road, and to power through effectively. It's not to say that the climb doesn't hurt, and that it's easy or fast - merely that those thoughts do not occupy your mind. In a way, it's very much a "mind-over-matter" scenario. The "can-do" attitude is important for climbing.
It's important for Mondays, too. So, starting today, I'm not going to dread Mondays. I'm going to attack Mondays. I'm going to meet them head-on, with a bull-rush if necessary. I see that hill ahead of me, and I will prepare my mind to conquer it, and it will be conquered. It begins with the simple things. Shirt and tie. Getting things moving early. Jumping on Monday like it's the Alpe d'Huez and I can take the yellow jersey. I own you, Monday!!
There are some people who do not agree, and believe that Mondays are fascinating things, to be longed for and chased after as though they were a golden retriever and Mondays were the brand new favorite toy. I rather think that Mondays are like a George R.R. Martin novel, in which you better not like it, because death and dismemberment will surely follow close upon the heels of you liking it. Yes, Monday is coming.
But I had a thought this weekend, and it seemed rather appropriate for this week. Indeed, as it is the new year, perhaps it's time to look at things in a new way, to take a different standpoint on things. Particularly, on Mondays. What if, instead of dreading the day, or letting the gloom of the mundane (hmmm...mundane, Monday....) get to me, I did something a little different, and met Monday as a challenge?
In this, it's not much different than climbing hills on a bike. What? If you've ever read this blog, you know I like to bike, so this reference should come as no surprise. But seriously - hill climbing. When you see a hill off in the distance, you can approach it one of two ways: with a sense of dread, or with a sense of challenge. When you approach a hill with a sense of dread, the hill is already too steep to climb. You're so focused on the pain that you do not see the easy line up the road, you miss the cadence, and every single turn of the crank becomes an agonizing chore. All that is in your mind is how hard it is, and that only makes the hill harder to ride.
When, you approach the hill with the thought that you will get up it, get over it, and move on to better things, There is room to focus on your cadence, to see where the easy line of ascent is on the road, and to power through effectively. It's not to say that the climb doesn't hurt, and that it's easy or fast - merely that those thoughts do not occupy your mind. In a way, it's very much a "mind-over-matter" scenario. The "can-do" attitude is important for climbing.
It's important for Mondays, too. So, starting today, I'm not going to dread Mondays. I'm going to attack Mondays. I'm going to meet them head-on, with a bull-rush if necessary. I see that hill ahead of me, and I will prepare my mind to conquer it, and it will be conquered. It begins with the simple things. Shirt and tie. Getting things moving early. Jumping on Monday like it's the Alpe d'Huez and I can take the yellow jersey. I own you, Monday!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)