It’s been 7 months

March 9, 2017

 

That was the last time I wrote you all, if you were even still out there reading at all. Seven months, more time than I had informal probation for when I was a kid, that’s how long I haven’t been able to open up this blog. It’s been even longer since I have watched the video I made for Grandpa Larry’s funeral. I still haven’t looked at that again. I haven’t looked at Simon’s glass ornament either. I don’t know that I’ll be able to look at either one of those things for a while. I may force myself to tonight, that’s just kind of how I operate.

Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to write more. I’m sorry that I haven’t been more “inspired”, or at least that’s what it must seem like to you. It must seem like I’m just a flake when it comes to writing and sharing my thoughts and words with the world. You wouldn’t be so wrong to assume that, given my posting history over the past.. couple of years.. really.

It’s been difficult for me to share though. I’ve been keeping something from almost all of you. It’s not because I necessarily want to, but because I have to.

So, I think I’ll just close this one by saying that, I’m here, I’m doing alright, and I’m working on making it better. And, I promise, I’ll share more when I can.

Until next time…

A morning sunrise letter..

Grandpa,

 

It hasn’t been very long since you left, and I’m still upset about it. I’m upset that you left me when you did because there were so many things I wanted you to still see. Maksim playing basketball. My wedding. My first big promotion. A sunrise from my balcony above the city. A night out with Kathryn and grandma Gail where we would just eat and have a great time together. The list is truly endless, and I’m sorry that I didn’t do more to make those things happen while I still could.

 

Regardless of how much time I spent with you, I always felt like I didn’t get enough time, and that upsets me too. You always made me leave the lakes with you earlier than I wanted. You would make me go back and mow over the spots of your yard that I missed, after you came out and inspected my work after I was finished before you’d pay me for it. You would always pause for as long as I talked, after I stopped talking and interrupting you, before you’d continue speaking to me. I never liked that much, but now I understand why you did it, and I thank you for that.

 

It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t be there the morning of the procedure. I was exhausted from putting so much of myself into my work for our big presentation. I know that you would have told me that it was ok that I couldn’t be there, and that it was important for me to be there for my job, but I didn’t know that would be my final opportunity to hear your voice. To share one last joke with you. To tell you something, anything, that would have made things make sense later. To hear one last bit of your incredibly wise advice for me. I promise I always heard your words, even if I didn’t always follow them.

 

I can’t see your face anymore, but I see you all the time. I see you in my son when he tells me that the pepper on his eggs will put lead in his pencil. I see you in myself, when I make sure my ears are really clean, in order to let the bullshit people spew out go in one ear and right out the other. I see you in the early morning sunrise, and imagine you telling me that it’s almost lunch time when the sun is just coming up. I see you in the way I don’t drink coffee, because you said it would stunt my growth, and also in the way that I’m not 7 feet tall, even though I used to tell you I wanted to be. I see you in the man I am today.

 

You weren’t supposed to go so soon. You weren’t supposed to be called home like you were. But, I’m grateful and thankful for the things you have left behind. And, thank you for the sunrise today.

 

I needed it more than anyone will ever know.

 

I miss you Grandpa, but I hope you’re working hard up there.

 

Love,

 

 

T-boo

 

 

Stop undervaluing hard workers

I can’t stress this enough.

Well, maybe like this..

The problem with most freelancers, I am starting to find out, is that people undermine their hard work way too much. I was cruising the Facebook newsfeed today when I came across an individual that was asking for some help with creating and hosting a website. They even offered to pay for the help. Now, maybe I’m just still too new at this whole freelancer gig, and maybe I’m looking for the wrong kind of clientele, but to me that was a pretty good indicator that this person was serious about getting an online presence started. However, judging by the person making the inquiry, and the audience that I knew would be shortly following behind, I was a little skeptical..

So I, as any good freelancer would and should do, I put my proverbial hat in the ring and offered my help. A friend of mine, whom I have done work for and he has been a very satisfied customer of mine for years now, also endorsed my work and my services as a whole.

I felt like I was at least in the consideration for the opportunity, at least at that point.

Now, let me be clear here, I am very confident that I charge well under what my work is worth. For me, it’s more about the ability to help others than to make a fortune, though I do appreciate being compensated for my work just like anyone else does. I have began to take steps which will require me to command a greater compensation rate for the work I do, but that’s another story.

Back to the issue at hand though. I’m reading some of the subsequent comments on this individual’s request for assistance, and in chimes the three most hated words for any freelancer out there:

“Make. It. Yourself.”

Instantly, I knew this would be a lost cause. And also instantly, I gained a valuable bit of experience. First, I learned to make sure that my own personal criteria for prospective clientele is up to snuff (I can’t keep working for people who don’t have at least a basic understanding of marketing and the power of the digital world). I also learned a lesson in the general level of respect for freelance work around here, at least in the lower levels of marketing understanding.

I don’t know what this person did for a living, but Ms. “Do it yourself” obviously didn’t have any understanding of website design, or of the value of the work we digital marketers do. That, or she’s been taken by one of the “freelancers” on the dark side of the game, who just seek to take people’s money and return crap work. But, let’s make this a different conversation for a moment, you know, for perspective.

Let’s say you’re a barber, and you see some people asking around for where to go to get a new haircut. You put your name out there, and then someone chimes in with “…just do it yourself and save some money…” Wouldn’t you be upset about that? Also, how much sense does that make?

Meanwhile, instead of paying a little extra for a well made site that you could have made edits to quickly and easily, as well had solid SEO built into it (including solid meta and alt tags), the individual decided to invest in their company by spending only a small amount of money for a site that he’ll have virtually ZERO control over past a very, very top-level access.

Frustrating? You betcha. Part of a bigger issue of people placing no value in the work of others? Absolutely. Something I will lose sleep over? Definitely not.

I have 3 other clients already lined up this week alone.

And they’re all paying customers.

Customers who understand my importance for their goals.

The point here is folks, if you need a good haircut, go to a barber. If you need help with that ticket or DUI you just got, go get a good lawyer. If you need help getting in shape because you can’t do it alone, find a good personal trainer. You would pay for these services without batting an eye, so don’t cheap out on a website or anything marketing related; if, in fact, you are serious about your goals as a business or entity, or anything really. And don’t take expensive advice from cheap people. Just because someone has an idea, that doesn’t mean it’s a good one.

However, if you just want some weak site that will likely end up costing you more in the long run, hey, I have some ocean front property in Arizona I’d like to sell you too. I promise you’ll get a real steal on the deal.

But I digress..

Good luck with that site, sir. I just checked the source code out. It should be a real treat to edit by yourself.

Maybe YouTube can help..

The one post I never wanted to write, but always knew I’d have to.

First and foremost, I want to take a moment and thank my good friend David Mattox, for giving me the inspiration and the courage to write this. I wasn’t sure what to do right away, but your words truly helped me in an enormous way, and I thank you for that.

The first part is a letter is to my son, Maksim. The second part is a message to Grandpa Sam.

My dearest, sweet baby boy Maksim,

First off, I want to say that I love you and I hope that you can look back on this letter and say that I have done all that I have said that I would when I wrote this. As you may or may  not remember, your Big Papa went to go be with God, Jesus, Uncle Adam, and yes…George Washington (you were very adamant that he was there as well) in heaven a few days ago. Being only six, it was natural that you wouldn’t fully understand what this meant, and I’m honestly very happy for that fact. I’m happy not because you didn’t know Big Papa, you definitely did know him and loved him, but I’m happy that you still didn’t know how hurtful the world can be sometimes just yet. I hope that the feeling I’m feeling doesn’t reach your heart and mind for a very long time.

I wrestled with this for a while, buddy. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do for you in this time of hurt and pain and loss. So, I decided that I was going to tell you about your Big Papa, and it’s likely going to be a little different than what you hear from most everyone else in our family, but I think it’s important that I not only tell you about the man that he was, but that I keep my promise to you of always telling you the truth. Don’t worry though, there’s nothing bad to say about Big Papa. There really never was, from anyone.

Big Papa was a very, very good man, Mak Daddy. When I was even younger than you were when he went to heaven, Big Papa was pretty much my first daddy. In the short time before grandma Vicki met Papa Rex, he was one of the ones who stepped up and acted like my father until Papa Rex became my father, and showed me what it meant to be there for your children, no matter what. I promise to always be there for you, no matter what it is that you need in life, so long as there’s still breath in me to do so.

Big Papa was a hard worker. When I was just about the same age you were when Big Papa passed, he and I would drive up to the lake house (it looked much different back then, but it was in a lot of ways a lot better) and spend hours upon hours laying in the same hammock that you and I used to lay in together. We would talk about all kinds of things, but I would also learn things about him that I’m not sure many people knew about. He told me about the time he was working on a commercial building in Decatur that lost all it’s financial backing and then suddenly had all kinds of financial backing. He told me about the day that the “owner” of the building came down in limos with men surrounding him on all sides to come and see how things were going, and that man came across Big Papa working on his hands and knees and he ended up getting down on his knees in his suit and working side by side with Big Papa. He told me how they became friends, and how he visited his home once and how they spoke on the phone every once in a while when it was just him at the lake. That story taught me from a very young age that no matter who it is, be it a prince or a pauper, you treat everyone with the same amount of respect and you’ll never know where your next friend will come from. I will always teach you to respect your fellow man or woman and to never judge a book by its cover.

Big Papa was a kind man. He would always let me sleep downstairs on the couch with him while we were at the lakes, and never complained about being in his personal space. He never told me I couldn’t be down there, and he would always give me a blanket when I needed it, and would always help Uncle Dustin to the bathroom when he would sleepwalk around the lake house and try to pee in the corners of the room. He would also always let us pick the restaurant we ate at, he always paid for my basketball camps when I was younger without even thinking twice, and he would always be sure to be very gentle when we had done something wrong. I promise that I will always strive to be patient with you, and I will always put a blanket on you when you’re sleeping and cold.

Big Papa was a deliberate man. He would always find ways to find out if we had touched his things. He used to do this thing with the computer mouse where he would position it a certain way, so that if we ever used it without asking him first, he would know. He also was very particular to never let us grab another tool before we put the one we were no longer using away where it belonged. “A place for everything, and everything in its place.” That’s what Big Papa would always say to us when we were helping him. He would also make sure we were particular with the boats, and always checked the oil and gas and the jet in the red boat before we took it out. I promise I will always make sure that you understand that there needs to be an order to things, in order for things to run smoothly. This applies both to school work and life in general, and I know that you hate doing homework (trust me, so did your father), but it’s a necessary part of your life and you need to get it done.

Big Papa was a man who knew the value of a dollar, a hard day’s work, and the importance of family. Nothing was ever handed to us by him, except in rare occasions, and he always told your uncles and I to stick together and look after your aunts and other cousins. When we wanted something, we earned it from him. And when we took from him, he made sure we knew how disappointed he was and that there would be consequences. I promise that I will always make you understand how important it is, and how fulfilling it is, to earn your money as opposed to being handed to you.

Big Papa was also an optimistic man. He would always do his best to see the good in every situation. He would always tell me “Christopher, don’t ever let em see you down, and always smile.” I promise that I’ll always do whatever I can to keep that idea alive in you as well. It has helped me through some of the hardest times in my life, including right now.

Big Papa was also a man of principle. He would always say that if a man claims to make $100,000 a year, he doesn’t make a nickel over that. He also said that, when talking with people that just like to hear themselves talk, to make sure your ears were good and clean so that the bullshit can go in one ear and right out the other. I promise that I will always give you all the wisdom that he gave to me, including the reason why we put pepper on our eggs.

Above all else, baby boy, Big Papa loved you very very much. He would always get the biggest kick out of you when you were at your wildest, because it reminded him of me when I was your age. He always told me to make sure I don’t let you get too wild, and I promise I will allow you to be yourself, but will also be there to tell you when you’re getting a little too crazy, and need to reign it in a little bit. When you last saw Big Papa, you hugged him and told him that you loved him. I know that made him feel good, and it always will make me feel good to know that you were able to speak those words to him one last time. There’s a little bit of Big Papa in all of us grandkids, and there’s a little bit of him in you too. I pray that you’ll always be able to keep your head up and smile, like he would always tell me to.

 

*********

Grandpa Larry, I have to apologize to you. I let you down for so much of my life. I fell short of your expectations for me and your hopes for me, and I am so sorry for that. I never made it to the NBA like we used to talk about on the hammock, and I’m sorry I wasn’t dedicated enough to getting better at my game to give myself even a remote shot at it. I never became the doctor we talked about on the porch of the old A frame, and I’m sorry that I allowed life to get in the way of that. I had a child out of wedlock to a woman I would not end up marrying, and I’m sorry that I made that decision. I know it disappointed you and I’m so sorry for that. I never meant to let you down, but I have always been the type that listened to all the advice, gathered all the data, and then drew my own conclusions. I hope that you never questioned whether or not I listened to you, because I listened to your words with the most intent of anyone, and I gave your words the most credence and reverence possible. I may not have always followed your advice, but it was always on the forefront of my mind when I made a decision.

And although I never made it to the NBA, I am thankful that you were able to see me finally find a job that I love, and a company that I love working for.

And although I never became a doctor, I am thankful that you never lost interest in what it was that I was doing with my life and career. And you always listened intently and were excited for my achievements and accomplishments. You were always one of my biggest, if not THE biggest, fans.

And although I had a child out of wedlock, you accepted and loved Maksim just as much as any of your other grandchildren. You gave my son a role model to look up to, but you first gave me one. I will never forget how you seemed to be 10 feet tall, and I’ll never forget how you were my Superman.

I will never forget what it was like to hear your voice clearly in the middle of a crowd that was going crazy during a high school basketball game.

I will never forget the time you were so very gentle with me when I had a high fever and you told me to jump in the lake and it broke my fever instantly, sending me into some big time shivers.

I will never forget the times we spent out by the grill, drinking beers and cooking food with Uncle Mitch, Dustin, Adam, and Cory. Killing black birds with the pellet gun and joking about Cory looking for some corn for his duck. I’ll always snap my suspenders and say “Yepper, skipper” when I do so, because you used to do that.

And I will never forget the extra little squeeze you gave my hand the last time I saw you in the hospital, as if you knew something I never wanted to acknowledge, and I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there the morning you went into surgery. I told myself that I should be there, but I was too worn out from the Sales Rally to make it there that early in the morning.

I love you more than I can ever write, say, think, or quantify in any meaningful way, and as I lay in my bed, crying tears that I have been trying to hold back for the last few days, I have a smile on my face because you always told me to smile no matter what.

But I don’t want to smile.

Not tonight.

Thank you, Grandpa Larry. Thank you for being the most important and influential example of what a man is supposed to be. Thank you for having the most intense hand grip of any man I’ve ever known. Thank you for letting me keep one of your old work shirts when I was younger (I still have it. Maybe I’ll wear it this weekend), and for always making me feel like I belonged, even when I was sure I didn’t. Thank you for being strict, and making me crank the boat up after I drove it or after you took us out for a spin on the tubes. Thank you for providing me and the whole family with an incredible house on a gorgeous lake for so many years. Thank you for holding on as long as you did. We needed you more than any of us will ever know.

We still need you.

We understand that you had to leave us.

We just wish that it didn’t have to be now.

 

Making sense of senselessness

Well…

If you don’t want to read the rest of this, I’ll spare you by just giving you the spoiler in the first paragraph. There is no making sense of something senseless.

Ever.

It’s just something that you’re going to have to live with for the rest of your life.

For those of you still here, and thanks for hanging out, I’m going to tell most of you something you already know.

A close member of my family passed away recently.

My cousin, Adam, was a good kid. He was a funny kid, if you were ever lucky enough to get him to start laughing and coming out of the shell in which he so frequently would put himself. It wasn’t necessarily because he didn’t have anything to say or to add to the conversation. It just never seemed important to him to get involved in small talk with people outside of his circle.

Whereas I have never met a stranger in my entire life, Simon had a small network to which he stayed both loyal and opened. It was a very small percentage of the time which Simon didn’t want to talk to me, or didn’t have anything to say or joke about with me. I’ll never forget that about him. As I mentioned in a Facebook post, during the awkward times of clique-y high school drama crap, it was Simon that was closer to me than my brother was. After we graduated and got out into the real world, the three of us became closer, along with Simon’s younger brother Cory, and formed what I (and others in my family) liked to call the Brewster Roosters. While we weren’t inseparable, we would always just pick right back up from where we left off, every time we got back together.

He was a good man, and a good father.

And now he’s gone.

I’ve been wrestling with this since the night I found out by having my mother call me in tears and myself refusing to accept the truth. I’ve had some incredibly helpful advice from friends and co-workers. I’ve gained a deeper understanding and an increased awareness of some problems that I previously did not have. Above and despite all of that though, I have been left empty; searching for answers to a question that, at least for now, will never be answered. I have been left with anger, sadness, and a wide range of other emotions that come along with the kind of circumstances that was his passing. Still, I gain no new knowledge because of it.

I’ve since resolved myself to one bothersome truth.

There is, and will be, no solace for this tragedy.

None. No moment of clarity. No realization that things are better. No admission that it’s all a necessary and required part of “God’s plan.” Do I submit to God and realize that it’s not up to me to decide these matters? Of course I do. However, I don’t think that it diminishes me to be unable to understand why it had to be this way.

You never actually get over things like this, at least not as far as I can understand things. You just always have that void in your heart that you protect with everything you can, because having the painful void somehow feels more appropriate and right than having something or someone fill it. Because to fill that void with anything feels like you’re replacing that person who was so close and dear to you.

Lately I’ve found myself being overly sensitive to things, easily agitated, quick to anger, and sporadically melancholy. I’ve talked about answering the bell, and getting back to the best version of “normal” that you can muster. Those latter things are all valid and necessary things to do, and should well be done as quickly as possible. The former list enumerate things that I wish I could help prevent in a more effective way than the current form of improvised panacea (read: over indulgence of alcohol). I wish I had a better story for you.

I just don’t.

Not today anyway.

Today was supposed to be Simon’s birthday today…

…no clever sign off tonight…

…Simon was never really big on being flashy, anyway…

Moving Memories

April.

It’s been since April since last I have written on this blog.

I have pretty much given up on giving excuses here, because obviously I haven’t made it enough of a priority to write here. However, I feel like I have good reason for not keeping more current.

I have been living a pretty good life.

The job is going well. Even if it is sometimes a bit stressful, I love what I’m doing, with whom I’m doing it, and for whom I’m doing it. No complaints there (no, I’m not just saying that because my boss and some of my co-workers are my Facebook friends). I think what I love the most about my job is that, I get to be creative and I don’t have to worry about having to sing for my supper.

My relationship has been going better than I could have ever thought it would, and I had a pretty good feeling that it would be great before it even started. It’s going so well, in fact that..

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah…that’s a furry pillow. Those are also, according to what I’ve been told, what are known as “sham” pillows? They serve absolutely no function whatsoever, and I’m told you can’t use them to sleep on. Yet, there they sit, in all their non-functioning glory. But, they make my gal happy, so I’m good with it.

Maksim is also doing great! At his parent-teacher conference (which was not without it’s own measure of drama), the teacher had great things to say about him, and even let me know that I was able to come in and read a book to the kids! I’m sorry, but I am just pretty much over the moon about that last fact. I can only hope that his teacher is ready for me to come in there and read a book to 27 Kindergarten aged kids. I’m guessing, she’s not.

Mak Daddy’s been losing more and more teeth these days. He currently has what looks like a Tetris piece in the front of his mouth.

 

Also, my view changed recently…

GOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING FORT WAYNE!!!!!

You probably noticed right away that I’m no longer on the city side of the building I live in. That’s actually ok with me nowadays. I’ve had more than my fair share of the city views over the last couple years, and I’m honestly looking forward to having the sun greet me every morning. Also, it will hopefully help me wake up better, since I have no blinds/curtains.

Yesterday was moving day. It was a long and (at times) arduous task. However, I had some great help from some Mormon Missionaries that live in my building and also in the city. Great guys. Super positive and willing to help. Also, great to talk to. We had a long Gospel Discussion last week, before the move, and they were very insightful young men. But, one thing kind of struck me as we were moving things.

I have a lot of hand-me-down items from my family.

Like….a lot…

So, as these things were being once again (I counted it up, and I’ve moved 10 times since moving to Fort Wayne in 2006-ish), I finally started to question things. Why do I have all these things that came from my family? Do I need all of them? Should I just give them away? And I found that, not only could I make an interesting blog post out of these questions and their subsequent answers, but I could also learn a little bit about myself in the process.

I own these items from my family, for my family. I own them because they keep the memories of family members that have since left this world, as well as family members that are still here. Most importantly though, I own these things because they are the best reminders of the lessons I’ve learned from my family over the years.

I still have the marble top table that sits in the living room because a long time ago, when I was younger than Maksim is now, I learned that it’s ok to hide out under there sometimes. In life, it’s ok to hide out under life’s little tables and be invisible for a while. But, just for a while. You eventually have to come out from under that table.

I have the old ironing board from my great-grandma Ruthie, because I learned from her a long time ago that it’s important to be a proper gentleman. One of the things that I’ve learned about that endeavor, is that it’s imperative to have a well-pressed shirt. In order to do that, I needed to know how to iron a shirt properly. That’s where Grandma Gail came in. However, no, I will not be ironing your shirts for you, regardless of how much it’s worth to you.

I have the old mirror from the original A-Frame lake house because of my Grandpa Larry. He always used to tell me, “Christopher, never let ’em see you down, and always remember to smile.” So, I practice sometimes. It helps, even on the days when I don’t want to smile at anyone or anything. I also have David Bowie Bird because of Grandpa Larry. But, that’s a different story and blog post altogether.

I have Grandpa Joe’s old hat, not because I can still wear it. That ship has sailed years ago. I have it because Maksim can, and it’s important to me that Maksim knows that real men existed in his paternal family tree. I also want him to know and understand that it’s ok to look presentable whenever possible. For the record, he has now been taught that women go through doors first. Next up, holding the door.

I have converted the old hutch that belonged to Grandma Ruthie into a bar, because I feel like Ruthie would be proud of the bartender I have become, and would enjoy a gin and tonic made by me, for her.

I have Great Grandma Emma’s old flour jar in the kitchen because it helps me to remember countless family lunches around her and Grandpa Vic’s table as a child. I fell in love with Kraft Macaroni and Cheese at that table, and also was surrounded by love and family every single time. Plus, I still strive to one day be half the cook she was.

I have all of these things with me, and more, because they help tell the story of my life through the lessons that were given to me as a child from my family members. It also helps them to be with me along my life’s journey, even if they can’t be there in person. I hope to have some of these things with me still when I start a family, because I will want my family members who have helped shape me into the man I am today to be with me as I grow into that role as well.

Moving day is always a little emotional, and for reasons that I won’t get into, it was a tremendous relief and allowed me to get rid of some bad juju. However, it’s the times like these where I begin a new chapter and a new part of the journey that I constantly get reminded why I’m doing it.

To make those who sacrificed their time, money, patience, schedules, and so much more to make my life and my childhood a great one; feel like they have done the great job I know they have, that they are partly responsible for the happiness I am not able to enjoy, and that they are loved by me beyond words.

New room. New morning view. Same journey. I’m ready.

Until next time, keep ambition in your heart, logic in your mind, and allow yourself to continue the pursuit.

 

Untitled

My mom said to me, “You haven’t written in a while.”

“I know.”

I don’t know if there’s a specific reason for it either. I just know that I haven’t really known what to write about lately. Or maybe it’s the opposite of that. There’s just too much to write about. Too much on my mind to properly craft a single blog post out of it all. It’s been weird since my last post. Lots of good. A bit of bad. The bad was sometimes worse than it’d ever been in a really long time…

And just like that while I’m writing, music comes in with it’s usual poignancy in my life.

“I’m not ok. I promise.”

That’s the truth people. Like it or not. Expect it or not. Accept it or not.

I’m really not ok. Things aren’t ok. Then again, things haven’t been ok for a long time now. By a long time, I mean probably somewhere around 8 years. Probably even longer than that really, but I think that there was a pretty good stretch there between 2003-07 where things were pretty good, or at least more good than bad.

Is my life hard now? Not really, it’s actually improving a lot. It’s getting to a point where my bills don’t hold me 3 inches under the proverbial water. It’s getting to a point where I can look people in the fucking eye and not feel like a complete and total failure and a fraud and a joke.

But, no man, I’m not fucking ok. Not at all.

My job is awesome now. I’m only responsible for one thing. Doing what I’m good at and being creative. No sales. No appointment scheduling. No long term follow up. No cold calling. No getting threatened by my boss. No bullshit I never wanted to do anyway. I go to work and am not disappointed with my choice in any way, shape, or form.

But no man, I’m not ok. I promise.

It’s just taken as a generally accepted truth that I’m doing great. That I have things under control. That I’m optimistic and driven and a good father and a great listener and a better friend. The general consensus is that I’m a 33 year old man with a definite goal in mind. A purpose and a drive that’s all but mundane. A mind that has no limitations and the mental strength to accept and thrive in the responsibility placed upon someone with those abilities. A personality that captures people’s attention, or as a friend of mine once put it “You’re a force.”

But, I’m not ok. I promise. I swear to God I’m not.

There are all these good things going on in my life recently. New job, new outlook on life, newly single, more opportunities to spend time with my son, etc., etc., etc. Even most days, I am good enough at hiding my emotions (I’ll always be grateful for that ability though, regardless of what you may think about doing so) that I don’t think about the fact that it was only about 2 months ago when I had to start all over. Literally all over. Like, buy new furniture, silverware, soap, laundry detergent, fucking tin foil, everything.

-Sorry grandma and mom for my language, but I’m not ok. I promise.

The starting over process was something that I won’t ever want to take back though, I don’t think. It reminded me how I got whatever it was that I still had in my apartment after the move-out. By trusting my instincts, come hell or high water. By trusting in my ability to grind and endure and persevere. It helped to re-galvanize my resolve, because I was going to be damned if I let what happened bring me back down into that place I was in before. Not knowing how I was going to pay my bills. Sitting in my apartment watching a tow truck take my car away with my then 4 year old son asking me why they were taking away daddy’s car. Don’t ever go through that, folks. You’ll never find the right words to say because you’ll be too busy falling to pieces in front of your kid. It’s pretty ugly.

Times like these; when I look around and I start to see that all my hard work and perseverance and stubbornness to stick to my plan finally starting to work out, these are the times when I remember the things that were said to me. When the ex girlfriend, years ago, said she couldn’t wait to run into me later on in life, when I was actually successful. When the company I so desperately tried to get into denied me time and time again. When the coach told me that I should just quit and go work at the gas station in Berne. Hey, it may not have come on your time, but damn it, it came. And I don’t regret anything I did or will do to continue this path. It’s just hard, and makes me weary at times.

I had to ask for help when I shouldn’t have had to. I’ve been helped out by some very unlikely heroes when others couldn’t/wouldn’t help me. And no matter what anyone can ever tell you, I have been grateful for every single bit of good done to me along the way. I appreciate every single opportunity given to me. Still though, that doesn’t always make things better.

So, no, I’m not ok. I’ve been through enough to make a lesser man breakdown and never recover. I’ve seen and experienced some things that will be more stressful than anything you’ll likely ever have to go through. And if, by some horrible form of luck, you share or can beat my stories; I will extend to you my hand, tell you I get it, and offer to buy you a drink. Because that’s what people do. Or at least, it’s what they should do.

Sorry if I ruined your cheery outlook on my life. But, here’s the good news. I’m happy. I’m happy with not being ok. To me, it just means that I’m not quite where I want to be yet. The good news is that I’m optimistic and upbeat about my opportunities. I’m graciously accepting the good that’s coming my way instead of trying to find the bad things 10 miles down the road that won’t even come up in the end. I’m happy not being ok. Ok sucks. Ok is complacent. Ok is satisfied. Ok is settling. Ok is answering the 1am phone calls from the person you know you need to stay away from. Ok is allowing people to take advantage of your kind heart. Ok is answering “I’m surviving” to the question about your current condition. Ok is working that job you think you should just take because it’ll pay the bills and allow you to scrape by.

Fuck ok.

“If you do not claim your humanity, you will become a statistic. You have been warned.”

Stop being ok. Abhor ok. It’s not worth the time that is so precious and limited in this life anyway.

 

The Matrix has you…

As I was standing on my balcony this morning, brushing my teeth in my towel (yes, when it gets warmer, I undertake this task in the nude many times), a strange notion came to mind. Cell phones are becoming the electronic replacement for our brains.

 

Think about it, when’s the last time you were out and did NOT take a picture? I remember when I was younger, I was in very few pictures with people. I just didn’t do it. When people would ask me why I didn’t want to be in the picture, I would tell them it’s because I want my mind to remember the moment I was in and not have to rely on a photograph in order to do so. Nowadays, that’s all people ever do. They snap a picture, upload their memory to the mysterious cloud, and that’s it. No brain power required. You just stumble across that photo later on and, if you’re lucky, you’ll actually be taken back to that moment in your mind.

 

There’s more to it of course. When someone asks you a question, what do you do? I would be willing to wager that the majority (at least more than 50% of the time anyway), most people turn to their phones to Google the answer. If you ask my friend a question that he doesn’t know, he just speaks to his phone and awaits the answer. That’s not just for questions that are difficult either. That’s for just about anything. That’s not to say he’s unintelligent, either. He just relies on the technology to do the brainwork for him. 

When people are interested to know how much to tip your waiter or waitress at a restaurant, I constantly see people pulling their phones out to calculate the percentage of their bill that they deem an appropriate tip. By the way, shame on you if you a) don’t know how to do simple division and/or b) tip less than 20% unless the waiter/waitress is absolutely awful. You want to know how to spell a word? Just type it in and the little red squiggly lines will show up if you’re wrong. Shame on you also if you are still unsure about your/you’re and there/their/they’re, take some responsibility already.

The makers of these devices know this, or at least that’s what I theorized this morning as I was getting my morning started. Continuing down that rabbit hole, it came to me that these cell phone/device companies and ultimately the service providers they produce their devices for, are locked in a struggle for the minds of their customers. It’s like a new-age energy race. Who can lay claim to the most collective brain power. And we’re all just sitting back and allowing ourselves to snap, tweet, post and like our consciousnesses into their banks.

This was quite a thought to have this morning. Maybe I ate too much spicy food the night before? But maybe I was thinking about my son. Maybe it scares me to see him on his Kindle playing games, at 5. Maybe it makes me nervous for him that he’s shy around other children and I find myself blaming myself for not encouraging him to interact with the physical world around him more while we’re out. Maybe him interacting with the world around him scares me too because I remember when I was his age and a stranger asked me to go home with him to “play his video games”. I just know that, when I’m 85 and all wrinkly (but a dignified, Harrison Ford kind of wrinkly), I hope that I won’t have to rely on a machine to do my remembering for me. I hope that the moments between the photos are what I remember most, not the photo moment itself. I hope that I won’t have to pay for my thoughts.

Vanity. My favorite sin.

I’ve been kicking around this post for a few days now. It came to me really quickly one night as I was watching a movie that I’ve been a fan of for quite a while, but I wasn’t sure about if I should post it. Typically, when a bit of inspiration comes to me to write, I go through a kind of checklist before I make a post. I question whether or not I should write it, what I hope to accomplish by it, and other related questions that need real answers before I can go forward with it. Lately, those questions haven’t netted any satisfactory results. Ok, I think it’s more like, for the past 6 months there haven’t been any satisfactory answers or results.

Lately though, things have really been looking up for me, which helps me in all sorts of ways, and that feels so good. New doors have opened for me because of my willingness to allow good things to happen to me. I have gained a lot of the confidence back that I had lost long long ago. I am no longer so worried about how I’m going to make ends meet. Instead, I’m worried about how I’m going to handle having a life with less financial stress. I’m excited to go to work and work hard because I know that there’s a definite plan in place to help me succeed. I’ve been offered more jobs than I can take, and I have been able to turn down interviews with good companies. There was a time when I’d jump through any hoop possible, just to get an interview scheduled. It’s a feeling that I guess you could call “surreal”, but it’s a confusing kind of surreal. Confusing, because I am just getting to this point now.

I kept thinking about that too. And asking why, as I so often do. I tried to figure out where things went awry and why I struggled so much. It wasn’t easy to do either. It took me quite a while to really get down to the brass tacks.

The movie “The Devil’s Advocate” is a little more than 2 hours long. That’s about how long it took me to realize why things were so weird for me for so long. In reality, it was one scene that really made the lightbulb go on though.

Al Pacino plays the Devil in such an impressive way, doesn’t he? However, it’s his point that he makes about vanity that brought everything all together. “Vanity is definitely my favorite sin.” A simple enough sentence, right? If you’ve seen the movie, you understand why vanity was the motivation behind this scene. I’m not a lawyer, so that wasn’t what captured my interest. It was the underlying issue. I took a long hard look at that concept. It made too much sense to me to not be scary. Self-love, the all-natural opiate. And I am an addict.

Hello, my name is Chris, and I’m a vanit-aholic. I care what you think too much, and it almost wrecked my life. I cared about what my image looked like to everyone for years, decades even. I cared that people looked at me differently when I was younger for various reasons. I cared so much about my image that I quit things that I love and closed off parts of my personality in order to be liked more, because it made me like me more when I knew that others liked me more. I cared about my image so much that I was too arrogant to notice that I was living way beyond my means. I tried to portray myself as someone that I really wasn’t because I believed that it made me a more interesting person. I thought about what people would think or say about everything I did, because I am addicted to self-love. It’s a scary thing. Knowing that your current station in life is due to the unreasonable priority you place on public opinion. I was so ashamed of my self-love that I would blame anyone else but myself for the struggles I have in my life. I did so, because I didn’t want to look at myself and not like what I saw. I had a problem with my conscience, and it needed to change.

This is not reality. The cliche is not real. There’s never have the angel on your shoulder. The angel is locked in a basement with duct tape on its mouth and tied up to a chair. The angel is the guy who you know you should hang out with more, but he doesn’t like to go out and do things. He doesn’t want to make friends with everyone for no other reason than the need to seek further approval. He wants to stay in and work on projects that will help your career goals, not go sing karaoke and see how cheesy you can get on the mic.

This is what reality is.

He is the guy you want to be. It’s the guy who has the cool new car every couple of years, while I’m struggling to pay off mine. The guy who doesn’t have to worry about explaining himself to anyone, for any reason, regardless of the consequences. Who wants me to get to that project…just…later, because the deadline is still days/weeks away and what’s another night out anyway, right? You have the cash now, you can afford it. It’s just money, you can make more, right? Who is cool with me crashing on his couch when I know I should just go home, because hey man, he understands what it’s like to have a nagging girlfriend. He even had one too, once. Who has all the cool stuff. Has the great view. The connections. The cool job that seems unrealistically high paying with respect to the amount of work he seems to do. When work needs done, the devil on my shoulder will remind me that I’m so intelligent that I don’t have to worry about working on it until just before it’s due. He’ll remind me that I can still get to (insert personal goal here) in time, but I don’t have to start working on it now because there’s something more fun to do now. And it all makes so much sense. It’s really only about one thing though. It’s not about the times, or the drinks, or the late nights. It’s because I would get to get high again. Not from drugs in the traditional sense. It’s my drug of choice, approval.

The rush of a new face, a new opinion, a new connection, is the most powerful drug I’ve ever been in contact with. It was so powerful that it made me resent my talents. It made it so easy to forget who I was because I was so busy looking for the next fix. Vanity. It was my addiction. It IS my addiction. The need for connections. It completely shrouded the underlying issues going on in my life. Obligations piling up because I set them aside for the next opportunity to meet, network, bullshit, whatever. I was oblivious to the real problem because I couldn’t identify the root cause, or maybe I was just in denial of it. One scene from one movie made it obvious to me what was going on. How crazy is that?

So, problem identified. Now what, right? I took a long look at the way I was doing things. I was chasing too much. I was trying to force the cards in my hand to change by showing my hand to the dealer and asking why he made me pick them up. For some reason, after having watched this movie so many times, this time in particular made everything click. I picked up those cards. If it were a game of 5 card draw, I threw away four-of-a-kind because I was hoping to draw a Royal Flush. I threw it away because of “advice” I received from someone that wasn’t even in the game. And like Lomax, the ultimate moment of truth came in realizing that what I had would have done just fine. I didn’t need to chase anymore. I don’t need to chase anymore.

I think this vanity thing is about never being able to be comfortable in your own skin. To never accept who you are, because you’re always trying to reinvent yourself to meet the approval of people. That’s hard work. It’s exhausting work to be in a constant state of want. But, it’s kind of like a sack of bricks. All you gotta do, is let it go. Have I done that completely? Probably not. At least I know what the cause is though. That makes it easier to handle.

No clever saying at the end today. It’s the beginning.

Hi, my name is Chris. I’m addicted to your opinion of me. And I am 11 hours sober.

 

 

Still looking for that groove..

Hi there, I’m back again, for the 3rd or 33rd time, depending on what your perspective is. It’s been what, 6 months or so since my last post? A considerable passage of time, seeing how I was really hoping that I could keep up some consistency with this blog. It seemed like there were a few people who enjoyed my words. I’m sorry to those people who were hoping for more out of me, I’ll do my best to not let you down. Again.

So, I suppose the obligatory “bring me up to speed with you” thing is in order here, right? Well, let’s see. Since I last wrote:

• I found a new job.
• Loved that job.
• Rocked that job (800% increase in traffic in less than 6 months, total humble brag, I know).
• Got fired from that job, most unceremoniously (no, I won’t get into the details online. I’m not THAT guy).
• Took my girlfriend to a couple country concerts. Yes, I said country concerts. Yes, it’s still me writing this blog. Here’s proof.

First show with Miranda Lambert. We were close!

Jana Kramer at the casino. She was pleased with this as well.

• Watched my little boy grow up even more in front of my very eyes (He’s still growing at an alarming rate).

There are other details and such that I’m leaving out, mostly on purpose because they’re frankly none of your business, but I will say that things have been pretty good in the time since I last wrote, for the most part.

But, there’s still something that’s been bothering me all this time.

I’m jealous.

I’m jealous of you, person who doesn’t have to worry about the burden of seemingly unending student loan payments.

I’m jealous of you, person who knew exactly what they wanted to do once they graduated college and found the exact job they were looking for and haven’t looked back since, because that’s what you wanted and that’s enough for you.

I’m jealous of you, person who knows nothing about what it’s like to watch your child go back to their other parent and know that everything you try to teach them is going to be completely disregarded and likely undone once he gets back there.

I’m especially jealous of you, person who lived a relatively safe life and doesn’t have to worry about consequences from old events coming back to complicate your current life.

This jealousy has consumed me, in some regards, and has made me cynical about the world around me. I have made myself believe that I have some kind of sign on my back that says “Don’t Hire”, that I’m somehow “black listed” by ad agencies around here, that I’m somehow doomed to having to learn to live with the fact that my son won’t grow up near me, etc. Are these things true? I’d surely think not. But it’s not what you know, as Denzel told us in Training Day, it’s what you can prove. And therein, as it’s said, lies the rub.

I tend to think of my skills and abilities similar to the way people used to look at Kevin Garnett as a high schooler. Most people only see the highlights and think “He must have been impressive to watch all the time.” But, what people probably don’t know is that he was almost passed on because he was actually a terrible practice player. The drills he was put through made him look like a bumbling mess. Uncoordinated. Inexperienced. Not worthy of the $126 Million contract he’d command just a few years later in the NBA (which is still one of the top 5 largest NBA contract..in the history of the NBA..).

After looking terrible to a scout that was trying to evaluate his worthiness to step into the role of a franchise player, he finally just said to the agent “Look, just let me play in the game.” When he did, that agent saw the reasons why Garnett would be one of the highest paid players in the history of the NBA (of course that’s as of today, who knows what will happen tomorrow). I promise, I’m coming to a point here.

On paper, on a resume, I don’t look like much. That’s what I’ve come to assume anyway, being passed on by more than my fair share of job opportunities for which I have felt more than qualified. However, put me in the game, and I can perform as well as anyone in my field. Except that somehow goes unnoticed.

I don’t have a fancy list of accomplishments. I don’t have an unending stack of recommendations from all the mucky-mucks required to look important. Like I’ve always said about myself, I’m just a small town nobody trying to be somebody. I’ve been stuck in the drills all this time. Stumbling around in positions that don’t really utilize my real talents. Waiting for my chance to just get into the game. My chance to get into my groove. See how I brought that all back to the title?

 

It’s the chance to get into my groove that makes me jealous, because I am not sure what it is that makes it such a challenge for me to get into mine while others seem to fall right into it. I guess that’s what these last 6 months have been about. Trying to find that groove, thinking I was in it, and then being ripped out of it and having to start over. Everyone says that things happen for a reason, right? We’ll see what this reason is this time I suppose. In the meantime, I’ll just have to keep on running the drills and working on my footwork.

 

Until next time; always keep ambition in your heart, logic in your mind, and allow yourself to continue the pursuit.