The enigma that is man…Just Jot it January

#JusJoJan 2019 Daily Prompt – Jan. 4th

Today’s prompt is enigma.

I don’t understand…

Why, centuries after man embarked on the ages of “Enlightenment” and “Reason” we are more devoid of both than in any period in history…

Why the least accomplished generation ever is the most over-documented and photographed…

Why we have devolved into listening only with the intent of waiting our turn to speak and ignoring what is being said…

Why we have so much ability to judge and almost none to evaluate and improve our own selves…

Why we continue to hate and murder in the name of “religions” that proclaim peace and love..

Why we use people and idolize things when we should idolize people and use things…

Why we harnessed the laws of Science and Nature to create pollution and weapons capable of destroying both…

Why we chastise those of color and then lie in the sun to look like them…

Why we chase the appearance of youth when we should be embracing the grace and wisdom of our years…

Why we idolize the wealthy celebrity and demonize the calloused hands of the working man…

Man truly is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, surrounded by a puzzle.

I don’t get it..

The Superman Saga…Just Jot it January

#JusJoJan 2019 Daily Prompt – Jan. 3rd

Today’s JusJotJan topic is a good one.

The prompt for JusJoJan 2019, January 3rd, is your blog. Why did you start blogging? How did you come up with your theme, if you have one? How has it changed your life? Tell us about your blog in your jot!

My blog definitely has a story behind it.

The name Superman can’t find a phone booth has a history. Through various phases of my life, I have been dubbed the moniker “Superman” in good and bad contexts alike. I have always tried to save the day. I was always able to stay up late, get up early and get through the day. But the most recent incarnation was when my wife, frustrated at my failure to stay at home, feel sick and dwell on my illness, chastised me for my stubbornness and said “Ok Superman! Do what you want, you’re bulletproof I guess!”

It wasn’t her fault, I was being stubborn. To me, not acting sick is the key to feeling healthy.

What she didn’t understand was that my insistence on dealing with my illness, failing career and mounting debt was to be strong, or at least act it for the sake of my worried children. But as I got sicker, I found that I was running out of outlets to find solace. In short, as dated as the metaphor may be, I was running out of Phone Booths to change into my Man of Steel costume. And CKD was my Kryptonite.

In August of 2017, the final step in the collapse of my life as I knew it occurred. I moved in with my mother, who lived over 100 miles from my entire world. I had lost my job, my Kidney disease had progressed to the point where I could no longer work, my family split up and we were forced to give up our house, I was forced to apply for Disability and ask my mother to support me until I could pay her back. While my life had been hanging on by a thread in every way for a long time, it had officially spiraled down the drain. A 2013 Honda Civic loaded with all of the belongings I could carry was all that I had left.

The marriage wasn’t a surprise. We hadn’t been happy in years. We had stayed together for the kids. I loved, more than anything seeing them everyday and there was no Shitburger for me to eat that was too big to take that away from me. Until Chronic Kidney Disease that is. Divorce soon followed.

I took the opportunity once I was settled into my new surroundings to take a hard look at my life. Where I was, who I was and where do I go next raced through my head day and night. One night, while enjoying a moonlit NH night, it occurred to me that it may help to write it down for a bunch of strangers to read.

But what to call it? It then dawned on me. Superman can’t find a phone booth. Talk about a theme to draw from.

I set out to be honest, brutally at times, with myself and I put my words to keyboard accordingly. I wrote about everything that came to mind. I didn’t draw much attention at first but those that did read me related to my story. Some even felt inspired by it. That meant the world to me. It still does.

I can’t tell you how it will end up, my story hasn’t been fully told yet.

Stay tuned…


Give a little, get a lot

There’s an old adage that states:
“You can’t help those who can’t help themselves.”

While this is largely true there is a caveat. You still need to try.

It all started with a phone call from a friend and Masonic brother after 10 PM on a Saturday night in October. Despite the bond between Masonic brothers being mighty and strong, the late hour, and that this particular brother is long-winded and hard to get off the phone, I chose to let it go to voicemail. He immediately texted me imploring me to call him. I did.

He was in jail.

It turns out my Masonic brother, who is held to a higher standard by our fraternity and by his own commitment to be a better all-around man, was pulled over for speeding and then arrested for outstanding warrants. He was unlicensed, uninsured and in violation of not paying 2 years of child support. He needed my help, in particular he needed money. His car was impounded and he needed 500 dollars.

I offered my ear, the full extent of my advice and any resources I had to offer but I had no money to give. I implored him to reach out to his family. What he then told me made me realize that I actually knew very little about my friend.

I always knew that he was under-employed. When I reconnected with him 7 years ago (we were friends in HS) he was working part time which I thought was odd for a man my age with children. What I didn’t know, and learned that night, was that he hasn’t worked at all in 2 years. His girlfriend he lives with had finally grown tired of supporting him and asked him to move out. His mother refuses to have him stay at her house. His 2 ex wives hate him. He is in a deep depression, and he is blaming his current situation on it.

The temptation to be judgmental was overwhelming. I had serious questions and opinions on how he had let himself get into this situation. In particular how just getting a damn job could have prevented all of this. But it would have been kicking a man while he is down, it’s not my style and it isn’t helpful. I needed to help him then and kick his ass later.

I implored him to reach out to anyone in his family that he can borrow from to get his car out of impound. He called me the next morning, his son had stepped up and helped him.

I have seen him regularly since then. He still has no car or license, he has been sofa-hopping every night, a hearing for his support is pending and he isn’t working. To be fair, without a car or a mailing address he really can’t work. But in my heart of heart I knew that he wasn’t trying. He was doing the one thing I hate the most…feeling bad for himself. Still, I withheld judgement.

Last night he called me. The situation was critical. He is officially completely broke, has nowhere to stay and has noone to turn to. I talked to him for hours, but after hour 3 I realized that he has a fatal character flaw. He doesn’t listen, he merely waits to talk again. I wasn’t getting through to him. I verified that he had a place to sleep that night and ended the conversation for the night. I went to bed but didn’t sleep well. I was very worried about my friend.

This morning he called me early. He was in tears. He had been a closed off rock before, not being able to ask anyone for help and not taking advice, now he had finally lost it. He cried into the receiver about how he wanted to be a better man, how he couldn’t take feeling like this anymore but he didn’t know where to turn. For the first time, he was willing to hear my thoughts. I again resisted the urge to give some tough love, some hard advice. It still wasn’t the time. He needed some stability to get his tears out, not worry about where he would lay his head that night or where his next meal will come from. I told him to hold tight, that I would call him back.

Before I go any further let me say that if I wasn’t 100 miles away I would take him in in a second. But I can’t.

But I had another idea. A mutual friend and Masonic brother of ours had a spare room and had previously offered it to me. He had also mentioned that he would offer it to our friend if it absolutely came to that. I called him and told him that it had indeed come to that and I updated him on the status of our friend. We both agreed that something had to be done. Inaction could result in something tragic and neither of us could live with it having not done something.

He was open to the idea of letting our friend stay with him but he had some genuine, legitimate concerns. He is also struggling financially. He can barely feed himself and is wary of having another mouth to feed. This is a fair assessment, our friend doesn’t have any means to support himself and would need some generosity for a while. We talked about his own situation for a while. We had concluded that it would be a temporary help for our friend and other than financial, it wouldn’t put him out. In fact, he would welcome the company. But still, there was the matter of money.

I told him that I would give him a check for $200.00 to pay for enough groceries for one month. I really don’t have it to spare but I need to do something. He was taken back by my offer but grateful. He thanked me for the offer but he would have to call me back. He recognized the urgency but needed a moment to think. Before he hung up he asked me where our friend was staying. I gave him the address.

I just received a call from my distressed friend. He was picked up an hour ago and he is enroute to his temporary shelter. He tearfully thanked me for my assistance and pledged his undying gratitude. I told him to take the reprieve to assess, recover, relax and game plan his return to being a productive citizen.

I don’t know where he will be in a month. I plan on visiting them on Sunday to get a better feel for where he is going. I want to thank my friend and Masonic brother for putting our brother up. For now, I don’t have to worry about him succumbing to his depression.

I don’t have much in the way of assets, but I am always going to be as generous as my situation allows with what I do have. Empathy, a soft shoulder, a cache of hard-earned wisdom and a meager but consistent bank account can go a long way.

No-one can do everything. But everyone can do something.

Superman out.

My wish for the New Year

You can work on “you” any time during the year. Change takes place only when one is truly ready. That is why I prefer to create a wish list each year of what I want changed in the world. If I am able to walk this planet with such goals in mind, maybe my example will inspire others and real change can happen.
I wish the following:
to the parents struggling to care for their family, may they be able to provide sustenance and love for their children
to the first responder running towards danger when others run from it, may you always stay safe
to the soldier thousands of miles from those that love you, may your mission be righteous and your body unscathed
to the healthcare workers who do more for others than they do for themselves, may their selflessness be recognized and appreciated
to the bullied child, may your struggles be recognized before it’s too late
to the bully, may you see the error of your ways
to the ill, may you experience healing and recovery
to the grieving, may you experience closure and peace
to the hungry, may your plate always be full
to our leaders, may they do what is right, not what is profitable or electable
to the disenfranchised, the angry and the frustrated, may you find an outlet and peace in your heart
to the practitioners of hate and division, may you become part of the solution, not part of the problem
to those that chose the path of honesty and integrity, may you never second-guess that choice
to those who are glued to screens,may you look away and see the beauty all around you
to those fighting a hard battle, may the people you meet treat you with kindness and respect.

Here’s to a better you. A better us. A better world. It’s up to us to make it a good year.

Here’s to you.

the name’s Humbug…Bah Humbug

Another Christmas is upon me. Thus begins the annual battle with my love/hate relationship with Christmas. I love what it represents, but I hate what it has become. It’s exhausting to smile with the exuberant lovers of the holiday when, deep inside, I really don’t give a shit.

Please don’t think me cold or uncaring. Unlike most, I don’t feel compelled to share misery like a cold. I keep it to myself. I am as moved as anyone by the excitement of a child tearing open a present. I am as inspired as anyone by the generosity of the season. I am not above respect for the kindness shown from the day after Thanksgiving until midnight on December 25th, at which time I warmly welcome the world returning to its joyless, materialistic and selfish self.

I’m not a Grinch. I’m just realistic and call it like I see it. Christmas is a truce in the war on humanity.

I didn’t always feel this way. As a child I bought into the whole experience. I enjoyed the bustle of the stores. I liked the music. I liked the gentle ringing of the Salvation Army volunteer standing in the cold outside of the stores. And of course I loved getting presents. As I got a little older I developed a contradictory set of emotions that would later morph into disdain.

My father was raised very poor. Through hard work and pure piss and vinegar he proudly elevated us to lower middle-class. We didn’t have a lot, but we always had enough. My father, in a admirable attempt to compensate for his shitty childhood, worked his narrow ass into the ground to shower us with gifts, especially my mother. He worked excessive overtime and side jobs to pay for Christmas. He started early in the season and didn’t stop until the mall padlocked the doors on Christmas Eve. He couldn’t afford it, he paid for it all year, but he did it anyways. He was so intent on pleasing us, his expression of anticipation glued to his face as we opened gifts. I learned early that even if you didn’t like the gift you had better pretend that you did. This was especially true with my mother. He loved her so. He would repeatedly ask her if she was pleased with her gifts. She always was, fortunately, because his fragile ego depended on it. He loved us, he loved the holiday. He sacrificed so much.

As much as I appreciated that, it bothered me tremendously. I knew at an early age that my father put too much emphasis on stuff. He was overcompensating for the abject poverty of his youth. He wanted better for me. What he didn’t understand was that he was the gift, not the stuff. I just wanted to spend time with him, for him to come home from work while I was awake. So many nights he was called into work, many of them Christmas Eve’s, because someone ran out of oil or lost their heat. I respected the shit out of it, but I wished he was home instead. He worked himself to the bone and I began to feel guilty. A Wonderful Life is a lot better when you watch it with your Dad.

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When I became a parent, we did the best we could to give our children an amazing experience. My wife did all of the shopping and wrapping. God bless her, I couldn’t do it. I was in charge of assembly, working late into the night after struggling to get 4 excited kids to sleep. We would be woken at 3:30 or 4 to the sound of them rustling under the tree, barely able to contain themselves. We ignored them until 6, my wife being very clear that we would not get up before. At 5:59 they were jumping on the bed. Exhausted but resigned to our fate, we got up. Despite our best efforts to make the opening of presents organized and last for a while, they tore through them like a Oklahoma Tornado through a trailer park. Over before we knew it. As Rodney Dangerfield famously joked about sex, “the hours of bullshit weren’t worth the 30 seconds of pleasure”. My wife would then help the kids move their presents to their rooms and clean up. By 10 AM you would never know that a holiday had occurred…all of the evidence was gone. As Grinch-ish as I could be, I hated the quick clean. For the sake of the kids I wanted it to last. The excitement, the gratitude, the beautiful smiles made me happy. I enjoyed the day vicariously as a parent. Truly a fond memory.

As a husband, Christmas became one more day to dread. My wife ruined it for me. I will never know how someone capable of all of that preparation, organization, and detail with gifts couldn’t handle my mother and father coming over. After a few years of consistent shit storms, her being uptight, anxious and rude to my parents, I began to dislike the holiday. The drama and fallout became more than I could handle and Seasonal excitement became a feeling of impending doom.

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Now, the children are grown. The notion of a fat man in a red suit has been put away for their someday children. We no longer have a house to put up a tree and we are far apart. We will get together for dinner and a modest exchange of gifts. The hard lesson of rampant consumerism is firmly ingrained in my chidren. They witnessed a Bankruptcy and a Foreclosure as a result of their parents living beyond their means and buying gifts they couldn’t afford. I suppose it taught them an appreciation. For me, the lesson affirmed what I always sensed. That memories of time spent together with family are so infinitely more memorable than stuff.

My dad and I sat down over a beer and a burger when I was in my late thirties. He asked me if I resented him for being at work so much. I patted him on the arm and told him that I respected him for it. I then told him that what I had wished most for was moments like the one we were having. His greatest gift was a work ethic and a spirit of generosity. An appreciation of good thoughts and intentions. What I hated was the toll it took on his body.

I have yet to reconcile myself with the joy of the Holiday. Religious fervor over the birth of the Messiah aside, I see much more fake than just the trees. To paraphrase The Sixth Sense, “I see fake people.” People that wish you a Happy Holiday and then flip you off in the parking lot. People who act religious but only go to Church once a year. Everyone tries to be so nice, why can’t that last all year?

The Consumerism kills me as well. I wish that people cared as much about the time to be spent together with family as they do about saving 100 bucks on a Flat Screen TV. There is nothing quite like the sound of people stampeding and rioting in the electronics section of Wal-Mart as Joy to the World/Peace on Earth blares over the sound system in a futile and pathetic attempt to drown them out.

The false Charity bothers me to my core. While some people indeed do magnificent gestures such as paying off Layaways and Toys for Tots, many choose to be charitable only at Christmas. Once it is over they go back to their comfy lives. Food pantries and homeless shelters have a need year round, that is of course if it doesn’t interfere with your weekend in Aspen. No matter, the homeless and hungry will wait.

Maybe my attitude will change someday but I don’t suspect that it will. I don’t have a problem with people being happy. I will smile at their joy and feign my own. I will continue to be generous of spirit despite being light on funds. I will have love in my heart and a true desire to help anyone if within my means. I want peace on earth year round and forever going forward and I have goodwill towards my fellow man. It’s all I have and it will have to do. Just don’t ask me to buy into the rampant consumerism and fake joy.

I’m just not buying it.

a distinct and profound lack of motivation

To blog or not to blog…that is the question.

This is not one of those “I have nothing to write about so I’ll write about it” posts. I’ve just found it increasingly difficult to post lately. Health issues, daily life and a general lack of desire have consumed me. I have ideas, I have created many drafts waiting for some TLC and I have no intention of stopping. But I’m in a motivational rut.

I feel ok, not great. Dialysis kicks my ass to a certain degree. Despite all of the benefits, fatigue and washout are common the day of and often the next day as well. I may wake up eager to post but then I find I’m just too tired.

Dialysis is as time-consuming as a part-time job. My dialysis days have made it very difficult to find the time and energy to post. My time slot is 11:30 AM. I get up at 7. I watch the news and have my morning coffee. I take care of minor business like light housework or pay some bills and then I have to be out of the house by 10:40. I have a 30 minute drive, I need to report 20 minutes early, I’m in the chair for 4 hours on the machine and another 20 to make sure the bleeding has stopped and I am able to drive (dizziness and nausea are common after dialysis). Another 30 minute drive home and by then it’s almost dinner time. After dinner, I’m usually too tired to even think about writing. When I started dialysis I found a positive in sitting in a comfortable chair for 4 hours. I decided that I would have some great blogging time. What I found is that having to have my left arm perfectly still makes typing, or balancing a laptop near impossible. If I move my arm too much, the needles can move and cause an infiltrate. I did it once, it hurt to the point of keeping me up all night for 2 weeks. I’m relegated to reading a book with one hand (not as easy as it sounds) or watching TV. Such a waste of time on so many levels.

On off days, when I feel good I get out and do things. Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, Friday can be busy. I try to visit friends. I go down to MA as often as I can to stay involved with my Masonic Lodge. I see my kids whenever possible. I volunteer at 2 food pantries. These activities of course require me to feel well, and that is not always the case. Some days I can’t get off of the sofa. Therefore, for every one of those days that I do nothing, the next off day becomes even busier.

Blogging had become part of my daily routine. I always made time for it. This has created a conflict for me. It now becomes one more thing that I get mad at myself about when I don’t do it. Self-guilt is a powerful thing.

Blogging has been a wonderful experience for me. I have enjoyed catharsis I never dreamed of. I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve enjoyed sharing my story. I enjoyed the growth of my blog and the wonderful feedback of my followers. I’m very thankful for the people I’ve gotten to know on this site. Some of you I proudly call friends. That being said, I’m not impressed with the lack of traffic to my blog lately. Despite my decline in regular posting, when I do post I do my best to put something of quality out there. I try to be relatable, thought-provoking and interesting. Lately I get a few comments and a few likes and that’s it. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.

I am a blogger who “gets it”. I don’t click follow just to be followed. I follow you because I find you interesting. I read your posts, I don’t scroll and drop a uninspired “like”. I comment as often as I can. I offer feedback, anecdotes and I always try to be complimentary. I try to get to know you. I follow almost 170 blogs and I try to take time to catch up with all of them.

I have less than 400 followers. Some of you have thousands. It doesn’t bother me. I am grateful for all of them. The amount of followers means less to me than overall readership. I have some very regular readers who comment with great feedback. You know who you are and I appreciate you. But not even 5% seem to actually read me. The question begs to be asked. Who am I doing this for?

I’ve always subscribed to the notion, “the longer you stop doing something the harder it is to get back into it”. It’s definitely a real thing. Many days I have looked over at my laptop, hearing its call. It has been so difficult to answer. But I’m working on it and I look forward to returning to original form.

I’m still here.

Badge of honor

One of my favorite things about Christmas shopping is buying the occasional trinket for myself. I can’t help it. I only go in stores once a year so it makes sense that I would find things that I like, right?

This year is special. With the successful Disability claim I finally have an income. It’s a meager one but it’s something. It killed me last year to go into birthdays and holidays with no means to give gifts. I am a generous person by nature and I never go anywhere empty handed. My family understood, but it didn’t make me feel any better. This year I hit the stores.

I live 45 minutes from the nearest shopping center. I try to limit my visits to days that I do dialysis which is nearby. But this week I have gone in every day. I have been working closely with the Social Worker at the dialysis center on my ongoing Insurance issues. She is very knowledgeable and incredibly helpful but is only there on my off days. Therefore it’s taken all of this week to get to get it right.

Yesterday after Dialysis I went to get something for my mother. As I was walked by the Jewelry section a shiny object caught my eye. A Superman pendant. I wanted it. Now, if you know the name of my blog then you can see why this caught my attention. If you know the back story of why I named my blog as I did then you will further understand. I looked for an attendant but none were available. Alas, I was tired, wanting to get home so I left, knowing that I would be back today.

This morning I showed up at the dialysis center to find that the Social Worker wasn’t in and wouldn’t be for several hours. I decided that I would stay in the area and come back later. It was too much of a drive to go home and then come back. I went to get an oil change on my truck, did some food shopping and went back to the center. She was still not there.

I went back to the store. This time there was an attendant at the Jewelry counter. I asked the lovely red-head (my favorite…Grrrrrrrr)
named Ginger of all things to take the pendant out so that I could look at it. The price caused me to spin on my heels until she mentioned the word “discount”. Discount indeed, by the time she was done I bought if for 1/3 of the asking price.

As Ginger was ringing it up, she looked up and asked “any significance to the pendant?”
“Do you mean to say ‘why is a grown-ass man buying a Superhero pendant’?”
She turned a little red (pun intended), “No, I was just wondering if there is a story behind it.”
“There is, actually, but I don’t want to bore you.”
“Bore away”, she said, “It’s a slow day.”
I explained that I had a blog. About how my wife had derogatorily nicknamed me Superman because she thought I was so stubborn and hard-headed and invincible. I explained that being chronically ill, it helps me to wear the badge to remind me to be strong. She hung on every word.
“What’s your illness?” she asked.
I told her. She had a cousin that was on dialysis. I told her that I was as well. She told me that he was about my age, 46 or47. I told her that I was 53. She didn’t believe me and also told me that I look pretty damn good for a guy on dialysis. I told her that she just made my day.

She offered to box it up. I told her I would wear it out. She laughed. I walked out feeling like a man of steel.

Later, at the center, I resolved my insurance issues. As I stood up my pendant fell out of my shirt. The Social Worker commented.
“Nice pendant. Like your blog,right?”
Apparently the one Nurse that I showed it to spread the word. Not a bad thing I suppose.

I may find myself working my way back to the store to see Ginger again. After all, I do so love a redhead.

7 years

 Seven years ago today at this time I awoke from Anesthesia in a tented room. The first thing I noticed was the plethora of wires and tubes sticking out of my neck and arm. A doctor soon entered the room, followed by a team of nurses. They took my vitals and the doctor then asked me a few questions to test my mental acuity

“Sir, do you know what day it is?”
“Tuesday I think, unless I slept longer than I think” I replied foggily.
“Correct. When did you work last?”
“Yesterday.”

“And your last dialysis treatment?”
“Never did it.”

“Sir, we have a number that we use to determine how due someone is for Dialysis. 10 is average. Do you know what yours was?”
I nodded my head. His snarky attitude was pissing me off.
“110. You made it, but you were foolish and took a big risk.” He then walked out of the room condescendingly shaking his head.

Of course I avoided Dialysis. I would have lost my job. Then I would have lost my house and my family. I fought it with everything in my being for the longest time. And it worked, my Angel eventually came along and I got the gift of a new Kidney. It was an amazing gesture from a remarkably down to earth, humble young woman.

She was a co-worker. The daughter of my Assistant. I knew her pretty well but not well enough to think that she would do such an amazing thing.But it turns out that it is just the way she was.

I was hospitalized one day with a kidney-related infection, My boss came to visit me. He dropped it on me that Deb was willing to be tested. I was floored. When I returned to work the next week I first gave her a giant hug and then carefully explained to her the process.I thought for sure she would flinch. She didn’t.

Within a month her testing was done. She was a perfect match. It was scheduled soon after for Dec 13th.

Word soon got out among our customer base about the situation. It was big news. A local CBS affiliate came to our office to interview us. We were on the 6 O’clock news. The interview was priceless. When Deb was asked on film why she was doing this she curtly replied “I have 2,he needs one. I don’t want him to be on dialysis and lose his job so here we are. Short and sweet. For weeks after wherever I went people came up to me and said, “Hey, you’re that transplant guy I saw on the news!”

December 13 th arrived and we met at Tufts Hospital at 6 AM. My mother and father took me in, Deb was already there with hers. Our families had never met, so they exchanged pleasantries. We were all nervous but I was the only one to show it. At 6:30 the doctors called for us. I gave Deb a hug and told her that I would see her on the other side.

As you know I made it to the other side. I had a quick recovery, 33 days from surgery to return to work. Beyond my physical recovery I was tasked with reconciling with the overwhelming gratitude I felt towards Deb.

We became great friends. We made jokes. People at work were afraid to mess with either of us for fear of retribution from the other. She was tough, her famous joke was “Take care of that kidney or I’lltake it back.”
I believed her.

It’s somewhat painful to reminisce on this, given that her gift has failed and I am back to square one. I had the hardest time telling her because I was so torn that her gift hadn’t lasted longer. As if I hadn’t done my best to make it last. When I did tell her, she didn’t flinch but instead said “I hope it gave you what you were looking for, no matter how long it lasted.” A more grounded person have I never met.

Despite the physical viability being gone, her gift changed me profoundly in so many ways. Beyond giving me a new lease on life, it also transformed my attitude towards everything. It helped me to exemplify the traits that I had always wanted to dominate my life…gratitude, empathy, charity and humility. I was given the ultimate gift, that of life. I owe such a debt to Deb, her selflessness and generosity will never be forgotten.

I may have been wrong to dread Dialysis as much as I did. It’s no fun but it’s not nearly as bad as I thought. And it beats the alternative. The gifted kidney may have failed but the lessons of the transplant remain intact and healthy. I am still grateful. I am stillhumble. I am still appreciative of all that I have. If attitude were currency I’d be a truly wealthy man.


Don’t let people tell you that people suck. There are some wonderful people in the world. I know because I am surrounded by them.

If you don’t know one… be one.

I see trees

 

Sometime in the near future NASA is going to reveal that they have found the center of the Universe.

A lot of people are going to be crushed to find that it’s not them.

I am growing so incredibly frustrated with the materialistic, self-centered, selfie society we are becoming.
Rampant consumerism has a firm choke hold on the throat of moderation.
Savings have dwindled, debts have soared, and landfills are heaping with the scraps of our throwaway mentality.
Self-obsession and promotion has become the new normal. We’d rather film a person beating someone up than stop to help them.
We are becoming too power obsessed, fighting for our little scraps and destroying everything in our path in the process.

I fear that we are losing our humanity.

 While I always tried to avoid participating in such a life, I was forced to live along side it. Fortunately, in the downsizing of my existence I was finally able to walk away from it completely. Once free from the pursuit of a larger everything I have embraced normalcy. I have welcomed my average. I celebrate and surround myself with the regular. And I have never been happier.

One of my favorite movie scenes is from The Great Outdoors, starring John Candy and Dan Aykroyd. They are in Canada on vacation, sitting on a deck overlooking a lake. Dan Aykroyd, a materialistic businessman, goes off on a tirade about what he sees when he looks out over the water. He describes a vision of future Industrialization, urban sprawl, forestry, and medical waste dumps. John Candy’scharacter is a simple man, and when asked what he sees, replies
“I just see trees.”
He is then summarily berated for being short-sighted and simple. Sorry to say, but that’s me, I just see trees.

In order to appreciate the world we have to take our eyes off of the screens and look up and around. We need to appreciate the power and beauty of nature. The beauty is everywhere, the power rearing its mighty head unpredictably. Both manifest in subtle sights and awe-inspiring displays. The flight of the bird, starlit nights and sunsets, the reflection of foliage on the still waters of a pond on a late fall afternoon. Such sights fill me with wonder and give me cause me to question my place in the world and to seek a spiritual connection to the Universe.

The looming mountaintop, the endless horizon seen from the beach, the mighty Oak, the rushing river, wind tearing through trees, waves crashing and receding with a massive riptide serve another purpose entirely. They remind me of how small I really am in the grand scheme of things. Instead of being intimidated, I embrace it.

I recognize my relative size and overall significance in comparison to the Universe. I know my place. No man is a match for the mighty tide, despite his wealth, power and amount of Instagram followers. Man is only a force in, not of, Nature when he embraces his fellow man. But instead of coming together as an advanced society we have drifted apart and we are regressing. Our humanity is whatmakes us great, the increasing lack of it is destroying us.

Thisis a call for humility,
A wake-up call to recognize and embrace our smallness.
A damper of ego and hubris.
For less stuff andmore quality.

To just see Trees…