Tag: blog

on being real

I’ve been told many times that I would be great in politics. I could be the “anti-politician” and be completely different than anything that the world has seen. I would be honest, not-for-sale, transparent and accountable. I would create a third political party and I would call it the No-Nonsense Party. I would only address issues on my desk that are important, valid, urgent and sensible. My desk would have a placard on it with Smilin’ Harry Truman’s famous “the buck stops here.”

“Nope, that’s stupid. Veto. Next.”

“Are you kidding me, get outta here with that!”

“Are you seriously asking me to approve that?”

The government would work for the people again. This would be me.

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Problem is that I would get fewer votes than Jill Stein. I may as well ask for a “3 way” with Charlize Theron and her best friend. It will never happen. No one would vote for me because I’m too honest. Brutally honest, as a fellow blogger kindly referred to me as yesterday. I don’t mean “I didn’t cut down the cherry tree” honest, but instead “incapable of bullshit” honest. People say they want honest until it comes to them. Then you’re an asshole.

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Honesty is more than telling the truth. It is a distinct lack of pretense. A transparency. The ability to look at things as they really are and accept what you see, even if you are studying yourself. Honesty is asking for an opinion and opening yourself up for an answer you might not like. In my case, it is showing the world who I am without fear of reprisal.

There were times in my life when I tried to reinvent myself. To restrain parts of my personality. I didn’t do well. There’s a difference between behaving to fit in where necessary, an office cubicle for example, and holding back the real you. I did my best work, made the friends worth keeping, had the best times when I embraced my inner Foghorn. That’s the real me. The link below will explain the Foghorn thing.

https://wordpress.com/post/goodtobealivetoday.wordpress.com/1933

Everyone talks about New Year’s resolutions, what is manageable and what is a predetermined failure. I made only one resolution this year. To be the best person I can be. To be real. Some people like it, I know my real friends do. Some of my fellow bloggers have commented on my willingness to put my ass out there for the whole world to see, as if brutal honesty is uncommon.

So Politics is not for me. I can’t speak in circles. I don’t want to deal with liars and sycophants. I have no tolerance for bullshit. I’m not capable of being fake. I’m real, it’s working for me and I’m going to ride her until she bucks me off.

 

 

 

Even when you’re ready for it

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When you know someone is dying it is like being staked to the ground watching a snowball headed for your face. You can do nothing but wait and let it happen. And it stings like a bitch when it hits you. My friend Tony died today. I was expecting it but a massive ouch just the same.

This won’t be a long post, I already wrote a post about him a couple of weeks ago that nobody read so I wouldn’t want to subject more of you to not read it again. (here is the link if you do)

I am feeling so many things right now. I am sad that the world lost another honest, hard-working, simple and decent man. He had the adoration of his children, the devotion of his wife, and the respect of everyone that had the good fortune to meet him.

I’m upset that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. It’s bad enough when someone goes and you realize that you have unfinished business; or that you are unhappy with the last thing you said to that person; or that you meant to visit them but you just didn’t get around to it. But I made the effort. I reached out to the family, asking to visit Tony, but Tony didn’t want visitors. He just wanted to be alone.

Finally, I am feeling nostalgic. One of the only things about working at that miserable restaurant was working with him. It continues to baffle me how any task, like sweating your ass off while serving hundreds of people in one night, can be fun when around those that you love. And I do love Tony, he was like a second father to me. When I was mad at my own, it was Tony who reminded me to love and honor my father because he only wanted the best for me. This from a guy who worked every weekend and holiday, never seeing his family. to do the best for them that he could.

I don’t know what kind of work ethic I had when I met Tony but I know what it is now. I credit him so much for that. Work meant something to him, it wasn’t a source of “braggadocio”, it instead gave a man his honor. I would come to value the accomplished feeling of a job well done, of contributing, of making a difference.

Losing Tony is like losing a part of me. I take comfort knowing that as recently as a few months ago I saw him. We enjoyed a cocktail and I gave him an envelope that he wasn’t allowed to open until I was gone. Inside was a letter telling him how much I cared for him, thankful for all that he taught me and how grateful I was that he had beat Round 1 of Pancreatic Cancer. I know he read it, but he wouldn’t mention it even if I asked.

At least I don’t have the awful burden of things unsaid. I just wish I could have sat with him and squeezed out of him one more of his trademark laughs.

He always told me to say hi to my Dad for him. I hope he gets to do it in person. I’m sure they are in the same place.

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Goodbye dear friend

 

Dangerous Thinking

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It is amazing what can be conjured up from the dark recesses of the psyche. So many experiences laying dormant, waiting for the right odor or sound or phrase to bring it to the forefront of your mind. Yesterday, as I was composing what I now realize was a poorly planned but heartfelt post about being passionate, I accidentally triggered myself. In attempting to tell a story, I forced myself to think about her…the one that got away. Now I can’t chase the memories out of my head.

I have stated in previous posts that I have never really been happy. I don’t say this in a please feel bad for me way, I’m not like that. I say it because for the longest time I have felt a bit numb, detached and joyless as if I’m on the outside looking in at my life. I’m there but I’m not present. I now know that I was incorrect, I was happy. A long, long time ago in a Galaxy far far away.

In the mid 80’s I was in college, I had a part-time job, a full head of hair, a motorcycle and a love that comes around but once in a lifetime. That knowledge would have been helpful then, but that’s not how this works is it?

I met her in the library. Cramming for an exam, I look over and I see the adorable raven-haired, dark-eyed girl with the pink sweater giggling with her friends. Glancing up from my book every so often I would catch her gaze every time. Finally, I jokingly told her that if she doesn’t stop giggling I would report her to the librarian. That was her cue to pry herself away from her clucking friends and join me at my table. Her approach seemed to be in slow-motion, walking gracefully in her modest but tasteful clothing, her head bowed slightly indicating a gentle shyness, eyes locked on mine the whole time. When she sat down across from me and I got my first good look at her up close I was smitten. A dinner invitation was soon proffered and thus began a great story. A brief, tumultous story that would end badly and suppressed from memory for a long time.

The last time I thought of her was driving home from Mom and Dad’s lake house about ten years ago. I had the kids in the car, wifey had stayed home that day. We had enjoyed a great day of sun and fun, now they were all chilling as I drove and listened to some music. My son said, “Dad, are you crying?” Shit, I realized that I was. Pearl Jam’s Black was on and Eddie’s lyrics, which I had heard a thousand times before had just bitch-slapped me back to a place I didn’t want to go. Eddie wailed

I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life
I know you’ll be a star
In somebody else’s sky
But why
Why
Why can’t it be
Why can’t it be mine

I don’t remember how I explained it away but I was able to change the subject. But I thought of her the entire ride home. I accidentally, and unkindly, came up with a term for my wife on that ride, my Silver Medal.

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I was an entirely different person with her than I am today. I was affectionate, I was passionate, I expressed myself without fear of reprisal and I wasn’t afraid of showing my love. Her personality was different. She was quiet and soft-spoken but could speak volumes with her eyes. Her eyes could tell me anything, I know because I couldn’t stop staring at them.

We would fight, no couple is perfect. I took her quiet nature for granted sometimes, or I didn’t read her eyes correctly and I would say or do something stupid and she would let me have it. She was always right. Especially when she said that someday I would take her for granted one too many times. I did, and I lost her. The pretty girl that could have had anyone, but chose me, was done with me.

I would try for months to get her back, she would have nothing to do with me ever again. Her eyes were only angry to me by then. I left her with a parting thought, I told she was my only love. I meant it. I moved on, but I never got over her.

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I would see her again. We were on the same cruise ship. On our honeymoons.

Coincidences like that just don’t happen. I saw her on deck. She looked at me and quickly looked away and that was it. There was nothing there. My wife never knew. I put on a good face for her. But the thought of her on the same ship with her new lucky fucking bastard husband was devastating to me.

I was true to my word, I would never find another that made me feel the way she did. My wife and I had it good for a while but I would never willingly allow myself to be vulnerable again. My wife would become an emotional cripple so in the end, it worked out just fine.

After dredging all of this up, I am thankful that my psyche buried all of this shit. It’s too painful to think about what my life could have been like. This type of thinking is dangerous, for starters I wouldn’t have my amazing children if not for the way it turned out. Aside from that, it is a giant reminder of how stupid I can be.

I am glad that my windshield is bigger than my rearview mirror, I have so much to see that is ahead of me and I can’t be distracted by what is behind me. It’s just plain dangerous thinking.

#JusJoJan Daily Prompt – January 5th, 2018

 

the ups and downs of being passionate

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I am nothing if not a passionate man. It is perhaps my greatest, at least my strongest, character trait. I have strong beliefs, a concrete set of values, an opinion on everything and a sincere zest for life. I love to learn, take any opportunity to help another person and get very into things. As a patient with chronic illness, having had several brushes with my own mortality, I do not fear death. I fear a life unfulfilled. I don’t care if I only have 10 years left, as long as I can spend them doing things that I love.

I consequently have a real hard time dealing with people that don’t have passion. I don’t judge, I want to inspire them. I have a great story to tell, and if someone were to hear it they may think like I do.

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I used to be an ardent follower of Russian philosopher Ayn Rand and her philosophy of Objectivism. She unabashedly promoted that mankind’s sole purpose of being on earth was to achieve his own greatness. She vehemently opposed all things communist, so her ideas came across a bit selfish. If you were to say to her “we are here for others” she would reply

“then what are others here for?”

I eventually broke from her because of her views on charity. She played a little “fast and loose” with who is deserving of charity and who is just a waste of flesh. But I did take away a powerful message of worth and achievement. Some nuggets: nothing is more unacceptable than wasted talent; a man owes it to himself to achieve his best; if you believe something then fight for it and shout it from the rooftops. It ties into my ideas of worth, in other words, I always ask of people (inside my head of course) “what is your joy. What do you bring to the table? How are you making the world a better place by your presence?”

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I know it’s a little hardcore, but do you ever wonder what your funeral will be like? Do you know how you will be remembered? Will you be remembered fondly? Once again, as a person with a lot of health issues, I often think of my legacy. I would hope that the attendees of my memorial would raise a glass and tell a funny story or of something I did for them. My stone will most certainly say

here lies Bill

He really cared

About what I have no idea

That’s passion.

Of course, there’s another type of passion that I am sadly lacking in. In the love department, my furnace is out of oil. Not for lack of interest, but lack of opportunity. I fondly remember being in love. Sadly, it wasn’t with my wife. God bless her, my little Silver Medal. I am speaking of the one that got away.

To say that I was passionate about her is the understatement of the century. The very thought of her excited me. She was my everything. Sex is great, I love it like the next guy, but a mere kiss from this girl would make my feet spontaneously combust. We loved hard and we fought harder and I would still give anything to be with her again. I have never loved like that again, and I’m afraid I never will. After 24 toxic years with the wrong person, it’s unlikely. In that department, I am dead inside. But I want to.

Life without caring is a life unfulfilled. I don’t think I would change my style even if I could. I look at it as you either give a shit or you don’t. People without passion will continue to disappoint me but, like politics and religion, it’s their deal. To me, it’s the only thing that keeps me going.

#JusJoJan Daily Prompt – January 1st, 2018

 

 

the benefits of boisterous

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bois·ter·ous
ˈboist(ə)rəs
adjective
(of a person, event, or behavior) noisy, energetic, and cheerful; rowdy.
“the boisterous conviviality associated with taverns of that period”
synonyms: lively, animated, exuberant, spirited, rambunctious

There was a time when my name and picture would be next to this definition in the dictionary. The younger me, according to a lovely young lady that I worked with at the local supermarket during High School, strutted like a Rooster; shoulders back, chest out, heart on sleeve and mouth in gear. I was silly, friendly to strangers, energetic if not a little obnoxious. I was boisterous. I was in the comfort zone of my own henhouse. The nickname Foghorn soon followed.

I would eventually learn that not everyone enjoyed my energy and jocularity. It took a while because I had the gift of being physically intimidating. I may have been silly, but I was 6 foot and 220 lbs of silly while carrying two 50 lb bags of dog food on each shoulder. Any criticism or mocking would be done behind my back. It wasn’t until I closed the bathroom stall one day and saw this on the door “____ ___ is a fucked up shithead“. I knew who wrote it but it still stung. It was 35 years ago and I remember it like yesterday.

That hastily scrawled, nasty message would serve as a lesson that sometimes people are laughing at you, not with you. After that revelation, I didn’t retreat into my shell like a frightened tortoise but I became more self-conscious than I wanted to be. It was more than just an adjustment of the volume knob, it changed my station. It’s a shame too because I could dance to that station.

I remained an outgoing person, albeit a guarded one. If someone from my Foghorn days were to see me now they wouldn’t see the same person at all. I’m happy on the inside but I’m tragically selective about who I let see that side of me. I don’t speak loudly in crowded rooms for fear of being mocked and I don’t say hi to every stranger anymore, I’m now selective based on how friendly the face is. I have retained some of my old boisterousness but it is reserved for select company and occasions. My warped sense of humor has stood the test of time, but fewer people are exposed to it now.

I like to think that my cheerfulness has stood the test of time as well. I have always believed that if you can’t get out of bed and try to make a good day then you should stay in bed. I continue to see the good in things and people. It is definitely a big part of how I managed to work right up until noon the day before my transplant surgery. Positive thinking, a cheerful and optimistic attitude and a little bit of denial carried me over the goal line on its shoulders.

Still, I miss being Foghorn.

“Boy, I say Boy…he must, I say he must be in there somewhere…!”

 

#JusJoJan Daily Prompt – January 1st, 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

smells like Teen Drama

I had the pleasure of having my youngest daughter with me for the entire school vacation week. We had a nice week. Since the separation, I haven’t spent a significant block of time with any one of my children so this was much needed and appreciated. Before the move, my youngest and I had a standing date every Saturday night with the sofa, Netflix, and a pizza. Of all of the things I miss from my previous life, one on one time with the offspring is the toughest one.

She and I had a nice week. There was no pressure to fill the week with activities, this house is her go-to spot for relaxation and to catch up on sleep. We spent a few nights catching up on some shows but it wasn’tas relaxing as before. In the last year, one thing has been added to her repertoire that I can’t compete with…boys. And all of the accompanying drama. The endless stream of texts, “snapchats” and FB messages made it impossible to just chill and watch our shows like we used to. I can’t compete.

Despite having all of the features treasured by the superficial, hormonal teenager, my daughter has always kept herself grounded and humble. She tells me that she has low self-esteem but the astronomical amount of “selfies” she takes indicates to the contrary. At some point in the last year, she has apparently come around to the possibility that she is attractive and now interacts pretty freely with the boys. To her credit, she is not drawing attention to herself, but she is still getting it. And some notoriety, if I am to believe the story that she rejected the captain of the football team last week, causing her stock to rise further. The only thing I know for certain is that, when it comes to the male gender, she is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, deep fried in a puzzle. In other words a hot mess.

I raised my kids to talk to me so naturally, I heard all about the different hormonal messes, I mean boys, vying for her attention. While it is mostly a blur, here is what I have so far. She likes the bad boys but won’t date one. She likes nice guys but they’re not “hot” like the bad boys. She has rules about dating friends of guys she likes or has liked in the past. Apparently, one boy, who is friends with a former crush, has started drinking and smoking weed because she won’t date him. She feels bad that she doesn’t like this guy, she wishes that another guy liked her more. It goes on and on and on.

I wanted to help, but there wasn’t much I could do but listen to her. She showed me some of the posts, the boys seemed to be behaving themselves. She knows that if I see a Dick Pic someone is going to die but there was none of that. The temptation arose to tell her to “cool the drama” but I knew that I, as an adult shouldn’t do that. I have been there, suffered teen angst and had my heart broken. I needed to limit my participation to giving the best advice that I could. At the end of the day, I have tremendous faith in her decision making and her values. She does have a flair for the dramatic but it’s more a matter of her making up her mind as to what she wants than an actual crisis. Still, it’s tough not to administer the antidote when you know you have it.

Her dramatic phase will pass, eventually. After all, it’s for teenagers right? I’d like to think so. Then I saw an FB post from a 41-year-old female friend that said

“Grrrrrr so aggravated right now!”

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Ah yes, the generic plea for attention while offering no context post. Soon to be followed by a string of replies imploring “what’s wrong honey?”, “are you OK?”, “Oh, you poor thing”. Drama, maybe it’s not just for teenagers after all…

#JusJoJan Daily Prompt – January 1st, 2018

 

 

A New Year’s Toast

A Toast

to the parents struggling to care for their family. May they provide sustenance and love for the 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 them. May your mission be righteous and your body unscathed

to the health care workers who give more to others more than they give to 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 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.

 

Inventory

I was reminded today of one of my favorite expressions.

“Happiness is not having what you want. it’s wanting what you have.”

And in a very close second comes the Stones with

“You can’t always get what you want, but you get what you need.”

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2 years ago I would have measured my success as a man by how much stuff I had. It was the life I was living. I lived in a nice neighborhood with neat lawns and beautiful cars in driveways. I had the Jones’s on both sides of me and I was trying frantically to keep up with them. I couldn’t. My illness was increasing, my income was dropping and trying to keep up was literally, and I never use that word, killing me. When I lost my job the bottom fell out and we knew that moving and breaking up the family was imminent. I was livid, disgusted with myself, mad at the prospect of not seeing the kids every day and feeling like a complete failure. I was also relieved to be out from under the crushing weight of the lifestyle I was living.

Fast forward 2 years and what do I have? If measured in possessions…not much. I own as much stuff that would fit in a ’13 Honda Civic. If you were to measure my heart. I have everything.

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Once I realized my career was virtually over, my dreams of a beach house were gone, my marriage was beyond repair and my health was in serious trouble I had to assess what I did have. It took some serious soul searching but I found that I was a wealthy man in assets that money cannot buy.

I don’t have everything I want. By the old standards. But I really want what I now have.

I have become a totally honest person, in particular with myself. I know who and what I am and no longer have a job pushing the boundaries of my ethics on a daily basis. I am comfortable in my skin for the first time.

I have a wonderful relationship with my children. The distance has created the need for quality time, and conversations were had and growth was achieved. I found that they respect me and understand the situation. They just want what is best for me.

My mind is clear and sharp. I’m reading the books I’ve always wanted to, I’m writing on a daily basis, reading some great bloggers and thinking on a level previously unachieved. In addition, I feel inspired.

I have renewed my relationship with my mother. We were very close until my wife put a wedge between us. We are like best friends again. Not to mention how much she is helping me right now.

I have optimism for the future. There are still so many things that I want to do, and if I set reasonable expectations and listen to my body I may be able to do them.

By having some “me time”, forced or otherwise, I realize that for the first time I like myself. If it’s possible to not say that in a self-serving way that is.

 

This year-end I want to end on a high note, with momentum and heading in the right direction. Unlike many other years in which I was down, defeated and counting on a new calendar to give me a better life. It just doesn’t work that way, I have to make it happen.

 

 

Happier New Year

I am really looking forward to seeing 2017 limp out the door Sunday night at midnight. I hope that it was a wonderful year for anyone that sees this, but for me, it is one to be forgotten. I won’t dwell on the bad stuff if you are a reader of this blog, you already know what I have been dealing with. I am encouraged that, after self-evaluation, I am still able to look to the future as an opportunity for better things and new opportunities.

My son last night told me he is glad that I am optimistic after this last year. I explained to him that I had, in fact, lost it for a while but now have it back. I explained a boxing analogy to him.  A good fighter can take a good shot to the chin, shake it off and come back swinging. For years I was able to do that. This year, this fighter took a devastating series of blows that I couldn’t shake off. I fell to the mat and was down for the count. But I’m back now and I want a rematch. As I tear a page from my daily planner, underneath is a fresh day.

One thing I am very happy about in 2017 is this blog. I have always dabbled in writing but never had the time to commit to a blog. Now, for better or for worse, I have nothing but time. I have committed to working on this blog every day. It has done wonders in helping me to exorcise my demons, to express myself, and to unburden myself of the excessive emotional weight of the events of my life. And I am so happy to have readers.

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I have almost 40 followers. A paltry amount to many but a big deal to me. As an aspiring writer with a story to tell, you give me the motivation to continue to write, to explore my boundaries, to share my story and in the process, free my soul.

I follow so many of you, I enjoy your posts and admirable writing styles. You give me feedback, hope, and encouragement and you have become a part of my life.

I hope all of you have a wonderful New Years Eve and a fantastic 2018 full of pushing forward towards your dreams.

My car has a big windshield and a small rear-view mirror because what is behind me is not nearly as important as what is ahead.