An Addict

I had a friend for awhile who was an addict. I would never call him that, it seemed like such a bad label, but that is what he called himself. He was a full-up addict who had been through it all.

I met him at the dog park. Dogs can have great connections with other dogs, just like people, and my dog was absolutely crazy about his dog—the two of them were fast friends from the start. That first day my friend said when he watched dogs, especially the ones that herd sheep, it made him think there must be a God. I knew then this was someone I could talk to.

We did talk often while the dogs played about God and philosophy and how life works. I remember I told him I was coming out of 30-plus years of hardcore Christianity and he was a little fascinated, “What’s that like?” he said. Although we were both Californians our backgrounds could not have been more different.

He said he started getting into pills in elementary school. When he realized there was something you could take to make you feel different, it was all over, he always chose to take it. I’m pretty sure he tried everything. He was a musician for many years, and told me only a few stories of his hardcore drug days in that life, when he started every day with vodka and a few other things. He always took something. When I worried my crowd was drinking too much he asked me to describe it. I did and he said, “You're fine.” It didn’t touch where he’d been.

He said it ended, and clean life started, when he met his wife, whom I also met at the dog park. She was a natural, outdoor girl who worked with horses and was like fresh air to him. For the few years he’d been with her, he'd had a clean and stable life. He said she was the reason, although I think there was a little more to it; she represented his only hope of life and health. He didn’t claim to be doing it alone--he let me know he went to meetings and had people he talked to all the time.

I never could figure out what he did for a living. Every time he started to describe it I’d get lost in all his details and business buzzwords. It had something to do with internet technology and he had some plans for a business of his own. He was a big talker, he always had some crazy idea to share and his mind was always spinning fast. I had a hard time following him--he’d get on certain topics or authors and get a bit ethereal. I remember asking him if his mind ever stopped, if it ever really got quiet. He thought about it for a second and then said no.

We had a few good discussions about God and life philosophy, I could hang with him there. It was like we were coming to the same non-answers from opposite sides—he from extreme addiction, me from Christianity. He was less frustrated than me though, less accustomed to having answers.

He drank ridiculous amounts of coffee and went through Advil like candy. When I asked why, he said he had headaches, but really I think it was because the alternative was bad…it was like he was saying, “Believe me, you want me to be taking half a bottle of Advil and drinking 16 cups of coffee a day. Really.” Maybe he just had to take something.

I remember telling him about my travels to Ireland. He said he always wanted to check out that music scene but would never be able to. I was puzzled…Heavens, why not? He said it was because the music all happens in pubs there and is tied to drinking. I asked him if he could just not drink or have just one Guinness, and he said no, he could not. Didn’t I get it? He was and always would be an addict.

No I didn’t get it, to my naive self it seemed he was only addicted to Advil and coffee. I felt like it was such a bummer his addictions so defined him, like it was something he could never get free of. It seemed horribly unfair and wrong to have to live with that label. Wasn’t there always hope for change? That's what I learned in Christianity, we can all be healed from our troubles, "addicts" could be freed. Well, not in his reality. I didn’t realize that in that label was his freedom…freedom from all the using.

One day he was talking about his sobriety, his job, his house, his “stable” life and he said, “Come on…how long can I really keep this up?” I got my Pollyanna on and pointed out that he had done it now for years and why not? I told him I thought he could do it, and really, I had little doubt. He had this great life now, he certainly knew how to live it. Wouldn't he choose this life over the drug life he had described? Of course he would, it only made sense.

Well, addictions are irrational, I had no idea how hard healthy life was for him. And isn’t it just easier to think everyone is normal and functioning well, even if all evidence is to the contrary?

The dog park was a phase for him, he quit going. We still got the dogs together a few times, but we lost touch. After about a year he called and asked if I wanted to meet with the dogs again sometime. It took weeks to get together but we finally did.

I think it was huge for him to make that call, he had to look our number up old-school, he no longer had a cell phone. He apparently fell off the wagon one weekend there in Vegas. He didn’t elaborate, but it resulted in him losing his job and giving up the house. He was not working, but living a somewhat isolated life helping his wife on a horse farm she worked. He gave up his phone, his internet work, all his big ideas, and maybe even the coffee and Advil. He just wanted a simple life. That was his big talk now…living a good and simple life.

I did wonder if he'd be able to keep that up, his mind seemed no quieter.

Eagles, Raptors and Gargoyles

I love being on this beach watching the jets fly over.

Almost exactly 20 years ago I was right here, doing exactly that. On one particular day I was hoping for a little wing-rock from one before I rushed to the Air Force base to take pictures of Kevin landing from his first solo flight in the F-15 Eagle. It was a big deal then, we were on a huge adventure. He was studying hard, always “two rides from busting out…” and very excited to be doing what he was doing. He didn't dare to hope he would still be doing it 20 years later.

Today I know better than to look for the wing-rock--he can't give it to me--but I will drive to base and take some pictures of him flying and landing the F-22 Raptor for the first time. And it’s still a big deal, I'm pretty excited. For crying out loud he’s still flying, and it's the hottest, latest most fearsome jet in the world.

Admittedly, since he’s now logged close to 4000 hours of fighter time, we aren’t quite as worked up as we were back then, we’ve done more than a few photo-ops by cool jets. I’ve seen my share of fini-flights, I even had tears at a couple, thinking these days were done, that the fun was over. I’ve helped his buddies drench him, and him drench his buddies with champagne and the fire hose many times.

Still, this will only happen once, and these moments should be even a little sweeter at this age--it's a bit of a charmed life, and it can't last. (Although, we've been saying that for a lot of years...) He’s incredibly fortunate to still be doing this. It’s also good for me to get out there and try to understand what it is he does. Every time I’m still amazed, I still have some trouble getting my head around it.

It feels a little like home to have him flying again—to see him a little lifted by it, to live where I can hear the sound of jets. I’ll start checking my watch again when I see one--would he be up right now? Might that be him? And I love hearing how the dogfight went down when he gets home.

But then this morning, a reality check.

In a rush to get out the door he hands me a questionnaire I have to fill out and sign before he can fly. Standard, I have no time to give it any thought, it is just a square that has to be filled, and it’s not like I haven’t seen this before, I know exactly what it is.

It’s a form that goes in an envelope only to be opened by his commander if he doesn’t make it back from one of these missions. It lists all my preferences on how I’ll want things handled—who I’ll want to bring me the news, who I’ll want the Air Force to notify, and who I’ll want flown in to help me deal with it all. Do I have a clergyman I’ll want around? Will I need someone to help out with kids or pets? What kind of funeral will I want? Cremation?

Somehow I forgot about this part, and in the five minutes I had to fill the form out I couldn't get my sleepy brain to think straight. I already want to change my answers.

Yeah, so that old, tiny, undermining feeling of fear I used to be so familiar with just came back... I’m surprised I didn’t miss that bastard in the past 18 months, I'm so accustomed to him. He's a feeling I want to shove aside because the worst can’t possibly happen, but...since it actually can, he never goes away. I’m great at ignoring him though, we have a highly dysfunctional relationship. He's like a gargoyle that lives in the darkest corner of my brain..."Not one peep," I tell him. "I don't want to hear it." Mostly he stays quiet and just looks scary. I do not ever want to hear him roar.

I guess I’ll get back to checking the clock on flying days, waiting for Kevin's landing time to pass. I know if I haven’t heard anything by then, it’s all good and I’m still running my life...

Apparently I'm running it now, because I'm really looking forward to being out on the flight line again.

Things

Fear is so irrational. I wonder if it is something you can’t really explain to someone if they aren’t afraid of the same thing…it makes no sense to them, they have to take it on faith.

I mean, what the hell was that yesterday when I was trying to get down to writing about some real stuff? I was acting like my dog when she really doesn’t want to be caught, really doesn’t want that bath—anything but this--like it was some kind of torture. It’s irrational.

I want to write about real stuff, I know how to organize information and get started on a writing project, so, why so scary? Why the distractions and the having to force myself to stay in this room until I got something started? Why the ridiculous antics?

Because it’s my thing.

We all have a thing. Whether we know it or not, we all have an irrational problem it would be so easy for someone else to solve, but we can’t seem to quite get on top of it. It’s the overweight person who just needs to move more and eat less—it’s so easy, so simple, why can’t they just put the fork down and take the stairs? It’s the addict who only has to keep from reaching for that bottle, it’s that super-successful person who doesn’t know what to do when he’s off-work.

So…overcoming this work issue, getting connected to my creativity and dealing with my bunk so I can write about the stuff I need to write about is definitely my thing. The fear and other barriers to it are the hardest things for me to face.

That’s where I have to go, right to that pain. I'm afraid it’s the only way forward. I realize it sounds stupid, if not sadistic, to go where you feel the most pain, but…You want to be full and healthy and live a deeper better life? You need some truth to go on? You want to overcome? Go find your pain and stay there awhile, it will tell you some truth.

It’s absolutely counter intuitive and the last thing we want to do, but I don’t think there’s any other way. No three-steps, no formula, no belief system is going to help us skirt it…it’s still just going to be there, our thing, staring us in the face. For me, there’s no re-doubling my efforts and putting together a fluffy research article that any old person can do. I could do it, and maybe even sell it, but I wouldn’t feel a thing and it wouldn’t be real. No, I have to sit, stick it out, focus and deal with the expectations, the insecurity about my potential, and the fear that I won’t pull out my real self and show up every damn day.

That’s the part that takes courage--the “every damn day” part.

People think courage is rushing into a burning building to save someone—and it is. But what I’m talking about is courage too; maybe it’s a different kind. It’s that decision to really live life every day instead of using easy mechanisms to skate through it.

We all have these mechanisms--charm, busyness, entertainment, television, accomplishment—stuff we’re good at or buzzes to get us through and make us feel okay. I think it’s absolutely heroic not to use them. It’s also hard as hell. It takes incredible courage to instead decide feeling some pain is better than not feeling and just surviving.

I’m not saying we live in the pain all the time…we all get to decide our pain threshold. I’m a big believer in a couple of Advil, some ice cream and a little TV when I’m dealing with a headache. I’ll also toss aside the writing for a big, fat breakfast some mornings when it's just too hard. But maybe we should forego the preemptive Advil, the one we pop daily because we’re afraid we might feel a twinge if we take a hard look at life.

Well, maybe not, maybe some of us need morphine, maybe life is too much—I don’t want to judge. Most of us won’t feel pain unless we’re forced to anyway.

So I might be wrong, and I’ll accept this might just be true for me, but don’t we all want more life? Don’t most of us need to admit the skating isn’t really working for us?

I think it’s built-in. I think we’re supposed to want life to be deeper and richer, and I think we’re supposed to feel the wanting--It pushes us to greatness and forces us to hope. We need to hope there is more to life and pain has a purpose. That’s how it works…at least for me. It’s the only way I can see to live real.

And when I see someone else doing it--showing up every damn day, facing and feeling their pain--I feel so proud and inspired.

It’s something you almost never get to see.

Denial

We leave the beach in a week.

I guess it's time to start working on that vision for life in New Mexico. As good as it's feels to walk on this beach every day, it turns out we don't really live here.

As with so many things, we don't get to hang on or stake a claim, we just try to enjoy the moments and then keep on passing through. This time has been good for me.

Someone pointed out to me the other day that there is plenty of beach where we are going in New Mexico (we'll be right next to White Sands National Monument where there are unexplainably huge dunes of "sugar sand"). Unfortunately, there's just not any water...

Somehow I don't think that's the last time I'm going to hear that joke.

Wants

Last night while walking the beach, I was doing some out-loud talking to God...and it was to God, I wasn't just talking to myself, I made sure of that.

I have a hard time talking to God because I'll start to fall right into some of my old Christian patterns of prayer, and I hate that, so the "out-loud" conversations are good, because I'll catch myself. It's happening less, as time goes by, but it still happens.

I started to do it last night. I was just talking and I started to say something like, "God help me to want to..." I stopped talking and instantly had a revelation.

I used to pray all the time asking God to make me want the right things, to give me a desire to be like Jesus, to make me want to please him, to make me want to love people, to make me want to be a good Christian, etc. I was supposed to want these things, but did I? Did I enough? Couldn't he make me want to do all the stuff I was supposed to be doing? If I wanted it, then I could do it more easily and we'd both be happy, right?

It rarely crossed my mind to think about what I actually already wanted. Whatever I actually already wanted would be, by default, not good enough. Much of the time I didn't even know what I wanted...didn't get that far.

Everything I allowed myself to want had to first go through the filter of what God might want for me. And, finding out what God wanted then justifying going after it was a difficult process.

And I never got a clear answer, you had to go with stuff like..."I feel peace about it," or "I sought Godly counsel." You might be able to find a verse to directly apply, but that takes some creative thinking...not that I haven't seen it done.

Oh, wait...it's afterward you get the clear answer...that's right. "Well God must have wanted you to do that because look how well it's all turned out," and "God really used you in that situation so you must have been in his will."

There is always an illogical explanation to fill in the blanks.

So...Where did I want to go college?

Well, that wasn't the real question. The real question was where did God want me to go to college? Finding that out required listening to pastors and teachers and parents who all said I could use a "good foundation" of Christian college before hitting the real world. It was just good advice, probably the best way forward...it certainly wouldn't hurt God's feelings for me to go to Christian college, and spiritually, and it would of course be better than going to a secular school where I'd have to battle off all those worldly ideas.

Isn't that why I went to Christian high school? When was I ever going to test myself in the real world? Could I ever have a good enough "foundation" of belief to keep me out of trouble? Apparently not...look at me now.

What did I want to do with my life?

Again, not the real question: Instead, what was God going to have me do, or let me do with my life? Instead of connecting with my internal self and finding out what I actually wanted, there was always instead, the undermining question...Yeah but, what does God want me to do?

Seriously I put most everything through this filter, and if I didn't, I was being rebellious. As I got older I became an expert at it. I did not spend much time figuring out what I wanted or who I was...I was always trying to become who God wanted me to be, and if he could help me want to become who he wanted me to be, then I'd really be on the right track.

Wasn't the purpose of it all to "Glorify God?" and "Please God?" Wasn't I always trying to get in "God's will" so I could live right and make the right decisions?

I know I sound like a heretic, but there is something so wrong with what these words have come to mean. Wasn't Jesus about freedom? What if there is no "God's will" and "right answer?" What if things just...are?

It really wasn't okay to just want things outright, all desires had to go through the manipulative, justification process to make them okay with God and the Christian community.

I don't remember just asking for a lot of things...that surely wouldn't please him, not with missionaries in Africa for crying out loud. So...it was just better for me to want things his way and get on-board. Plus, and this is another thing I don't like about myself, then I wouldn't have to fight through all the do-gooders and the lecturers quoting chapter and verse. It was just safer, and easier, to stay within the Christian circle of thought.

Look, I'm not saying I regret any decisions I made while in Christianity...in fact, I don't at all. I'm happy about where I went to school and how I've lived my life...I made my own choices. But, I'm also happy to have come out of Christianity. And I do regret the way I made decisions. I didn't learn how to know myself, trust myself, or listen to myself, and now my wants and desires are buried so deep they're hard to find.

Well, in the past year or two I've been figuring out who I am and what I want without "God's" influence clouding my vision, and I don't think he minds...he knows I need to de-tox. So, last night on the beach, I told him all this--or, maybe it's more accurate to say he told it to me, I'm not really sure--and I started mouthing off about the things I want.

(I kept from asking him for them...I'm not quite there. There is way too much baggage associated with asking him for anything...That is quicksand right into Christian dysfunction...)

I got on a roll about what I want out of this life, out of myself, and, as it turned out, it was okay. None of it was bad stuff, or sinful...I guess some of it could be described as selfish, but it all seemed okay. It's actually okay to want stuff, and I know it's really enlightening to know what that stuff is...really helpful. I wonder...is it even okay to want big stuff? Well, I'm not sure, but I do...and, well, God knows about it.

Truth. It's a Mystery.

The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.

Albert Einstein

Beach Life

My dog and I would love to live on the beach full-time. Every day here we go on two outings: After a morning of writing I take her for a run and a swim, and at night we’re back out there trying to catch the sunset with a long walk and another swim. We practically own this stretch of beach, once we pass a few people by the parking lot we have the place to ourselves. Running in the hot desert again without an immediate swim to cool-off afterward is going to take a lot of commitment.

Yesterday a dog died while we were at the beach.

At the beginning of our run a big Boxer curiously and boldly approached my dog, but ran back into the waves with his owners after they called him off. I quickly let my dog off-leash so she could get away from him if she needed to, but she wasn’t afraid, she’d met him before. I’ve seen that couple out there with their two dogs a few times in the past days.

At the end of our run and swim the Boxer was laying in the sand covered up with a towel. His lady-owner was curled over him, holding him and crying. The man-owner was sitting right beside them, one hand on the dead dog and his other on their other dog, an older, fattish collie mix. It was a sad day for their family, probably a sad vacation.

I don’t know what happened…heat stroke? They were walking him slowly in the water to cool off, but maybe he drank some salt water and was dehydrated?

Some bystanders told me about the dead dog. First a dad with a boy—he stopped me because he didn’t want me to walk my dog too close. He mentioned he knew CPR, but not for a dog. I suddenly remembered in my last CPR class I did learn how to resuscitate a dog, so I did walk close to the people so I could tell them how to do it if he was still alive…he wasn’t.

A big, fat, short, older lady in a one-piece walked over to me and told me so. (I’m now used to talking to people of all body shapes who feel no need to cover up—I’m not going to describe the old man who I thought, by how little he was wearing, must be European, but he spoke to me in a thick, southern accent). She is the one who said heat stroke…I don’t think she knew, I think she just thought it was too hot for us to have our dogs out there. She was kind of lecturing me, but trying to be helpful at the same time. She’d already rounded up a little trailer from some other people to haul the dog off the beach and was asking everyone where the nearest vet office was. I'm not sure the owners were thinking about that stuff yet.

I was saddened by the scene on the beach. Dogs should last a little longer than they do...I know I'll probably have to endure a couple more dog-friend deaths in my life. Apparently I think it's worth it.

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Living in a little vacation beach town, we get new neighbors often. Friday a couple of noisy families moved in next door. They have a lot kids they yell at, and who yell back while they ride their big-wheels up and down the street to the beach. Are they still called big-wheels?

The people have a huge boat and a couple of ski-doos parked outside, they’re taking up half the street. They’ve set up a tent and are partying in their driveway. Like many people outside in Florida, they feel the need to have music on all the time. They’re just using their truck speakers, but it’s loud enough that although I’m inside with the AC on, I know exactly what song is playing right now…partly because it’s a country song I hear every damn day down here (I know, my fault), and partly because it’s just plain loud. For some unknown reason they also like to leave that truck running for 30 minutes or longer. Why do truck owners do that?

The good news is I’m betting they leave Friday, everyone only stays a week.

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Last night by the time I finished walking it was late, dark and no one was left on the beach. I still wanted to swim, I wanted to see the phosphorescent lights in the water. Kevin said he saw them the other night, but he had to go out quite a way. I left my things and my dog on the beach, and went in. I was in about waist deep when I saw some lights coming over the dunes, and I imagined I heard motorcycle engines. I ran out as fast as I could, picturing a bunch of rednecks cornering me, only to see that it was just a little family of four walking with flashlights hoping to catch some crabs. No motorcycles.

I waited until they passed, and went back in. I was still a little edgy about being in the water alone after dark, but, I wanted to be in the water alone after dark. Suddenly a 16-inch fish jumped about three feet out of the water and slapped back into the water right next to me. It caused me to about have a heart attack. Again, I raced out.

I thought I’d give it one more try. I was imagining sharks, sting rays and all manner of Florida creatures swarming around my legs, as I went back out. (We did see a dead baby shark on the beach one day...they are in there.) I was too chicken to go under…I saw a couple little phosphorescent lights and got the hell out of there. Kevin’s going to have to go out there with me on another night. Then if a shark gets hold of my leg, at least someone will know how I went out.

We walked about 50 yards off the beach and I heard a deafening sound from the nearby swamp. It sounded spooky, like a bunch of radio voices all confused, or how you might imagine an alien language sounding. Kevin said it must be frogs, but it didn’t sound like any frogs I’d ever heard.

Again, there was, unusually, no wind, and I felt a few tiny, strange bugs flying around me for the first time since we’ve been here. They were landing on me and stinging a little. It reminded me that we’re actually in the flat, marshy, insect-infested, alligator-filled South, and there's no reason to venture more than 50 yards off this nice, breezy beach.

Turning the Corner

It feels good to turn the corner on something--to get over it, or through it, or even just past it. It means that even if I'm not successful in conquering it or figuring it out, I'm ready to move on anyway. It means I've embraced a new reality.

This time on the beach between lives feels like a good time to turn the corner on a few things. I've closed the book on DC, am starting to envision my life in New Mexico, and am taking some time to evaluate my outlook. Maybe I can get rid of some bunk I've been carrying around...I'm still working on the country music kick...

Sometimes what's around the corner is harder, scarier, or more painful. Still, it's a new stretch of road to cover...a different mountain to attempt to climb. At least the scenery is new.

I think my life is a constant repeat of this process. I spend most of my time bumped right up against the corner, but not turning it. I'll typically dawdle awhile, not sure I am really ready to leave where I am, or face a new reality.

The acceptance part is where I get stuck--staying in one place has to get more uncomfortable than proceeding before I'll take the first shaky step, and I have to allow myself to feel that pain. If I'm not paying attention or if I'm somehow numbing myself, I might stay there forever. I have to get sick and tired of the old scenery, of my old self before I'll move.

I've been in the same thought process about a writing project for a long time...stuck in confusion of how to proceed. I broke it out again, faced it, and this time, I can see a tiny bit of the way ahead. Still, it looked too daunting so I turned around to maybe head back, but I couldn't see where I had just been.

I turned the corner. Actually I feel relieved, the decision has already been made, I'm re-attacking. The only way to go is forward. I just wish I could see more than a couple feet in front of me.

Boomers...

I heard a comment from someone in the older generation that everyone my age is complaining that life was supposed to be really great and we're disappointed wondering, "What the hell?"

Well, yes it was and yes we are...Thanks for noticing.

Damn baby boomers....

They were there, when we were young, they were the adults. They talked about how they had lived too freely and made their mistakes but we wouldn't have to. Listening to them, especially to those in the Christian community, we thought we could have it all. We had the advantage of "knowing the Lord" from an early age. We were blessed already, life could be perfect, we could ace it.

I believed them, that's for sure. I had all the advantages, I had the Christian thing down from the start--that was the golden ticket--and adults flat-out told me I could avoid all that pain sin caused them. They were giving us the gouge, the low-down, and they knew what they were talking about.

Hey, what about the pain of NOT sinning, NOT living...any thought given to that?

No, there was no warning on that side of things, no encouraging any scary experimentation or free thinking, we had to guard ourselves from such things proven faulty in the '60s and '70. Boomers were ready to settle down and live right.

We heard the message countless times, at least I did, in church, school and elsewhere: "Live right, obey the rules and not only will you avoid all the pitfalls and heartache we went through, you will get all these blessings." Throw in the capitalist American myth that we could do and become whatever we wanted and...well, of course we're perpetually recovering from disappointment.

I remember an article in Time Magazine saying we were the generation that would surpass all others...our conservative outlook and our opportunities were just that good. Come of age in the '80s and you were bound to achieve and succeed.

So yeah...We--me and my generation--we just might have a thing or two to say about how life is not quite how it was cracked up to be. I don't hear anyone saying it's all bad, we've all done okay, we're all right...

It was supposed to be awesome.

Maybe we shouldn't have believed it, that we could have it all and do it "right," but we did not come up with this notion on our own.

No one wants to say it--it's un-American and it won't win any souls--but the truth is there is no formula for life and no one can do or achieve whatever they want. The sky has limits, the American dream has plenty of limits...

It's funny to hear from the generation behind us, the X-generation of latch-key kids. They never thought it was going to be that great, they have an easier time with acceptance.

And what are we telling kids today? They're the "Z-generation," characterized by how they've never had any filter on their information--Is it really doing them a favor to let them think there is a framework to live by, that the sky is the limit and they can have it all? Don't worry, they know better already...plus they're being raised by a bunch of disappointed cynics.

All of us who thought we could do and have it all, that we would be blessed and it would all just happen for us if we did it right...aren't we a little ridiculous? I know we are. I know I am at least, and sure, it sounds lame in today's world. I take responsibility, I own it.

But hey, Boomers, you guys need to take a little blame too for raising expectations.

Then again, maybe you actually thought we could do it. After the rebellion of the '60s and '70s maybe you actually believed a more conservative, upright, formulaic Christian approach to life would pay off. Maybe you didn't know any better either....

In that case...Sorry to be such a disappointment.

Hope and Affirmation

"Life seems glorious for a while, then it seems poisonous. But you must never lose faith in it, it is glorious after all. Only you must find the glory for yourself. Do not look for it either, except in yourself; in the secret places of your spirit and in all your hidden senses."

Wallace Stevens
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"It requires internal work that may demand unanticipated heroic efforts. Men and women sometimes go through a painful sorting out of their beliefs and values as they discover a deeper and better world. They have to deal with the people around them who haven't gone through that shift in vision.

"...I'm not talking about something simple and easy. It may be the most challenging thing of all to crawl out of the pleasant unconsciousness that has been your womb for many years and enter life as a grounded, thoughtful individual.

"If you wake up to your soul, you may have to stand apart from the crowd and dare to be unique. The soul is your depth, like the rich earth nourishing a flower. It is always there, and it has always been there. From it your life emanates and blossoms. You glimpse it in your deepest emotions and the very roots of your thinking. It is hidden in your past and not yet fully visible in your actual life. As it shows itself, you realize how much of an individual you are, even eccentric and sometimes mad."

Thomas Moore

Fear

Just when I vowed to be unafraid...

Last night I didn't sleep too well. It was warm, and I was restless, so I just let my mind wander and process the happenings of my life. Finally I feel asleep.

Lately I've been thinking how great it is here, how safe I feel. It's the kind of place where people don't lock their doors and wave at you when you pass.

I was feeling this in my sleep I think, all relaxed and with my guard down when suddenly someone was after me and I wasn't ready. It was a powerful nightmare. I couldn't scream, run or fight--my standard response in these rare dreams, and the scariest part; scarier than who is after me.

See, I'm pretty afraid that might be my response in real life too if someone were after me--fear would paralyze me and I wouldn't be able to muster a fight or a flight. Only once in one of these dreams did I fight back; I woke up punching the covers, feeling incredibly empowered. I thought maybe I had kicked my paralysis for good--but no, here it was again.

I woke up in a full-body, fear-stoked, adrenaline rush. That nightmare was ten times more real than the actual safe, quiet, reality of my bed. I had to work pretty hard to battle away the fear and convince myself I was being irrational. It took awhile, but I finally fell back asleep.

In no time it happened again...another, equally harrowing nightmare. Again, I woke to waves of adrenaline tingling my fingers and toes, stealing my breath.

Some things, like fear, are hard to tame.

My night taught me that I don't get to just decide, "Hey, I'm not going to be afraid anymore." It doesn't work that way, I don't have that kind of power. Fear can hit hard and without warning, and I am an unwilling victim.

I only get to decide how to deal with it afterward.

So, am I going to be able to muster a fight?

What I Deserve

In Christianity I was taught that I was basically evil and deserved to go to hell. Only because God was gracious was I not already there.

I deserved it even though I had no control over my presence in the world. I did not ask to be here.

I also learned that I had an incredible need for Jesus--to keep me out of hell, among other things. Again, I didn't deserve it, but he came to earth to die for me, and I was to be incredibly grateful.

I didn't deserve God's love or his blessings, shouldn't expect them, but at the same time, they were promised to me...so maybe I could expect them, would expect them, if I had a lot of faith.

If good things happened, it didn't mean I deserved them, it meant I was blessed by God. He was keeping his promises. Maybe I pleased him. I was supposed to be trying to please him.

If good things didn't happen it meant, well, I didn't deserve them anyway, so I should have known better than to expect them. God must have some better plan for me. It did not mean he was welching, that's for sure.

If bad things happened, God allowed them for some reason, clearly he wanted to teach me something, he knew best. Again, there's no blame on God.

The bottom line was I deserved hell. I didn't deserve anything good...I was evil and needed God and should be incredibly grateful to him for everything, even the bad stuff and unanswered prayers.

The logic was always a little off; it never made complete sense to me. I figured that was what faith was for; none of us can understand God. I was always left guessing. I'd pray and I'd hope and I'd ask for guidance, then I'd have to explain God to myself when things didn't make sense.

Is it any wonder I am messed up? The mental gymnastics are exhausting.

None of this sits right with me anymore. Don't I deserve at least a few things? Don't I deserve to know how it works and what I can expect?

Apparently not.

I'm only expecting to have to keep working to make my own way forward.

Well, maybe that's what I deserve.

Unafraid

Fear is a big motivator.

When I was in Christianity, it was a very effective tool. I was pretty afraid of messing up, of losing things, of sin, of myself and of God’s opinion. Even more powerful was the fear of what might not happen: I might not get the promised blessings, might not become more peaceful and joyful, might miss out on the “abundant life,” might not ever be like Jesus.

Fear is still a big part of my mindset, but I want it out of there. I’m tired of being afraid, living afraid.

I think I’m on to how to stop.

I have to go all the way there, to answer the what-ifs. What if I lose it all? What if I never accomplish anything? What if I slip-up, quit caring, become a big, fat loser who can’t muster for anyone or anything? What if already am that and just don’t know it? What if I embarrass myself in my attempts at life?

The answers just aren’t that bad. When I take a look at the worst-case scenario, it takes the kick out of fear. I used to need the kick--I’d try to use it, afraid (again) I’d lose motivation without it. Now I'm seeking a higher motivation. It’s hard for me to keep hold of though, without the scare tactics.

I want to aspire, to become, to live bigger. Why? Because I’m afraid life will have gone by and I’ll not have lived it. Is there a way to change that thought process? Isn’t there a more positive reason? Can’t I learn to lean forward and go offensive instead of always playing D?

I am only just starting to get the feeling of turning offensive, moving forward, accessing some aggression and going for the win. I’ve not trained this way, I’m out of shape.

So I need to develop a belief in, even an addiction to, the feeling I get when I’m really living life. I want to know that feeling so well, go after it hard, and accept nothing less. I want to be in the moment, be me, feel like me and live off that buzz, if you can even call it a buzz.

I haven’t felt it enough to know for sure, but I have hope it’s possible—it’s just hard to keep it in front of me…Fear will often crowd it out and I’ll quit making progress.

I don’t suppose I can get rid of fear altogether, and a healthy dose is probably a good thing. No one needs to go crazy fearless and start living for the adrenaline rush, doing the emotional, mental or spiritual equivalent of bungee jumping….

But for me, that “healthy dose” needs to stay tiny…just enough to be a little careful and smart. I’ve lived with too much fear…I’ll feel it, adjust too much and end up stepping way around it. Before I know it there’s no space to move forward.

And, not only do I have to face down the fear, I also need to learn to trust myself.

This is where Christianity does its worst damage.

As a Christian you cannot trust yourself because your SELF is sinful, weak, deceitful and bound to mess everything up. Instead you’re supposed to trust in God and Jesus--blindly, if necessary. They, and unfortunately their “representatives”, (whom you’ve placed yourself under and are to be in “submission” to), know best. So automatically, what you’re thinking or wanting is probably off. You need to listen to these people, and their interpretation of the Bible, and live life their way, the best way. They promise if only you’ll get on-board, the benefits will be huge.

So in Christianity the only way to succeed, to not mess up your life, to enjoy all the benefits of being in the club, is to become a rule-follower. Soon you don’t even have to think for yourself.

Trying to unlock the effects this has had on me can still put me in a spin.

Now, knowing and trusting my SELF is the answer, it is all I am working toward. I am learning to go inside and ask what I really feel, want or need. If I can connect enough with myself to answer those questions I find incredibly enlightening truth to go on. That’s right, TRUTH…truth I can trust.

Now that’s a great feeling, one I haven’t felt often enough. That’s the buzz, the energy and the motivation off of which I want to live and...it kicks the hell out of fear.

So today, I want to face life unafraid…I'll trust myself and not be afraid.

I’ve gone all the way to the worst-case scenario and faced the worst. The truth I found there is that I really have nothing to lose: If I lose the things I’ve been afraid of losing, maybe they weren’t what I thought they were to begin with. If I give my all and never write anything great, then maybe I’m just not writer-material—I’ll have to find something else to do. If I get to a place where I realize I’ll never become who I think I can become, I’ll have at least lived life on the journey, and not let fear steal any more time or confidence from me. If I end up alone… guess what? Everyone is…life is not a team sport.

Life is not that scary. It sure feels like it a lot of the time, but now I’m seeing it’s just that dogged, dysfunctional, Christian shadow that follows me around.

I’m working pretty hard to shake it.

A Friendly Nudge

Sometimes it takes a friend to bump me out of my dysfunction.

For instance, my friend Gregg sent me downloads of the music I most wanted this weekend...two CDs worth of the best of MJ, AND the new Rob Thomas album.

Sweet. Now maybe I can get off this ridiculous country music kick I've been on since we entered the South--especially since the stations play the same five songs over and over. It's like a bad addiction, I can't seem to change stations.

Now if only I can get someone to help me out with a few other things...

I know, I know...ultimately only I have my finger on the iPod.

What It Takes

I just happened to catch a little Wimbledon this morning.

It was the women's semi-finals; Serena was down a little in the third set to a strong, stoic, cool-looking Russian. It caught my attention because, although I’m not a huge tennis fan, it’s rare to see Serena down. Usually she's picking apart her opponents while practically smoking a Lucky.

Apparently it had been a close match the whole way. Serena was not playing her best, and with the Russian’s mental edge, I thought she was going down.

What I saw was what the commentators called one of the best, if not the best match in women’s tennis.

Serena knew she was in trouble, but at this stage of the game, this stage of her life, she knows a few things, and I could see it.

I could see the mental and emotional battle she was having right there on the court. She was working unbelievably hard to keep her cool, not give into fear and dig deep to play her game. She was pulling out focus, determination, knowledge of her self and confidence in who she is and what she can do. She was buckling down, preparing to bring it.

I felt the tide turn her way in two points. On the first she took an incredible risk by charging the net early—so even though she'd been faltering she wasn’t playing it safe. It worked for her.

After that came a long rally. With every shot the tension built. Serena rose a little higher with each return, realizing every time it still hadn’t been quite enough yet--she’d have to take it up another notch on the next hit. Well she did and on her last shot forced the Russian to, literally, take a knee.

Serena let out an almost primal scream…it had taken all her game, all her SELF to turn the tide. She wasn’t quite done yet, but her opponent got flustered and started ranting in Russian.

Match over right there.

I’m just now seeing, just now learning that it takes that focus and mental work to access that passion, that strength, that fire that gets us to live bigger. Yes, you have to do the work ahead of time, be disciplined and prepared--blah, blah, blah--I know how to do that, I’ve done that my whole life.

But that’s not enough because even after all that, being yourself and playing your game doesn’t happen naturally. Isn't that unbelievable? It doesn’t just flow as I’ve always thought it should.

Instead, it happens in the moment, on the day, at game time. You don't let up, you stay in there, you focus and fight. You know who you are and what you've got, and you call upon that true, inner self and you make it show up, every bit of it.

These days just living life as myself takes all I’ve got…I’m having to dig deep. But also, from time to time, I’m getting a feeling when I’ve come through a little something, that makes me, like Serena, let out a roar of victory over everything that tries to throw off my game.

It's new for me.

After the match, in a quiet, smiley voice Serena talked about her relief in winning, because she wasn’t on her game today. She said she even had to look up to her family in the stands, rallying to get a little help.

Serena Williams, one of the top five women in the world I would NOT want to throw down with (wait, she's actually number one), was scared, shaky, worried and unconfident. But, she didn't deny her feelings or shove them aside, she felt them all, was dealing with her whole self, and her whole self won.

I have only a little experience, but when I have to bring it, I’m left with feelings of lightness and crazy-freedom, but also some scary instability. I'm learning to deal with that fear, it tells me I’m up out of my conventional methods of life and rising above somehow.

I'm seeing it and feeling it but I still have a hard time believing this is what it takes. I always thought a bigger life of passion and abundance would somehow come to me if I did all the prep work, but it doesn’t.

It takes grit. It takes endurance and grit and a willingness to live without the comfort of being right or sure or even acceptable. I didn’t think it worked this way. I’m glad to see it does though, it gives me a little hope and some new things to think about...

So I don’t have to wait for things to finally click to live a bigger life...But I do have to fight to bring it real every day...every damn day.

Actually, that's kind of asking a lot...