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I have two things I want to write about on this topic, and I can’t decide which to do, so I’m just going to do them both separately, in no particular order.

This one is shorter, so it goes first.

I saw this picture today on Pinterest:

It had the caption “Fact: Bella Swan is not a role model for girls.”

Now, based on my limited exposure to the Twilight saga, I kind of agree with the caption. However, given the context of the picture, I do not think I agree or support what they are trying to say.

First of all, while I have nothing MORE against a woman leading an army, fighting a dark lord, or starting a rebellion than I do a guy doing these things, I do question whether any of them (or any male counterparts out there) are really the kind of role models I want my children to emulate. These are things that a person, in the wrong place at the wrong time, might do out of necessity; but there’s nothing there that I would want for my children in a peaceful, civilized world.

Perhaps if they had chosen Elizabeth Blackwell, Harriet Tubman, or Marie Curie (I could go on, but you get the idea, real women that did real things in the face or real adversity) I’d be more inspired.

My bigger point, though, is that there is nothing wrong with getting married… in fact its quite cool. It’s cool for men, it’s cool for women, its cool for everyone (if you’re into that sort of thing… if not, being single is just as cool for you). There is absolutely nothing wrong with “winding up married.”

I’d be a “house husband” in a New York minute, and be damn proud of what I did day in and day out. I cannot imagine anything more important than crafting members of the next generation. Frankly, I think if more people prioritized that and stopped imagining themselves leading fictional rebellions the world would be a better place.

I agree that a world where women are relegated to marriage, child rearing, etc. alone is an affront to women, a massive disservice to humanity, and a backsliding continuation of a horrifically misguided past; and I absolutely love seeing (at least parts of) humanity (all to slowly) moving toward more a more balanced society with women as CEO’s, legitimate Presidential candidates, and occupying any other role previously thought of a mans position. However, a future culture that disparages marriage and cast a pall of failure on someone (of either gender) simply because the (very early) return on their life’s effort is a wedding is, in my opinion, a culture that has failed.

There is little in the world that I respect or admire more than a couple celebrating 40, 50, or 60 years of marriage. In fact, if you put two 80 year old people in front of me and one said “I was CEO of a fortune 500 company for 50 years” and the other said “I have been happily married for 50 fantastic years” I wouldn’t waste a minute calling the second person the greater success.

There is no shame in marriage, some of my greatest personal role models are people who have been doing it for decades… I’d be willing to bet some of yours have as well.

When I was about 11 years old (sixth grade), in the dead of a Ft Collins, Colorado winter our heat was shut off because of our inability to pay the bill (we were not what you would call affluent). One night, around 2:00am, bundled in blankets but still cold, I wandered into my mothers room to complain.

Her response was simple, “if you’re already cold, we might as well go make snow angels!” … and make them (and laugh, and cavort, and forget our troubles) we did.

When I was 14 (and a day… we had celebrated my 14th birthday on the train from Alice Springs the previous day) we arrived in Canberra, Australia in the evening with no place to stay (the youth hostel where we were planning on staying was full when we got there). Five minutes later we had a reservation at the YMCA, announced to us by, you guessed it, a full choral rendition of the song… arm motions and all… right in the middle of Australian equivalent to Grand Central Station.

I started thinking about these stories (and many more) when this song hit my radar this morning:

I have often heard this song (which I’m pretty sure is being sung to a parental unit of one gender or another) and thought, if I just flipped the words it would sort of reflect my relationship with my mother. take:

Because of you I’ll never stray to far from the sidewalk

and change it to:

Because of you I’m only vaguely aware that there are sidewalks…

You get the idea…

My mom was indomitable. Not only was no problem to big to handle, but there was no situation that couldn’t be laughed about and enjoyed along the way. Penny “if-your-walking-on-thin-ice-you-might-as-well-dance” Fuerst just didn’t have a “safe mode.”

As anyone I have dated (or has otherwise known me well) over the years can attest, adopting this mindset has been both my blessing and my curse. I have never really accepted the idea of disaster as reality.

Mind you, this does not mean I haven’t made a disaster or two of things during my life. In fact, I have done more than my fair share of that. Further, it doesn’t mean I don’t worry about things either, because I do. However, what I don’t do, pretty much ever, is accept the worst case scenario as a viable option in any situation.

There is always, ALWAYS a silver lining. There is good in every situation and a far worse situation that, thankfully, I do not need to face. For every sold out youth hostel, there is a jubilant, rousing chorus of YMCA, and a cause for celebration. So no matter what I might face… I never actually think, or even consider the possibility, that things are going to go horribly wrong…

…and if they did… there are always snow angels to be made

Thanks mom

Last night I had a meeting. It was a school fundraising meeting which means that, like most school related meetings I go to, it was one part Soren (man) and several parts woman.

Women work differently than I do, and different than groups of men that I work with do. Not just the group last night, but almost all of the groups I work with that are mostly women. It’s pretty remarkable to watch, actually. This was especially true last night as this particular group was a bit more focused, motivated and driven than some groups I have worked with before.

So many times throughout the night I wanted to pull my hair out, I had to bite my tongue because I wanted to scream… “We aren’t doing anything here, we are talking around and around and around the issues but not coming up with any plan, any todo’s… any-THING!!!” They bandied far flung (and practical… and everything in between) ideas around; laughed about them, weighed their merits talked about how cousin Betsys daughter would love that one in particular etc. etc. etc. However, whenever it came time to nail down the idea, concept, plan, whatever… the topic just switched to something else… and we (read: they – both my mouth and mind are far too slow to keep up with a fully charged estrogen enriched brain storming session) chatted up the next concept, and so on… I seriously thought I was going to explode…

But then, at the end, as I have learned it always does… the magic happened.

“Okay, so…” (which I think is some sort of secret girl code for “abra cadabra”, “shazam” or “expecto something-or-another”) is the queue, and is followed by “I’m going to do X, Heidi you will handle Y, right? Melissa, you’ve got the “Z” and Mandy can you fit “B” into your schedule this week”… “yep” “got it” and “planning on it” come right after that… notebooks are closed, bills are paid, tables are pre-bused and hugs are in progress. I… as usual… am trying to figure out what just happened.

How were they all on the same page? How did they all know what each of them were going to do; how the work was going to be divided etc.??? I’ve been doing this for years, it is still a mystery to me.

I’m not saying women are better at planning than men (I’m not saying they aren’t either)… but it is nonetheless amazing to watch how it comes together; and I’m pretty sure, based on my experiences over the past several years that no valid case can be made for women being at least equally capable of pulling off big projects, making the big decisions, or any of the other half-baked ideas that created a glass ceiling for them for so many years (centuries?).

My guess is those ideas came from some guy who attended a pre-historic PTA meeting… but got overwhelmed, didn’t stay for the end and missed the magic. Too bad for him… it really is pretty impressive.

Perspective is an interesting, and – as a friend recently found out – potentially damaging thing. I ran into him walking down the street over the past week and we were in the middle of the standard “catch up” conversation when he revealed he had recently been fired from his tech support job.

Knowing this guy, his passion for helping others as well as his technical competency, this came as quite a surprise to me, so I asked him what had happened. His short answer was “the difference between intentions and perceptions.”

One of his clients was having an email problem, they stated it was an emergency and needed it fixed right away as they had missed at least 5 really important emails (that they knew of… who knows how many more). His response was “I don’t care how many emails you have missed, your email is broken, I need to fix it and that is my top priority.”

You probably don’t need me to go on…

But – me being me – I’m going to anyway

In his own words (to me) he explained what he was trying to say was that his priority is making sure that all of his clients systems were working perfectly and – missed emails or not – he was making it his top priority (in other words, even if it was 2:00 am on Sunday and it was having no effect on business, it would be a top priority).

What the customer heard was somewhere between “I don’t care” and “%$#& you” (and where, in between those responses, they actually landed clearly doesn’t matter).

Poor choice of words? Obviously. The words “I don’t care” really cannot come out of the mouth of anyone in a customer service role who wants to retain their position for any length of time (unless perhaps referring to eating their own lunch; specifically, declining to do so in favor of working on said clients problem).

But its interesting to me, nonetheless, to note how a well intentioned, yet ill-conceived, sentence could be someone’s undoing. I guess it also speaks to the truth and wisdom of the old adage, “you get more bees with honey.” The fact is if he had just taken the time to clean up his sentence, in stead of losing his job he’d probably be getting an orchid letter right now about his outstanding service and dedication.

It’s amazing, really, to think about how significant the difference in outcome is based on the delivery of the exact same intended message. Clearly, there is a valuable message here. As a person who has often had it suggested that he should consider more carefully how his words (and non-verbal communications) are coming across…this story really resonated with me.

Choose your words (and actions) carefully the first time through… you may not get the chance to clean them up later…

I have a clue – “The more you know, the more you realize you don’t know” So, so, true… Lets get right to it.

I thought the pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock… oops.

I thought Rosa Parks was the first person to refuse to give up her seat and subsequently spark a political and legal battle reaching the Supreme Court, forever changing the landscape of civil rights… oops.

I thought our tax rates were high… oops.

I thought I’d recognize a drowning person and be able to save them… oops.

I thought Ben Franklin was pretty clever with that whole kite/key thing… oops

I thought, as a teen, that my parents had lost touch with the “modern” world; and that I knew more than they did about life in the 80′s… big, big, big oops. (25 years later… I’m really glad I started listening to them again along the way, and still do to this day.)

You get the idea… this is just a random sampling of some of the “shocks” I have experienced over the years as my knowledge base has grown. Over the past week, as I’ve been writing about these “lies” I have changed my mind regarding what I was going to write about – and from what angle I was going to write it – more times than I’d like to admit to, in fact… perhaps more times than I’m even aware of.

It fascinates me, as I expand my knowledge base and uncertainty asserts itself as the only logical result, that I am simultaneously expected to carry myself as more confident, assured, and informed. I am certainly more practiced, and it is probably also true that I am better able to anticipate probable outcomes/solutions to situations based on that experience.

However…

I have far more curiosities and unanswered questions now than at any other point in my life, and yet, I package myself (as society seems to demand) as an informed, au currant, decision making machine. My family expects it, my job expects it, my friends expect it… everyone expects it; and, not wanting to disappoint, I deliver results; confident, self-assured, actionable results.

What I wonder – and at times worry – about is how many babies are getting thrown out with the bath water of “common knowledge” or educated assumptions bordering on braggadocio. How many learning or growing opportunities are being passed over in favor of demonstrating my intellectual cachet.

That is part of what this week has been about. Questioning things I am uncertain (or even things I am certain) about… poking the soft underbelly of confidence.

When you work out you break down muscles, and then they rebuild themselves, stronger than they were. You build a more solid foundation and are able to do more – expand yourself further – based upon that. I believe that any exercise in self-reflection and self-assessment works the same way.

Whether it’s the knowledge that I really need to prepare to be the best I can be or that even if I do that prep work, things still may not go my way… and that’s okay too; that at any given moment I can be the worst parent on the block, but it doesn’t mean I am bad, and it doesn’t mean I don’t love my kids beyond belief and wouldn’t move heaven and earth for them; or the realization that there isn’t much point criticizing others when my life is such a work in progress itself… the bottom line is I am stronger when acknowledging my weaknesses. I am (and will become) more capable, knowing what I cannot (currently) accomplish.

So… perhaps the next time I’m lecturing my kids on morals and conduct, and they think I am out of touch and don’t have a clue; I’ll throw them a curve ball and let them know they are right, I don’t. Then together, we – the clueless – can go out in search of answers. It kinda sounds fun… put that way… way cooler than walking to and from school in the snow… barefoot… uphill… both ways… who does that?!!?!??!?

I am the good guy – As I mentioned earlier this week in another version of “lies,” last weekend I toured Cornelius Vanderbilt’s summer “cottage,” The Breakers. While marveling at the beauty and fantasizing about living in such splendor, the majority of my focus was on the excess. The houses 4 floors have around 130,000 square feet of living space, the primary living space (the first two floors) exceeds 65,000. Fifty-four (54) full sized replicas of my current house fit inside the primary living space (108 if you elect to fill the entire residence).

To be fair, they had three more children living with them than I do… so they needed the extra space, and all of the servants living on the third and fourth floors. But… this is not about them… its about me.

As I stated above, I walked through the building with an air of put-upon commoner. I talked (read: complained) to friends and co-workers(upon my return to Boise) about the extravagance, indulgence and excess. I judged the Vanderbilts for what they had beyond their needs, and the decadent lifestyle they chose to live while so many others toiled in poverty (even under their very roof). I was offended that they could “blow” so much money while people like me live pay check to paycheck, just hoping the car doesn’t break down or no one requires a trip to the ER

Then I looked at my About page…

I then reflected on the fact that I decided Wednesday night to tote the family down to Taco Bell for fast food rather than making dinner with the food I had at home because I was tired and didn’t want to cook. I considered that I have money in savings (not a lot, in fact… very little, but, some). I sit, at work, in an office with its own climate control… consuming energy so that I can be comfortable while I work my 8 hour shift before I drive my own car home and decide what to have for dinner (my third full meal of the day… probably augmented with a snack or two along the way and all the cold, fresh, filtered water I could ever want).

How must my lifestyle look to this guy… (and please note… I intentionally didn’t go with the worst case scenario for effect… if you want to see that picture… scroll to the bottom)

Neither he, nor his anyone else in his family, will ever consider savings. His entire (probably rather short) life will be spent in emergency mode. If he ever handles money, it will go as fast as it came on food, water, or some other necessity that is not currently a part of his daily routine… let alone taken for granted.

He will never know what a taco bell is, let alone decide to eat there because he feels wiped from a day spent working in his air conditioned office (in fact, he might never know what air conditioning feels like).

And on and on and on…

To him, I am the Vanderbilt family. I am the excess, the opulence, the conspicuous consumption… I am the bad guy in his life’s story (whether he knows it or not).

Its not just money, perspective exists in every facet of my life. I judge people who’s perspectives are different than mine as being bad; however, from theirs, or someone else’s I have failed to even consider, I am the problem.

I am not the good guy, nor the bad guy either for that matter, and every time I start to think I am it should send up a great big bright red flag. No, Soren, you’re not the good guy (no one is)… you are just… a guy. Perhaps more fortunate than some (and less so than others)… but, at the end of the day, certainly not better.

~~~~~~~~

The guy I didn’t choose…

I am a good parent – Don’t worry, this is not going to be a self-deprecating voyage of fishing for compliments on my parenting. I know that, at times, I have been (and will be) an exceptional parent to my children. However, what I have realized over time is that parenting is a series of glorious successes and fabulous fails; mountainous highs and cavernous lows, and the line that separates me from any other parent out there is very fine, and – much like my accomplishments in last minute (sometimes self-created) emergencies – often as dependent on luck as anything else.

Baseball has often been called a game of inches. Two batted balls hit equally hard, on the same, trajectory in the same direction can yield two completely different results. One will wind up in a short stops mitt and end an inning, the other will scoot past him (just eluding his grasp) and end the game by knocking in the winning run.

Many parenting decisions and outcomes seem to fit into this same general mold. I know other parents with the same attitudes, morals, rules, etc. in their houses; however, because of ~whatever little thing~ they did differently in raising their children, they have gone on completely different paths. I know parents who have done much more for their kids than I have, who have nothing but headaches; and parents who have done virtually nothing for their progeny and have “perfect children.”

What if one of my stern lectures had gone horribly wrong and I had lost one of my son’s attention forever? What if I had said something different when they were younger and inspired them to Nobel Laureate status (heck, maybe I did, and I just don’t know it yet).

I have come to believe that parenting, good or bad, is more like a batting average. A collection of strikeouts, bases loaded hits, double plays, home runs and perhaps – if you are crafty – the occasional bunt single. At the end of “the season” you can generalize and judge your parenting by reviewing your stats. However, day to day, as you parent, you are no better or worse than your current “at bat.” You dig in, anticipate what is likely to be thrown to you in this situation, try to pick up the rotation on the ball and put the best swing on the ball you can. You then hope for solid contact; and once you are done with that, you start the process all over again on the next pitch… yep, that’s parenting.

So, someday, I might be able to look back and say I was a good parent. But for today (and for the foreseeable future) I’m just looking to put the ball in play as often as possible and with a little bit of luck help the team find a way to win…

Life isn’t fair – I used to be pretty passionate about this one. I remember hearing the lecture from so many of my elders over the years (usually after stomping my feet and exclaiming some situation to be unfair); and it certainly left its mark. Not all that long ago I was giving the same lecture to one of my boys… “life isn’t fair, get used to that and learn to accept it or you are going to have a disappointing run on this planet” (or something like that).

The thing is, as much as we don’t want to admit it… life is fair. The playing field is even the opportunities for success or failure are there for you, and the guy next to you, and the gal next to him. As people or as societies, we may set up cultures that favor one group or another (I currently enjoy all sorts of advantages as a tall while male in the United States of America); however, “life” doesn’t have anything to do with that. Plus, lots of short black (Asian, Hispanic, etc.) woman have been far more successful than I have.

I live in the wealthiest nation in the world, surrounded by affluence and opportunity; yet, the wealthiest person in the world hails from Mexico… a country in may ways the opposite of all of that, from an environmental standpoint. I spent the weekend touring Cornelius Vanderbilt’s summer “cottage”, all 130,000 sq ft of it. He started his life poorer than I. I listened to stories of his servants, beginning with their hard and impoverished lives in service to the Vanderbilt’s and ending in their stories of social and financial success.

Typically people get what they deserve, in one form or another. Our “rewards” and “successes” may not be what we want them to be, and others may be able to inflict us with circumstances we did not earn for ourselves; but these things are not unfair, they are just a part of the grand randomness of life.

An that’s just the thing. Life is completely random. You might be born a Vanderbilt, you might be born to me, and you might be born – with AIDS – in the heart of Ethiopia. You might go your entire life without being in a traffic accident or your life might be cut short by a drunken driver at the age of 5. the Earth has no agenda, no vested interest in you, it just goes about existing… randomly.

Lets say we are starting a new school and more people want in that can attend. What do we do? We hold a lottery… a random selection of who gets in and who doesn’t. Why? Because it is the only fair way to do it. How do we select the winner of the Powerball jackpot or who will sacrifice themselves for the greater good (i.e. “draw the short straw”)? Randomly… so as to be fair. We, as a society embrace randomness as fairness. Yet, when life acts randomly (and – more specifically – when it acts against our best interests) we admonish it for being unfair.

Life does not promise success, affluence, or comfort; those are constructs of modern man. Life promises a struggle for survival and the opportunity to revel or revile in the journey.

Success or failure in life used to be (literally) defined by life and death; and success was defined by living to a ripe old age of 30 or 40 years. In most of the world today, the worst case scenario is better than a successful life was then. There are some exceptions, of course, where ones life is still defined by their ability to survive to middle age. However, in my opinion, this has less to do with life being unfair than it does with the people living life (in more fortunate areas of the world) being selfish.

If you ask me, people are (can be) unfair, unjust and unscrupulous… but life… is random, unpredictable, and unquestionably fair.

I work best under pressure – Making the best of a given situation should not be confused with making the best of an opportunity. My seemingly fantastic accomplishments under pressure seldom, if ever, hold up as anything above average when compared to similar tasks that were undertaken in a steady conscientious manner.

I recently read an article about a young man who had gotten himself into trouble with the law in his youth. He subsequently has rebounded and holds a well regarded position on the Governors staff. It was a great story of someone turning his life around, overcoming the mistakes of his youth, and making something of himself. However, what resonated with me the most was his self-assessment at the end of the article; “I don’t think I should be celebrated for overcoming obstacles I put in my own way.”

I view any of my “under fire” achievements (that were born of procrastination) in roughly the same light. Other than luck, the only things to which I attribute my successes in these situations are the previous life experiences that essentially served as practice; and thus prepared me as if I had actually committed the time and attention demanded by the task at hand.

The reality is that, while I may work better than (some) others under pressure, no one, including me, does their best work under pressure.

Last night was Halloween and, as per family tradition, we dressed up as a family (well, me and the youngest did, the teen is above such frivolity now).  He as Percy Jackson and I as his loving father Poseidon.

As you can see from the pictorial evidence, my homemade costume lacked, shall we say… a professional finish.  In short… it was pretty awful.  However, my son liked it, and that was all I really cared about

One of the highlights of the evening was my walk to my parents house.  Every few houses I would run into a group of kids and one of them would invariably ask me what I was supposed to be (see horrible-homemade-costume references in paragraph number two).  Time after time I would reply “Poseidon” and they would say “Who?” (or…”What?”).

And thats when it got good. Every single time, I would then hold up my trusty trident, and repeat “Poseidon,” and without fail they would squeee and respond something very similar to “that is the coolest costume… ever!!!”

It appears all I really needed was my trident.  I’m pretty sure I could have worn sweats and a jacket (which would have been far warmer) and gotten the same reaction each time I brandished my trident.  I’m certain from the moment it was before them, it is all they saw.

… aaaahhhh… the wonderment of youth

I love it

I’ve been pondering this for quite a while, and I think I have decided that my cell phone has become a bit to ubiquitous in my life.  I have become to dependent upon it for all sorts of things (sports scores, email, text messages, and even ~gasp~ phone calls amongst other things); and other people have become to dependent on it as a means to get in touch with me as well.

Part of my problem is that I don’t like the current (rather common) practice (of which I am sometimes guilty) of treating the person calling in as a priority over the person I’m having a conversation with.  I don’t like putting people in front of me “on hold” for people who are calling; and I really don’t like being put “on hold” by someone picking up a call.

A bigger part is that I believe we as a culture (and I as an individual) have become too enraptured with technology and the speed it brings into our lives.  I feel like instant access (to email, to the web, to people via text and phone) has become a bit of a rush, I’d like to slow down a bit… at least one day a week, anyway.

The biggest part, for me, is that I feel like time with people isn’t
really time with people anymore.  I have caught myself in the middle of conversations with family and friends, checking my text messages or email because something came in, and there was a lull in the conversation.  People do that to me all the time, and I hate it… so I’m sure I don’t get high marks when I do it.

So, what I’m thinking is this.  On Saturdays, I’m going to turn my cell off and leave it in the bedroom (all alone and afraid… it’s not used to being without my company after all) and i’m simply going to interact with those in my company.  I may turn it on once in the afternoon to make sure there are no messages that someone is in the hospital or anything.  But, unless someone is, I will not be returning any calls or text messages.

If you are not part of my plans on a particular Saturday, you will not be a part of my world.  If you are a part of my plans on a Saturday, you will be my entire world.

Yeah… I think thats what I’m going to do… the only real down side is that I’m going to have to start wearing a watch again…

My team is monster.  Through a series of trades over the first 7 weeks of the season, my team has grown into what I view as an unstoppable force.  Lets take a look shall we:

Quarterback:

• Kyle Orton
• Aaron Rodgers
• Mike Vick

• Brandon Lloyd
• Reggie Wayne
• Randy Moss
• Hines Ward
• Percy Harvin

Running back (fasten your seat belts… this is just ridiculous!!!)

• Arian Foster
• Adrian Peterson (yep, Peterson is my #2 running back)
• Darren McFadden
• Frank Gore

Tight End

• Vernon Davis

Kicker

• Sebastian Janikowski

Defense

• Washington (okay… this could be a little better… but with this team, are you really worried about your defense???)

Defensive player

• Patrick Willis (there are better players out there, point getters anyway, but, this is me picking with my heart… gotta go with my niners best player… and he’s still very productive!)

You know you have fantasy football envy… heck, even if you don’t play… you probably recognize how beast this team is!!!

So, no saving the world today… or even making you think… just reveling in my unbelievable FF team.

look out league… and let the excuses begin!!!

Have a good day

Hugo Reyes, AKA Hurley, you are the season of my discontent!  A couple of years ago now I gave up tv.  Not just cable tv, all of it.  When the digital requirements came in, the last vestiges of tv in the Jacobsen house went out.

For years I had avoided the temptation that was Lost, all of my friends said I would love it, I said no!  I’m not doing tv anymore… period.  Then along came netflix and one somewhat bored evening.

I thought it would be quick and easy.  Watch an episode, maybe two, realize the fuss was about nothing more than the usual mindless tv drivel and I’d be happily back in no tv land.

Oops.

You see… there was Hurley.  I have no idea why his character captured me so much, but, while everyone else was pining over Jack, Kate, Sawyer, etc. I couldn’t get enough of Hurley… and so I was stuck.

Actually, I do have some idea… Hurley is the visualization of the dream I had as a child.  Become rich, and do it in such a way that even if you tell people about it they don’t believe you.  It’s not just the clothes, down to earth casual guy next door attire is a good start, but, it’s the personality.

He cares about the same things you and I do, for apparently the same reasons. He’s an absolutely normal guy… with $150 million (give or take a few… who’s counting at that point).  He is exceptional, not because of his wealth, but more so in spite of it.  He shines because of his compassion and his ability to relate to the human condition.

So, over the past two or three months I have managed to catch up, watching every single episode of this infernal show to the point where I now have to wait a week like everyone else to see what happens next.  And the sad thing is, its not even great tv.  It’s okay, but its not fantastic.  It’s not changing my life, or even improving it.

Nope, the simple truth is that I’ve bonded with Hugo, and I need to know what happens to him.  I’ve bonded to the point that I am already a bit bitter about the yet to be seen ending of the final season… what then.  I am a 43 year old man who has never before cared enough about a tv show to not want it to end.

And now, I’m feeling it, and it’s pissing me off!!!

I’ve developed my own theory (I’m certain I’m the only one who’s done that, right?) As to what is going on with the island.  Gradually as all of the inhabitants are eliminated, they find that they have jumped in time and space yet again… to another CBS prime time tv show!  I am certain that in the last episode Charlie will return to the island only long enough to announce that “on October 6th, the planet blacked out for two minutes and 17 seconds, the whole world saw the future.”

Do you see what has become of my addled brain… and it’s all Hugo’s fault… all of it!

Throughout the course of my life, I have wondered what is supposed to matter and what isn’t in a relationship.  I don’t mean “am I in love” or “is the sex good” or “are we happy and do we laugh” etc.  I know all of those things and I know their importance.

No, I mean… does it matter if we roll or squeeze the toothpaste, does it matter if we like earth tones or bright splashy colors, if we eat mostly veggies, or mostly meat, etc.

I’ve been told by many to do my homework before I commit to a relationship; that I should know the little things that are going to drive me batty before I jumping into something that I will later want to back out of because, really, who can reasonably be expected to stay together with someone who can’t even put the toilet paper on the roll properly (for the record is **MUST** roll over the top to the front, not languish at the back!).

For a long time this seemed very important and prudent to me.  But lately I’ve done some reflecting… and some second guessing.

I like earth tones, they are soothing to me, easy on my eyes and they make accent pieces really stand out… which I love.  However, ultimately, they are just shades and background… and I can live without them just fine, if something else brings joy to the person who brings me life.

I like “messy” landscaping, it pleases me to no end to have a little wilderness in my yard, it makes me feel more like I am “away from it all”… which I love.  However, ultimately, it is just groundcover and vegetation and I can live without it just fine, if something else brings joy to the person who brings me life.

I like hip hop music, the rhythm, bass and infectious beat just makes my body want to move, I love to dance and nothing brings the movement out of me like an upbeat R&B song.  However, ultimately, it is just a soundtrack, a highlight to the real substance of life, and I can live without it just fine, if something else brings joy to the person who brings me life.

Ultimately, I guess, what matters the most, are the things that don’t matter…

… that, and the toilet paper!

I learned a lesson, from a old and dear friend, recently. She has been teaching and preaching it to me for a long time, but I only recently allowed it to process. Specifically, you don’t have to be disadvantaged to be right, and you don’t have to be wrong if you are advantaged.

It’s not that I didn’t know this, of course. However, I tend to get to ranting and raving and supporting and championing, I build up momentum, get excited and wind up buying my own hype. All of a sudden everyone who is a minority or put upon in some way is a saint.

I’m also not saying that the put upon masses are wrong either. In fact, what I’m saying is that is may well be, in fact, that very often – perhaps even most often – no one is wrong. People just do not see eye to eye on something are having a difficult time reconciling their views.

The bottom line is that most of the world is grey, or shades thereof, and not black and white; and we need to look at it that way if we really want to understand it. Interestingly enough, once you do, it turns out that it is actually in glorious Technicolor as well.

Go ahead, take a look… it’s worth it J

My Dearest Allie,

 

I have been saving this letter for a day when you are able to recognize me early so that we might have a little extra time for me to share it.  I know you will not remember it beyond this afternoon, and most of my friends have implored me not to read it to you, but I feel I must.  It is not a portion of our story that you included in your notebook, and it is not a portion of our story that either of us treasure.  However it is part of the story of us – it is the part of the story where I let you down.

 

It is very easy to allow your notebook to do all of the talking, and receive the credit for being a wonderful husband and enduring soul mate. But I am human as well, and it is also important, in my opinion, that you know that I am up to the task of admitting it.  In fact, that’s really the crux of the story I must share with you…

 

When you first became ill, I did not handle it well.  Instead of supporting you with patience and love, I showered you with frustration and anger.  I tried to fight your disease as though it was bad behavior, rather than something affecting you outside of your control.

 

Twice before, we have nearly lost each other. Never, has it been your fault.  Rather, my ego, my selfishness, and my intolerance (the alter-ego of my much ballyhooed patience) conspired to attempt to destroy what we had.  

 

You see, I could not stand not being the center of your world; nor would my pride allow me to admit this was true.  I had grown to live for you screaming my name when I entered the door, running to greet me, and doting on me as if I had hung the moon.  It began to define me and validate me; and when it faded – through no fault of your own – I began to fade as well.

 

Allie, I was not born the man who comes here every day, and reads to you, and waits for you. I was not born the man who gets you back for a moment only to have you ripped from me again; and yet returns again, day after day.  I had to learn to be that man.  A lesson you showed me, by example, years earlier; but I didn’t take the time to learn until it was nearly too late.

 

You were patient with me.  You weathered my confusion and scorn when you didn’t recognize me – or didn’t remember some insignificant detail that I had determined was of crucial import – and I couldn’t understand why.  When I crawled into a shell because I thought you were rejecting me, you cajoled me back out… even though you were feeling the same rejection from my actions.

 

You saved us, Allie, over and over again you saved us – and in doing so – taught me how to be the man I am today.

 

Everyday I read to you, and some days you recognize me.  When you do, you again and again tell me (with and without words) how wonderful you think I am.  You fall in love with me right before my eyes, and you give me credit for making it happen.

 

But it’s not me that deserves the credit, it is you; and in this moment – while you are here looking at me, understanding who I am, and who we are – I also want to say thank you.  My life would be meaningless and empty if not for you.  You are the hero of this story; a story that would not exist if not for your remarkable perseverance.

 

Thank you Allie, for saving me and for saving us.

 

Your Noah

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: This is, of course, based on the story.  As such, it requires Allie to have the disease.  However, in real life there is often no disease, simply someone who fails and is bailed out by another who picks up the ball for them.  Thank you, Allie, for comng to my rescue so many times over the years.  I am sorry that I fumbled one to many times before I became the man I needed to be…

Phil Mickelson is not my favorite golfer (not even close really). However, he has done a few things in his lifetime that put him on my list of pretty damn cool people. Today, he did it again.

At the top of his game and peak of his career, he has suspended it indefinitely to be with his wife while she begins – and hopefully successfully ends – her bout with breast cancer. Mickelson has always put his family first, including wearing a pager on the final round of a major tournament and having plans in place to leave, even if he was in contention, if his wife went into labor.

Todays news is not surprising in the least, which is probably the best part of it. It is exactly what I would expect of Phil Mickelson, and I can’t think of a better way to compliment him than to say exactly that.

You have set a good standard sir, keep up the good work.

As for Amy, my prayers and best wishes go out to you…

I now have no idea how this blog is going to turn out. I pasted the quote below into my blogs editing area this morning with the intent of adding very little to it other than accolades to my friend Marshall for posting it. However, since life waits for no one, while I was doing other things, the context of this post has changed dramatically. And now, as I sit on the bus composing in, I really do not where it is going anymore.

I guess we’ll start with the clip from his facebook note and go from there:

The following is from a women who met a man and fell in love with during a college trip to Europe. A brief affair and both went on to the lives they were meant to live. The met again by accident — below is their last meeting and a phone call.

We arranged to meet at a little Japanese restaurant near the Manhattan side of the Roosevelt Island tram because he couldn’t walk very far. He was seated when I arrived, and his body seemed to take up less space in the chair. I had to purse my lips to keep from crying.
“It looks bad, I know,” he said in a voice empty of that raucous energy that had always defined him. “But not to worry. I have great doctors.”
Another three weeks passed. When I called his house, the phone rang and rang, and there was no machine. One evening I tried again. This time a woman answered.
“Hi,” I said. “May I please speak to Patrick?”
There was an awkward silence.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” she said in faintly accented English. “Patrick died. It was about two weeks ago.”

How dare we let people out of our lives!

This story was moving enough for me when it stood on its own. However, after this afternoon, with the point driven in so firmly and clearly… let’s just say I am shaken and stirred. My friend Devyl (if you come here with any regularity, you know who she is, as she is one of my most frequent and expressive commenter’s) essentially had this happen to her this afternoon.

So, it has become for me, even more real. I have a friend experiencing the loss of her Patrick, weeks after the fact, wondering where the years went, reconciling the events that conspired to create the chasm in their friendship, and lamenting what could have been.

The next, obvious, step is that I’m thinking about the friends I have made over the years, that have slipped through the cracks of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. People I once couldn’t live without that I have… well… lived without. Moreover, I am thinking about people that are still in my life, but perhaps a little tenuously perched, and wondering if I am really satisfied with where I have them placed in the grand scheme of things.

I find myself wondering if I am being daring… in a bad way. No, actually, I find myself wondering how often I am being daring in a bad way; because, I know that I am, what is at question is the degree.

I have a little spare time tonight, the teen is hanging out with friends, so I think I’m going to spend some of it being a touch more conservative, if you catch my meaning. I think I even know a pretty good place to start…

Is it strange or wrong to miss someone who isn’t really gone? I’m not even really sure if I’m mourning the eventual inevitable loss, or the current compromised presence. All I know for sure is that for whatever reason, while still having the benefit of the companionship, I am simultaneously lamenting its demise.

I’m sure demise is a bit strong. The reality is probably more of a transformation. The question, however, is this: how do you live with the post-transformation relationship when you have enjoyed the full light of the current one.

One of the life-lessons I learned early on, and have shared with others many times over the years, is that all relationships, when you are in them, seem larger than they are. I have had numerous friends that were so close to me, so integral and woven into the fabric of my life that the loss of them would have been unimaginable. And yet, they all (most of them anyway) went their own way, and my life moved on perfectly well without them.

The bottom line, really, is that no matter how dark the hour or trying the situation, you eventually get on with life. This includes the loss or transformation of friends, loved ones etc.. I know this, I have preached this, and yet, when faced with it, again, in my own life I find myself going through the same old emotions.

Just like everyone else, my advice is fantastic, unless I need to apply it to myself (are you hearing this banking industry?). Since I’m not yet willing to take my own advice, perhaps I will take a different tack and hope for the best. Who knows, maybe there’s a purpose to these emotions after all… to keep you in the game when it seems like you should leave.

After all… just because something is inevitable doesn’t mean it has to happen, right?

To the general public, I am a 42 year old single guy. To the general public, it seems, this is not acceptable. Efforts to set me up with every woman I pay the slightest bit of attention to are relentless (the same cannot be said of the men I interact with… more normalizing I guess, but not the topic of this particular piece).

It appears that I am required to be in a romantic relationship, at least to satisfy the needs of my friends and acquaintances. I do not understand this. A romantic relationship has never and will never be a priority for me.

Don’t get me wrong, it comes with certain benefits that are rather pleasant. I love sex, for example. Next to basketball, I think it is the most fun you can have with your body (or someone else’s). In fact, sometimes it even transcends basketball (sometimes).  I love intimacy, cuddling, and disrupting someone’s sleeping patterns with my snoring.  I love most aspects of being in a relationship.

However, those things are not so fantastic that they make me change the way I view a friend, simply because she has the ability (physical or otherwise) to provide those “benefits.” When I make friends, I make friends; gender is not a concern or factor. I do tend to have more female friends, but that is a function of what it is, typically, to be a woman (compassion, energy, sensitivity, attentiveness, etc.), not because of physical features, or other potential benefits.

Further, romance, intimacy, et. al. are not, in my opinion, the key tenants of any relationship I have with women, nor are they the defining quality of any of my female friends (whether I have dated them or not).  Rather, they are a bonus (and in some cases a counterbalance to other “features”) that comes if the relationship evolves.  Neither they, nor their potential, are part of the friend making process.

Throughout my life, whenever I have invested any significant amount of time with a woman (assuming I am single at the time), the other people who surround me (women at least as much as men, if not more) start asking if this is “the one.”

They want to meet her, but increasingly, it seems they want to meet her for different reasons than I thought they did. Perhaps foolishly, I thought they wanted to meet her because, since I thought she was cool enough to befriend, they might think that way as well. But the ensuing conversations are never along those lines. Rather, they always focus on whether or not we are currently (or will soon be) dating.

I suppose I should be appreciative about being surrounded by people that care about my happiness, and, ultimately, I am. But, every now and then, it gets a little frustrating that they seem to feel the need to define my happiness before advocating it.