Daddyism. A Father's Day Tradition Like No Other.

As another Father’s Day approaches, one muddles over the unfortunate things inflicted on the kids over the years, despite a Dad's best efforts and intentions to do the right thing in the right way. Given the relevant, recent history with a divorce and now a new marriage, I worry if my own issues might have permitted the kids to fall a bit into the cracks.

I should have known things had gone off-kilter when my Father’s Day gift a year or so back was a glass butter dish. A butter dish! Seriously! This kids crack falling thing is not the most celebratory thought right before another Father’s Day. Yet, it is just another part of Daddyism.

Daddyism relies on a heavy concept that, all in all, the kids are relatively resilient. Whatever mistakes and missteps their Dad makes, the mere attempt at doing the right thing as a father seems to prevail. One can only hope.

June 19th, 2011 is my 15th Father’s Day celebration. The number itself means very little except to offer a bench mark in time. It is easy to get caught up in it all, to look back upon experiences and events and feel time as fleeting. Looking forward to events yet to come there are driving lessons and SATs; high school graduations and proms; and, just a handful of remaining family vacations around the corner. All too soon (poof!) they should be off to college where both the fatherly influences and inadequacies shall have a relatively zero mitigated impact (thank goodness). Then, if history predicts anything, it’ll be another ten years before the kids return to perhaps see ‘ol Dad wasn’t/isn’t so bad after all.

The other day, I saw where the Houston Zoo had a rather unique day for Dads planned. Kid’s can name an endangered toad after their Dad and celebrate that splendor. How appropriate and funny and a wonderful illustration of a hidden truth. Somewhere in the layers and layers of parental phobias and decisions and daddy dogma, there is an uplifting calm, not to mention hilarity, in the humanity of Daddyism. I embrace that concept and philosophy, completely.

Daddyism holds perspective power. Most of us don’t truly realize our own kid-dom. We are mostly a product of the chronological listing of stretched stories and half-truths. Our memories change, filter, and reprioritize the important who-ness, what-ness, where-ness, when-ness, why-ness, and how much-ness (as well as, bad ass-ness) of our histories. Much is forgotten in the timelines from diapers to driving. We watch it happen, take a few notes, document it all as best we can, but the minutiae and wonderful details get lost on the shuffle to get to the inevitable what is next in life. Yet, the best part of Daddyism is our front row seat to watch it all unfold so we can, hopefully, talk about it later.

And it does unfold in strange ways. What seems like yesterday, I remember a small, chubby baby barely able comprehend the beauty of a simple fart, yet smiles anyway. Today, we belly laugh as we quickly roll down the windows of the car, knowing full well the profound accomplishment. Now THAT is human progress; an illustration of the overwhelming human experience boiled down into chunks one can more readily digest.

Yes, true Dads laugh. A lot! They harbor no overwhelming sorrow. No obvious fear. They are compassionate, yet strong. There is no status-envy as one would be hard pressed to think of a more cherished position for a man. True Dads love unconditionally. We promote productive, positive possibilities and a propensity for play, purposefully.

Sounds fun, doesn’t it? For those non-Daddyism endorsers, there isn’t a much more compelling argument for or against Daddyism than that. Daddyism doesn’t offer a cure-all to what ails you; quite the opposite, actually. It sells to Dads that front row seat perspective as the days, months, and years parade by offering you rare conclusions or quick fix solutions, but a heck of a lot of enjoyment along the way.

The risk is that, one way or the other, the kids might turn out to be just like you. Not the solace you are looking for, huh?! No harm, no foul. Life is elusive in handing one explanations and directions for happiness, significance, and reason. The Zen in me says, right there, THAT IS Daddyism in and of itself.

Maybe, the only real risk is that one day the kids offer you thanks by naming an endangered toad after you as you bask in the immense capacity of their love. This thought gives me hope. It is better than a butter dish and that there is progress. They are learning, in spite my fatherly falters and many misgivings.

Happy Daddyism and a wonderful Father’s Day to the Dads out there.

It's Hamma' Time

The other day a friend of mine asked me for advice regarding their pending separation and, ultimately, divorce. More specifically, he wanted to know how I survived it what with all the highly emotional, legal, and financial issues.

That is a loaded question. I understood his trepidation completely. I had the same fears and wanted a ton of answers to questions I didn't even know how to ask.

First, I’m not sure my circumstances are over enough to where my survival can even be counted in the category of “been there, done that”. There are still lingering, almost daily issues. So, I prefaced my comments in the conversation that I didn’t have an appropriate answer. I’m still a work in progress.

Secondly, and more importantly, I’m incredibly biased by own understandings, strengths, and inadequacies. I don’t have a well rounded experience in divorce (thank goodness).

But that is not what my friend wanted to hear. He wanted me to tell him what to do. And that got me thinking.

I’ve been doing some minor construction projects lately and I have construction on the brain. So, I easily went right to the following analogy. For a person comfortable with a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Got a problem? No big deal, use my divorce-hammer. Bang away at it and your problem can be solved with my hammer. That'll fix it.

At the architecture firm with which I am employed, I’ve been using the same marketing hammer for nine years to some moderate success. Those who have found chiropractors for back pain issues sing the praises of the adjustment hammer, while acupuncturists use that needle-nosed hammer. Recovering alcoholics view the world with their AA hammer, while others find solace in the corner bar...Hammered. Conservatives swing their Rush Limbaugh hammer while Liberals hit their nails with an Olbermann hammer made for lefties. Nutritionists say my cholesterol issues are diet related and should be fixed with a low-fat/whole grain hammer while my doctor fixes me up with the Lipitor hammer.

All of those hammers hit the nail on the head.

I am positive there are studies upon studies that show the biases all around. And I guess that if you truly want to nail it, one should look at the problems in a different way. Take it as an opportunity to find the best solution, not one based on bias. My way is not the right way. And neither is yours all the time, either.

So, my advice to a friend during a very difficult time was to simply be the best person possible. Use whatever tools are available to stay secure, as well as emotionally and financially centered. Be creative. The rest is a work in progress anyway. In fact, divorce and the life after it is a complex construction project in multiple phases. One might need more than a hammer.

Besides, it is fun to wield the electric drill every now and then. Demolition with a saws-all is always a good time. And there is always duct tape for emergencies. More to the point and on a personal note, I've learned to improvise as I lost my favorite hammer in my divorce.

Life 2.0

Two years ago today, I flipped through the standard radio stations on my way home from work. I was going through a 70’s kick of sorts. The Eagles’ lyrics, “We make it harder than it has to be. And I can’t tell you why,” came through loud and clear. I sang. I pondered. I was moved. At that very moment, the lyric simply immersed itself in the passenger seat next to me for the car ride home, buckled in and turned up the volume. I’m not being blunt here. It was the day I decided to ask for marital help.

I remember this because I started to blog about it, writing this post two years ago today instead of celebrating a wedding anniversary. I never finished it, so I never posted it. But the remnants stayed in my “blog ideas” folder. All irony of the date aside, it was the beginning of the end.

Fast forward the digital tape. Although the new blog has been a bit neglected as of late, the essence that spawns the tales is anything but. Life 2.0 is working out a few glitches in the matrix, but the new version is streaming along quite nicely. And it is illustrated quite beautifully that today’s date means very little in this new momentum forward.

So, date acknowledged. Done. What’s next?!!! Ah, yes, Wine Festival weekend. Awesome! This is going to be fun.

Choices

This is not earth shattering. It is not even close to important. I’m not sure it even warrants a blog post. But, I have been pondering quite a few things over the last few months amid all the boxes and packing and moving and unpacking and making decisions about where to put my stuff.

A lot about divorce is in re-inventing oneself. Well, maybe not re-inventing to the scale of “I am now James Bond”. No, it is more like rediscovering the important pieces of what makes me tick, both the good and the bad.

Sometimes they are simply trivial ticks. For instance, I’ve decided I really miss button-fly jeans. I only own zipper jeans right now and I think that is sad. I liked button-fly jeans once upon a time. But are they in style? I don’t think I know that answer. Will I fit in or stand out? Do I care?

I know what to wear to certain restaurants. I have decent clothes for my upcoming conference in SFO. I have suits that aren’t too far outdated... yet. And I also know there are a lot of people that are sure to tell me the answers and that will give great advice. These things all will help me blend in.

But maybe, just maybe, I want to stand out from the crowd now. Here’s the tricky part (yes, the Big, Fig Newton)…. Look at me! I’m either a freak or a fool. Or maybe I’m just cool. Those white loafers with the metal thingy would sure grab some attention. These things will get me noticed.

Clothing is not really the issue, just a textile illustration of a minor yet conscious dilemma. I know I have a choice to make with literally everything I do, from posting on this blog to buying a certain brand of beer. Is the decision to fit it or stand out?

The point is: I now have more choices than I really ever had before. I get to choose.

I want button-fly jeans.

Divorce is weird!

In 2009 + Life's Lyrics 18 - Brand New Day

New Year’s Eve has always been a source of trepidation. For some, it feels like a night of mandatory feting. Everyone dressing up in garb they might never wear again (comfortably maybe, but, probably not). It can be an expensive night. People marinate their brains on alcohol in order to forget the previous year. Or celebrate/dread the upcoming one. It can be more of a hyped-up holiday where one must attain a socially respectable level of enjoyment.

However much I enjoy a good party, this NYE brings about much needed reflection. For the majority of the year, 2008 sucked. But with it came a ton of great and encouraging people and events. Suffice it to say, I would have soberly stared at you, blinking unbelievably if you had hinted to me that in 2008 I would teeter-totter between extreme emotions while crying/laughing along at each one:

- Surviving divorce and now a reveling in a new Love;
- Bush anger and Obama hope;
- Leaving what has been my home (living out of suitcase through all of 2008) and now starting a new home from scratch (with a permanent place to put my toothbrush);
- Fearing economic upheaval and being thankful for a job I love;
- Losing my dog of 13 years and thriving with my non-profit work for the zoo;
- Cooking for one vs. cooking for my kids/friends/Girlfriend; and,
- I will not miss the countless remote hours alone in a small condo from hell but will always cherish the memories during the multiple travels with friends/loved ones.

If nothing else, 2008 was not boring. And you know what? I have no real regrets. Well, I might have done a few things better given a chance to revisit some things, but all in all I’ve come through the year looking forward 2009. I’ll be ok.

From Joshua Radin's acoustic little ditty (sounding very Cat Stevens-esque) are these lyrics from the song Brand New Day. I hope when you wake up on Thursday, January 1 on 2009, this is the first song you hear.

Some kind of magic
Happens late at night
When the moon smiles down at me
And bathes me in its light

I fell asleep beneath you
In the tall blades of grass
When I woke the world was new
I never had to ask

It’s a brand new day
The sun is shining
It’s a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know I’ll be ok

Most kind of stories
Save the best part for last
And most stories have a hero who finds
You make your past your past
Yeah you make your past your past

It’s a brand new day
The sun is shining
It’s a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know I’ll be ok

This cycle never ends
You gotta fall in order to mend

It’s a brand new day
It’s a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know I’ll be ok

After Mediation

and tonight's playlist:
(I Ain't) Missing You (Acoustic) - John Waite
On My Way (Acoustic) - Ingram Hill
50 Ways to Leave Your Lover - Paul Simon
These Days - Jackson Browne (see below)
Time for Me to Fly - REO Speedwagon
I Will Survive - Cake
Turn and Walk Away - The Babys
Off and Running - James McMurtry
heartbreak a stranger - Bob Mould
kiss this thing goodbye - del amitri
It Is What It Is - Minibar (see above)
Nothing Left To Lose - Needtobreathe
thought i knew you - Mathew Sweet
Last Day of Our Acquaintance - Sinéad O'Connor

Life's Lyrics 15 - These Days

It is the night before I walk into a lawyer's office and face divorce mediation. I am unusually light about it and probably shouldn't be. I guess I'm resolved to what ever happens, happens. Not much more I can do at this point. All the forms are filled out. I've talked with my soon to be Ex-wife at length so that there should be no surprises tomorrow.

So, after tucking the kids into bed, I've spent the better part of the night cleaning a kitchen, a room I'm not sure will host many more meals for me. I'm a bit melancholy. And when that happens I turn to music.

While finishing up the last kitchen items, I quietly started a playlist on my iPod that holds nearly ten hours of relatively mellow acoustic music. i put it on random as I didn't want to dictate a mood. The first song to spill forth was an acoustic version of a Jackson Browne song, These Days.

Oh my. Did this hit home tonight. I listened for nearly half of an hour on repeat. I never got to another song. In order to purge the song and get a decent sleep tonight, I decided to post it. So, here ....

Well I've been out walking
I don't do that much talking these days
These days--
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to

And I had a lover
Its so hard to risk another these days
These days--
Now if I seem to be afraid
To live the life I have made in song
Well its just that I've been losing so long

I'll keep on moving
Things are bound to be improving these days
These days--
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend
Dont confront me with my failures
I had not forgotten them

Now I need to find a way to fall asleep....

The Apology

... after 13 years of marriage, I was told I DID get an apology ... in an email.

Birthday Drive

This highway rocked of craters and boulders
Has wound around unto a new road.
It is rife and rippling with frustrations and rage.
Yet, the love and the calm of a cruise.

The rearview mirror reveals the many
Lefts and rights and the wrongs.
Only the horizon tempts with a rising sun
If I can stay within the guardrails of sanity.

I hold no regrets. Although, I have heart aches.
I get past them, around them, and through them,
Steering clear of them by looking ahead.
Tunnel vision forward. There’s no more what could have been.

I’ve always identified the family man, me.
I was one before family became true.
I wonder if I should change self-perception,
When they’re half the time not with you.

On this day on the morning commute, alone and quiet,
I wonder if the man I used to be, my younger self,
Could understand the path I have become.
That I no longer follow that map anymore,
That now I navigate my way better without one.

Life's Lyrics 12 - On My Way (aka "Anger Management")

I always have my musical obsessions. Ingram Hill is one at the moment. They showed up earlier this year in Life's Lyrics 6 with a cover of Solsbury Hill.

I just burned this song to a CD. Just this one song. I keep it in my car and sing it loudly on repeat when things with the separation, divorce, and life with an ex-wife become difficult enough I need to scream. I figure singing is better than screaming. Plus, the band rocks.

I don't want your old letters
And I don't want to be friends
I've had enough to last a lifetime
and I don't wanna go again
I don't have to find a reason
And I don't have to answer why
It doesn't matter who is wrong here
I just wanna see you cry

And on my way I'll take the sunshine
On my way I'll take your dreams
On my way I'll say I'm sorry to no one but me

Let your family know I'm leavin
Lie to your girlfriends that you're well
Call and leave a cryin' message
I wanna know it hurts like hell

And on my way I'll take the sunshine
on my way I'll take your dreams
On my way I'll say I'm sorry to no one but me
On my way I'll be my own man
And I'll only please myself
On my way my pride's the only feeling I've got left

Celebration Man, Where Are You?

For most people the “holidays” don’t truly start until Thanksgiving, but for me October 1st is the turning point toward the wonderful insanity of celebration. Maybe because mathematically speaking it is the last quarter of the year. Maybe there is some truth that I feel this way because the Fall I know and love is finally here and the weather is starting, barely, to shift a bit more seasonal. But the truth is, for me, the holidays start in October because of the birthday celebrations I share with my two kids.

October is birth month in the house of Mud. November holds Thanksgiving, the best holiday of all. December ushers up Christmas and then into the New Year. Everything in between is packed with “other” and “getting ready for” those big days. And it takes Super Hero determination and powers to get through it all.

I’m having a difficult time getting motivated. I lack motivation and haven’t mustered the power to fly headfirst into the melee of festivities. Why? Because the Fall of 2007 was shear hell as my marriage was failing in October, falling in November, and fallen by December.

My last birthday was a blast in ‘07, no doubt, as my ex-wife threw me a party with my favorite band playing in our tree-house like setting off the back deck. Friends danced, drank great wine, and I believe everyone had a great time. Yet, reality and reflection shows it was a great going away party, a bon-voyage to the life I knew and loved. It introduced a whole new era.

I never before understood how people could despise the holidays. And they really do, some people. When I was a kid, I remember conversations from adults stating their profound loathing of the holidays. It caused headaches. It was more work than worth. I could never figure how adults could kvetch over loved ones (near and far), all the food, lights, gifts, pumpkins, trees, champagne, and fun. And the pies. Oh, the pies. All that stuff should make you happy, not grumpy, right?

I always wondered, even as an adult, about the negative people. Until last year.

Now, as I trudge through the calendar in my Treo, contemplating the filled events, driving in traffic, lines of last minute shopping, hordes of bitchy people, and the collective crappy moods I used to easily deflect, my mood is sinking. I wonder if I can do this again. I know I can. I know I will. I know the kids need the positive, not the negative. I know I will come out on the other side of 2008 looking at a rather hopeful, gleaming new 2009. I know. I know.

I just don’t feel that Super Hero feeling of Celebration Man today. October 1st is when I dust off the costume and polish the positive attitude. Today is October 1st and I don’t know where Celebration Man is. Last time I saw him was 2006. And of all the years, we need Celebration Man again.

But, I’m working on it. I am. I am Celebration Man and he’s here somewhere.

Update (10.01.08): It helped to walk in the door after work and being given the first "Birth Month" card. That helped a lot.

A Safe Place

When I get into the house every other Friday, I’m typically not prepared to cook for either me or the kids. The Girlie and I do the weekly shopping on our Saturday morning ritual. So, Fridays tend to be pizza night. Last night was no exception. I still push for the three of us to at least sit down, stare at each other, and for me anyway, try to catch up on the missed week of my children’s lives. Sometimes all I get is a “not much”. Sometimes I get last night.

Between bites of pizza at a quiet moment, The Girlie asked me “Why are we still at war in Iraq? The news showed some little kids that were lost. I don’t like that at all.”

I was briefly taken aback and over chewed my pizza, hiding behind a façade of a smile so I could think about my explanation. I needed to think of comforting fatherly words to ward off the evil world that wormed its way into my daughter’s consciousness. I fished for the words that could blur the edges of an impoverished child or tanks or soldiers or worse.

I will admit, I’ve wanted to see more of what the war is all about on tv. I don’t believe it is good to hide our actions from the American people. We already seem to be a culture of sheep to a certain extent. I believe if we actually could see all the caskets with draped American flags and more of the devastation these leadership decisions have caused, the American public (I’m talking mostly about the Republican conservative folks) might not have been as supportive.

However, in this moment with my kids I was torn and I knew with frightened clarity that events happen every day. This wasn’t just about the war. I was actually a bit relieved she didn’t ask me about the fall of the American financial world, as I’m not sure I could have really explained that to my nine year old. Not sure I could explain it to me right now. But it was immediately apparent there is a new nightmare nearly every day. Nine year olds must ponder these things all the time. Or they blindly choose to ignore it all and go naively playing with their dolls all sugar and spice with everything nice.

If given the choice to rewind those moments for her, I would have gladly hit the double arrowed left button and rerecorded a newer, nicer video over her Memorex. After all, in spite of my personal world-view, I am her father. I’m Daddy. I protect. It is my job more than any other. If a part of this life didn’t depend on the tv as baby-sitter whilst I prepare dinner (and my addiction to big screen football Sunday), the tv would be on the curb.

Yet, the news is the news. It is on tv every night, and despite the lack of a credible reality counter for the Good to balance it all out, it should be a reminder to all of us that life is not fair. There is no escaping the injustices this world forces upon us. Dark things exist around some of the most seemingly normal places looking all rainbows and ribbons.

And that clue is what The Girlie wanted to know. She is a smart girl and getting more grown up all the time. She simply wanted a version of the truth she could stomach.

So, without going into my politics I tried to explain the basics of the war in Iraq to a nine year old girl; how it started, why we are still there, and my hopes that we end it soon.

I watched her think. I was apprehensive. I’d given her too much to chew on, politically speaking. Her face scruntched up with cute, little thought lines above her eyebrows, “If Obama wins the election will he get us out of the war?”

That’s my girl, I thought as I took a swig of beer to down my bite of pizza. “I hope so,” I stated.

And that was that.

I sort of wish the conversation had turned back to the scary things. I know she sees a lot of it anyway. There are other kids that go to school with her where the parents have restraining orders. She knows kids from abuse. Hell, she knows life can go pretty quickly from an assumed happy family of four to a divorce and alternating parents every other week. She knows.

After dinner, I cuddled up with both kids for a rousing round of Rock Band on the PlayStation. And I wondered if my heart could slow down a bit and keep time with the drum beats coming at me on the screen. I think it is important for us all to laugh.

That is my counter. That is what I, as dad, do. Teach, warn, prepare, love, encourage, and provide that one and only safe place. Home.

The Wrong Side of Wrong

A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right. - Thomas Paine - Common Sense

Life these days seems to be more about being wrong or not being wrong (aka being right). It is front and center in politics and the looming November elections. It is prevalent in all things business (being wrong might lead to lawsuits). A state of wrongness seemed to be a constant issue playing a part in the downfall of my marriage and a current cornerstone in our post marriage conversations. Being wrong starts stuff we want to avoid, for some at all costs (lying, cover-ups, etc.).

Yet being correct or right is just normal. It goes unnoticed. Similar to good news in the media, being right or correct gets very little recognition. It doesn’t matter if one is honorable or righteous, one will still go to great lengths to get out of a situation where one has screwed up or made a mistake. And why? Why is being wrong so bad? Doesn’t it mean a decision was made? Something was acted upon?

I guess it leads me to the real point. Why do others thrive on pointing out ones errors? Why inflict heaps of discomfort on others by touting someone’s wrong? I get that it is a survival instinct. It stems as a bit of a martial art to deflect the attention off of oneself by pointing out the failings of another, no matter how much one cares or loves or likes the other person.

The world has come to a place where being right isn’t the goal. Just not being wrong, is.

Personally, I’ve observed how I deal with being in the wrong. I have an ego, too, so I don’t like being in that place any better than anyone else. But I also admit when I’ve made a mistake outright. I think most people to be fairly forgiving when I’m upfront and honest about my mistakes. I don’t deflect. I accept and move on. It is a lot less painful that way.

I guess I like to think it isn’t about proving wrongness in the world. Wrong happens. Maybe instead of feeling better by tearing one down, we should look to the other direction. One should be given the kudos for being right. Let’s forget seeking power by proving another wrong. The world would be a better place, yes?

It is just a thought. I could be wrong.

Codependent - A Work of Fiction

Lunch yesterday was at the office kitchen table. Being Friday, there was a lot of talk about the weekend plans sprinkled amongst the usual talk of who was eating what and who wanted to share this dressing and have a bite of that tuna concoction. I was the lone male at table of mostly slightly young(er), single women sprinkled with a couple of married moms. The women are aware I am divorcing and dating and that I am eligible, so to speak. Thus, I made an attempt to just eat my lunch, read my newspaper, and stay stealth.

I’m not going to recreate the exact conversation, just the highlights. I’m not that talented a writer and my memory for exact speech and styling a little foggy on a Saturday morning. But, amongst furtive glances to gauge my reaction, there was a fear being thrown around under the word “codependent”. Again, I buried myself in the paper.

Funny… Codependent. Is it an insult? It’s like it implies desperation, clinginess, and a palpable, pathetic persona.

“I just can’t see him again." ... "He drove me crazy with the always hanging at my place, eating all my food, calling me all the time, the constant IMing, and emailing stupid stuff." ... "He has codependent written all over him.”

I tried to wipe the capital “C” from my forehead before anyone saw it glowing red.

Their gist was crystal: It is bad to be reliant on another person for emotional support and, yes, love. These well educated women all agreed it was a sign of weakness. They shared stories, stories of men with the character flaw of wanting to be involved. And those stories spiraled downward with a pathetic picture of needy, incapable men with little value but for sex and a subject for gossip. The women portrayed themselves as self-sufficient, self-actualized, and strong. Dependence on another was all bad while the resemblance of Ayn Rand in pure female form, all good.

Now, I get this ideal. I’m rather Randian myself in my beliefs of the individual and self. But I couldn’t help but feel their thundering acknowledgements and “you go girls” to each other was counter productive, as if proving how independent they could be toward their potential mate made their bonds stronger somehow. Yet, I swear it wasn’t more than last week that I heard the exact opposite musings, “We had such a great time and he STILL hasn’t called me. No texting. No email. Nothing.” Or, “It’s his poker night. You’d think he would want to be with me on a Friday night.” And the, “I’ll use it as some quality alone time to catch up on my Soaps on TiVo.”

I guess you could say I’m confused. But I’m not. Extremes are becoming much more apart of my awareness in the human daily conflict that is this life. And it makes for great lunch time drama (no TiVo required). I think it is folly to think we can meander through this complex maze without the help and love and guidance and problems and issues brought about by others. I guess my solution here is that it would help if we all just admitted it outright.

I’ll admit it. I’m better with someone in my life than as a lone bachelor. I’ve always known that. I’m a good bachelor, too. I’ve been that guy before and succeeded that way in life. But, I don’t find a single thing wrong with wanting a certain person in my life who spends a chunk of her time wanting the same. If you share quality time, naked or clothed, with someone special I’d hope some sort of attachment follows suit. That isn’t weakness. That is strength. I’m stronger because of her. I am more confident. I’m. Just. Better.

“Mud! Mud!” I look up to a half dozen women looking at me stare at my food. A few snickers and giggles emerged from the other end of the table.

“I’m sorry. I zoned out,” laughing at myself and my day dream state. I clearly tuned them out. “What did you ask me?” I begged as I put my empty plate on top of my paper and sat up a little straighter.

“It must be nice to be on your own again. Do all those boy things without all the responsibilities. Are you enjoying all that guy stuff?” repeated the basic group questioning. I was surprised at the forwardness, honestly.

I smiled. “Oh, I’m not much of a bachelor these days. I’m dating just one, special girl. I guess you’d say I have a girlfriend.”

I’d caught them by surprise. There were a few, deep blinks and a silent swallowing of food as they stared at me at the end corner of the table waiting for more of an explanation. These strong, independent, professional engineers/architects and women weren’t prepared for me to contradict them. And I was about expose their collective façades.

“Um,” I paused and put my food down. I leaned back in my chair. “She inspires me to write poetry. I buy her flowers on as many Friday’s as I can and I think she likes that. I know the exact color of her coffee and to go lightly on the cilantro when I make her fajitas. And you know what, I like all that stuff. And I like learning more. The key, I think, is finding someone else who feels the same as you do and wants to be there on all the good stuff and the bad and still wants to be there, no matter what. I don't think we are codependent. We're too new. But I don't think codependent is a bad word at all.”

"Yeah. Well I wish my guy felt that way." ... and "Yeah, well, maybe." ... and "Hmmm. Mud, you are not normal."

Okay. I can work with that.

Forgiveness

I was struck by an editorial in the local paper today. The article dealt with a local CHP Officer who is now wheelchair bound due to a traffic accident. The gist is that he has forgiven the person responsible. The paper was commending the officer for such compassion.

They went on to include this list from Dr. Fredrick Luskin, the Nine Steps to Forgiveness. I, like the newspaper's editorial board, feel compelled to repeat the list here. Every single step is worthy of looking further into the soul and contemplating how I now deal and live today with my own issues. This is a good list.

1. Know exactly how you feel about what happened and be able to articulate what about the situation is not OK. Then, tell a trusted couple of people about your experience.

2. Make a commitment to yourself to do what you have to do to feel better. Forgiveness is for you and not for anyone else.

3. Forgiveness does not necessarily mean reconciliation with the person that hurt you, or condoning of their action. What you are after is to find peace. Forgiveness can be defined as the "peace and understanding that come from blaming that which has hurt you less, taking the life experience less personally, and changing your grievance story."

4. Get the right perspective on what is happening. Recognize that your primary distress is coming from the hurt feelings, thoughts and physical upset you are suffering now, not what offended you or hurt you two minutes - or ten years -ago. Forgiveness helps to heal those hurt feelings.

5. At the moment you feel upset practice a simple stress management technique to soothe your body's flight or fight response.

6. Give up expecting things from other people, or your life , that they do not choose to give you. Recognize the "unenforceable rules" you have for your health or how you or other people must behave. Remind yourself that you can hope for health, love, peace and prosperity and work hard to get them.

7. Put your energy into looking for another way to get your positive goals met than through the experience that has hurt you. Instead of mentally replaying your hurt seek out new ways to get what you want.

8. Remember that a life well lived is your best revenge. Instead of focusing on your wounded feelings, and thereby giving the person who caused you pain power over you, learn to look for the love, beauty and kindness around you. Forgiveness is about personal power.

9. Amend your grievance story to remind you of the heroic choice to forgive.

The practice of forgiveness has been shown to reduce anger, hurt depression and stress and leads to greater feelings of hope, peace, compassion and self confidence. Practicing forgiveness leads to healthy relationships as well as physical health. It also influences our attitude which opens the heart to kindness, beauty, and love.

It does, indeed, feel good to forgive.

Life's Lyrics 6 - A Work of Fiction

I'm striking while the inspiration is fresh. I've decided to take the lyrics from Solsbury Hill and turn it into a short story. If you don't know the song, I strongly suggest you download it and listen while reading as that is how I wrote it. If not Peter Gabriel's original, then the cover version from Ingram Hill is quite impressive. Remember, this is fiction (with a smile).

Part I
Pete walked into the empty house, cascading his keys down the lengthy kitchen counter. They slid right off the end landing by the trash can. He made no attempt to retrieve them, hoping as he deposited his backpack on the dining room chair that he’d remember his keys resting place later. Instinctively, Pete opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He just stood there and drank it, numb. He’d been like this now for nearly three months and it wasn’t getting better.

Life had changed beyond his control. His wife, his love, just left him, abandoning and crushing all he valued in one simple sentence, “I’m done”. The cavernous house felt like a mortuary. He felt the need to flee, to run away, and find an answer to mend the pain.

Maybe in a moment of pure inspiration or the simple need to move (or die), Pete set his unfinished beer in the middle of the counter. He retrieved his keys and grabbed his backpack slamming a locked door behind him.

He didn’t really know where he needed to go. He was lost yet he continued to drive around aimlessly. The radio was on, an old Genesis song, but it didn’t provide the needed distraction which is ironic because he really loved that song. After a while, Pete found himself on a vaguely familiar road winding up a hill into the darkening skies.

“Perfect,” Pete said out loud to break his own silence. He put the clutch in, took it out of gear, and coasted the car into a small pull out section with a view overlooking the city. It really was quite the perfect time and he wished he’d remembered to pack a few beers. He rolled down the windows to let the music ring out quietly and set the parking brake. He was only going to look for a few minutes. No sooner had he unsnapped his seat belt than the engine died.

“Shit,” he swore almost casually, “now what?” The needle was below “E”. He was out of gas.

“Figures,” he groaned and dropped his head onto the steering wheel, his hands fished for the keys and turned it to off, which did nothing but turn off the radio and the lights.

Sitting on a boulder, Pete gazed out over the city. The wind was blowing and he felt as if time was just standing still. His cell phone sat before him in his open palms. He no longer had anyone to call and for every twinkling light he counted down below in hopes to identify someone to help, he felt himself slip further into despair. He looked away to the silhouetted mountains on the other side of the valley and the purplish sky. He caught a glimpse of a big bird flying and followed it as it dipped under the horizon line only to be identified again as it cascaded up into the sky once again. It stretched its wings and swooped behind a large tree down below him by the road. And for a minute, as it vanished from view, it held the illusion of transforming itself immediately into an upcoming motorcycle. Pete blinked and cleared his eyes from tears in order to see a bit better.

It was a big bike and it pulled up slowly but with a sense of purpose. It was an amazing vehicle being almost all chrome. Even the bulging tank was shiny and reflective in the moonlight. It was something to observe and the driver pulled the bike up close, right next to the boulder.

Pete heard a voice, “You ok?” It was a deep, gravely voice.

“Yeah. Out of gas,” Pete pointed to the car. Funny, the presence of another person was comforting despite the larger than life persona in front of him.

“Mind if I join you,” the man said placing his helmet on the tank. “I’m Gabe”. He stood and stretched out a long arm. They shook hands and Pete noticed a taught, comforting grip. Gabe was a man easily in his late 60s yet had the physique and the moves of someone half that age.

“Pete!” he remembered to say, “My name’s Pete.”

The conversation immediately continued as if they were fast friends. Pete could not believe what he was hearing. This man, this complete stranger, was lifting a cloud. They laughed. They talked about everything and nothing at the same time. More than a couple of times Pete felt it might be a dream that it was all in his imagination. At times he even felt energized, like his heart felt lifted and healthy, like the downbeat of a song with an odd time signature in 7/4 time. He had to listen. He had no choice.

“It’s getting late,” Gabe stated. “Can I give you lift somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Pete blinked. “I’ll get my car tomorrow.”

“Son,” he said, “Grab your things. I’ve come to take you home.”

Part 2
A new chapter, no doubt, Pete still found himself months later in a rut. He was living day to day yet holding it together. He’d stopped having the arguments in his head with his ex-wife and was resigned to silence.

Much of the pain was drowned turning water into wine. Or beer. Occasionally tequila.

Friends and family took sides, as is typical in a divorce. It was only natural and Pete couldn’t really blame them. But, what were once open doors now were shut. He thought of things to say to them. He thought of all the losses and which friends were worth fighting for and which ones he should just cut and let go. It wasn’t like him to consciously hold those thoughts. It wasn’t part of the person he used to be. But sadly, he faced things he never thought he’d have to endure.

Pete saddled into a now familiar bar stool and ordered a beer and shot. He threw his work bag down by his feet. The t.v. was on above the bar with a news story of some sort of monkey experiments. He looked away and to the beer in his hand. The news made him feel even more desperate these days what with the high gas prices, a depressed housing market, the ongoing war, and a lack of even minimal leadership or solutions to any of it.

He didn’t want to be much in the world anymore having lost everything he believed in. So, he just existed. He was just a part of the scenery.

Pete ordered another drink before the long walk home. With gas nearly $5 a gallon, he’d starting using the bus to and from work. And although he loved the idea of green transportation and not leaving a carbon footprint, not using his car seemed like he lost yet another part of his identity. The beer was placed in front of him and he turned to watch the next patron come in from the bright light of the outside world. It was a familiar silhouette.

He’d completely forgotten about Gabe. His black jacket crunched with a comfortable leather sound as he made his way next to Pete and placed his helmet on the stool. He pushed a long strand of gray hair behind his ear, caught the bartender’s eye, and pointed to my beer.

“Good to see you again, son,” Gabe said casually. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Fine. Hangin’ in there,” Pete uttered.

And they talked. They continued right where they left off. They talked art and philosophy. They agreed Ayn Rand was right and wrong at the same time. They chided each other about the bands they both liked and disliked. They shared stuff together over a few more beers.

“I just don’t get it,” Pete said at an introspective moment in the conversation. “I consider myself a survivor. But I’m not doing a very good job of it right now. It’s too easy to just exist. Its a mess just trying to hold on to what pieces of my life I have left.” Pete elevated the last of the beer in his glass and drained the last drop.

Gabe turned from talking to Pete through the bar mirror and looked at him squarely. Pete returned the gesture.

Gabe’s voice held the weight of the world, “You need to rethink this place of yours. This is about being prepared to lose what you have for what you might get. It’s about what you are for what you can be. It’s about letting go.” Thumping his chest and pointing to his head, “Be the person in here and here. Go create. Make.”

Pete felt his heart beat faster. Gabe was right. “Make … that’s a good word.”

Gabe dropped some bills on the counter and picked up his helmet. “Hey,” he said, “Grab your things. I’ve comet to take you home.”

“Yeah. Back home,” Pete echoed. He knew where that was now.

Part 3
Pete sat with his heals in the sand. The heat felt good on his face. He leaned back and looked out to the water between his outstretched feet. He thought it would be a good picture. The water in front of him sparkled. He looked at surfers paddle out farther into the water and pirouette for the next wave.

Life is never where you want it to be. And he thought of the Stone’s lyrics, You can’t always get what you want. But if you sometimes, you might just find, you get what you need. Pete laughed because he figured Gabe would have issue with that saying something about “thinking your free.” But, it didn’t really matter.

His cell phone rang. Pete picked it up to see who called. He was shocked to see a number from an old friend, a friend who at one point became one of the empty silhouettes who watched the hurt and pain from a distance. They all closed their eyes then, but they saw. They watched. They just didn’t know and they weren’t taught the etiquette. It's all ok now.

Pete decided to call back later. He was enjoying new places, new opportunities, and new friends. Today, Pete was making. And tonight he promised a friend he’d make ... dinner.

He watched a surfer stand and spin. Tomorrow he might join in.

He picked up the cell phone and searched for a number. There was a guy holding onto a few boxes of his stuff from his old place. It was mostly furniture and some tools. Pete had managed to let go of most of his material things. These were things next on his list of what to let go. In fact, he’d paired his life down to what he could pack up and go in about 20 minutes.

There was familiar music in the air from a passing car. It was a familiar anthem and worked for the time and place. Pete sang along while he dialed the number.

The surfer rode a wave almost all the way into the shallow water. Pete’s heart was going boom, boom, boom.

Pete got the answering machine. “Hey,” he said into the recording, “Listen. You can keep my things.” The surfer was walking up the beach with a board under her arm. “They’ve come to take me home.”

Nesting

An explanation first ... My (soon to be) Ex-Wife and I have an unusual arrangement during our legal separation and pending divorce. We both share the house and a condo. We rotate weeks, Friday to Friday, with the kids in the house while the other lives in a rented condo across town. On Fridays, we switch back. There is a legal term for it called Bird Nesting or a Nesting Agreement.

When the realization of getting divorced punched me square in the gut, one of the numerous panic attacks I felt was the overwhelming feeling that, being male, my time would be limited with the kids. That seemed to be the typical scenario fallout for most men. I’d be forced into a roll as a weekend dad and that was just not good for me. I’m a very hands-on, participatory dad (I do their laundry, make their lunches, monitor their homework, etc.) So, when the nesting idea flitted by in a conversation, I asked a lot of questions and hit the legal websites to find out more information.

Nesting is unique and is very kid centric. The kids stay in the house instead of being forced to go back and forth between parents. Nothing at home changes. Except for the fact that only one parent is present in the house at a time. And if grades are any indication of how successful this arrangement is, the kids improved in school showing no signs of stress due to the separation. Their worlds didn’t really change that much. And with only one parent in the house at a time, there doesn't seem to be much tension in the air anymore.

The other reason for keeping the house was purely economic. Right now is not the time to sell the house. We don’t really know what 2009 will hold for the MudHole housing market, but I’m hopeful.

This article from the SFGate, illustrates how this works rather nicely. It’s different in that these parents live in different places outside of the house, while we currently share a one bedroom condo across town. And we rarely find ourselves in the same room together, much less the house. But, the nesting concept works ... For now!