Matter of Fact

“It takes two to speak the truth . . .

One to speak and another to hear.”

– Henry David Thoreau

“Everybody has the right to express what he thinks.

That, of course, lets the crackpot in.

But if you cannot tell a crackpot when you see one,

Then you ought to be taken in.”

– Harry S. Truman
 

It is critical to separate feelings from facts. Boring, I know, but it is necessary.

Something considered to be true is more often than not subjective, not objective. A truism in one world can be vastly different in another. In other words, truth has an element of perspective. People lose sight of this all too easily.

We all walk a fine line of acknowledging the truth in what we feel. Feelings are legitimate. It is your world. It is what you know. And your feelings matter. But, that isn’t always the “way things are” to others.

Not separating the facts out from feelings is a relationship buster. It propels misunderstandings, miscommunications, and mix-ups. Ask yourself, when one is sanctimonious, victimized, angry, or joyful, what has taken place? It is a reaction to a feeling and taking that feeling as a fact.

My feelings are my truth. Your feelings are your truth. But they aren’t the whole truth, just a personal partisan shade of it.

When we take what we feel to the point where we fault, accuse, deny, disparage, or judge, let’s start over by laying out the facts and separating them from our feelings. Therein lays the truth.

Maybe This Year, Then

Maybe this year,

The economy completely recovers.
The $300 I loaned out is returned (after two years).
The go-ahead for that next big project is granted.
Family life stabilizes.
The kids turn into adventurous eaters.
Technology mastery is achieved.
The commute becomes milder.
Leisure time is prevalent.
Gas prices drop while the mpg triples.
The housing market normalizes.
Global warming reverses.

Then, I can,

Paint and draw.
Write and blog.
Discover new music, live music.
Read.
Garden and grow things.
Build and construct.
Travel and explore.
Cook new things.

The point is none of the Maybes are likely to happen. So, why wait on the stuff I really want make. Remember Rule number Six.

Dear People from My Dream Saturday Night

Dear people from my dream Saturday night (The Sequal),

Wow. I must say, you all look phenomenal. Really, you really surprised me. If I acted a bit stoic, it was out of sheer amazement in your company.

I was so honored to have THE Jerry Rice and THE Barry Sanders in my little driveway. I love you guys. Tossing the Michigan football was cool. Barry, I’m seriously bummed you left without saying a word though. First, a word would have been good. Any word. Hello even. I don’t have many idols, but you make the list of celebrity dinner invitees. And then, when I came back from grabbing my new jersey with your name and number on it, you had vanished. I was really hoping to get some running back advice for my fantasy league team. See, Chris Johnson and Ray Rice are no-brainers this week. But I’m not sure if I should go with Ricky Williams as my flex player or not. I might go with TJ Houshmazilli (“Championship!”). Jerry seemed to think wide receiver was the way to go. Go figure. But, I’m really leaning toward running backs as the season progresses. Anyway, are you going to be at the Detroit-Cleveland game next weekend? Let’s get together for a tailgate beer or something. I’d like you to meet my fiancé. She’s awesome. She’s a Giants fan, though. Sorry. But she likes football, which is important for me as you know.

Mrs. Beatty, I’m glad you are still kickin’. I don’t know where my mom and dad could have been. I think they were still on a cruise. I must apologize for being at a parent-teacher conference without the parents. I am one now, you know. A parent, that is. In fact, Science is my son’s favorite subject outside of math. And, yes, I am sorry for calling you Old Lady Beatty behind your back. I was in seventh grade. I didn’t think it was wrong at the time. More importantly, I didn’t think you heard me what with you being so old and hard of hearing. Anyway, I was thinking about what you said and I don’t think I need to redo that report on Madame Curie. You already gave me an A-. I’m good with that. Also, you should try wearing pants. It is 2009. Teachers can do that now. Although, those horn-rimmed glasses are still rather rockin’.

Holy carpentry, Batman! Carl, it was good to see you, too. I know we are FB friends n’ all these days and you haven’t been on-line much, but I was rather surprised you showed up at my little construction project. My embarrassment stemmed more from not recognizing you, I think. You’ve shaved. The beard was good. You should keep it. Oh, and thank you for the pointers on my craftsmanship, or lack thereof. Indeed, everything is as level and plumb as I could get it given the existing conditions, the brick-like soil, re-use of old wood, and the sloped patio. Biligi would say “it eese kind of nice”, though he would also say it is “sheet”. It is, after all, just a simple, wooden gate at the side of the house. Carl I wish you would have stayed and grabbed a hammer for old time’s sake. Yes, I am going to rebuild that one section. That part is “sheet”. Am I supposed to keep your dog now? I think she misses you and I have my doubts about her getting along with Lucky, the cat.

So, thanks for visiting me again. I hope we can do it again soon. Let me know ahead of time, though. I’d really like to be more prepared for these visits. I do love that you all took the time, but I just feel so unprepared. I hate that feeling.

Until next time.

Sincerely,

Mud

PS – We missed you at the Mudhole-Paso Robles High School football game. It was fun. I’ll warn you to stay away from those tri-tip sandwiches next time. My stomach loudly played tag football with Muppets all night long. Even the cat needed more quiet, subsequently sleeping on the far side of the bed. Tasty, though!

Out of Touch with that Inner Struggling Artist (ISA)

The Inner Struggling Artist (ISA) is that area in one’s brain that knows they’re brilliant at their “thing” and just haven’t been discovered yet. It is that part that so desperately needs the world to sit up and take notice. There is talent to share and when others start to understand that fact, everyone will be for the better. All those people that have criticized the art/work (or lack thereof) over the years will turn into suck ups. Ultimately when one only listens to the ISA, the echo back simply pleads for that ... One. Big. Break.

ISA = Waiting for the other shoe to drop

ISA = Train Wreck

ISA = Desperate Media Attention / Acceptance

ISA = The Parents of the Balloon Boy Hoax / MTV dramas / Kanye West

ISA ≠ True Artistic Value

ISA ≠ Success or Self Worth or True Happiness

The people who muddle through their lives being guided by their ISA either simply crave attention or thrive on getting beaten up. They require the daily drama. They probably can’t understand true, personal success and what it means to own it. As long as ISA rules, their daily flogging will continue. Every. Day.

Quite simply, pull Struggling out of the equation. Seriously! I just can't bare to watch you anymore.

Thumper said, “If you can't say something nice ... don't say nothing at all.”

I haven’t blogged in a long time. Sorry. I’ve found some enjoyment in ignoring the on button to my laptop. Facebook can do that to a person. It is a love/hate thing, I think. That and something like 550 unopened emails.

Plus, this is the all important birthday month for the kids and me. Oh, and I’m now engaged. So, yeah! I’ve had a lot of things worth documenting and denoting the date. But I haven’t felt like blogging ‘em to the world. Quite honestly, because things are all “Even Happier Than That” right now, I’m rather boring to you, I fear.

But the most prominent excuse for not blogging is I’ve spent much more time listening. I have been sort of eaves dropping in on the world and it is a lot more fun sometimes than trying to come up with something to write about. You all have a lot going on.

Though sadly, I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the talk in the grocery store line and around the water cooler is simply passing judgment on others. No new ideas to report. No success stories of encouragement to reveal. And that is bothersome, really. People talk constantly about what friends are doing with a mighty tinge of harsh verdict laced within. It’s not as if I’ve been oblivious to gossip and am just now learning the term. It’s just that it is all so negative. And I’ve had enough with negative.

Bertrand Russell once said, “No one gossips about other people’s secret virtues.” Listen around and you’ll hear that is unequivocally true. It is much more fun to talk about the scandal or even the minor blemishes over the successes and daily joys. Pay it forward was a fun, one-time movie theme, but it isn’t as much fun as the daily drama and sorrow of an acquaintance or friend. None of it would carry any weight if we all didn’t want to believe in it to make ourselves feel a bit better “just knowing”. It probably isn’t even true, maybe a half-truth, but we act like it is a fact.

There is a lust in man no charm can tame,
Of loudly publishing his neighbor’s shame,
On eagles wings immortal scandals fly,
While virtuous actions are born and die.
- William Harvey

In all of that, I take one exception. Facebook. FB is sort of a personal public relations site where one propagates one’s good stuffs. Why would one want to air dirty laundry on purpose when you get so much more drama talking trash?

Never the less, you might read more from me now as I try hard to stop listening to the gossip and get a better grip on new ideas and thoughts.

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

Déjà Vu – A Work of Fiction

I’m shuffling in a line on the sidewalk downtown. Most of the cracks I’ve seen before and the sounds from the streets form that familiar soundtrack. Yet, today I’m heading to a lunch meeting with a colleague. I’m not sure who is to buy lunch this time. Thinking back to the last time we were together at the airport for lunch and there is a vague image of throwing down the debit card. It must be her turn today.

I’m early, way early, so I sit on the bench a few feet down from the restaurant with it’s generic, faux brick façade and black awning over the entrance. I people watch.

A couple college students appear around a corner wearing the most dressed down apparel allowed in public. They hold hands and wander by. She glances down at me with an equal assessment of my work clothes of grey dress slacks and a black, mock turtle neck with the company logo and my dull, black shoes in need of a shine. I watch myself walk by in the likeness of her boyfriend; faded jeans, ripped; extra large t-shirt on a medium sized body; sandals; and hair unkempt like he just woke up from a late night studying. Students. It is late-summer in California after all. I watch them slide into the tavern down the way, oblivious to anything else but the agenda of a beer on a Thursday afternoon and a chance to enjoy time on a slower pace than the working world.

A young couple comes to the corner. The husband is pushing a stroller and the little wheels aren’t handling the terrain very well. In fact, he pushes it into a crack crashing the baby forward and justifying the need for front-side airbags. The wife bitches and berates the husband who handles both the berating and the change in the sidewalk with a sense of evenhanded calm. He isn't a rookie and quickly changes the subject pointing to the sandwich shop across the street. He found their destination. He glances my direction and gives me that male silent head butt of recognition that guys do after they inadvertently make eye contact. I smile back in immediate understanding.

A man I recognize from somewhere comes zipping around the corner. He is talking on the cell phone. He wears the uniform that all appropriate professionals of about 40 something dress in California; khaki pants and a polo-style shirt. He is hyper with business but stops, still talking, to drop two quarters into the slot and pull out a local paper. He folds it under his arm and continues walking down the street. He looks at me in similar recognition, waves cordially, mouths a hello, and rushes away having never stopped deliberating with the voice on the other end of the phone. I take a deep breath and wave a belated hello with two fingers in response to his backside. He's already onto the next thing. He disappears into a stairwell leading up to some offices.

I spread my fingers wide on my thighs. My hands are a bit sweaty. Flipping them over the lines in my palms look exaggerated and scarred. What was and is has merged into a question.

“Hellooooo, Mud?”

My collegue is standing squarely in front of me with a quizzical expression waving her arms to get my attention. I’ve been staring at my hands and probably looking lost and deranged.

“Hi there! Sorry, I was ... uhm ... remembering something I might have forgotten. Or didn’t forget. Or ... Both ... How are you?”

We saunter into the tavern. Lunch was then uneventful and unrecognizable.

Your Dates and Numbers and Time Frames

Birthdays are funny. The animal kingdom knows nothing of this practice since only the hyenas have a sense of humor albeit a mean, Bart Simpson-esque one at that. But us humans make a big deal of these dates and numbers and time frames.

“Let them eat cake!” – Unknown

As kids, birthdays were the next best thing to Christmas for most of us. Maybe better even, as they encouraged an air of self-indulgence and certain rights to do stuff on the special day. Kids love that stuff. Birthdays are parties, presents, and a seat at the head of the table for a change.

And then a few more years fly by and that all fades with the weighty task of acknowledging the dates and numbers and time frames. Most of us (Mud) maintain our birthday joy. Others don't as their dates have a significance best left unspoken and not acknowledged. Their numbers reveal meaning. And their time frames illustrate a certain gravity. Gravity. The root word equates with grave.

Hell, I guess, maybe, you are right. What does it matter for you any way, we all are spiraling our way toward compost no matter what we do. So yeah, 50 in a couple years, not a big deal so don’t make it one. How one feels about it is pretty insignificant considering the bazillions of humans who have treaded this exact path before. Ones life is nothing more than a blip on the radar of a map of the universe. You spend a nano-instant flailing with other humans scratching out an existence that might mean something, or not. It’ll all be over before you know it anyway. You hurt. You pain. You hope you have a few good times along the way, like the rest of the human race. And then you die. It’ll have a date. It’ll recognize a couple of your numbers. And the time frame on the tombstone denotes the gravity of one’s life awake. If you’re lucky, some other schmucks might talk about you and say nice things. So, skip the celebration. Ignore the date. Numbers mean nothing. And that time thing (waggle a finger in the air), just an illusion. Forget it all.

I hope it isn't the case anymore. It should be your happy day. It was once a long time ago.

I was thinking about giving you an impossible, backwards gift in sort of "Groundhog Day"-esque fashion. It might not work for you, but it might if it created positive change. If I could I would give you the knowledge of the calendar day you are going to die. Not the year, just the month and the day. Then, every year when you live to see another day/year, you can celebrate the way that most of us celebrate birthdays. To live another year in a pursuit of joy and a good life.

I do hope you have a happy birthday. I do.

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.

Somehow, I Feel Better

I was talking to a young man today. I ducked into a new, local sandwich shop about an hour before the lunch rush to see the place empty. The space was clean and ready for business. The young man readied himself for action, jumping up from his studies behind the register.

I quickly identified my sandwich and he got busy. I talked about why the place was so empty outside of the obvious early hour and newness. He stated it had been like this most of the summer and added there wasn’t a lot of business yet. But it was getting better. “Besides,” he said, “a quiet shift and the early hours allowed him to study and the owners supported that idea.”

I ignored my newspaper and we talked for a bit as I ate my sandwich at a small table near the register. He told me about his major, his full ride scholarship, and his aspirations after completing school. He showed me a picture of his wife and young son. Turns out, he is living rent free in a grandma unit behind his mom’s house just a few blocks away. He was content in his world.

He seemed like a bright young man. I immediately had the feeling he did well in school and that, someday, would excel in anything he chose to pursue.

But I had to ask, “So, you live rent free, your wife works full time, and have all the money you need for school, why are you working here? Why not just plow through school and get it out of the way as soon as possible?”

His answer was stunningly simple. Even though he didn’t need to work, he worked. He didn’t want his son to see him just hanging out and being a student/slacker. He wanted his son to see the value in work beyond the paycheck. He wanted to work for his education and also have the ability to do more for his family with the little extra money he makes.

Needless to say, he made an impression on me. I left the sandwich shop uplifted. The world is not a great world these days. Our current and previous leaderships have placed us in vulnerable positions in uncertain times. My father would echo that it is not as nice a world as it was when he was my age (or younger, even). But I walked to my car thinking the world was going to be OK. because I found a bit of hope in a young man at a deli counter.

However bleak the news media portrays the seemingly crumbling and cruel world, a deli-sandwich maker can undo with good work ethic and a positive attitude. It doesn't seem that difficult anymore. Somehow, I feel a bit better.