inspiration

Wee the People

The voice of democracy rang through our house last week. Owen (9) came home to inform us that he was running for student council. “Only 4th and 5th graders can be classroom representatives,” he told me excitedly. “Each class elects one boy and one girl. A lot of boys are running, but I think I have a shot.”

As he walked out of the kitchen, I already felt like he had won. I was so proud of the fact that he decided to run on his own. As a parent, you’re often not sure if your kids are getting the message. We don’t keep a checklist on the fridge of all the things we do/do not want them to do. So, we try to lead by example. But, more than that, we hope. We hope a lot. Hope that they will understand all that we cannot put into words. That they err on the side of what’s right. That they just be nice, and kind, and president.

Over the next few days, Owen worked on his campaign. He sat in his room creating posters that highlighted his policies and platform. Posters that looked like this:

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“Wow, Owen!” I said, impressed. “This looks awesome!”

“And I made him this one, Dad,” said his little brother, Hayden (8):

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And just like that, I beheld the candidate and his campaign manager. For the next few days, it felt like I was in the presence of a young JFK and his brother, Bobby. The boys continued their work in earnest.

“Dad, did you notice on my signs where I ask everyone if they got their cards?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said.

“See, you can’t give out candy or prizes, so I thought it would be neat to give each of them a card before they vote.” Cards. He made 28 little cards for his classmates. Cards that looked like this:

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“Here’s the one he made for me,” piped in his manager, Hayden. And he showed me this:

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“Now, Owen, you should put all of these in a folder so you don’t…” directed Hayden, and the two boys were off again. I saw them cutting and folding, and placing everything in what I am sure was the first file cabinet for many of us–underneath the couch.

The day before the election, the boys and I were driving in the car. “So, Owen, if you did win, what is something you think you might do for your fellow classmates?”

“Well,” he said, “every month we go to a meeting with the principal and some teachers and tell them of any problems.”

“What do you think might be a problem you would bring up?”

“Umm, like, let’s say the buses are too crowded. Then I would work to fix that.”

“Okay, how?” I implore.

“By telling them we need more buses!” he answers emphatically.

Would that it were that easier, my son. Would that it were, I think. Yet, I say, “Sounds good, buddy.”

That night, I watch him craft his speech. He doesn’t let me read it, but he allows me to show him how to write it in big letters on several indexphoto (56) cards. Since I will not see him in the morning, I wish him well before bed.

“Good luck tomorrow, O. And just remember, no matter what happens you can still be a leader.”

“Okay,” he says.

“You’re a leader just for wanting to run in the election. No matter what happens–you’ve already won in my book.”

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I first thought about writing this post before the election took place, and I thought it would be cool not to reveal if he won or not. I truly believe he is a winner just for trying to do this at such a young age. And not a “winner” in the sense that every kid gets a trophy at the end of the season regardless of their record, but a winner in the sense that he took a chance, he stood up, he wanted to be a part of something bigger than himself.

But now that I know the outcome, I must inform you–and not for the reasons you might think.

Owen won. He did, and I am proud. But the victory was enlightening for other reasons.

For one, some of his “friends” said mean things about his winning–one even claimed they were no longer buds (the same boy who was playing with him at a birthday party two days later)–and therein lies a hard lesson for anyone. As the wise sage Taylor Swift once proclaimed, “And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate…” An important lesson indeed: there will always be people who will try to dampen your spirits, who don’t want you to succeed. But I am happy to tell you that Owen seemed quite unphased by this.

The second insight from the election comes from the fact that two of Owen’s running mates wore oxfords with bow ties and delivered Power Point presentations. My son wore his usual shorts and sneaks, delivered a heartfelt speech and gave everyone a colorful voting card–looks like Owen’s on his way to being a Democrat.

Regardless of his political leanings–he’ll always have my vote.

God Bless America!

 

 

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Now Apologize!…To Yourself

I just found this gem when I was cleaning out the mail cubby. Back in the fall, our second grader, Hayden, was sent home with a note from the principal. Seems he had pulled his pants down during lunch to show his friends his new Star Wars underwear (so he says). As part of his punishment, we made him write apology notes to the lunch lady, his teacher, and his friends at the lunch table. That night, as I went to collect the notes and put them in his backpack, I found this:

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Once again, seeing things through the eyes of a child is so enlightening. When’s the last time you said sorry to yourself? I don’t think I ever have. Never too late to start, though.

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I’m a Fool for Back to School

Fall is here, hear the yell 
Back to school, ring the bell 
Brand new shoes, walking blues 
Climb the fence, books and pens 
I can tell that we are going to be friends 
Yes I can tell that we are going to be friends

–“We’re Going to be Friends” by: Jack Johnson

Fall is here–almost. It certainly feels like Fall in the Northeast. Today was beautiful–68 degrees, sunny, clear blue sky. And to make it even better, it was a school day. Yes. You read right. School. I love the first week back to school. There is so much promise in the air. A new beginning. A FRESH START. I teach high school. Ninth grade. When I tell people this, they usually groan and tell me they’re sorry.

No need to apologize. I love my job. Sure, there are things I wish I could change, but overall, it is the most rewarding profession in the world. I get to surround myself with bright young minds. I am a part of helping students see their potential. I look into the eyes of the future and see its promise. There is no better reminder of this than Week One of a new school year. I did not plan on writing a post about this. Like every other parent in the land, I thought a Facebook post of the kids at the bus would suffice. But this picture changed my mind:

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I stumbled across it Friday afternoon. I was looking for my iPod on a book shelf, trying to squeeze in a run before the boys came home on the bus,  and there I was–my kindergarten self– smiling back at me. I actually uttered “Hello.” And instantly I was transported to that driveway, the driveway of my childhood friend and neighbor, Cindy. I noted our keen fashion sense, I wished I still had my vinyl “briefcase” (so mini- Mad Men) and realized that global warming must exist today, as we are wearing sweaters and long sleeves on an early September morning.

I love this picture. It holds particular significance because my friend Cindy died our senior year of high school–her future cut tragically short by a drunk driver. But this photo is not about endings, it’s about beginnings. And that is what I love about going back to school. We are all given a fresh start, a clean slate. We are not only permitted, but encouraged to begin anew. In the first week of school, everyone is clean and well dressed, new notebooks crackle, and the smell of freshly sharpened pencils waft through the air. In the first week of school, everyone has an “A”, and all kids are equal. In the first week of school, I am not troubled by the latest rumor or round of “He-said-she-said.” Rather, the halls are filled with “hellos” and “welcome backs” and “how was your summers.” I am not being naive, I am being optimistic. As I look out at each boy or girl, they have equal footing. I’m not bogged down with all of the sadness that will creep into the year–Mary lost her mother last Winter, Dylan’s parents are getting an ugly divorce, Alan’s family is basically homeless. I will swim in a variety of letters that detract from the feeling I have now: IEPs, 504s, ACTs, SATs, PSSAs, ADD, OCD…These all matter, they inform how I teach the individual. But in Week One, we are simply “period 5.” And I look at every student and I see us unified in hope. I want them to know that I am glad they are here, I believe they can learn, and I will do my best–which is exactly what I expect from them.

I don’t like to pre-judge– to hear about my students prior to meeting them– “You’ll love Jane!” “Jake can be a handful…” I want to get to know each person organically. I want us to figure it out, to grow together, and we will. On the flip side, as a parent, I try to not pass judgement as well. It’s hard. People talk. But I live in a great school district and all the teachers are dedicated–as I believe the majority of us are wherever we lay down our red pens. Yet, a question I have heard this week, and I even caught myself asking a girl in the neighborhood, is telling: “Do you like your teacher(s)?” What are we really asking here? What message are we giving to young people by saying this? For I think it does send a message to our kids, however slight or subtle it may be.

I witnessed a similar situation from both of my sons. Our elementary school recently merged with another that was shut down due to low enrollment. The students from Tall Pines are now attending Maple Acres (not the real names). Both of my sons came home from the first day and mentioned how there were so many kids from the other school in their classes. My younger son even complained that “it didn’t even feel like Maple Acres anymore.” He’s starting second grade, for crying out loud. This sounded like something a student overheard from a parent’s conversation and parroted the message to his/her friends, and they told two friends, and so on, and so on. Whether it was something they heard or truly how they were feeling, I was not comfortable with their negativity. “Well, guys,” I said, “Think about the kids from Tall Pines? How do you think they feel? Their school was closed. They’re the ones coming to a strange place where they don’t know their way around. You’re lucky. Think how hard it would be to have to go to a new place and start over. And who knows, one of those new kids may end up becoming your best friend!” That seemed to quiet their contempt. But it served as a reminder to me. We are so judgmental, so quick to assume. It’s too early in the year to be negative–the negativity will creep in soon enough.

When I stared at that picture today, I felt good. In my head, I commented to my former self how “You’d never have thought you would be a teacher someday, did you?” And then I was filled with a sense of pure happiness. I get to start fresh every September, and with each new school year, my hope is restored. And it’s not just me. Every teacher, every student will begin again. I think even parents look to September to restart the clock and try again. True, the circumstances will always be different, sometimes gravely so, but each September there is excitement and promise. This could be the year. This will be the year.

It might be cool if you went back and found a picture from your school days, the younger the better. Take a good look at it. Say hello to your old friend–take stock in where you’ve been and what you’ve accomplished. It’s never too late to begin again, and it’s the perfect time to do so because “Fall is here…”

owen school picassahayden school picassa

Tonight I’ll dream in my bed
While silly thoughts run through my head
Of the bugs and alphabet
And when I wake tomorrow I’ll bet
That you and I will walk together again
Because I can tell that we are going to be friends
I can tell that we are going to be friends   —Jack Johnson

Flying the Friendly Skies–Yes, this IS a feel good story that involves air travel!

As the boys get older, air travel becomes easier. We load them up with Motrin for their ears, sugar for their mouths, and every electronic device their grubby hands can hold, and before we know it–we’re there.

We all know how much flying sucks, and anyone who has to travel with kids is exponentially cursed. I have referred to vacations with children simply as HELL in a different location. Two years ago, we flew to Disney World in a horrible storm. It was incredibly bumpy, and both boys were screaming and crying so loudly that I yelled out, “Would someone shut those kids up?” Those around me laughed nervously. It was such a chaotic landing that I was actually hoping the plane would crash and put me out of my misery.  We landed safely, as you’ve probably guessed, with both boys huddled on the floor–yes, the floor of our row, and Hayden passed out asleep from the trauma of it all.  Welcome to “the happiest place on Earth.”

The day we left for St. Thomas was bright and sunny with a clear blue sky. The boys acted like old pros, having flown half a dozen times in their lives. It wasn’t the nightmare I’d remembered.  It helps that people are nicer to you when you fly with kids. The TSA agents let you go in a special line, people let you board before them on the plane, and even the flight attendants  seem nicer to you when you have kids–they know! As we walked onto the plane, one of the female attendants greeted the boys and was drawn to the colorful array on Owen’s wrist. “Cool bracelets!” she said. “Thanks,” he replied. “Where did you get them?” “I made them.” “Wow, very neat.” Nice lady. She made the boys and me feel instantly relaxed as we made our way to the very back of the plane, aka turbulent central. PAUSE…

download (2)The next part of our story is brought to you by Rainbow Loom–the “IT” accessory this summer. Invented by someone who probably has cases of leftover silly bands from 2010’s craze. Theseimages are the hottest item among kids 5 to 15. Guys and girls alike wear them with a sense of entitlement. For those of you of a certain age–think back to the frenzy involving summer’s hottest must-have–the pet rock, for example, or the invisible dog on the leash. Hayden received the Rainbow Loom as a gift for his birthday and both boys have been looming ever since.  My wife and I have even been sporting them with our beach wear. We. Are. Cool.

As the flight attendant, Patty, serves us our “free” drinks, she says “And these are for the guys with the cool bracelets.” We smile, and I hint to Owen how it might be nice if he gave her one. He contemplates it, then it’s forgotten for a little while. The plane lands. The flight was smooth and uneventful.  As we make our way to the front and say goodbye to the flight staff, I watch Owen peel a bracelet off his wrist and hand it to Patty. “Would you like to have one of these?” “Oh my gosh! Really? You are very sweet. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Everyone is smiling. Patty seems amused and surprised at this small gesture. I pat Owen’s shoulder as we walk down the stairs, “Proud of you, Owen.”

Flash forward one week. We have throughly enjoyed our stay in the Virgin Islands. We are relaxed, tan, well fed and rested. Yet, as we make our way through the airport to return home, my mood quickly sours as I am reminded just how shitty air travel has become: the computer at self check-in that doesn’t work; the customs card I need to fill out even though I never left the US (It’s called the United States Virgin Islands, dammit); the TSA agent yelling his friendly reminders about removing all lap tops; the customs agent who acts annoyed with us for not having the boys’ birth certificates even though we were told we didn’t need them; Hayden, our seven-year-old, who can’t seem to remember our phone number or his birthdate when grilled by said agent; having to take off our shoes; the guy behind me pushing my plastic bins on the conveyor belt when I’m still unloading my pockets… By the time I reach the waiting area, I am in a foul mood. Countless hours of sun and fun seem to be a distant memory. I need a drink!

As we step onto the plane, our eyes widen. “Helloooo!” It’s the same flight attendant from our trip down, Patty. In fact, it appears to be the same flight crew. “I remember you,” she says to Owen. Owen blushes. Throughout the entire flight, Patty dotes on us. When she serves our drinks, she greets us with “and what can I get for my three favorite guys?” We all smile broadly. I respond, “We’ll take an apple juice, a Sprite, and a  Bloody Mary for me.” (Hey, it’s the end of my vacation). As I go to hand her my credit card, she says, “This one’s on me.” I protest. “No, this is for having such nice boys. I’ll be back in a few with cookies.” This makes the boys lift their heads out of DS land–cookies! I spend the next few minutes trying to impress upon Owen how cool this experience is. “Do you believe this? You never know when you will meet someone again. That’s why it’s important to be nice…to do nice things for people. It makes them want to do nice things.” I want to tell him all my favorite sayings on the subject–about crossing the same bridge, about karma, about the kindness of strangers, and paying it forward. I resist such pontificating, but he gets the message loud and clear. He understands. I see it on his face when he comes back from the bathroom. “These are from Patty,” he says holding a big can of Pringles. The same look returns when we are leaving the plane and Patty gives him a bag of treats in a special airline bag. “Be sure to share this with your brother.” “I will.” I am so dumbfounded by all of this kindness, that I lamely try to explain it to the couple behind us. They smile and nod. I want everyone to know. I want to shout it: “Be nice, people! When you’re nice it makes others nice!”

I’ve thought about this experience for the last few days. I love that Owen was taught such a valuable lesson, one I believe will have a lasting impression on him. I am reminded that the smallest gestures can have an impact beyond one’s understanding. I am grateful for all the Patties out there who have to endure a lot of unkindness in their jobs, and through it all they smile and show they care. I have never flown first class, but that day we were treated as such.

So, that’s my feel good story. We had a wonderful trip to an exotic island, yet my highlight occurred in the airport. For those of you who would like a little glimpse into our time there, I leave you with Hayden’s first grade report on our vacation. Although written before we left, it’s amazing how accurate his predictions were–all except room service. I’ve never had room service in my life, so I’m a little miserly about letting them have it. Is that unkind?

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st thomas etc 600These smiles make me forget the Hellish parts:) Note Hayden’s bracelets.

We’re All In the Dance

Often, I run with my friend Keith. We can go as many as ten miles together, and the conversations run the gamut. But I always have my i-Pod (I just wrote the word Walkman and had to delete it – Google Walkman if you are under twenty). Once, I joked with Keith that if I ever died while we were running–via a tree limb or a plummet from a cliff–that he was to make sure there was a cool song playing on my i-Pod. My playlist is eclectic, to say the least. And I would hate for someone to find my body and have Kelly Clarkson, Justin Bieber and Nicki Minaj or any number of Pitbull songs blasting from my ear buds. I’m 43 for Christ’s sake. I love pop music and I’m very top 40, but I would hate for my legacy to begin with Lady Gaga’s Edge of Glory (even though the late, great Clarence Clemons plays saxophone on it). But there is one song that I would proudly play in any situation. We’re All in the Dance by Canadian singer-songwriting sensation, Feist.

Life’s a dance, we all have to do
What does the music require?
People are moving together
Close as the flames in a fire

I heard this song yesterday as I was running the trails of the Schuylkill River on the outskirts of Philadelphia. My mind immediately took me to the Broad Street Run, the premier race in the city of Brotherly Love–which just happened to be yesterday morning. This song was part of my race day repertoire about five years back when I ran that race. Its simple piano melody and waltz-like tempo seems contradictory to music one listens to to stay 240px-Phenakistoscope_3g07690dpumped in a race.  Yet, when I heard that song, something magical happened: The world slowed down. We were all speeding towards a finish line, but everyone seemed to look like they were moving in slow motion. The people around me seemed to bob up and down like horses on a carousel ride. I looked left, then right, at total strangers, and felt like I was surrounded by loved ones, by family, all moving in unison to the beat of this song. Then, there was a wave of emotion; chills that began in my shoulders scattered in every direction, ending on the top of my bald head with a million tingly strands emanating from my brain. It was such a moment of clarity: “We’re all in the dance!”

On that day, it was a race down Broad Street with tens of thousands of people from as many different experiences as there were bib numbers. But it’s also the dance we do as people in the parade of cars during rush hour traffic, or standing in the checkout line pretending not to read the trashy headlines from the tabloids, or the trips to school one takes beginning as a kindergartner, then one day returning as a parent, then a grandparent. The visits to the hospital, from newborn to old man, the times spent in prayer, in sport, in taking in a play, a game, a concert, an art exhibit. The dance involves the person at the restaurant who serves you the food, taken from the kitchen where many hands prepared it, and the one whose hand you lovingly grasp as you leave the establishment, to the homeless person you pass by guiltily with your belly full and your hand growing heavy with more of your meal in a doggy bag.

Even though the Broad Street was always one of my favorite events, I have moved away from road races. Yesterday, I was training for an upcoming trail race. But the runner’s high is achieved in both situations. And this song is always on my i-Pod come race day. I wait until I’m a mile or two in before I let the words wash over me, always to the same effect. My memory floods every time I hear the ethereal voice of Feist remind us that:

We all go ’round and ’round
Partners are lost and found
Looking for one more chance
All I know is,
We’re all in the dance

Feel the beat; music and rhyme
While there is time.

And that is my wish for you. For all of us. That we may feel the beat; music and rhyme–while there is time.

So, if you ever come across my body lying on a trail somewhere, and there happens to be an embarrassing song playing–think of my children and please advance “Now Playing” to Coldplay, Pearl Jam, Green Day, or The Killers. It’s the least you can do after my nice wish for you:)

Take a moment to listen to this song. And don’t worry if you start swaying–I won’t tell anybody.

 

Portrait of an Artist as a Weird Man, numbers 4 and 5

This is a series of weird drawings my kids make of me. I haven’t posted one in quite some time, but both boys have drawn renderings lately that I could not resist.

Daddy and Donkey Kong, by: Hayden (6)

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Hayden drew this for me because he loves trying to help me get better at Wii. In my speech bubbles, I am saying “Do I have to hold any buttons?”

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Dear Daddy, by: Owen (8)

Owen drew this picture of me to go along with his Christmas letter from school (he always seems to leave out a body part). The letter moved me so much, that I chose not to share it publicly. Some moments are meant to be private! I’ll just say that in the letter he says I am a “wonderful dad!” Sniff. Sniff. Boy, I’m trying to live up to that– but some days I certainly fall way short.

The thing I love about these drawings, all the ones featured in Portrait of an Artist, is the fact that these boys don’t care what I look like–no matter what, they think I’m pretty cool. So, whenever I feel like a load, or wonder if any amount of sit-ups will ever get rid of my belly doughnut, I am reminded that looks do not matter nearly as much as memories and experiences.

And on that note, I’ll leave you with a funny example: One day recently, we were walking in the woods with our dog, Rufus. The boys suggested we play “I spy…” It was Owen’s turn, and he said, “I spy something gray.” And Hayden shouted, “Daddy’s mini hair!” And we all burst out laughing. Bald jokes rank just below potty humor in our house:) One of the best things about children is that they teach us to laugh at ourselves–life’s too short to take it all so seriously.

Music, My Muse: Shake It Out

It’s New Year’s Eve 2012 and I am so excited to have no plans. I’m not even sure I’ll make it to midnight, and that’s fine by me. When I was young, this night was fraught with so much pressure, so much expectation. And it was usually a letdown.  The Christmas break is coming to an end, and I’ve had my share of over indulgences—food, drink, sleep… And now that our vacation, our “long winters’ nap”, is coming to a close, I feel I am entering the “winter of my discontent”.

This is a time to be reflective. To look back on the past year and evaluate the good, the bad, the expected. And whenever I reflect, I run the risk of becoming overwhelmed with regret and fear. There are always regrets. My most recent is having too much to drink at a holiday party on Friday night—another reason I’m glad to be home tonight, and soberly writing this piece. Then there is fear. Just looking back at the past few weeks, with tragedies both near and far, it’s a daily, conscious effort not to let fear rule our lives—if we did, we’d never get out of bed.

Overall, I had a wonderful holiday. I got to catch up with a lot of old friends. I received wonderful gifts from my family. I am lucky. And that makes me fearful, which in turn makes me regret that I am not being “present in the moment”. Yeah, you get it—it’s a vicious cycle.

About a month ago, I talked about the fact that music and song lyrics are such a source of nourishment for my soul. I said I was going to feature some of the songs that were inspirational to me as I set out to write this blog. Tonight, on this, the cusp of a brand new year, I feel it fitting to share with you my second installment of Music, My Muse:

Shake It Out, by Florence and the Machine 

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play

Why is it that the regrets in our lives, the creatures that make up our darker moments, become like old friends to us? We spend so much time with them. We visit with them often. And in some cases, we never let them leave. It really is like living among ghosts. Their presence is always lurking, and they certainly know how to toy with us. They play around—at our expense! And as long as they are here, it truly is impossible to see a way out.

And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I’m always dragging that horse around

Now, if you’ve ever read my blog, then you know I am a Fool—with a capital F, and I’ve certainly been blind– by anger, by shame, by resentment. And I struggle with the past. Writing is my humble attempt to make peace with my past. I once heard the expression that “past is present.” I think as I get older, I understand that more. Unless we come to terms with our past, unless we put it in a healthy perspective, then it will always hold a claim on our present. We never truly move away from the past if we live in a world of regret and fear, of anger and shame. The horse image in the last line of this stanza did not click with me at first. But as I thought about it more, I found it rather fitting. A horse is difficult to tame. A horse needs constant attention and copious amounts of our time. The horse equals our past, and unless we tame it, it will never stop demanding or time and attention.

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh woaaah

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh woaaah

This is my favorite part of the song. We probably all have a devil on our back, or as I seem to operate, a different devil every few weeks. Just think about all the devil‘s floating around  this time of year–the time of New Year’s resolutions. The devil of weight, the devil of finding a lover, paying a mortgage, giving up a vice, ending a bad relationship, finding a job…Devils. All Devils. But, you know what my resolution is going to be this year? Shaking off the devil! Yeah, that’s right. Eff him! I want to spend more time living–I couldn’t bring myself to say dancing–and I can do that much better without a damn devil on my back.

And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t
So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope
And I’m ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope
It’s a shot in the dark and right at my throat

For the past decade or so, I have tried to put my life in perspective. Becoming a husband and a father forced me to seek understanding within myself. Now that I am writing about my experience, I feel I am damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t. Whenever someone searches for meaning there will certainly be hardship–suffering. But there is also hope! Hope of coming out on the other side more complete. I am ready to hope.

And I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart
‘Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

I feel the graceless heart is the heart that refuses to love, the heart that won’t allow one to experience pure love.  I’m working on that, for sure. I do images (3)believe  that we can’t love others unless we love ourselves. That may sound hokey to you, but there is no way around it. If you are having trouble with loving the people in your life, I would imagine you are not truly loving yourself.  And tonight, as I’ve done many times before, I am going to cut out the parts that are preventing me from feeling my best, from loving myself unconditionally.  And with the beginning of another year, I am going to then restart. My issues– and your issues– will always be present in our lives, but there is always light. There is always the hope of a new dawn, a new day, a new year. So, whatever devils you are dealing with, I wish you much luck and strength as you try to reconcile with them in 2013. You’re welcome to join me as I try to “shake it out”. Happy New Year!

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

PS: It’s 12:15. Goodnight!