Into the Somber Sky

I rush forward alone. It’s cold. The sky is ashen and bleak. I can feel the fine cold mist on my face falling from the sky. The ground is slick beneath my feet. I glance around and keep moving. I’m breathing hard; coughing on fumes and exhaust. My heart is pounding as I hurry to make the flight.

Another adventure.

Boarding pass in hand, I expect the perpetual delay at the security checkpoint. The air is stifling as I am herded with other passengers to the metal detectors. There is a bead of perspiration creeping down the face of the man next to me. Nobody looks happy.

Shoes off.

Coat off.

Belt off.

Laptop out.

Cell phones in the bucket.

Liquids clearly visible in a zip top bag.

Everything on the belt. There are no secrets here. I am being scrutinized and instructed to move.

Sir, step forward through the detector toward the agent.

Scandalously, I speed right through security as the man behind me gets stopped. Dumb luck. It happens that way sometimes. I gathered up my newly inspected belongings and hustled to the gate where boarding is already in progress.

I found my seat with minimal issue. An aisle seat; always the aisle. I got lucky again, no neighbor. I have the whole row to myself. I hear the captain’s voice booming overhead informing passengers to prepare to listen to the flight attendants safety instructions. As usual, I prepare to ignore them instead.

I stifle a yawn. The flight attendants’ arms begin to flail and long fingers point to various locations of the plane. I covertly slide my cell out of my pocket for one last text before departure. I love you. I’ll call you later. Send.

I settle back into my seat and close my eyes. I can feel my carry-on beneath my feet under the seat in front of me. I listen to the dull hum of the engines as the vibrations of the plane taxiing down the runway lull me toward imminent slumber.

Another adventure. Sigh. It is what I wanted, though.

A promise made to myself almost a year ago. I was determined to break the pattern. To forget. To start over. Experience the un-experienced.

It certainly has worked out that way.

Adventures under the burning sun in a scorched desert with a thousand blinking lights. Exploration of a rainy mountaintop, sleeping in a cabin filled with mud. Intense terror inspired by a coaster. Hiking the twisted trails of an astonishingly scenic gorge. Savoring a myriad of unfamiliar cultural events.

At a one of a kind sporting event, I dodged forceful snowflakes and subsequently fortified myself with bourbon to keep warm. I have experienced Southern Charm. I cheered at an electrifying championship game. I’ve glimpsed both natural wonders and astounding achievements of human engineering.

I have been asked a myriad of questions; one exceptionally significant. My answer was “yes”.

As a result, I’ve been booked, re-routed, delayed, upgraded, downgraded, and sent to the oddest of places… and some of the most fantastic. I’ve talked to hundreds of people; made friends with a few. I've heard dozens of marvelous stories.

The sights impressed me. The people have impressed me more.

As my jet soars off into the sky above the somber clouds, I smile.

My soul is alive.

Considering Five

I can feel the brilliant sun's warmth on my back. The sky is unblemished; colors of the trees are marvelous. The fall air is crisp and clean; invigorating the senses.

The milestone is clearly in sight. It's been five full years since I started on this particular path. At the onset, the work was exhausting, costly, and time consuming. Not unlike the economy, there have been some dramatic ups and down; moments of breakneck speed, unending misery.

I reflect on the passage. Over time, plenty has changed.

I have changed.

Everyday, I overhear bits of familiar conversations; recognizable voices sound out with enthusiasm, trepidation. Surely our paths have crossed before.... some may have even traveled with me over the years. The journey itself is different for each of us. The eventual starting point, however, is familiar to me.

I was there.

I smile to myself now as memories tug at my mind; how outwardly confident I was just a few years ago. I knew I could get the work done. It didn't matter that I didn't know how.

I wanted it; that should have been enough. Inwardly, though, I questioned myself.

What was I getting myself in to? Was it too soon?

I asked questions. I got dirty. I hurt myself. I got stitched, bandaged, and sent back. At the end of the day, I was ultimately proud of my accomplishments. The cycle repeated for months. In time, it came together.

It was tough. Change is always tough.

It's totally different now. Certainly it's recognizable on the outside. Pedestrians wouldn't notice too many outward changes. To those on the inside... well, you have to look close to find something untouched by time, taste, or experience. I'm proud of the end result.

As much as it changed, I can't help but to think I changed more.

Different? Yes. But even then it still remains one of the few constants on my journey so far. Immobile. Comfortable. Predictable.

Similarly, my own outward appearance has not changed much over the last 5 years. Passersby might not notice those differences either.

Inwardly, the changes have been gratuitous. There have been some dramatic highs and lows there, too. I've asked lots of questions, sometimes stumbled when the answers weren't what I wanted to hear. I've slipped and hurt myself. I've been hurt. I've gotten stitches and bandages. And I've patched up my heart. I kept going back. Sometimes foolishly.

Change is tough. I like to think it was all worth it; I'm stronger now.

But worth it or not, in the end, I'm pretty proud of what I've become, too.

An Elevated Experience

I was already late.

I managed to catch every stoplight on the way there. I parked the car in a rush.

The sun was shining brightly. I passed several people in the lot as I hustled toward the building.

Nobody made eye contact. Nobody even looked at me. Some were intently gazing straight ahead, others staring at the ground. One was talking on her phone and another was fumbling with a stylus on a PDA pad.

I lamented on our seemingly devolving society as I darted thought the main entrance toward the elevators. Narcissism and self absorption have become the norm.

The elevator door started to close; I ran quickly toward it.

Hold the door.

I could see two men inside the elevator car.

One was furiously typing some incredibly important secrets of the universe on his handheld. He was jabbing the keys frantically and his expression was sour.

The other was kneeling on the floor ruffling through his black laptop bag. His head was cocked sideways as he fingered through each document laying inside his bag, carefully examining each one before he moved to the next.

Neither man looked up. Neither man moved. Not a single inch.

I reached the elevator just in time. The door made a harsh grating noise as it jerked back open and allowed me to to pass.

I practically jumped through, apparently startling the Mad Texter. His head jerked up; his expression morphed from simply sour to sheer acid as he looked at me. Apparently I'd interrupted his digital conversation. His gaze at me didn't last long. His handheld vibrated and his attention promptly returned to the device.

The Paper Shuffler didn't look up at all. He grunted at the document he was looking at and grabbed for the next. As for my entrance, apparently he hadn't even noticed that I had stepped onto the elevator.

I looked at the panel. Curiously, none of the buttons were lit. Still slightly out of breath, I pushed the button for my floor.

I looked at the men standing on either side of me and considered letting them in on the fact that they hadn't selected their floor. It was at that moment that Paper Shuffler found the document he was looking for, grumbled, and got to his feet. He muttered to himself as he searched for something in his jacket pocket. He pulled out a pen and started scrawling on the paper.

The doors to the elevator closed and we started to ascend.

I looked closely at both men. I was not entirely sure either man was aware I had joined them. Again, I considered apathy and the downfall of our society.

I decided to remain silent. Apathy, be damned. My elevator companions could figure out their own travel paths with out my involvement.

When the doors opened on my floor, I exited without saying a word. I heard the door close behind me. I chuckled as I tried to guess how long it would be before the two men realized what happened.

Alone...

He walks out of the crowded bar. Alone. He shivers a bit as he breathes in the cool humid air. It's dark outside. It rained most of the evening; the sidewalk is an obstacle course of earthworms and water-filled potholes. He sidesteps around them and makes his way to the dark lot. The light from an old lamp post glints dimly off soaked windshields and lifeless headlights.

He walks cautiously to his car; nods at another driver who just pulled in. As he unlocks his car door, he reflects on the events of the past few hours.

It had been a masterpiece of conversation, well placed laughs, and furtive glances around the room.

From the moment he walked through the door, a faction of loosely acquainted people coalesce around him. The bartender acknowledges him with a brief wave and a quick grin. He has only been in the door for a few seconds, but the competition for his attention is already impressive.

He smiles, clearly enjoying himself. It is a familiar ritual. He looks around the room, the bar had a stylish and sophisticated feel. He spots his friends a only a dozen steps away; separated, however, by a substantial crowd. It will be at least a few minutes before he can join them. No matter, the evening was young and they have plenty of time.

Before he knew it, he had a drink in his hand and a second one had already been offered. He was an expert at managing several conversations at once while greeting others and shaking hands. It was a talent he acquired with many years of practice. Tonight was unlike any other. He approaches each acquaintance as if they had been close friends for years. And with rapt attention, most reciprocate the treatment.

More than once he felt a tap on his shoulder from someone growing impatient with anticipation of approaching dialogue. He politely moves to the next conversation, all the while moving a step at a time closer to his friends. He glances in his friends' direction. They smile knowingly. They expected the slow approach, it was the same every time.

He finally arrives, a fresh drink in his hand. He greets his friends warmly with hugs. The banter between them begins immediately. They trade stories of the events occurring over the last week. He's known them for a long time; knows just what to say to bring them to laughter.

He is skillful in keeping the words flowing. In reality, however, he is not closely paying attention to the course of the conversation. He has other thoughts occupying his mind.

Lately, to him the world seems like nothing more than a stage and life feels like an elaborate performance. The conversations have become just words spoken perfectly on cue. And the responses are just reflexive from years of "rehearsal".

That "performance", in fact, is precisely what his mind is racing about.

As he chats with his friends, he looks at them closely. He watches their movements and watches how they interact with one another. Sideways glances, quick touches, flickering eye contact. They are clearly lovers. It seems that they are intensely aware of each other.

He steals another quick look around the room. He notices similar interactions amongst many pairs. Some are lovers, but most of them are not.

He considers that he is surrounded by groups people -- most he knows by name. He's already had dozens of conversations tonight. However, he feels unfulfilled and alone. It seems unbelievable that he is so well known and in spite of that, still he feels a dull ache in his soul.

He is often surprised that in a room full of people, he does not share that particular bond with anyone. He is acutely aware that as soon as he walks out the door, his whole presence will most likely be forgotten. Like the empty bottle he has in his hand, he will not be thought of again.

At least not until next time when he repeats the whole scene over again... like a performance.

He keeps those innermost thoughts well hidden from everyone, including his friends, that his heart aches as he yearns for something more fulfilling. The masterpiece of conversation, laugher, and jokes is just not enough.

He knows that there must be something more. There has to be something more.

As the evening winds down, he grabs his coat and prepares his exit. Hugs, handshakes and smiles to many around the room. He walks out the door.

Alone...

His car door unlocked, he climbs in behind the wheel. As he considers the events of the evening, he turns the ignition. The vehicle roars to life.

He picks up his cell phone, punches in a few numbers as he puts the car into gear.

"Hello?" he hears over the speaker.

That one word was all it took. His heart and soul begin to warm as he knows that he is not alone.

The Apology

The phone call was unpleasant and unwelcome. Shortly thereafter, the IM came as a bit of a surprise. When the text message came, I must admit I was feeling a bit out of sorts.

A line to apologize?

I was vindicated. For months I agonized. I knew I didn't do anything wrong. Yet still, I tortured myself; wondered just what I could have done that was so horrible.

I certainly had my theories... A third party perhaps? Jealousy at work? Worse?

However, it was not just one apology, but three. All from people that I once considered to be among my closest of friends.

Each situation was unique; each just as painful. Each apology left me both astonished and unsure as to how to proceed. Or if I even wanted to...

The phone call was prompted from an unpleasant text I received earlier in the day. I was in my office. I was expecting maybe an invitation to dinner for later that evening; sushi perhaps? We had only discussed it the night before.

I'm disappointed in you. U R loyal only when it's convenient for you. My body grew cold as I re-read the message. There was no warning, no preamble, just a series of groundless accusations.

A brief exhange of texts did nothing but leave me with a bitter taste in my mouth and a nauseated feeling in my gut. My hands started to shake as rage spread through out my body. I was accused, tried, and hung... through a text message. Heinous. I didn't even do it.

Lets talk this out later. The response a moment later was a short "ok".

When the hour came, instead of the calm talk I planned, the revoltion in my voice was palpable.

What the fuck? I started...

The conversation lasted for almost 30 minutes. In the end, the apology came. Of course I didn't do it... I never even thought about it. He said the matter was settled and he was happy we talked it out. While I quickly agreed, I considered the emotional hole left in my heart.

The IM later that night was even more surprising. Our association started several months prior as a promising friendship. Yes, it maybe went a bit too far. But I didn't see anyone complaining. It was fun. I knew what I was getting into, I was comfortable. He assured me that it was fine. The correspondence continued long after he left and our friendship developed.

Then it all stopped. We can't talk any more.

And that was it. No real explanation. All communication ended; the numbers changed, mail was returned undeliverable. Eventually, I gave up. Months later, he was forgotten.

The IM came in just as I was getting ready for bed.

I was hoping I'd see you here. I've been looking for you. I wanted to apologize. It was a shitty thing to do. Indignant memories flickered as I painstakingly considered my response. Ignore it? Reply? Evenually, I sent a message back. He was in town; it was his last night. He wanted to explain.

Want to grab a beer so we can talk? I agreed to the drink. Why? I don't know. I met him at a local pub an hour later. I was skeptical. The curiousity was killing me.

A bottle of wine sat in between us; his words were deliberate. Even thought I didn't like the explanation, in the end it made sense. He apologized a dozen times. It seemed genuine. I have been fooled before. Glad to have resolution, I was still unclear as to the overall motivation.

The bolt from the blue, however, came the following night. The text message. It was a number I didn't recognize. I deleted it out of my phone a year previously. I reluctantly forgot about its owner. I was certain that I'd never hear from him again.

I wanted to say sorry for the way I treated you.

One of the most distant and painful memories brought back the surface... A friend stuck in between two former lovers. The fight was resentful. The end was bitter. I didn't intend for him to be there. I tried to respect his position in the middle. I thought I was doing a decent job. Apparently I wasn't. Although, I never thought anything I did was the real reason why he moved out of the middle.

Several messages back and forth revealed that he'd kept up with my life. Several more messages and we were chatting like old friends at a high school reunion.

Cautiously, I proceed. He never did reveal why he choose a side or what prompted the sudden apology. He danced over the issue and moved forward.

Does it really matter?

Maybe. There are many reasons to apologize. Sincerity. To bury the hatchet. To acknowledge one's mistakes.

To relieve guilt.

I am left to wonder about the movation and the timing. Why now? Coincidence? New knowledge?

Long ago, I patched over the holes in my soul; forced myself to stop replaying the final moments looking for the fatal mistake. I sealed the memories away. Each of the conversations brought the incidents back to the surface. The apologies left me feeling exonerated.

I have forgiven each of them. Maybe in time, I'll even forget...

For Sale

I don't know why it happened this morning, but I woke up nostalgic. There was nothing particularly remarkable that I can attribute to causing it. But, it was a good feeling.... like everything was right in the world. I smiled.

Even though it had been more than a year, it seemed so natural to resume my old routine... It was very early, even by the old military standards. I rolled out of bed and walked to the open window. The breeze coming through the screen was fresh. Still lost in a memory, I watched the sun rise for a minute.

I could hear the words echoing off the now silent walls. Hurry up, we can't waste the day. The familiar ritual seemed so natural, a frenzy of action. Dusting, cleaning, washing... all before the neighborhood even started to rise. The smells of oil soap and wood polish permeating the air.

Spotless.

Still lost in the fog of my reminiscence, I moved outside to wash the truck. Different from the ones in my nostaglia, but I washed the new truck with the same care and attention to detail as the previous ones.

As the truck got scrubbed inside and out, I could hear the metallic jingle of a dog collar behind me. I looked around expectantly, anticipating seeing her golden face smiling at me.

She wasn't there, of course. It was just a passerby with a poodle on the other side of the street.

Now, fully immersed in thoughts of long ago, I showered quickly. As if on queue, my stomach rumbled as I pulled on a shirt and shorts. I absently jumped in the truck and hardly noticed the passing streets on the short drive to the Diner.

As I walked through the door, I was greeted by familiar smells of breakfast. It wasn't quite the same, but I hardly noticed as I completed the familiar route to my table. I was absently disappointed to see new faces behind the counter.

A server that I knew stopped at my table to ask if I was ordering my "usual pancakes". Although I knew who she confused me for, I smiled politely at her and shook my head no.

Not today. I never ordered pancakes.

Breakfast arrived burned, the coffee was cold, and the waitress seemed to have forgotten me. I ate slowly. My nostalgia seemed to be developing some hairline cracks. It seemed... peculiar.

As I waited unendingly for the check, an uneasy feeling crept into my tummy. It might have been the not-quite-right eggs. Maybe not. I looked closer at my surroundings. The walls were painted a different color, the customers unrecognizable, the smell in the air was far greasier than I remembered.

It was getting remarkably harder to hold on to the memories that I had been enjoying just a few minutes previously. I felt them dissolving around me as the harsh reality crept in. Another flutter in my stomach made up my mind.

I wanted to see it.

Standing only two blocks away, it embodied the core of my growing melancholy. Over the years, I spent more time there than any place else. So much happened there....

I paid for my breakfast, tipped the waitress minimally for her dismal service and jumped in my truck. I was focused on one thing only, that I had to see it. I drove the two blocks carefully. I certainly didn't want any attention.

As I rounded the corner, it was immediately visible. I approached slowly, fighting off nausea. I wasn't so sure anymore that I should be there. My mind screamed at me to turn around but my hands stayed steady on the wheel. I saw it.

It looked vacant and run down. There was a sign firmly planted in the center of the lawn...

For Sale

The raw emotion was like electricity. The nostalgia was gone, replaced by a whole host of other emotions. Anger. Hurt. Relief. It will be gone, and presumably soon.

Sold to the highest bidder. Its contents reduced to mere curious salvage. And like the Diner, it will only be a shell of what it was in the past. Walls painted over, the counters replaced and new unfamiliar faces inside.

Bags of trash were already stacked up haphazardly and waiting to be taken away. I felt wounded; like I, too, had been placed on the corner, forgotten and meaningless. I pulled away from the curb and headed east into the morning sun, thoughts swirling through my mind.

Minutes later, I found myself in parked in my own driveway. My thoughts had been replaced by ethereal calm and on the day ahead of me. I left my memories of that different time on the curb of that old place with the other thoughtlessly discarded debris.

I am sure someone with a fresh perspective will buy it and whitewash over the traces of its previous existance. I hope they do.

As for me, I will not look back.

The Twisted Mile

Twisting, turning, winding. I can't see ahead of me. I am only vaguely aware of the rocky path before me. Indistinct figures and shapes are on the periphery of my vision. I look hard, but I can't quite make out what's coming next.

I stumble, fall.

Another setback. It seems like the thousandth time. I don't want to get up again, but I force myself to stand.

At least this time I didn't get hurt. I take a deep breathe and look calmly around. Fortunately this time nobody saw me trip.

Good, I mutter to myself, I still have my dignity intact. I brush the dust and dirt off. One foot in front of the other and I start moving again.

The journey so far has been difficult. I don't specificially remember starting on it. I don't even remember having a choice. It was a long time ago.

I reflect on the twists and turns of the trail so far.

Fortunately, so many of my unpleasant memories have fogged to a haze of mostly pleasant thoughts and recollections. It just seemed so easy back then. It wasn't too long ago that I was moving very quickly; the path seemed clear and bright. I tumbled occationally then too. It just didn't seem like such a big deal.

I have to keep reminding myself that it certainly isn't the first time that I've had to slow down; to step back in order to find my way back to the right course.

I smile to myself now as a memory tugs at my mind. I recall how confident I was just a few years ago. Running full speed ahead, the sun shining brightly, the path seemed so clear.

I climbed on an old stone staircase. There were a thousand people around; I was dimly aware of them. I was only paying attention to the one person 10 feet in front of me, my travel companion at the time. I was just trying to keep up with him, taking two or three stairs at a time.

Somehow, I managed to fall over my own feet. I was horrified as I crashed loudly on the ground. I watched my companion turn around and conceal a smirk as I sat there on the stairs holding my knee and bleeding profusely. It hurt, but I wasn't about to admit that.

A helpful tourist wandering by offered me Purell. Like an idiot, I squeezed a dollup right on the gash in my knee. It stung like like a hundred bee stings.

I gasped. I was embarassed. I was surrounded by people and I wanted to cry. Instead, I gulped, gritted my teeth, and got up. I pretended like it was just a big joke.

Don't laugh... it hurt!

The destination that I travel to now? Well, I'm not entirely sure...

In my journey so far, I've traversed some of the most beautiful and delightful terrain as well as some of the most precarious and hazardous paths. I have had some wonderful experiences, and some terrible ones.

I have travelled with many people, some longer than others. I've loved, laughed, and learned. I've been hurt and beaten down. I've cried and ultimately recovered. I keep moving forward, dusting myself at each turn. Smiling.

I have a vague idea of how far I've come, but I can't accurately judge how much farther I've got to go. I'm sure I'd even want to. I know I'm probably not close at all... In fact, I'm reasonably sure I have not even crossed the half-way point.

I don't regret any of the choices I've made on my journey so far. Perhaps I would have made different turns; done things differently. I don't know.

The only certainty that I have now is that both good and bad, I will continue moving forward along the twisted mile.

tested... ok

Just a short one tonight....

I couldn't be more relieved.

I just got tested. I'm negative.

There is so much power behind those words. So much weight. Intensity.

........I will sleep well tonight.

To Sing and Dance

Tonight, there was some singing. Bashful at first, within a few minutes a natural confidence sparkled through. I smiled, I laughed in a way that made me feel warm within. I tapped my toes in delight. Then, I heard the words: "Because I knew you I have been changed for good." It came at sort of an unexpected moment. A downtrodden moment amidst a cheerful chorus.

It made me sad. Nostaglic. Like a dim candle flickering in dense fog, memories wafted through the haze of the light. I struggled to grasp onto just one or two. I tried to remember, but it just seemed so distant. Neither bad, nor good. It just was.

The indelible impression made apon my soul. A laugh, a smile, a tear. A hug and a few whispered words in the dark. Forever distorted, altered and changed.

Each time our lives intertwine in the dance, the actual essence of the psyche bends a little into a new variation of reality. A new magnificence emerges; going backward is not possible.

As quickly as those dimly lit thoughts came, they passed unremarkably back into obsurity.

At my request, the music turned suddenly upbeat. The chorus got louder and the smile returned full force to my face. My meloncholy moment temporarily forgotten; replaced with song and a bit of a dance.

But now I remember. It happened again in just one instant. "Because I knew you, I have been changed for good." The alteration of my soul was miniscule, at most. But it's the newest version of me. Enhanced. Improved.

And it will all happen again tomorrow.

I think of those who have I have known in the past that are gone forever - some amazing and some forgettable. I also think of those important people I know today, some who are still as extraordinary today as the minute we first glimpsed a look at each other.

Thank you. Good or bad, I am what I am today because of you.

Grandma versus Business

My grandma lives in a different city. I don't see her as much as I should. I definitely don't call her enough. Life gets in the way sometimes. It's ok; she understands. The time we do spend together is often quality. She chatters and talks -- on the surface, it really does seem like whimsicle folly. Overall, topic of the day never seems particularly important.

So how she does it, I don't know. She always manages to wrap something good in the middle of converation without me ever really noticing. Her words often get me thinking. The thoughts she leaves me with are ultimately applied to the "issue of the day". I frequently wonder if she actually plans her words of wisdom or if it just coincidence that they always somehow show up at the most relevant times.

I dunno.

As I get older, I think about the things Grandma taught me when I was a kid.... I got into a fight with the kids in school and came home crying, she knew what to say to make me feel better. Homework was too tough, she encouraged me. Relationships failing, somehow I always left her house feeling special. At her house, I expanded my pallette as she encouraged me to try to new foods, and as an extension she got me to be open to new life experiences. She often said "no negative thoughts" and encouraged me to look beyond the "human condition" to find something that makes me feel like it is all worth while.

Consequently, I am convinced that if more people thought like my grandmother, I would definitely be out of a job.

An unusual circumstance to be in, for sure.

Interestingly, I've heard many of grandma's philosophies repeated over and over again by the most important people in my life... and the most successful. Some know her well, many don't know her at all.

I listened to several folks in business talk this afternoon about how they were planning on getting the company out of a financial situation. There was a lot of talk about "dollars" and how they were going to save them to meet some financial goals. The bottom line dollar was obviously very important. In the short run, the plans seemed to have merit and would save the company some big bucks tomorrow, next week, and next month.

I wonder about the long term. Saving the dollar today, isn't necessarily the best way to build a fortune. Taking the dollar out today may cut the opportunity to look at the the cents of the business. The teaching, the learning, the opportunity to amass something sustainable that will keep the business viable instead of going the way of so many others before it. It occurs to me that if they applied some of Grandma's philosophies, they stand a good chance of making it successfully through the day, and also well into the very distant future.

Granted, Grandma didn't spend a lot of time counting dollars, but she did have a way with common "cents". Small pearls of wisdom that if added up, the "cents" they represented would be far more valuable than the obvious dollar.

Sometimes in business and in life, we focus only on the outcomes instead of why and how we got there and who was involved.

Whenever I came home with a dilemma, Grandma didn't necessarily solve my problem; she found a way to empower those around her to solve their own problem. She encouraged reflection about the "who's" and the "why's" and the little things that would cause a slow but permanent positive change.

Whether it was her intent or not, I took away from her the idea that BIG hairy noticible audacious "things" were hard to sustain, small stuff and small steps were the way to succeed. Many of her ideas went un-noticed to even the most critical eyes, until it was too late and positive change happened. Maybe she recognized that such large changes would be met with large resistance. Small changes add up over time.

You can save one dollar today and have a dollar tomorrow. Or you can keep adding up your cents indefinitely and eventually amass a fortune.

Hmmmm... tomorrow, I will encourage some business owners take a lesson from Grandma.

the new job....

I've officially completed my first full week on the new job... Yikes! I knew it was gonna be alot of work, but this is almost insane! In terms of structure, there is very little; processes in place, none.

I guess that isn't such a bad thing. It means that no matter what I do will make an impact.

I'm told the "impact" will be the most important part... If I can find enough ways to save the company money, it will positively effect my ability to "move" within the company.

And THAT is a good thing. (I think)

In the center of all the commotion...

It's been quite a hullabaloo... I barely have a free minute to sit down. The demands for my time and attention have been tremendous.

I haven't blogged in ages. I spend countless hours at work. I try to fit friend and family in as best as I can. My head spins at what is on my plate now; what I have to accomplish, how little time there actually is to do it. It is dizzying.

And the prize at the end of the road - the opporunity of a lifetime? A second chance to make the right choices? What are the choices; what is the true prize?

My mind races when I consider what I have now and what the future could potentially hold. I wake up, I make it to the gym, I work hard, and I can barely keep my eyes open before I get home at the end of the day.

As exhausted as I am, I find myself continuously thinking... like a good tale, marveling at how it is all unfolding...

In the center of the commotion, I can't help but to speculate on the future. I can see the cast of new characters and interesting locales, but I can't figure out where it's going yet. I find myself struggling; deep in thought trying to figure what is in the narrative ahead. Of course the storyline isn't clear yet... so I can do nothing but speculate at what plot twists and turns will be revealed in the next chapter. Unexpected? Obvious? Predictible? Wondrous?

And as I continue to turn the pages at a breakneck pace, I consider how it's unfolded so far. And ultimately, how I will apply the lessons I've learned from my past to the unwritten pages of the future.

Ah, the past.

Just thinking about it makes me shudder.

It amazes me how quickly it all turns around. I've spent a great deal of time lately thinking about just that. And it's not like I've had a whole lotta spare time on my hands lately either...

So the story goes: "what a difference a year can make." Looking back, a year ago I couldn't see a future. I wondered how I could possibly go on. In those dark times, it seemed like there was no reason to keep trying. Each time the I thought that the storm was finally coming to an end, I found myself in the temporary calm of the eye. Over and over again I battled... and I wasn't sure I was going to survive.

Dramatic?

Hell ya. What's a good life tragedy without a little drama? It's what keeps the pages turning... what's gonna happen next?

Turn the page.

So starts a new chapter.

Just a few pages in, it's evident that as much as our hero was tested up to the limits of strength in the preceding chapter, this one opens in a hectic, but upbeat way.

The sun shines brightly, a salubrious and fast paced start. A new job, a new challenge, a new locale, a new life, a new cast of characters, a new body, a bright smile, an opportunity to refresh and renew.

Rennaissance?

A boy...

Hero

I've had the idea of a "hero" tumbling around in my head recently....

That particular concept has come up in conversation several times in the last few weeks. Each time, the context has been a little different but ultimately the overall meaning is the same.

In general, sometimes a hero is an ordinary person faced with an extraordinary circumstance. Despite the odds being stacked against him or her, the hero typically prevails in the end.

And sometimes a hero is the "knight in shining armor"... the person who sweeps you off your feet and protects you for the rest of your life. They are the person who is there for you no matter what the circumstance, supporting you and seeing you threw whatever life has to show you. All done while smiling and assuring you that the future will be grand and golden.

Overall, we live in a world where heroes sometimes take a prominent role in life. People are fascinated by heroes. Just watch the daily news or open the paper… people are considered heroes all time when they overcome remarkable situations. People want — OR NEED — heroes in their lives.

Heroes are something to believe in…. someone to count on.

Though out my life, there have been a few people that I've considered to be a hero… my dad, my former boss, a former lover.

I believe that when you're facing the world alone, life can be a very long lonely road. When your hero finally comes along and takes your hand, the emptiness inside disappears. Old fears and insecurities get cast aside, and it seems that you can survive anything. Your hero is in your corner caring for you when no one else is there; offering support and encouragement. Your hero waits for you, no matter how long it takes.

Sadly, at one point or another, I've been disappointed by my hero's. I've been let down. I've been disillusioned, discouraged, and disenchanted. Aren't heroes supposed to be perfect?

Sometimes I need to remember that heroes make mistakes too. Idealistic isn't always reality. They can't always make everything better. They are human and fallible, too. It's a tough lesson to learn, though.

Personally, it shook me to the core when I realized that my concept of "perfect" really isn't really perfect at all. It's flawed. It's unrealistic. It's even romantic. But it is not perfect.

But, it IS okay.

With that thought in mind, I wonder if I am somebody's hero too. Have I touched someone's life the way a few have touched mine? It saddens me to think that at some point, I may have let them down and shattered the illusion for them. Was I ever the reason that someone wondered why there hero let them down?

But, maybe that's it…

Just maybe the realization that we all make mistakes and have the capacity to grow from them IS the "extraordinary circumstance" that we all face. Maybe it's that which makes each and every one of us an every day hero?

Can it be that the true hero is actually inside each one of us? Is it how we handle the ordeals of life that make us remarkable?

Life isn't easy. Aren't those who are able to fight and overcome the challenges of everyday life are the true heroes. The people that can listen to others and make it work… and learn from their life. That is a hero.

That idea makes me feel better… I am a hero. AND, I am surrounded by good people that are heroes, too.

Although, maybe it's the romantic in me that still likes the idea that there is one special hero out there who will gallop in to rescue me. It can't hurt to think that just maybe my knight in shining armor will arrive someday.

Well, who knows? It could happen!

Will you be my hero? Can I be YOUR hero?

Power

"Power.

It's the thing that most people don't think about... until it's taken away. Whether it's the electricity, political power, or a lover's influence, we all want some sort of power in our lives.

If only to give ourselves choices.

Yes.

To be without choices, to feel utterly powerless... well... it's a lot like being alone in the dark."

It's interesting to see what people will do to gain power; to have those extra choices. Play the political politics game at the office or the community. Talk to the people around you to learn that extra bit of knowledge. To gain the upper hand? To help make your decisions easier? Harder?

And why?

Leak out bits and pieces of information to those you know won't keep it to themselves... to change your position or even more firmly establish your reputation? To gain leverage? To bolster credibility? To tear down others?

It's like a game. A dark game. A dangerous game.

Who will come out on top? Who will shine in the bright light... cause when at the bottom, it's dark and lonely.

And no one likes to be lonely.