The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for September 2011

Dear Children- Don’t Ask For Approval

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stamp the stamp

Dear children,

It is time for another letter from your old man who in spite of what you think really isn’t all that old. You know what I like about being 42? I have been around long enough to have accumulated a ton of life experience. I have lived, loved and lost. I have gambled, gained and grown. I have been on both sides of success and failure.

I have been on all sides of that old cycle of life thing. You watched me help bury your great grandparents. You saw me take the shovel so that someone who loved them made sure that they were buried with honor and respect. I did it for them. I did it for your grandparents. I did it for you and I did it for me.

Forty-two means that I have been out of school for more than a little while. It means that I know what it means to get up and go to work day in and day out without a summer vacation or winter break. I know what it means to be the sole source of income for the family. I know what it means to love a job and I know what it means to hate it.

That hate part is what some of the fellas would call “a real motherfucker.” They’d say it with a certain inflection and expect that by using that expression it would carry a little more oomph than if they didn’t curse. I am ambivalent about it. I can tell you that some people will respond to it positively and others will be negative.

My advice is that you don’t ask for approval. Just do it.

“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.” Mark Twain

I don’t know when you’ll start reading these posts but I do know that you’ll see lots of quotes from Mark Twain. He is one of my favorite authors and someone I refer to frequently. There is a lot of wisdom in what he says and that brings me back to the real point.

The Beauty of Life Experience

The beauty of life experience is that it helps you figure out what you really want to do with your life. If you are very lucky you’ll figure it out at a young age and take steps to make your dream into a reality. But if you are like most people it won’t happen that way and you’ll have to live a bit before you figure it out and even then you might change your mind.

You are old enough now to recognize that I am not satisfied with the way things are but young enough that I won’t share details. You don’t need to know them. They won’t help you and it will probably just confuse you. So I have given you plausible answers that serve the purpose of providing an explanation and more importantly make you feel secure.

But years from now we’ll talk about this. Years from now you’ll probably go through your own search and perhaps my quest will help you. Right now I am working on a variety of projects but what I really want to do is focus on writing. I am good at this. The words come easily and more importantly this brings me joy and you can never have enough of that.

I don’t tell many people about my dreams. I don’t do it because I don’t want to hear their excuses and reasons why mine can’t come true. I have given up more than a few and suffered heartbreak because it seemed like the right thing to do. But I have figured out that all I did was hurt myself. I wasn’t true to me and that is among the worst things a person can do.

Be true to yourself. Don’t let fear stop you. Fight for your dreams and even if you fail rest comfortably knowing that you tried.

What Matters Most

Everyone you encounter in life will be able to tell you what matters most….to them. It is a subjective thing and something that you are going to have to figure out. And because life is nothing but fun it is something that will change over time. What was once important to me now seems trivial and what was trivial is of paramount importance. I can’t tell you why only that it happens.

What I know is that years from now some of the angst you see me write about will seem less important in large part because of “this too shall pass” syndrome. You won’t feel the pressure of time. You won’t know the immediacy that I knew but you’ll have the joy of experiencing it for yourself. My hope and my dream is that some of this will make it easier but I am not real optimistic. It is not because I don’t want it but because your great grandfather was right, “you can’t screw an old head on young shoulders.”

That life experience I talked about earlier- there is no substitute for it. So chances are that you’ll be like most people and find yourself laughing about some things that fell into your lap and crying about that which you missed. And that is ok.

Time for the old man to catch few zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. I look forward to watching you grow.

Love,

Dad

Would You Read This Story?

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Read my about me page and you’ll learn all sorts of interesting things about me including that I am the author of 39 unpublished books and three screenplays. The words below are part of a story that I am working on and I am interested in getting your feedback. Drop me a line or leave me a comment and let me know what you think.

Who Broke Your Heart- Things You Might Not Know

My name is Jack. I am a single father who works as a journalist for the local paper. I have a a bi-weekly column that is read by more than 1 million people and I am the author of three books, with a contract to write more.

On the weekends I coach my son’s soccer team and drive my daughter to dance class. I have two girlfriends who really are just that, girls who are friends. Sometimes I wonder what the difference is between a girl friend and a wife. They both tell you what to do and neither put out.

I suppose that the real distinction is that the girl friend doesn’t receive a piece of my paycheck each month so that they can live in my house with Rudy, the flying Dutchman.

I know, that sounds overly bitter. My therapist told me that I should be happy about this. She said that it would be good for the ex to have a man in her life, that it would make her happier and as a result she would be easier to deal with.

I tried to look at it that way, I really did, but there is 6’2 of stupid preventing me from doing so. The same 6’2 of stupid that is shtupping my wife, sleeping in my bed and enjoying the house that was the fruits of my labor.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re better apart. It was a long time coming and something that I should have done years ago. I didn’t mind her taking the house because it was easier than uprooting the kids. But I won’t lie about being irritated about the cold Germanic figure that lives there now too.

We might not have had the greatest marriage, but we had a great house.

And now instead of having a bad marriage and a great house I have a bad apartment and a lot of freedom. So I suppose that there is something to be said for that. The girl friends keep telling me that if I moved out of the bad apartment I’d find it easier to date.

I keep telling them that I don’t want to date, but they ignore me. So then I tell them that misery loves company which is why they want me to get involved with another woman. I think that it is hysterical and every time I say this I crack up.

For some odd reason they don’t. And for that same odd reason they aren’t interested in hearing about what I think women are good for. That is ok, I don’t really want to tell them.

A while back my daughter found some old love letters that a lost love once sent to me. She had a field day with that. Ever since then she has been pushing me to try and look her up. She tells me that she can tell from the letters that she really loved me and that no woman who wrote those things ever stops loving the man she wrote them about.

I smiled and thanked her. She smiled back and told me that I was too young to give up. I think that the girl friends and her must be talking about me when I am not around, because I am getting tag teamed.

Anyway, I am on deadline for my next column. Since the ladies of my life are so intent on pushing relationships upon me I decided to show them by writing about the end of relationships. Something really bitter and biting, that ought to shut their mouths.

So here you have my first draft of my next column. I think that it has real potential.

 

Always On My Mind– Willie Nelson

Thanks to technology there are a million new ways to break someone’s heart. A million new methods of letting someone that you once loved or perhaps still do that you just can’t do it anymore.

In the age of instant gratification and social media it won’t be long before we hear/read the tales of dismissal. Husbands who let their wives know they are leaving them by unfriending them on Facebook or girlfriends who let their ex know their new status by tweeting it.

It is kind of funny in an I am not smiling kind of way to think how these time saving tools of communication can take the intimate and personal and turn it into something mechanical, cold and sterile.

What do you call people who do this? Awful, callous and cruel come to mind. Descriptive words that fail to capture the essence of how truly horrible being dumped in this fashion can be.

But let’s face it, being dumped isn’t a pleasant experience. It is not necessarily easier to stand or sit in front of someone and listen to them tell you that they have lost that loving feeling. I suppose that it doesn’t make a difference, even if they haven’t lost it, but are ending things because circumstances make it impossible to continue.

In the end you still ask those questions. You still wonder what you did or what you could have done. Surely there is a word or gesture that would have spared you the angel of death speech. Had you only known then they would have passed over and you’d be ensconced in your cocoon of love and happiness.

The End Of a Marriage

I’ll say this much for divorce, it makes for great blog fodder. There is something wrong about that, isn’t there. Shouldn’t there be some rule that says that being this connected is wrong. Isn’t there some rule or law of silence about this. I am not really supposed to be able to communicate such intimate thoughts.

The pain of a broken heart isn’t really something that you should be privy too, or maybe you should be. Maybe that is the point of all this. I act as the exhibitionist and you act as the voyeur. I pull aside the shades so that you can look inside the window and see just what is that I am doing.

And that is how you get the great image of “6’2 of stupid that is shtupping my wife, sleeping in my bed and enjoying the house that was the fruits of my labor.”

Really, I should be more grown up about this than I am. I should be happy that he has taken the burden off of my hands, but that is not totally true either. The end of the relationship is a mixture of relief and sadness. It is a mixture of success and failure.

I try not to tell the girl friends about this feeling because every time I do they interpret it as a sign that I need a new woman. They read the last column and told me that they thought that it was brilliant and that I was dead on about how awful breaking up by email is. Apparently this sort of thing is far more prevalent than I realized.

Just my luck really. I was trying to portray myself as being bitter, cold and unfeeling and they took it as being sensitive. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe this is all part of the stupid plan that they and the daughter are trying to put into place. You know, the whole lost love deal.

Earlier this week the girl friends slipped it into conversation, how some people never forget walking down Coventry or chasing each other through grapevines. The whole gist of it was their female version of some romantic tale in which I contact that great lost love of mine and we suddenly find our way back to each other.

I must admit that I find a certain attraction to it. I have wondered what she is up to and where she is at. From time to time I have remembered things and wondered if she has too. But that could easily be me. After all I am the one who is in this position. I am sure that she is happy with her life. I am just a good memory relegated to the unimportant and irrelevant pile.

At least that is what I suspect, but I admit that part of me wonders if that is true. I also admit to relearning the finer points of being heartbroken. I hadn’t ever planned on becoming reacquainted with it. I rather imagine that it is similar to a prisoner revisiting his cell.

You know all the corners intimately, but you never really want to step back inside, even if the door is open. Except in my case the door swung shut behind me.

The good news is that all of the crap that I left here is still here. Same books and toys on the shelves just waiting to be played with again. The bad news is that all of the crap that I left here the last time is still here. The questions and hard feelings and the sense of loneliness. The empty ache is back, an old friend that I didn’t want to see again.

But the good news is that I know from experience that this isn’t a life sentence. I’ll bust out of this joint like I did the last time. Only this time around things will be different.

Of course I said that same thing last time, but this time it is true. This time it is going to be different because this time a million people will read about this in my column. Not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing, but we’ll find out.

Stay tuned to this bat channel and assuming that the paper doesn’t fire me or go under from a lack of advertising dollars and you’ll find out what happens, or not.

A 21st Century Break Up

“Well now, everything dies, baby, thats a fact
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back

Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City.”

Atlantic City- Bruce Springsteen

Went to lunch with the girl friends and the daughter. It wasn’t my choice. I was far more interested in hiding out in my apartment. It might not be much to look at, but it is mine. Simple furniture, my books, music and a decent television. Reminds me a bit of how I described my first place after college to my parents.

But there is a difference this time around. The refrigerator is full and there is more than $25 dollars sitting in my bank account. Not to mention that the furniture isn’t a bunch of hand me downs from friends and relatives.

The best part is that it is mine and mine alone. I am happy being by myself. I don’t worry about who left dishes in the sink or if there are socks on the floor because if there are, I know who is responsible for it.

I had intended to make myself a sandwich, grab a beer and watch football. Later on I was going to take a nap and maybe start reading that book about the history of Scotland. It was a good plan, but the girls had other ideas.

When the telephone rang I didn’t bother to check the caller ID because I already knew who it was going to be. She called every weekend to check on me and every weekend I gave her the same response. Told her that I was fine, but if it would make her feel better I would let her iron my clothes and perform other services as needed.

It was the sort of obnoxious remark that I used as a shield and on most people it would work, but not her. After 30 some years of friendship she ignored it. Didn’t faze her, in fact I am not even sure it even registered.

But I was wrong about the caller. This time around it was my daughter. As soon as I heard her say “Hi daddy” I knew I was screwed. I am a lot of things, but I am not stupid. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that tone of voice. It was the same one she had used her entire life with me, that one that girls use to melt dads heart.

I placed my hand over the telephone and cursed. “Damn!” But there was no point in arguing with her. She is my girl and she is just as determined as I am. Better to just roll along and see if there was an easier way to get out from under their scheme.

Earlier that week she had shared her thoughts with me. She had told me that she was very concerned about me, that she didn’t think I gave myself enough credit or that I did a good job of taking care of myself. I had thanked her for her concern and reiterated that I was quite capable of taking care of me. Been doing it all my life, now wasn’t much different.

She smiled and wrapped her hand around my bicep and asked me to make a muscle. Damn, damn, damn. I keep forgetting this kid has made a life time project of studying dad. But I didn’t crack. I made a muscle and asked her if she wanted a piggy back ride. She laughed and told me that she was too big for one. I told her that she never would be too big and changed the subject.

Not that it mattered. She just went with it and here we were a few days later, the three of them and me. As we sat at the table I made a crack about feeling just like Hugh Hefner. It was met with a stony glare and sighs all around. Because I am both stubborn and prone to stupidity I told them that they were wasting their time and that we should find a different project. Maybe we could go out and save the environment.

Instead I was treated to a story about how things work in the 21st century. They told me that the Internet had killed the idea of a clean breakup and that now it was really easy to find people and or check up on them. I smiled at the three and reminded them that I probably knew more about computers and the net than they did.

That earned me more stares and sighs. And then I learned that all of them had googled the name of an old boyfriend once or twice. They assured me that it was just curiosity that made them do it. I looked at my daughter and said that curiosity was how I became a father. She glared at me and asked her companions why they put up with me. She had to because of genetics, but they had a choice.

Before anyone could answer I went into a five minute lecture/rant about minding your own business. They were silent. And just when I thought that I had convinced them they let me know that they had already done their own checking up.

She was free. She was single and so was I.

That took the wind right out of my sails. I was mildly surprised by the impact. She was single. I stuttered something in response and muttered something about having been kicked in the mouth one time too many.

And then I was silent.

For a moment I was lost in thought. I remembered the fire and the passion. I remembered how she made me feel like there was no one more important or more special. And then I remembered the pain of losing her.

It was like having an arm or a leg cut off. It took a while for those scars to heal, longer than I wanted to admit. And the truth was that I wasn’t even certain if they ever had. I did my best to hide the shock and thanked them all for their concern.

A short time later we got up and left. Out in the parking lot we hugged and kissed each other goodbye and I drove home lost in thought.

Later that night the telephone rang and again I didn’t bother checking the Caller ID. It had to be my daughter and again I was proven wrong. For the next five minutes I listened to her tell me why I should think really hard about things.

“She loved you as much as you loved her,” she said. I told her that I wasn’t so sure and that it had seemed far too easy for her to walk away. She snorted into the phone and assured me that I wasn’t the only one with a broken heart. She was just more practical about things than you were or so she claimed.

I thanked her again for her concern and told her that I would think about. A short time later I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what would happen if I tried to contact her. Would she take the call or respond to the email. I was afraid that she would and afraid that she wouldn’t.

Just before I drifted off to sleep I remembered what it felt like to kiss her and how I couldn’t figure out where I ended and she began. And that was when I realized that I hadn’t ever stopped loving her. It was a bittersweet revelation.

Not the sort of epiphany that I had gone searching for, but that is the joy of life. You never know what is going to happen. So now there are butterflies in my stomach and my heart is pounding. I haven’t made the decision yet what to do, but I am going to have to do it soon.

I suppose the question is will a 21st century break up lead to a 21st century romance. I don’t know the answer but I rather expect that I will soon.

In the interim I think that I am going to unplug my phone and turn off my cellphone. I have had about as much excitement as I can handle for now.

The Children Of September 11

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This is the post that I didn’t intend to write. This is the tale that I didn’t intend to tell. I have told it before. I have shared these stories here and in other places and had planned on writing something else. Lately my writing has been so damn heavy it seemed like the perfect time to provide lighter material. It is easy enough to do. I could refer you to old posts that make people laugh or write something funny. That had been my plan, but it was derailed.

That plan was derailed, altered and adjusted because I have been swimming in 9/11 stories and photos and I just have to get this out there. Have to clear my head so that when the kids come home I am ready to talk about it with them. It won’t be the first hard conversation we have had.

We have talked about the death of my grandparents, my dog and assorted goldfish. We have talked about why someone killed Martin Luther King and have had an exceptionally painful talk about gas chambers. But this feels different to me. Maybe it is because it is a “big” anniversary or maybe it is because the month of August was a roller coaster of emotion. Grandpa died, my sister got married and we moved. That is a full load.

Ultimately the reasons why it is heavy don’t matter because these children of mine call me dad. They call me dad and expect me to give them answers to questions like why do people murder others. They want to know why and they want to hear me say that I will protect them from the bad people and bad things.

Those are moments that stick with you. The conversations in which they beg you to promise not to die and then tell you that they are afraid of dying. The moments where they ask if you will “kill the bad guys dead” stick with you because even though they are barely four years-old you know that it is possible that something horrible could happen. You know people who have been murdered, committed suicide, died from terminal illness or in car accidents.

You know that statistically speaking it is highly unlikely that any of this will happen, but you remember hearing stories of a great aunt who was hit by a train. You remember standing graveside at the funeral of dear friend and wondering how at 29 someone dies from cancer. Not to mention the blogosphere. You love the blogosphere but it is also filled with stories of horror and mishap. You know parents who have lost children and know that sometimes things happen.

There is no time to wallow in worry about things that didn’t happen but still sometimes you worry.

You think about the people who put themselves in harms way. While people fled they ran forwards and did the best that they could to save others. And that is when you realize that this is going to be another conversation about gratitude.

I am assuming that the kids will talk about 9-11 in school, especially my fifth grader. I have an idea for how I want that conversation to go and what I want to discuss. Gratitude has to be a part of it. They need to hear about the people that work in service of others. They need to know about them and understand that we owe them more than a simple thank you.

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The words are hard to come by. I have more than a few thoughts flowing through my mind. There is a parade of pictures, sounds and images inside it. I have listened to some of the recordings from that day. Ten years later it hurts to hear strangers call their loved ones to say goodbye.

It is different for my children than my sister’s kids back east. They know more than a few people who lost loved ones. They know children who don’t have a parent any more. It takes on a different sort of reality when you know people who were lost. It takes on a different sort of reality when you know survivors.

But at the moment I am lost in thought about how many things changed that day. Ten years later we are still fighting two wars and it occurs to me that in some ways the children of September 11 are joined in mourning by the children of those who have given up their lives protecting us since then.

Editor’s Note: Here are a couple of relevant links that I didn’t work into the body of the post but are important to me to mention.

As The Bodies Fell- He Played

And Justice For All

The Mother Of All Blog Posts Told By A Father

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The most frustrating part of blogging is not seeing less talented writers gain accolades and acclaim that they don’t deserve but the feeling I get when I feel like my writing is letting me down. That is not to say that my ego never gets bent because it does. I am human and sometimes it irritates me to see second rate hacks who can’t write get more than they deserve.

Most of the time I don’t pay much attention to it and I focus upon my work. Call me a bitter curmudgeon or a clever conniseur of conflict management but I don’t expect most of those other guys to stick around very long. Popularity contests aren’t a measure of talent or worth which is why I don’t worry about whether I am included on lists of the Top Dad Bloggers or not.

My focus is on my writing and my community and that is as it should be. If I create compelling content and build a comfortable community than everything else will take care of itself. That is my theory and I am sticking to it.

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I have come to understand that I was born restless and with a bad case of feeling like I am on the outside looking in. I am a seeker and a dreamer- an explorer who has a knack for pushing the envelope and trying to turn over every rock for fear that I might have missed something. It took more than a few years for me to become comfortable with that and to accept that the fire in my belly could warm my heart as well as burn me.

Britt did a nice job of touching upon some of this in a post called There Is Nothing Wrong With You. It was solid and that is why she got to present it as a Community Keynote speaker at BlogHer this year.

The beauty and joy of life experience is that if you open your eyes you learn something about yourself and how the world works. If you open your eyes you learn to know your own worth and you don’t settle for something that doesn’t make you want to jump out of bed and dance with joy and reckless abandon.

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That is one of the lessons that I want to teach my kids. My life is in many ways exceptionally different from what I thought it would be and I couldn’t ever have predicted some of the twists and turns that it has taken. And even though there have been some terribly hard moments that have made me tear out my hear and gnash my teeth the majority has been beautiful.

I have had experiences that have opened my eyes to possibilities and opportunities that I never could have foreseen.  And now I have dreams and ideas that I never did before.

I think about the people we miss and ask myself hard questions like Do You Live Your Dreams Or Dream Your Life because I believe that the journey is just as important as the destination. If I am to teach my children to not settle for less and to keep pushing than don’t I have to do it too. It is about a life worth living and the knowledge that I gave it all I had.

That is what this wanderlust and restlessness is about. It is about giving me the energy and impetus to keep pushing even when it would be easier to just accept things as they are. I don’t fault or blame people for doing that. If people are happy with the status quo of their lives than that is great, but it is not me. And it is in large part why even though I have those moments of feeling like I am on the outside looking in I tend not to care.

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My words aren’t flowing the way that I wish they would and some of that is because I keep getting interrupted by tasks and errands that require my immediate attention. But part of the importance of writing every day is so that when I send out the call they come to me upon command. Life doesn’t always work as we wish it would and nothing will change that. The mean girls will continue to make appearances and the kids will keep asking tough questions. But I am a Better Father Than You Are so I don’t worry about it.

I’ll continue to follow the Rules of Blogging and do the best I can to continue build connections and community because that is what is important to me.  With a little bit of luck, some effort and a dash of hope things should turn out in a most agreeable fashion. What do you think?

It is Called Life

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This thing you are doing- it is called life and every moment that you sit here reading it is passing you by. This thing you are doing- it is called life and every time you let fear stop you from doing something you stop living. I don’t write these words for your benefit but for mine. Ok, that is not entirely true because I do want you to benefit from this.

I want you to benefit because it is the right thing to do and for selfish reasons. The same selfish reasons that make me want you to be educated, healthy and happy apply here. Why do I say this? Because I believe that educated, healthy and happy people make the world a nicer place to live in. Some of my friends who like to argue with me about evolution say that it is an unproven theory. Well, so is my belief about the value of more people being educated, healthy and happy. Either way I don’t really care if you approve of it because you come from a monkey as do I. But you are not The Monkey and yes that is an inside joke that only one person will get. Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Point, click and surf on over to greener pastures.

Really, I don’t mind. You don’t have to like me. I kill unicorns, club baby seals and drown kittens.

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The Jewish New Year is approaching and I feel a bit crazed. I always get this feeling around this time. It is because part of this time is devoted to introspection and when I look inside I am not happy with all that I see. More on that in a minute, first I want to roll another video. Ignore the religious component of it and focus on what you see. It is three years old but the scenes could have just as easily taken place this year.

I watch that and ask myself if I am doing the things that need to be done to make my life better. I watch that and ask myself the hard questions. What is it that bothers me and why I aren’t I happier with my life. Are the reasons things that are under my control or is it something else. If I don’t identify those things than how I can make the changes that need to be made. I am not interested in passing through life. I don’t want to wake up and feel like I have wasted my days so I haven’t any choice but to pull back the covers and see what lies beneath.

What can I do to move from dream to reality. This is part of what I focus on. My dream car has always been the Mach 5. I remember being a little boy wishing that one day that car would be mine and now I come to find out that someone has made one. What do I want and how can I make it happen.

Part of becoming the father I want to be is tied into making sure that I follow these dreams and do whatever I can to make them real. I may not always succeed but I feel better when I try. My friend John Falchetto touched upon this in a post he called Stop lying to yourself and others will believe you.

I left a comment on that post that made me realize that my thoughts and ideas about life/myself have changed

Yes, sometimes we need to admit defeat and accept that we have failed. That doesn’t mean giving up but acknowledging that our plan/strategy wasn’t working and that it needs to be changed.

Failure is just another opportunity to learn, albeit sometimes more painful.

Not so long ago I wouldn’t have ever admitted that I have failed at anything. I would have seen that as showing weakness and that wasn’t something that I was willing to share or admit with more than a handful of people. I don’t like it all that much now and am not all that enamored with that bitter taste. But I have come to believe that although these experiences haven’t been exceptionally pleasant they have taught me things that I couldn’t have learned any other way.

They have also helped toughen me up to deal with situations that might have otherwise felt overwhelming. Some these changes have taken already taken place and others are coming just down the road

This thing you are doing- it is called life. Are you living or just passing the time away.

The First Day of School

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Tomorrow marks the first day of of the 2011-2012 school year for my children. It feels strange to write 2012 knowing that so much of 2011 is still left yet the new school year means that the sands of time are running…faster. Ok, they really aren’t running faster than normal but with the resurgence of school days, homework, soccer practice, gymnastics and all the other stuff it will move quickly.

In a few short hours the kids will be ensconced in classrooms with new teachers and I’ll be working out of this temporary office in our temporary home hoping that my things are temporarily lost. It is only a week since we left the old place and the usual contradiction of time has taken effect. It feels to me like we left the old house years ago and at the same time it feels like we haven’t left. If I didn’t know better I’d say that we are on vacation and that any day now we’ll go back and I’ll find all the things I am missing in the places that I kept them for the last ten years.

Ten years of life in that house gone in the blink of an eye. I never expected to be there as long as we were. It was supposed to be a starter home. When we bought it I was making a very nice living and qualified for a much larger mortgage but I wanted to be safe so I opted not to buy that other place, the one that I really loved. It was bigger, brighter and offered so very much. It seemed like a house that I could move into and live in forever, but I was conservative so I didn’t want to take that sort of risk on.

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Every year since my son started school I have wondered if they would talk about the events of  9-11 in class. Every year I have asked about it because I was curious to find out when my son would learn about what happened that day. Up to now they really haven’t had any serious classroom discussion about it. He has been too young and we are so far away it is easier to dismiss. It is different for my nieces and nephews back east. They know families who lost loved ones, not one or two but many. They know of the day and that moment in a different way.

But it had a big impact upon me for a host of reasons most of which I have blogged about before. It hit me because I was supposed to be in the city. It hit me because my oldest friend had been working at Cantor Fitzgerald (he came home just a few days before) and almost everyone he worked with in that office died. It hit me because I remember watching my son build towers with blocks and while I watched people jump he knocked the block towers down and rebuilt them. It hit me because you can’t watch that kind of thing without being impacted by it.

I’ll never forget being in the city a few months later and seeing all of the flyers and posters of missing people. Some of them had become yellowed and tattered but I looked at them hard and wondered if they were pictures of the dead or the living.

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Sometimes I look up at the moon and wonder about life. I stare at that big white orb and wonder if the magical and mystical force of my youth, that we saw on Star Wars exists. I think about Yoda and Obi-wan talking to Luke about it and how we are all tied together. I think about it and wonder about the future, destiny and our control over these things. I think about it and wonder how to harness it. Sometimes I wonder if some things are meant to be and if other things are going to be no matter what we do.

There are things and there are people that are broken. Some of them are obvious and others are less obvious. Given the choice, the power and the wisdom I would heal them. But these are things that you don’t learn in school. These are lessons that are taught by life and by experience. There aren’t any books that we can read or rely upon. Some times all we can do is use our judgment and our gut to try to make the wise choice and then we hope for the best.

Choices. So much of life relies upon the choices we make. Decisions are made with good intentions but good intentions don’t always lead to good outcomes.

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Ten years ago I didn’t have a clue what life would look like now. I remember trying to figure it out. I remember staring off into the mists of time with clear eyes and a full heart hoping that would mean that I couldn’t lose. But Coach Taylor never told me how quickly things could turn so when life happened it was a bit of a shock. These days life doesn’t shock or surprise me as much as it used to. That is not because I am so wise or so jaded that it can’t happen. Just haven’t caught lightning in a jar lately, but something tells me that this is about to change.

Something tells me that we are on the verge of major upheaval. So I am gearing up to ride the tornado and to tame the storm. I am kind of excited by it all.  A new school year and new beginnings. I wonder what we shall learn.