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 2014

Life Has Killed The Dream I Dreamed

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Gerry Rafferty is singing about Baker Street and I am thinking about the life I once dreamed of and the one I lead now. Thinking about how very different it is and how today it reminds me of a bad meal.

From the outside looking in all looks to be as it should be.

The table is set with beautiful plates and silverware, nice centerpiece and all of the expected accouterments except the steak isn’t cooked the way I like it, the mashed potatoes look like they can from an ancient can and taste like they were scooped out of a rotten skull and the vegetables are just nasty.

If it weren’t for the rolls there would be nothing here that tasted right but that doesn’t fix the disappointment or cure the hunger in my belly.

It is not the first time my meal fell short of expectations nor will it be the last. Sometimes this is just how it goes.

Life Has Killed The Dream I Dreamed

The music moves on and George Jones is singing He Stopped Loving Her Today.

My eyes are closed while my fingers work the keyboard. Got one kid wandering around the house while the other softly snores her way into the night.

My son the wanderer is frustrated with me because I don’t understand his position and told him I don’t have to. When you are my age it is a minor disagreement that will have no lasting consequence but the middle schooler believes otherwise.

He tells me he is getting really angry and I tell him to take it out on his pillow. Dad doesn’t always have to explain himself nor does life have to make sense.

Some things just are and I need him to go to bed because I need him to go to bed.

Midnight isn’t that far off and we both need things from this time. He needs the sleep and I need the quiet of the house to myself.  I like every age and love how we can have deep and sophisticated discussions.

But sometimes we bang heads, just as I did with my father. I remember those moments with more clarity than my son knows and I understand more than he realizes but this is one of those times where I have to be selfish.

Have to be selfish because we are ensconced in a particularly challenging moment and I am struggling to get through it. Doesn’t matter how confident I am about my ability to figure it out because we all hit those moments where we find the knot at the end of the rope and just hang on.

Life killed the dream I dreamed and now I am figuring out where it leaves me.

The Carousel Horse

The carousel horse I am riding is on the far side of the sun on the bottom part of the dark side of the moon. Experience tells me it is going to go back up and it probably will soon but when the waves knock your ass below the surface you don’t open your mouth until you feel air upon your cheek.

The dog and I wander through a few rooms. He watches me throw some ice into a glass and pour some Scotch, wags his tail at me and smiles when I tell him it won’t be much longer.

We head upstairs and step inside my daughter’s room.

Don’t know why she decided to sleep on the floor tonight but she has a blanket, iPod and pillow with her. Dark curls cover one eye exposing a button nose and a bunch of freckles and I stop to watch her sleep.

There is a lot I can say about dads and daughters and it would never tell you enough about her or the guilt I sometimes feel because I haven’t given her as much as her brother got.

He went to private school through fifth grade and she only got to go through second because I just couldn’t make it happen another year. Sometimes she asks me to send her back for sixth grade but I won’t do it primarily because it really doesn’t make sense for her to go back for just one year.

I think it would be much harder for her to step back into that world for just one year, especially since it would mean not starting middle school at the same time with the other kids.

But when you are ten going on thirty you don’t always agree with or understand why mom and dad make other choices so sometimes there are hard moments.

Rainy Days

Sinatra is singing It Was a Very Good Year and it is hard not smile. Some of it is because of the memories it brings with it and some because I dream about writing a song like this.

We are in living during the time of rainy days and cloudy skies. During the time when you look out your window and wonder what it is you are looking at because the drops sliding down the glass obscure and distort your view.

That dream I dreamed floats behind my eyes and I wave goodbye to it. It is not the first time I have done that and it might not be the last time.

I am doing all I can to just roll with the changes and to remember that some of those dreams stopped being interesting to me long before I let go of them.

Some had their moments in the sun longer than they deserved because inertia made it easier to maintain than move but those days are mostly gone.

Now I am pretty good at rolling with it and just going along with the current but there are those moments where the old habits rear their head and the challenges are harder than they should be.

But most of the time when I remember that I know things and look at the accomplishments of the recent past I smile because this moment in time won’t last much longer.

What Happens When People Don’t Comment On Our Blogs?

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The art of silence... byVinoth Chandar
The art of silence… by Vinoth Chandar

Sometimes blogging can be a very intimate and very personal experience. There are things we share here that would never be uttered aloud to anyone, not those we love or those we don’t.

Those posts are raw, authentic and revealing.

Sometimes when I read them I wonder about what words I should use in my comment. I wonder how to tell someone I appreciated what they said in a way that won’t be offensive, irritating or hurtful because what I just read was so powerful it left me sitting in silence.

When I switch seats and write a post like that it is never because I want comments but because the story I told is too much for me to remain silent about. It is too strong, too real and too raw so I put the words down on paper and the pressure is eased.

Most of the time I don’t care if anyone comments because that wasn’t why I wrote the post but every now and then the silence becomes deafening and I wonder if I am working alone in a vacuum.

Why Are You Crying?

When I was a junior in college I spent the night with a classmate. We didn’t know each other well. Since it was a night class I would sometimes walk her to her car but aside from the few minutes it took to go from the classroom to the car we hadn’t said much to each other.

I don’t remember what led to my going home with her that night. I think we might have suggested studying for a quiz, but my memory is a bit fuzzy there.

What I do remember is we got really friendly and that somewhere in the midst of it I realized she wasn’t looking at me. I asked her if she was ok and she said she was fine and things resumed.

Not long afterwards our activities finished and I lay next to her in shock because she was in tears. She wasn’t sobbing but she crying hard enough for me to be confused because there had been no sign of it.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because you are not him, please go.”

I got dressed, walked out of the room and went home trying to figure out what I had done wrong.

Later that week I asked a couple of my female friends if they could help explain what had happened. They both looked at me as if I was an idiot and said I was the rebound guy.

When I said I felt sort of used they rolled their eyes at me but that is a story for a different time.

What Happens When People Don’t Comment On Our Blogs?

Sometimes when I think about why people do or do not comment I remember that night with my classmate and think about what it means to be ready to put ourselves out there.

I think about the importance to be willing to put yourself out there and how it can be scary to do so. It is not easy to bare your soul in a post and share the soft underbelly of your psyche.

When you share the private and personal you open yourself up to criticism from people who don’t know you and who might not have the ‘proper context’ for understanding what it is you wrote.

They don’t know you.

They aren’t familiar with your sense of humor. They don’t always recognize when you are serious or when you are playing and sometimes their comments reflect that.

In concept it makes me ask why publish a post that you fear will lead to your getting blasted. Why publish something that opens you up to comments you might not like.

It could be easier not to to open yourself up but then again sometimes that tale you haven’t told is breaking your heart and busting your chops. Sometimes it is so eager to break  free you can feel it chipping away at your teeth.

When you want to share it because you want to be heard it can be hard not to get a comment or two so the question you have to ask and answer yourself is what is more important to you.

Some Weeks Later

“Jack, I owe you an apology. Our night was a mistake. You didn’t do anything wrong, it was me.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded my head.

“I have good news. I got back together with my boyfriend. If you see us talking please don’t say anything to him.”

I nodded my head again.

“Don’t worry, I can’t think of any cool way to say I slept with your girlfriend and made her cry.”

Ok, I didn’t really say that but I was thinking it.

Twenty-five years later I look back and think about how much I ended up learning from that one moment in time.

Because I can look at it as being when I really started to understand how good intentions could go awry and how people remember how you make them feel more than they remember what you say.

That is a lesson that has equal application personally and professionally.

Shadows Hide The Daylight

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A good story has a beginning, a middle and an end. It is filled with interesting characters that face and overcome challenges. A good story will make you grin, but a great story will make you smile. We’re not talking about the kind of smile you give your neighbor when you pass by on the way down the driveway to collect the newspaper.

No, a great story provides you with the kind of smile that tells that world that your spirit has just been lifted and your heart is full of joy. Some people will tell you that these stories are few and far between. If you listen to them they’ll convince you that the reason those stories are so impressive is because of their scarcity. They’ll claim that the lack of frequency, their uncommon nature are part of what make them so special.

Not me, no sir, not I. I won’t give any credence to such nonsense because I know better. Not because I am good at spinning a yarn or adept at telling tales. I know better because I have lived such moments and have an eye for identifying what is special about the seemingly ordinary.

It is a gift that was given to me at birth or so I like to claim. An ability that is not limited to myself, it is really more of a skill that can be gained and improved upon. All it takes is desire and practice. Give of yourself and you’ll find that it exists for you too.

At least that is how I see it. That is the perspective that I have gained after what feels like a thousand years of riding the roller coasters of life. I have loved and lost. I have been loved. I have allowed myself to roam the fields of fire and burned because that was what was required. It wasn’t always easy and there have been more than a few moments in which I have been convinced that I have earned the title of “moronic fool.”

There a million different stories and reasons why. The simple and easiest explanation is to say that I suffered from Don Quixote syndrome and attacked too many windmills. Or so I told myself in moments of doubt and frustration. Some of those were hard times, dark days for myself.

They were days in which dancing in the fire brought more pain than success. Days in which I’d look in the mirror and ask myself if I was suffering from delusions of grandeur. I’d wonder why my reflection didn’t step out from behind the frame and start beating me over the head with whatever object was handy.

It might have made me happier because then I could say that I was crazy, and not in the crazy like a fox way. But I wasn’t crazy then and I am not crazy now. I am now and was then in complete control of my faculties. If anything I suffered from impatience and a fear of what could happen.

But the reason that I think that I am living out one of the great stories that is that I found my heart. Found her and lost her.

“Hello. How are you?
Have you been alright, through all those lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely nights
That’s what I’d say. I’d tell you everything
If you’d pick up that telephone yeah yeah yeah

Hey. How you feelin?
Are you still the same?
Don’t you realize the things we did, we did, were all for real, not a dream?
I just can’t believe
They’ve all faded out of view yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah”
Telephone Line- Electric Light Orchestra

The how and why don’t matter or should I say that they belong to to two people and if you have to ask then you aren’t one of them. That is not to say that I won’t share bits and pieces or that you can’t guess. I don’t say that for the purpose of encouraging you too either, but I know enough about people to know that some of you can’t help it.

And to that other, well I told you a thousand years ago that where I walk thunder and lightning follow. I said that I have been forced to learn how to ride out the storms because that is just how it has been. I promised passion. I promised fire. One kiss and nothing would ever be the same.

I can’t say that you gave me your heart or that I gave you mine because we already shared that. It is hokey, it is a cliche and a million other things but it is true. You know it and I know it. Don’t need anyone else to approve or understand because that is not who we are.

“I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion –
I have shudder’d at it.
I shudder no more.
I could be martyr’d for my religion
Love is my religion
And I could die for that.
I could die for you.”
~ by John Keats ~

Some would call those mere words on a page. They’d ask for more than a few lines as proof. Or they might point out the inconsistencies and inadequacies of those who directed those words to their attention. And it might be understood why and how they do it.

It is easier to run away from some things. Easier to hide from the spotlight and to avoid its glare. I know because I have done both. I have lived on both sides of the fence.

“You will never know true happiness
until you have truly loved,
and you will never understand
what pain really is
until you have lost it.”
~ by Anonymous ~

“I’d like to run away
From you,
But if you didn’t come
And find me …
I would die.”
~ by Shirley Bassey ~

There is so much truth that. Such raw honesty and such power. The joy and ecstasy of true happiness can inspire you to reach for the heights you might not otherwise seek. But the flip side can be crushing. To have such a love and lose it is heart wrenching. It will strip you bare and leave you naked and hurting far more quickly than one can imagine.

Instead of basking in the warmth of the fire you find yourself burning, screaming for someone to put out the fire. And the person you seek isn’t there to quench those flames. For whatever reason they are gone, moved on to greener or different pastures.

But if you can withstand the flames and sustain yourself there is more to be found. If you maintain the presence of mind to be aware there are lessons to be learned. If you can catch your breath you can find a way to fortify your heart and to build a new foundation.

You can call that hyperbole or label it juvenile prose with an unhealthy tinge of melodrama if you’d like. Perhaps it is. I’d say that is a just a little bit to the left of such a place and that if we included some sort of line of about a phoenix raising from the ashes than your comment would be well earned.

But that is not the case and that is part of what makes this one of the great stories. Because we started a story whose end must now wait. It is case of the tortoise and the hare, this is not a sprint. This is not so different from the runners you watched above. The men who ran alongside the waves did not have a finish line in sight. They ran because that was what was required to get them to where they want to go. They understood that the finish line was somewhere down the road.

And that is how I see it. The race for my heart isn’t going to be finished any time soon. But one day I will see that line and when the time is right I’ll cross over it.

Cradle of Stars

I am running with the moon again, racing under a starry night along a desert highway for no other reason than because.

Because I can’t sit still and wait for a sign to let me know the time is now. Can’t watch the heavens to see if a fireball lights up the evening sky letting me know it is time to roll.

Running because I swallowed some of that lightning we trapped in a bottle and when you hear the thunder roar must respond.

So I am running away from the past and heading towards the future because the only way to improve the present is to go through it.

Running because I did what they said couldn’t be done and if it happened once it can happen again, but that doesn’t make the moments any more palatable.

Doesn’t make the madness disappear or chase away the shadows that try to hide the daylight.

So we run towards the sun, arms outreached, feet flying across the sand determined to get to the other side but not at the expense of missing the moments of the present.

“Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.” ― Robert Frost

Eyes blurred with sweat obscure my vision but exercise clears the clutter from my mind and sweeps away the inner cobwebs. Inside my head I silently sing along with the boss…

“Well every river, baby, it runs dry
Until the sun’s torn from the sky
Till every feel you’ve felt burst free
Gone tumblin’ down into the sea”
Janey, Don’t You Lose Heart -Bruce Springsteen

The miles pass under my feet and time chases the moon from its place in the sky. Soon dawn will break and the new day will start and all of courage will have the opportunity to begin again too.

Editor’s Note: Part of this comes from a story I originally published here.

You Met The Worst Salesman Ever

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Frieze: dunce
‘Come at me bro’ is universally recognized as a poor way to open a conversation yet there are those who see it as both appropriate and practical but not I.

If you read She Saved My Heart you know that even though the Grinch is my hero I still possess a shred of compassion and own a tiny black heart that much like the little engine that could never quit(s).

But those truths aren’t enough to prevent my inner Taurus from feeling the need to stomp, gore and trample those who make the mistake of gaining the wrong sort of attention from me.

The Telephone Rang

The telephone rang twice during the late afternoon.

The first was a butt dial that disappointed me because I didn’t get to listen to anything interesting, educational, informative or exciting. And everyone knows the best part of being butt dialed is getting to listen to something special.

Call number two came from a man who said he had found my resume online and thought I had the qualities of someone who would be successful.

“Hello, Mr. Steiner, I am in receipt of your resume and I believe you have the qualities of someone who could be successful. Would you like to hear about this opportunity?”

I was fairly certain I knew what he was going to sell me but I figured I would make sure by listening to what he had to say.

“What would you say Mr. Steiner if I told you that I could offer you an opportunity to be your own boss and make a very fine living?

“I’d wonder if you were about to tell me that you were going to give me control of my dream to own 16 McDonalds. Do you know how many Chicken Nuggets and Big Macs I can eat?”

He surprised me by not slowing down and told me he wasn’t going to fulfill my dream by providing me with 16 McDonalds but that he would tell me about how I could earn enough to buy 16 on my own.

“Well Mr. Steiner if you are open to learning something today than I can tell you about how this would be possible on a part-time or even a full-time basis.”

I might have grown slightly irritated when he wouldn’t allow himself to be pulled off of script to play along with my dream and tried to tell me about a great opportunity that was only available if I was open to learning.

Part of that is because I didn’t have to do the math to know that no one makes enough cash in a year to buy 16 McDonalds working part-time and that even full time would be a stretch, at least it would be being a broker.

Don’t tell me that I am being close-minded and that it is possible because I know it is. I know that if I got licensed to sell stocks or life insurance I might have the contacts to make that kind of money.

Maybe my pal Froah Damonkeylover is a multimillionaire who decides he is willing to help me make my year by helping me hit the jackpot but it is not likely.

There is a much better shot of me buying a house in Cleveland and agreeing to deal with flaming rivers and frigid rivers than of hitting that jackpot.

Anyhoo I decided it was time to cut to the chase and asked the fine fellow on the phone if he was talking about a position that was salaried or commission only.

That was when he tried to explain that bonuses and residuals and a sense of satisfaction made a salary less attractive and I responded by laughing.

You Aren’t Open

“Mr. Steiner, you aren’t really open to learning about new opportunities are you. That is really a shame because this one is special.”

“How long have you been with the company? What else have you sold? Have you been working for more than 5 years? Between studying for the license, taking the test and waiting for the state to acknowledge I passed we are probably talking about a realistic start date of some time in January right.”

I suspect the rapid response and multiple questions caught him off guard, but he tried to answer.

“I have been with the firm for almost a year and selling different items for about five. You can have a license in about three weeks.”

I told him I had interviewed with one of the major players in the industry and they told me it would be at least five weeks and said I had more faith in that response because it came from someone who had been in the field for more than a decade. And then I told him I was disappointed that he wouldn’t go off script and kept insisting the unlikely and improbable was possible.

“Mr. Steiner, I don’t think it is appropriate to ask all these questions over the telephone and not in person. I don’t have time to answer them. You need to stop asking them and come in to meet with me.”

His “Come at Me Bro” response earned him a full Steiner drubbing which would have been far more fun to do in person but I wasn’t about to give him the time.

“Let’s establish a few things here, you called me. It is not my fault or my problem if you don’t have time to talk. Someone needs to retrain you and help you understand that when you contact prospective employees you are selling the company and the opportunities it offers. You can’t do that when you insult the prospects and or get upset when they don’t react/respond as you want them to. I am among the best salespeople you have ever met because I know when to tell the story and when to shut up and listen.”

You Met The Worst Salesman Ever

“Mr. Steiner, I don’t believe that. I believe that people leave you thinking you met the worst salesman ever. If you are so good at your job why are you on the phone with me looking for work.”

“Maybe it is because I own 16 McDonalds that I earned from working hard and now I am the Duke of Burger Flipping and Earl of Mcnuggets.”

Sadly there is no more tale to tell because we were disconnected, it was too bad because I was about to really say ‘Come at me Bro.”

Something Deep Inside Of You

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1967 Chevy Camaro, Joe Ross
1967 Chevy Camaro, Joe Ross

There is a secret world waiting to be shared with the one and the few who are offered entrance into it. Under endless blue skies we ride in our car into a future we can’t see but with more excitement than fear.

It is because some of us recognize the biggest regrets in life come from the chances you don’t take and the doors you choose not to open. It is not always easy to take that chance because uncertainty and insecurity chip away at bravery and present fear as prudence.

But those who are willing to be brave for a moment understand that there are amazing worlds living underneath the surface of the sea. Some call them secret worlds and say they can only be shared with a few but the great contradiction is that some secrets are hidden in the open.

Shot by Beverley Goodwin Sunset, Crosby beach
Shot by Beverley Goodwin
Sunset, Crosby beach

I feel like I am looking down upon my body. I see myself sitting in the chair, fingers flying across the keyboard as I try to show you what lies beneath the surface of my mind.

The man in the chair just published She Saved My Heart and now he is staring out the window but I am not sure what he is looking at or if he is thinking about anything.

I see him surfing through posts and reading one called Spit Or Swallow. He stops to read a quote contained within and I can hear the wheels turning inside his head.

Harris: I’ve been thinking about myself and I think I can become the kind of person that’s worth you staying for. First of all, I’m a man who can cry. Now it’s true, it’s usually when I’ve hurt myself, but it’s a start. You see I know there is something that would make you stay, I know it. I know there is some move I can make, the right word, attitude, plan. But these are all just tricks, just things I would think up and try. So let’s forgo that.
Let’s assume that whatever that thing is, that whatever it is that would make you stay has already occurred, that it has happened and that my hand has already gone down your throat and grabbed your heart and squoze it.

He is nodding his head because he thinks this will help illustrate some point. He thinks it will help build an understanding and that understanding will lead to connection but I am not sure.

I am not sure if he is thinking clearly. I am not sure if he recognizes what is going on because he can be single minded of purpose and that doesn’t always lend itself to the outcomes a person wants or wishes for.

He waves a hand at me and shakes his head. It angers me. I won’t be dismissed this easily.

I am not a teacher, but an awakener.• Robert Frost

The words stop me in my tracks. I don’t know if I heard them, read them or if they were painted upon the blackboard of my mind but they are stunning.

He is awake and I am awake which I suppose means we are awake because I am him and he is me.

How many things have to happen to you before something occurs to you?• Robert Frost

These words are written upon my heart. I understand them intellectually and emotionally and recognize that I am not who I was or who I thought.

I am someone different and deeper but without having experienced it all I could never have been who I have chosen to become. One doesn’t dance in the fire without evolving.

DSC01203

Thirty years ago off the coast of Maui I spent an eternity under the sea. The air tank on my back made it possible to float far beneath the surface while those armed only with snorkels were able to take a minute to see the wonders that lay below.

It was the secret world that lay waiting for those who knew how to enter it. I watched tiny air bubbles float towards the surface and wondered if they carried word of the promises I made to come back and to share this secret world.

Decades later I have become who I said I would be and yet I am not him at all. I am the man working on becoming him.

Walking the line through rings of fire towards a promise of somewhere down the road.

Every night I look for the ghost riders in the sky and prepare myself to move when I see them again because the next time I see the riders come I won’t watch them pass me by.

The next time I will find the entrance to the secret world again and this time I’ll make a copy of the key.

She Saved My Heart

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Broken Heart Grunge
There is magic in a heart that has been torn apart and rebuilt.

Don’t know if she would agree or maybe I should say I don’t know if she would admit she does. She might. She has surprised me more than once, first by reminding me that love was so much greater and deeper than I had remembered or believed.

If I told you about how she squeezed my bicep and gently held on to it as we walked you might roll your eyes or not care. You might not care or understand if I told you how every time she slipped her hand into mine it felt like it could stay forever and that is ok.

You don’t have to understand, accept or believe because it is not your deal, it is ours.

And if I told you about how she made sure I got the scan that confirmed my heart was clear of obstruction you might nod your head and say so what again and that would still be ok.

Ok because it is the little moments that matter and when you lie awake in the dark and think about whose eyes you see during night or day it makes an impact on you.

The Rituals Of Life

I don’t know if she and I ever discussed the rituals of life but they exist. Some of them are big things and some are little but I liked those we had time to develop together and those yet to come.

If I told you she is an Eishes Chayil, a Woman of Valor you might ask for a deeper explanation. She’d probably yell at me for saying it, tell me it is not true or to think harder about what I am saying but in the quiet of the night she’d wonder why I said it.

And if she asked, I’d answer…

Because.

Sometimes there is joy in being non specific, especially when people know you are capable of communicating with precision and detail except sometimes you can’t.

Sometimes you can’t because you asking someone to explain why a sky painted in streaks of orange, blue and red is beautiful or why certain chords make your heart jump.

Sometimes you can’t because your fingers extend into the sky and touch the face of god, because sometimes when two people share a moment in time it changes them and lasts forever.

And that is why I look for rituals.

Because sometimes the simple ritual is the most meaningful and most beautiful. Sometimes sitting next to or across from someone who has eyes the light dances in and a smile that lights up their face is the most meaningful thing of all.

Could be pizza and beer or a fine steak and cocktails–neither matters because the two of you take that moment in time and transform it.

Sometimes We Call It Melodrama

Sometimes we ask hard questions and fear makes us call the answer or the question melodramatic. We ask the other what would happen if they were to hear we had died in a car crash or what they would do if they heard we were terminally ill.

It is not because we hope for or want such things but because sometimes that piece of us that doesn’t operate based upon sight or sound but upon gut feeling instructs us to pay attention to losing the opportunity to have more moments.

Sometimes you react and respond by asking, what would you do if you heard I died. What would you do if I called you and said that there was a more definite answer to how long I was going to be walking upon this earth.

Would you respond by saying our time has always been finite and this is all we were granted or would you say no. Would you do what you had to do to try to slow or stop those sands of time.

The answers are important but hopefully we will never learn for real what they are.

But if I said it would tear apart what had been rebuilt it would be honest and if I said I would want you to rebuild yours so would that.

Still, I don’t really worry or think often about such things. Don’t do it because the numbers say there is no real reason to do so. The numbers that the actuaries use and that statisticians rely upon says don’t and that speaks volumes.

Not as much as the feeling in my gut or the song in my heart because those are the truer measures I monitor. Don’t care if that makes me sound like a crack or a crank.

I do as I do and feel as I feel and none can tell me that is right or wrong, it simply is.

She Saved My Heart

Those four words should be enough. They should be enough for any person or so the Greek poets might say because some of them love their tragedies.

They love a hero with a tragic flaw. They love to tell a story about magic and magnificence destroyed by some simple and obvious flaw.

But there are other poets and other writers who dare to paint a different picture. Ones who understand that a heart can be broken and rebuilt many times and that there is more magic in the night sky than that exposed by small slivers of moonlight.

Some dare to walk upon the long and winding road because they know they are the kind of person who takes the long way home.

Those who dare to be more, to have more and to do more have to accept the burden of walking through the fallow fields as well as the green. The only way to get to the other side is to go through.

And once you accept that you survived the moments that you thought would stop you in your tracks and understand how to read the map upon the scars, well then you are on your way, aren’t you.