It is hard to write romantic posts when Limp Bizkit is singing Nookie, at least the soft and sweet kind.
I suppose if you are interested in something harder and angrier Fred Durst and company might be cool, but they wouldn’t be my first choice nor would Rage Against The Machine.
But they might be appropriate for a story about what happened in the barn in the picture above and below, you know the one with the lightning.
It all depends on your experience and how some things resonate with you. But if you asked me to give you something right now I’d tell you I am tempted to tie it into a post in which I was called A Social Assassin.
But that is not where we’ll focus, instead I’ll share an excerpt and jump into our topic and a confession.
“Old Jack has one hell of a threshold for pain- a tolerance that doesnâ€™t always serve me as well as it should. I can take a beating that would put most people down and I can give it back twice as rough. Not sure that any of that is good for much but sometimes it makes for good blog fodder.
And fodder is something that a writer never throws away. We simply stuff it in the garage and save it for future use. My garage is crammed full of pictures, videos and memories and there is always room for more.”
Losing Readers Is Good For Your Blog
If you looked at my stats during the past couple of weeks you’d see I have lost some readers and that a bunch of Facebook fans have jumped ship.
I am not bothered by this because losing readers inÂ small clumpsÂ is good for your blog. You are never going to be everything to all people so you might as well try to focus and work with the people who love your words, or at least like them enough to keep reading.
A smaller garden isn’t a bad thing. It is easier to give more personal attention and to shower more love upon the flowers and grass that grow within.
Or so the theory goes and with that long prelude we reach the point at which your fearless leader decides to share a fear with you.
What Scares Me…A Little Bit
Sometimes I get a little nervous about getting a great job and finding out I suck at it.
Part of me feels ridiculous sharing this because I ask myself if I really have so little faith in my ability to figure things out.
Part of me asks why I am being so insecure and wonders how I would get this great job if I couldn’t do the work.
I try to identify all of the parts and pieces so that I can put a name to my fear and take its power away and here is what I come up with.
Most of the time I do a very good job in an interview. I am good at building a rapport and making people feel comfortable.
I am good at studying in advance and answering the questions and if I can do that, well I can convince people to hire me.
I sit there and think about how there is only so much that can be revealed during an interview and imagine them giving me the reins only to be surprised later on that the wizard is just a man.
But then I take a deep breath and remind myself that we often learn as we go and that a good manager doesn’t just fire you because you don’t know how to do something. They help you.
They help you learn either by training you or getting you access to the training you need. They provide support, guidance and mentoring.
They don’t just let you flounder about and drown.
So when I picture myself in that great job, I try to make a point to visualize having a great boss or at least a pretty good one.
I don’t need a ton of support or validation. I just need to know I have time to learn and access to resources.
Remember, that barn can be scary or romantic.
That puppy is kind of cute, isn’t he. But he is not The Big Lug, he is not the puppy I used to run with.
It has been nine years since I said the final goodbye to him, but every now and then I think about him.
I saw an older Golden Retriever the other day and for just a moment he made me think of The Big Lug.
Something about the way he moved and the look in his eyes caught me and I remembered the time before we said that final farewell and the agonizing over whether it was time.
I looked into his eyes and asked him what he wanted.
Dude wagged his tail and batted me with a paw.
I wrapped my arms around that giant head and promised I would do my best to do the right thing and asked why his life had to be so short compared to ours.
He wagged his tail and batted me with a paw again. I told him that he had to stop lying in his own pee and asked him to run with me one more time.
That old bastard shook his head, lay down and pretended to sleep. Ten minutes later he stole my sandwich, but waited to finish it because he wanted me to see him eat it.
I laughed and promised I would never give up and I wouldn’t forget him. I told him one day I’d share some stories about how he was my confidant and said some people would think I was crazy for talking to a dog.
He just wagged his tail and batted me with a paw.
Something tells me that he wouldn’t be worried about whether I could do the job and would trust that I would get it done.
If it was possible to take him to that office, well I would except he is not here and he would steal everyone’s sandwich and those eyes would make everyone forgive him and blame me.
That would be just like that big lug. Damn, sometimes I miss that guy.