Pizza Break

I am one now. I have a child and for the first time, I have an obligation in which I am no longer, "Free to do as I wish." This feeling isn't unique, for parenting is as natural as a bowel movement. We have our own lives for a short while, a trial run to see if we can take care of ourselves first. We are supposed to learn, not just to care, but discipline and be an example to. We are expected through some divine force, without a manual mind you, to contribute with the greatest gift we have to offer; an extension of ourselves. My father did the best he could. He raised four boys in a household of chaos, discontentment, and on the other end, this time now, we are alive, well, and in touch. Sure there are things easy to piece apart, things my experience in counseling has led me to see, things that my siblings wouldn't see, things they shouldn't see. We are free of jail, all limbs in tact, work, and contribute in some way to the positives more than the negatives of...

Time on earth seems to be associated with a sort of wisdom we are all expected to respect. Time on earth allows for enough ups and downs of experience that the survivor must have some insight, knowledge, that they have worth sharing. If I have a coworker of 30 years my senior, does it not behoove me to listen to how they've approached life to see how I can make it that far? What about a parent with high school graduates as kids? Would they be able to give me the best advice on how to do what they've done? The smaller children all just living life, while an adolescent boy hangs on with strife.  The expected answer is yes to all. Saying yes to the time one has served here and less on the quality of it. Unfortunately, there is no grade to life. There is no report card I can check on as a reference to how this person has done what they so apparently have done. Yes, they might have worked at the same job for 40 years, but does that necessarily make them good at it? Or does it ...

The body sits in a chair while the mind is elsewhere. The storm inside a shell, growing increasingly thin as the storm craves more energy than I can provide. Energy consumed inside of me as the storm needs even more space. Not only am I the one feeling this way, but I want others to feel this way as well. The storm wants to break out and destroy other people's day. They are happy and should not be. What is there to be "happy" about? What could possibly provoke a "happiness," like that? "They must be fake." I tell myself as I look at them filtering all possibility though my own turmoil.  Nobody cares that much, nobody cares at all, people are only out for themselves, no matter how they distort it. This is all there is to people.  Sad, but it is what a "bad mood," can do to me at least. I do not know others for maybe they take it easier on themselves. Maybe no matter what, they can see the "good" at all times. I know ...

Such a messed-up way to respond to someone. To acknowledge someone said something, yet without even completing the sentence indicated by a period, a comma and a word thrown afterwards to discount thought, trump an opinion of another with your own. "But," typically the next phrase intending to discount or argue what the "yeah," recognized. "Well Tim, I think that we should put up Christmas lights for the Holidays." Says Jill very excited about her plan. "Yeah, but what about if we, um, don't." Responds Tim. "I just think that it will add to the holiday cheer and others will like it is all." Jill's response more subdued now. "Right, um, no." Says Tim as he continues to read his paper without looking up or even considering a change. "Yeah, but..." Isn't anything but. They occur all the time and can be done so, as Tim showed us, with different words. What to look for is when these things occur in...

Thursday 3PM, a three-day weekend lingers in the air. Is all I have to do is finish this one more note and I am out of here. A job well done, indicated by the work time being completely filled and me admitting that there wasn’t anything else I COULD do. Leaving work knowing you did the best you could and that you deserve a long-weekend is more satisfying to me than a vacation after a weekend. At least this one I feel I earned. Friday comes, it is full of activity with the family. Saturday passes nicely reminding me of life outside of work.   Sunday is a little dreary as now a work week lingers instead of the weekend before. In fact, I had already started to anticipate the work week on Saturday when I was enjoying my reading time. Monday morning, I am crawling out of bed, justifying the sacrifice to work out. Justifying a mood of positivity by appreciating all I have. A skill that is very difficult to work on when you are so tired and it’s dark outside. T...

Lately, after getting home from any adventure outside the house, our daughter B likes to "drive." This means that we as parents allow our 22-month-old daughter sit in the front seat, play with the steering wheel, while a parent sits in the passenger seat as a reassurance she doesn't take the vehicle out of park or set the radio as loud as it can go for mom the next morning. Daddy's car=Lots of treasure As she crawls from her unbuckled car seat in the back, into the front drivers seat, you see her face light up, like mine in a candy store. The options, switches, things to touch and things that respond back to her by lighting up, all a possibility at her little fingertips now. I am merely present sitting shotgun as she decides what to do first. She mentions "drive," as a general term, for she barely touches the steering wheel. She does grasp the concept of driving however because she knows mommy and daddy do it. She reminds us of this anytime we go s...

There I was. Lifting before 5AM on a week day. As my back lay against the cold, light padding of a bench press. I prop myself underneath. Push off, weight focused on the palms of my hands. As soon as the weighted bar is lifted, focus shifts to my chest to relax slowly allowing the weight to come down in a controlled motion, then contract to push. On my first push back up. I exhale and one single little droplets of saliva comes out. The way it reflected light caught my attention. Amidst the inevitable fear any man has of letting their focus slip and the weight come crashing down on top of them, I was easily distracted. The tiny little pebble went up and then straight back down, landing in my beard. I still had more reps to go. I refocus my mind and do 6 more. I prematurely stopped at 7. An odd number for any lifter. My OCD says do 6 or 8, but 7 is ridiculous. I was distracted by the inevitable spit in my beard and the humor I found in it. As I rack the weight, I sit up, caress my beard ...