Christmas break has been a welcome reprieve for my family and I. Tracy took some days off, I didn't have to work, and Shea spent all her time with us. It was a wonderful holiday. While we did do the family gatherings, the gift-giving, the holiday dinners, etc, the best part of the whole week was the days that followed.
Tracy, Shea and I basically hunkered down in the house and simply rested, played, and enjoyed each other's company. I spent almost no time on email or any other electronic media. We played with all of Shea's new toys, and simply enjoyed our time together as a family.
By the end of the third day or so, I got the itch to clean. The cleaning started simply as putting the boxes away, putting new clothes away in the closet, but it quickly escalated into filing all of my comics into their polybags with cardboard backs and slotting them into their proper longboxes. From there, it meant cleaning out all of the cupboards in the office. From the cupboards, it moved into my closet, my dresser, the downstairs closets, Shea's, etc.
Tracy, Shea, and I wound up putting together almost six bags of things for donation. We filled up our recycle bin, our garbage, and a couple of other bags that will have to wait until next week's pickup. There are cupboards in my house that are empty, organized, clean. My office is organized, books are put away on proper bookshelves, and by desk is ready for use.
I am ready to start the new year in this new space. I think back to Madeline DeFrees and her craft talk at the Pacific MFA. She told us how she knew a creative spurt was coming on, the formation of a poem, when she began "clearing the decks." Clutter can be a physical situation, but it can also extend its reach into the mental landscape. I'm hoping I've made some space here.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
6 Literary Holiday Gifts
As folks prepare for the holiday season, I hope they will consider giving the gift of books. A book can say so much to the recipient. It says I love you enough to challenge you. It says I want to give you the gift of relaxation, of time, of an hour to yourself. Books transport us to another place and allow us to learn about people who are unlike us. It broadens the mind and inspires us to do things beyond ourselves. Here are a few of the books I've loved over the past year and beyond.
1. Flashes of War by Katey Schultz
This collection of short stories and short-short flash fiction stories gives a glimpse inside modern warfare. While it may not feel like the kind of sentimental literary gift that screams Christmas, it is a great book for the man in your life, or the reluctant reader. The flash fiction pieces can be read in a single sitting, even on the "throne." The person will be transported to places they can barely imagine, into lives we all can relate to, and into landscapes we all must pay attention to in this modern time.
2. The Magicians by Lev Grossman
This book is perfect for anyone who loved C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series when they were a child. Grossman has created a world of magic that feels more timely, grittier, and more adult than the Narnia books. While it is billed as a coming of age story, it is much more than that. It is a book about finding purpose in a life.
3. Saga Volume 1 by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples
This genre-bending title is adults only. It's perfect for the sci-fi nut in your house. If you know someone who can quote lines from Star Wars or Star Trek, then this is the title for him. It's a sweeping galactic narrative, but it is also a family tale full of rich characters and wonderful artwork. It alternates between the humorous and the serious, so it never grows stale.
4. Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor
I picked up this title during the summer when I was on the search for "brain candy." The search for light literature that would transport me to another world led me to Laini Taylor. I had heard of the title via a senior thesis student at Pacific University. After reading a critical essay about the title, I thought I should see what the original was all about. What a pleasant surprise! While this first book is very much a paranormal romance, the world Taylor has created is rich, rich, rich, and the sequel builds upon this and moves beyond the straight romance of the first book.
5. Peace Like a River by Leif Enger
Literary fiction as it should be. Enger's book is a fascinating look at a good family in bad circumstances. His portrayal of Reuben Land, the 11-year-old narrator, is breathtaking. I never once doubted the perspective of the novel. If you are looking for a family story, a father-son story, a crime caper story, or the story of miracles in a regular life, then this is the book for you. This book reads like poetry in places.
6. Anything by Ron Carlson
The man is a miracle! I discovered Ron Carlson when I was in my first year of grad school. The first book I read was The News of the World, but I went on to pick up his other titles, like At the Jim Bridger and Plan B for the Middle Class, immediately after. His short fiction inspires me more than any other writer. His ability to capture "real" life in a way that highlights the drama present in our every day is second to none. I finished his novel The Signal about a month ago. While I still prefer his short fiction, he won me over with this novel about a couple taking their last backpacking trip into the Wyoming wilderness before they finally say goodbye and dissolve the relationship. While it is a tale focusing on the relationship, there is gun play, a kidnapping, and action aplenty to keep people reading. Pick him up today!!!
1. Flashes of War by Katey Schultz
This collection of short stories and short-short flash fiction stories gives a glimpse inside modern warfare. While it may not feel like the kind of sentimental literary gift that screams Christmas, it is a great book for the man in your life, or the reluctant reader. The flash fiction pieces can be read in a single sitting, even on the "throne." The person will be transported to places they can barely imagine, into lives we all can relate to, and into landscapes we all must pay attention to in this modern time.
2. The Magicians by Lev Grossman
This book is perfect for anyone who loved C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series when they were a child. Grossman has created a world of magic that feels more timely, grittier, and more adult than the Narnia books. While it is billed as a coming of age story, it is much more than that. It is a book about finding purpose in a life.
3. Saga Volume 1 by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples
4. Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor
I picked up this title during the summer when I was on the search for "brain candy." The search for light literature that would transport me to another world led me to Laini Taylor. I had heard of the title via a senior thesis student at Pacific University. After reading a critical essay about the title, I thought I should see what the original was all about. What a pleasant surprise! While this first book is very much a paranormal romance, the world Taylor has created is rich, rich, rich, and the sequel builds upon this and moves beyond the straight romance of the first book.
5. Peace Like a River by Leif Enger
6. Anything by Ron Carlson
The man is a miracle! I discovered Ron Carlson when I was in my first year of grad school. The first book I read was The News of the World, but I went on to pick up his other titles, like At the Jim Bridger and Plan B for the Middle Class, immediately after. His short fiction inspires me more than any other writer. His ability to capture "real" life in a way that highlights the drama present in our every day is second to none. I finished his novel The Signal about a month ago. While I still prefer his short fiction, he won me over with this novel about a couple taking their last backpacking trip into the Wyoming wilderness before they finally say goodbye and dissolve the relationship. While it is a tale focusing on the relationship, there is gun play, a kidnapping, and action aplenty to keep people reading. Pick him up today!!!
Monday, December 9, 2013
Are You Okay?
For weeks now I've been asked the same question.
"Are you okay?"
It's come from family, friends, and coworkers. My answer has always been the same, "I'm fine." It's not a lie, not a stretch of the truth either, but it is how I've been feeling. I'm beginning to wonder if I know myself well enough to know if this is true or not.
Have you ever been convinced of something only to find out you were misguided? Been so sure of a truth that turned out to be untrue? This is where I've found myself. I still feel okay, like everything is good, but I simply can't deny the sheer number of people who have stepped forward to check in with me.
From my mother to my wife, from friends of mine to co-workers, I've been engaged in a series of conversations that inquire into my well-being. It's forcing me to examine myself in a way that I didn't expect. With all I've been doing, all the directions I've been pushing myself, and all the responsibilities I feel, I have felt a little overloaded. Creatively I've felt a bit stifled, even though my flash fiction piece is soon to be released by Echo Ink Review. I received my contributor copies in the mail last week.
School is going good. I'm making headway into the new business idea. My daughter is happy, healthy, and experiencing all kinds of new growth and accomplishments. My wife is well, although overworked in my personal opinion. All of these things are true, but if I'm truly honest with myself, I'd have to say that all of it just makes me feel...gray. Slate gray. It reminds me of a poem by Richard Hugo that I loved when I was at the University of Montana.
Gray Stone
A gray stone does not change color wet
or dry. Baked on a scorched road or shaded
by cedars, underground or tossed
into a bright green sky, it's always gray.
It is the stone of earth, of the down-to-earth
no nonsense way of knowing life
does not often of its own volition provide.
A gray stone will not
change your luck or shorten the mortgage
or make you young again. It doesn't say
"now" to investments - money or love.
It doesn't say "no" when you plot wrong things
you are sure you must do with your life
or die from the drone. Keep one gray stone
in a secret place, and when those you love
are broken or gone, listen
with a sustained, with a horrible attention
to the nothing it has always had to say.
So as I consider myself in the coming days, I know I'll have to dig deeper and look for harder answers than mere surface platitudes or the standard, "I'm fine." If those who love me see something I don't, then it's time I get to the bottom of it.
Friday, December 6, 2013
The Road to Finals
The last two weeks have been a flurry of grading and student conferences. As such, I haven't been able to dedicate much time to the blog, but I will be redoubling my efforts in the coming weeks.
In the weeks leading up to the end of a term, a teacher's schedule gets quite hectic. It's also the most exciting time of the term. I have phone conferences, email conferences, office visits, etc. Each of these meetings usually begins with the student asking questions about how they pass their class, what their grade is, or other things I can't blame them for being concerned about.
Then, the conversation turns to the writing.
When the conversation finally comes around to the purpose of the class, I get the chance to really see how far these students have come in the few short months they are in my care. I've been so encouraged by the conversations I've had with this current batch of students. They've really been paying attention and working hard. I can see it in their drafts, in their understanding of what it is they are doing, and the types of hard questions they are asking about how to better develop their individual topics.
It's an exciting time of year. It's a busy time of year, but you'll be hearing from me soon.
In the weeks leading up to the end of a term, a teacher's schedule gets quite hectic. It's also the most exciting time of the term. I have phone conferences, email conferences, office visits, etc. Each of these meetings usually begins with the student asking questions about how they pass their class, what their grade is, or other things I can't blame them for being concerned about.
Then, the conversation turns to the writing.
When the conversation finally comes around to the purpose of the class, I get the chance to really see how far these students have come in the few short months they are in my care. I've been so encouraged by the conversations I've had with this current batch of students. They've really been paying attention and working hard. I can see it in their drafts, in their understanding of what it is they are doing, and the types of hard questions they are asking about how to better develop their individual topics.
It's an exciting time of year. It's a busy time of year, but you'll be hearing from me soon.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Zen and the Art of Waiting Tables
Tenth Anniversary weekend at the Wild Hare Saloon and Café is officially over, and I’m a little sad to see it go. I worked the whole weekend—Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Saturday was the big hootenanny with the Gentlemen’s Club Band and they tore it up! The night was so much fun full of music, dancing, familiar faces, and a real celebration of our time together as the Wild Hare community. I couldn’t have asked for a better party, but Saturdays inevitably turn to Sundays, and I found myself back at the Hare.
Photo courtesy of the Wild Hare
In an effort to be responsible, I left my rig at the Hare. Since Shea had a birthday party to go to on Sunday afternoon, I wound up coming to the hare over two hours before my shift began. I walked into the 10th anniversary party part 2 as many of the folks from the night before were there for breakfast and drinking down the mimosas. The energy in the room was high, almost electric with excitement carried over from the night before. I joined a large table of friends and ordered myself a big ol’ burger to help me fuel up for my coming shift. After talking and laughing for a while, I retired to the back to read my book and enjoy some quiet time. It wasn’t meant to be.
One of our servers was blindsided by a family emergency in the middle of her shift, so I scooted her out the door and jumped out into the restaurant to lend a hand. It was a nice Sunday afternoon with the party going on and a few other families having a late lunch/early supper. It was the opposite of a normal Sunday. Normally the energy of the shift starts slow and ramps up to the dinner rush. This shift was due to present me with all kinds of exceptions to the rule.
First, I caught up on the other server’s closing work, got the place tidied up a bit and hit the floor. It wasn’t long before we were full to capacity in the restaurant and the bar. I had to hit the ground running. After a few awkward moments of trying to figure out what was going on, I thought I was getting everything under control, although I have to admit that I had a bit of anxiety about my service as I felt a little fuzzy headed. That’s when the wine glass happened.
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Photo provided by HC Online
As I was collecting a tray full of new drinks off the bar, I turned to make my way to the table. The sound of glass breaking was what made me aware of my blunder. In my attempt to hustle, I had spun around too quickly and l launched a full glass of wine over the edge of my tray. It crashed to the floor and sent glass shards across the floor of the bar area. My heart dropped. I was already feeling behind the gun a little bit, and now I would have to find broom, dustpan, mop, and gracious apologies for those who were sitting near the spill. It wasn’t what I needed in that moment.
With the help of my gracious server, Melissa, we got the mess cleaned up lickity split, and I had a new glass of Wine by Joe sitting on my tray as I made my second attempt to navigate my way out on to the floor. I was feeling totally unsettled, adrift, floating into the weeds, afraid I would drop the ball and give someone bad service. That’s when I had my moment of zen.
As I was entering dinner orders into the computer, my thoughts clamored through my to-do list. I was unorganized, shaken, and ready to freak out. The energy from earlier, the daytime server’s personal anxiety, the wine glass, and a couple of other situations had set me to work with bad energy. I was anxious when I didn’t have to be. The thought crossed my mind, “It’s just burgers and fries, Kyle.” This is one emergency mantra of the management at the Wild Hare. We use it to try and calm down servers in just this situation. It’s a reminder to not get too overwhelmed, to calm down, to have fun, to smile for Chrissake. I decided to take my own advice.
While I had about seven things to do in that exact moment, I stopped. I turned from the computer, surveyed the restaurant, looked over the customers and their tables, counted heads, and just took in the scene. I wasn’t making a mental checklist. I wasn’t freaking out about what was going to come next. I just watched them for a moment and realized they had no clue I was panicking. The way I figured it, if they aren’t upset, then I have no reason to be upset. I took another deep breath and walked back out on to the floor.
The next day, the daytime server said she waited on a couple at lunch who had been in the night before. They had such a great experience the night before that they decided to come in for lunch. They told her, “The gentleman who waited on us did such a good job.” I couldn’t believe it. I don’t know which table they sat at or who they were, but it just proves that sometimes you just need to take a deep breath and forge ahead. There’s no need to let anxiety rule. Breathe. Breathe. Maybe it’s all just burgers and fries after all.
Image courtesy of Lifetasteslikefood.com
Thursday, November 21, 2013
I Think I Love Ann Patchett
I fell in love with Ann Patchett today. Driving home from work , I happened to be listening to "Think Out Loud" on OPB Radio. The conversation was a pre-recorded one, but I am so glad that no students made afternoon appointments with me. It was kismet, fate, destiny. My life had led me to my early afternoon commute. Patchett's common sense, practical, and frank discussion about issues surrounding the writing life, teaching, waiting tables, making money, and a number of other things seduced me in an instant.
If you aren't familiar with Ann Patchett, she is the author of the book Bel Canto, State of Wonder, and the recently released This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage. She is also the owner of an independent bookstore called Parnassus Books. With these qualifications alone, I am bound to swoon, but the interview she gave to OPB sealed the deal for me.
Have you ever received a letter at the exact time you needed to hear from a friend? Has a stranger given you a compliment at the exact moment you needed one? Well, Ann Patchett arrived on my air waves at the moment I needed her. She discussed the challenges of trying to be a writer while being a university teacher (check), she talked about how waiting tables helped her make ends meet as her "other job" (check again), and she discussed how freelance nonfiction writing can be a tool to desensitizing yourself to scrutiny while building up your skills for your creative work in fiction (check, check, and check). Each of these things is happening to me now, in this instant, and I couldn't help but feel like the interview was given for me alone. I know that is terribly ego-centric, but it felt delivered, spoken directly to all the fears and concerns that enfold me every day. You can read or listen to the entire interview here.
I have yet to read Patchett's work, but I know who I am picking up next. I may even buy her book from her independent bookstore because she promises to sign every copy purchased through their website. I want my dollars to go directly into her pocket. I want her to profit off her work and the hope she gave me today. The last fifteen minutes of my commute were spent parked outside my house. This was my view:
Oregon Public Broadcasting and National Public Radio call this a "driveway" moment. A moment where the radio programming is so intriguing there is nothing else to do but sit in your car and wait for the segment to end. I watched my neighbor blow his leaves out of his yard the whole time. I don't feel a bit guilty. It was the best possible use of my time all week.
If you aren't familiar with Ann Patchett, she is the author of the book Bel Canto, State of Wonder, and the recently released This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage. She is also the owner of an independent bookstore called Parnassus Books. With these qualifications alone, I am bound to swoon, but the interview she gave to OPB sealed the deal for me.
Have you ever received a letter at the exact time you needed to hear from a friend? Has a stranger given you a compliment at the exact moment you needed one? Well, Ann Patchett arrived on my air waves at the moment I needed her. She discussed the challenges of trying to be a writer while being a university teacher (check), she talked about how waiting tables helped her make ends meet as her "other job" (check again), and she discussed how freelance nonfiction writing can be a tool to desensitizing yourself to scrutiny while building up your skills for your creative work in fiction (check, check, and check). Each of these things is happening to me now, in this instant, and I couldn't help but feel like the interview was given for me alone. I know that is terribly ego-centric, but it felt delivered, spoken directly to all the fears and concerns that enfold me every day. You can read or listen to the entire interview here.
I have yet to read Patchett's work, but I know who I am picking up next. I may even buy her book from her independent bookstore because she promises to sign every copy purchased through their website. I want my dollars to go directly into her pocket. I want her to profit off her work and the hope she gave me today. The last fifteen minutes of my commute were spent parked outside my house. This was my view:
Braiding Time
It was a "Daddy and Me" night tonight in the Lang household. Shea and I often title our days/nights alone together, and tonight was no exception. We got home just before 6 and I set to making dinner while Shea did her reading homework. She carried her book into the kitchen while I was making dinner and she read me such intriguing titles as "Rub a Dub," "Sox the Fox," and "The Big Hat." If you are a parent of a new reader and you haven't heard of the Bob Books, then check them out here.
She sounded out the words she didn't know, but she plugged right along. She's come a long way since this day. I made a dinner of thick ham steaks steamed in a pan with a little maple syrup added to sweeten the mix, broccoli florets, and green beans. I was craving green vegetables, so we heaped them on tonight. As we sat down to eat, Shea and I talked about her day at school. She told me all about her teachers, her friends, and we just caught up with each other, something I'll never get tired of if I live to be a hundred.
After cleaning up and taking care of a few things, Shea and I adjourned to her room for a little play time. I was stoked because it was barely seven and that meant we had over an hour to play. We started with blocks and quickly adjourned to the doll house. We got out all the debris left over from the last sleepover and quickly pulled out a stack of dolls and My Little Ponies to play with. Shea wanted to have a beauty shop play time, so we brought out the brushes, the hair clips, and the pony tail holders and got to work on creating some new hairstyles.
Shea has been practicing braiding a little bit with some ribbon safety pinned to a throw pillow, but she hasn't quite mastered the practice yet. It's a hard thing for her to do with both hands, especially the left, but she wants to know how, so she works really hard at mastering the skill. Tonight we worked together to braid the manes and tails of her ponies. It was a comedy of errors in the beginning, but she eventually sensed the pattern, the repetition we were creating in moving the three strands.
This took about a half an hour.
The time was well spent. I could feel my daughter developing a skill she wanted to possess and I got to have my daughter in my lap or beside me for the duration. She was so proud of what she had created when she was done that I had to take a picture.
If only every day could be as great!
She sounded out the words she didn't know, but she plugged right along. She's come a long way since this day. I made a dinner of thick ham steaks steamed in a pan with a little maple syrup added to sweeten the mix, broccoli florets, and green beans. I was craving green vegetables, so we heaped them on tonight. As we sat down to eat, Shea and I talked about her day at school. She told me all about her teachers, her friends, and we just caught up with each other, something I'll never get tired of if I live to be a hundred.
After cleaning up and taking care of a few things, Shea and I adjourned to her room for a little play time. I was stoked because it was barely seven and that meant we had over an hour to play. We started with blocks and quickly adjourned to the doll house. We got out all the debris left over from the last sleepover and quickly pulled out a stack of dolls and My Little Ponies to play with. Shea wanted to have a beauty shop play time, so we brought out the brushes, the hair clips, and the pony tail holders and got to work on creating some new hairstyles.
Shea has been practicing braiding a little bit with some ribbon safety pinned to a throw pillow, but she hasn't quite mastered the practice yet. It's a hard thing for her to do with both hands, especially the left, but she wants to know how, so she works really hard at mastering the skill. Tonight we worked together to braid the manes and tails of her ponies. It was a comedy of errors in the beginning, but she eventually sensed the pattern, the repetition we were creating in moving the three strands.
This took about a half an hour.
The time was well spent. I could feel my daughter developing a skill she wanted to possess and I got to have my daughter in my lap or beside me for the duration. She was so proud of what she had created when she was done that I had to take a picture.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Dressing Up, Dressing Down
This weekend was an eventful one for the ol' Lang family. We had soccer games, sleep overs, a school fundraiser auction, and work, so it was nice for Tracy and I to take a little break and have some fun with the whole auction scenario this week.
The St. John the Apostle school in Oregon City hosts an annual auction every year out at Oregon Golf Club in West Linn, Oregon. It's a nice club perched up on the hill, and the facilities where the auction was held is an open event space that was packed to the gills with knickknacks, gift baskets, dinner tables, a dance floor, and other auction paraphernalia. Most people take the chance to dress up and use it as a nice evening out. There were suits and party dresses galore at the function.
Me and my entourage, less so.
The idea came to us when Tracy and I were hanging out with some new friends who had convinced us to go to the auction for the first time this year. We had never been to this event, and so we had little knowledge of how the whole thing operated. In fact, I've only been to one other auction that doubled as a crab feed, so my expectations were pretty casual. The auction had a disco theme this year, and we all thought it made the event ripe for some additional fun. That's where the costumes came into play.
Thanks to Helen's Pacific Costumes in Portland, our party got decked out in some fly '70s gear. While our buddy Ben decided on Austin Powers and the girls decided to go the go-go route, I stuck with one of the most iconic images I remember from the '70s. John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. My parents had the vinyl record when I was a kid and I remember John's iconic white suit splashed across the cover in a spray of multi-colored disco lights. It was an obvious choice for me. Here is the original:
Here's my rendition:
We all had a ball. Thanks to our friends being late to our house, we made a fashionable entrance onto the scene. It was a little traumatizing to find myself staring through a gigantic wall of greenhouse-like windows into a formal event when you've arrived looking like I did, but everyone greeted us warmly and gave us kudos for adding a little dazzle to the event. Nothing like not taking yourself too seriously to make friends. I was introduced to so many people that night because of what I was wearing. It made the evening.
The rest of the company looked great as well. Tracy walked through the event all night and people asked her, "Who are you?" They couldn't recognize her with her wig and giant, silver glue-on eyelashes. I loved her dress the moment I saw it in the costume shop, but the knee-red boots really sealed the deal. Here we are as a group.
The only drawback to the event can be found here:
People should never be asked to wear these medieval torture devices, let alone to a party where you are expected to dance! I was ready to dress down out of these shoes the moment I put them on. Although it was cool being tall for a night.
The St. John the Apostle school in Oregon City hosts an annual auction every year out at Oregon Golf Club in West Linn, Oregon. It's a nice club perched up on the hill, and the facilities where the auction was held is an open event space that was packed to the gills with knickknacks, gift baskets, dinner tables, a dance floor, and other auction paraphernalia. Most people take the chance to dress up and use it as a nice evening out. There were suits and party dresses galore at the function.
Me and my entourage, less so.
The idea came to us when Tracy and I were hanging out with some new friends who had convinced us to go to the auction for the first time this year. We had never been to this event, and so we had little knowledge of how the whole thing operated. In fact, I've only been to one other auction that doubled as a crab feed, so my expectations were pretty casual. The auction had a disco theme this year, and we all thought it made the event ripe for some additional fun. That's where the costumes came into play.
Thanks to Helen's Pacific Costumes in Portland, our party got decked out in some fly '70s gear. While our buddy Ben decided on Austin Powers and the girls decided to go the go-go route, I stuck with one of the most iconic images I remember from the '70s. John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. My parents had the vinyl record when I was a kid and I remember John's iconic white suit splashed across the cover in a spray of multi-colored disco lights. It was an obvious choice for me. Here is the original:
Here's my rendition:
We all had a ball. Thanks to our friends being late to our house, we made a fashionable entrance onto the scene. It was a little traumatizing to find myself staring through a gigantic wall of greenhouse-like windows into a formal event when you've arrived looking like I did, but everyone greeted us warmly and gave us kudos for adding a little dazzle to the event. Nothing like not taking yourself too seriously to make friends. I was introduced to so many people that night because of what I was wearing. It made the evening.
The rest of the company looked great as well. Tracy walked through the event all night and people asked her, "Who are you?" They couldn't recognize her with her wig and giant, silver glue-on eyelashes. I loved her dress the moment I saw it in the costume shop, but the knee-red boots really sealed the deal. Here we are as a group.
The only drawback to the event can be found here:
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Work Life Balance
Any time one decides to take on extra work, an additional project, or just a couple hours of overtime, the threat of upsetting the work-life balance becomes immediately real. In the last couple of weeks, I have found this to be true. Like a new romance, new endeavors can have their romantic period, a time flush with the fever of the new and unknown. A project can be seductive, distracting a person from his normal mental routines and causing him to become a touch obsessive about the object. The danger here is losing track of all other aspects one's life. With this in mind, I began researching work-life balance to see if others had similar experiences and/or tips for remaining balanced in periods of change. Here is one man I've found who asks some of the same questions.
His name is Alain de Botton, and he is a writer who brings philosophy into the everyday. He is also the founder of the School of Life, which is a social enterprise that questions the basics of life and tries to make learning and therapy relevant. I first found him on GoodReads when I ran into this quote:
“There is no such thing as work-life balance. Everything worth fighting for unbalances your life."
I wasn't on a roll in terms of finding those tips that would lead to a greater sense of balance between work and the rest of my life. I was encouraged by this quote though; it validated something I've been experiencing lately. For example, sleep is something that is taking the back seat these days. About twice a week, I am up at 3:30 a.m. working on new material or reading books like Jay Baer's Youtility, but I am also up at 6:30 to get Shea ready for school. It isn't a lot of sleep, but I do feel pretty good because I'm working on things I enjoy, on a new direction for the family.
What this does provide me though is a fair bit of anxiety. New projects and new endeavors, change of any kind really, can be nerve-racking, and I do sense that I am a little wound up. That's when I dug a little further into Alain de Botton and found his TedTalk.
If you aren't familiar with Ted.com, then you need to follow the link immediately. There are talks on all kinds of subjects available there. Everyone will find something they enjoy. After all, their motto is "ideas worth spreading." But that is a little off topic.
After a couple of minutes of listening to his talk, I found this quote, “It’s perhaps easier now than ever before to make a good living. It’s perhaps harder than ever before to stay calm, to be free of career anxiety…” In all my talks with friends, family, customers at the bar, and students at the college, this does seem to be true. So many people I talk to have this anxiety in one form or another, so I wonder what it is I am chasing. What ideal of work-life balance is there out there?
It isn't that the idea is unimportant, but it is an ideal that may be un-achievable if one is working hard at challenging one's self. This feeds into Alain de Botton's concept of success and failure that he talks about in his Ted Talk. I'll be working on this balance my whole life because I know myself well enough to know that I'm always in search of the next challenge, the next adventure. I'm not willing to sacrifice my time with my family and friends, but I am willing to lose maybe an hour or two of sleep in pursuit of the next challenge that presents itself.
His name is Alain de Botton, and he is a writer who brings philosophy into the everyday. He is also the founder of the School of Life, which is a social enterprise that questions the basics of life and tries to make learning and therapy relevant. I first found him on GoodReads when I ran into this quote:
“There is no such thing as work-life balance. Everything worth fighting for unbalances your life."
I wasn't on a roll in terms of finding those tips that would lead to a greater sense of balance between work and the rest of my life. I was encouraged by this quote though; it validated something I've been experiencing lately. For example, sleep is something that is taking the back seat these days. About twice a week, I am up at 3:30 a.m. working on new material or reading books like Jay Baer's Youtility, but I am also up at 6:30 to get Shea ready for school. It isn't a lot of sleep, but I do feel pretty good because I'm working on things I enjoy, on a new direction for the family.
What this does provide me though is a fair bit of anxiety. New projects and new endeavors, change of any kind really, can be nerve-racking, and I do sense that I am a little wound up. That's when I dug a little further into Alain de Botton and found his TedTalk.
If you aren't familiar with Ted.com, then you need to follow the link immediately. There are talks on all kinds of subjects available there. Everyone will find something they enjoy. After all, their motto is "ideas worth spreading." But that is a little off topic.
After a couple of minutes of listening to his talk, I found this quote, “It’s perhaps easier now than ever before to make a good living. It’s perhaps harder than ever before to stay calm, to be free of career anxiety…” In all my talks with friends, family, customers at the bar, and students at the college, this does seem to be true. So many people I talk to have this anxiety in one form or another, so I wonder what it is I am chasing. What ideal of work-life balance is there out there?
It isn't that the idea is unimportant, but it is an ideal that may be un-achievable if one is working hard at challenging one's self. This feeds into Alain de Botton's concept of success and failure that he talks about in his Ted Talk. I'll be working on this balance my whole life because I know myself well enough to know that I'm always in search of the next challenge, the next adventure. I'm not willing to sacrifice my time with my family and friends, but I am willing to lose maybe an hour or two of sleep in pursuit of the next challenge that presents itself.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Community on Veteran's Day
Veteran's day began as Armistice Day in 1938. Dwight D. Eisenhower eventually declared November 11th as Veteran's Day on October 8th (facts courtesy of the Department of Veterans Affairs). It is a day where we are meant to commemorate the men and women who have served this country by dedicating their lives to the armed forces. It is not a day to take lightly. I was thinking about it all day, and I wondered how I was going to be able to observe the day in the appropriate way.
I close the Wild Hare on Mondays, and I knew I would encounter at least a couple of veteran's over the course of my shift. I knew I would buy a beer or two over the course of the day. I thought that was how I would do it. I would treat some of those men and women to a cold one. Day observed, right? Well, almost.
After a solid dinner and nice rush of twenty-somethings afterward, I thought the shift was winding down. To my surprise, a young couple came in twenty minutes before the restaurant closed. I served them dinner, and was thinking THIS would be the end of the shift. About 5 minutes before the restaurant closed, this group entered the restaurant looking for something to eat.
(Photo courtesy of Debbie Turrentine)
They were apologetic for arriving just before closing, and they were even willing to walk back out the door. I knew immediately this was an unacceptable scenario. I insisted they sit down so I could serve them something hot from the kitchen.
The family took their seats, and I got them a round of drinks. When I returned to the table, the senior member of the family, the serviceman, offered me his hand and said, "Thank you for serving us." I was flabbergasted. I immediately retorted, "Thank YOU for serving US." The whole family was so polite and gracious throughout the whole evening. I was touched. As I worked around the restaurant, working through my closing duties, I listened to the whole family laughing and carrying on.
I knew the owner, Joan Monen, would want me to buy the man a drink. I did. It wasn't enough. I decided in that moment that I would purchase the man's dinner and the rest of his drinks. He only had one more drink and a bowl of chili, but I wanted to do this for him. I went to the computer, split the man's food and drink off the main tab, reached into my tip jar, and paid the tab before anyone could object.
It was a small gesture, the only kind available to me at that juncture, but it was enough. The man wound up shaking my hand and thanking me for the service and the kindness. It was like he was stepping on my lines. These were the things I needed to say to him. He was so kind the entire evening. I just wanted to say thank you for everything he did. He joked with me the rest of the night, and his family, I think, had a great experience at the Wild Hare.
This is what the owner and management of the Wild Hare call the "Wild Hare Way." It is the standard of service we hope to provide to our customers when they come in. Is every day like this? Every table visit? Every customer exchange? No. It is not. Do we strive to make it that way? Yes, we do. The way we create community within our towns is by being kind, personable, and attentive to others. This goes beyond the server-customer dynamic. It is how community is created on any number of scales. Attention, kindness, and affection are the keys here. Today is supposed to remind us of that. I consider myself reminded.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Channeling Voices - Or Channels and Voices
I'm taking the plunge into a new venture soon and I feel a little like the image below--exihilarated, excited, and a bit out of focus in the moment. It isn't that I don't have a clear direction for where I think I am going next, but I have not put all the tools in place to take me there...yet.
I am soon going to run into the struggle between personal and professional. I'm realizing that the online presence I have is going to become a bit of an issue as I will need to "brand" myself and my services soon. Also, I am using personal tools to execute on a professional project. This won't do. Some of you who have followed the blog in the past may notice that the name of the blog has changed.
When I set up this blog as a place to contemplate identity and social roles, I didn't foresee the direction my life might move. When I logged into the blog the other day, I realized that its title might be off-putting to people who might try to find me professionally somewhere down the line. As a result, a fracturing must occur. I must separate my personal online presence from the professional one.
This will result in "channels" of online identity. Places where one may find the professional side of me and one where you may find the personal side of me. The two must play nicely, like siblings within a family, but they are allowed to be their own separate beings. The two must represent the family well, but each is allowed a distinctive voice that contributes to the family's larger image.
I won't be posting much more about the technical side of my future endeavor, but I will be talking about the challenges this new role will bring to me personally. I don't want to bog down my friends and family with too much of the technical and professional, and I don't want future clients to have to wade through family photos in an attempt to find me and my services online. I'll have channels for each, and each will have their own voice.
It's a one of many new challenges that will arise in the coming months, but one that I am eager to explore in the near future.
Image courtesy of Kyle Lang
I am soon going to run into the struggle between personal and professional. I'm realizing that the online presence I have is going to become a bit of an issue as I will need to "brand" myself and my services soon. Also, I am using personal tools to execute on a professional project. This won't do. Some of you who have followed the blog in the past may notice that the name of the blog has changed.
When I set up this blog as a place to contemplate identity and social roles, I didn't foresee the direction my life might move. When I logged into the blog the other day, I realized that its title might be off-putting to people who might try to find me professionally somewhere down the line. As a result, a fracturing must occur. I must separate my personal online presence from the professional one.
This will result in "channels" of online identity. Places where one may find the professional side of me and one where you may find the personal side of me. The two must play nicely, like siblings within a family, but they are allowed to be their own separate beings. The two must represent the family well, but each is allowed a distinctive voice that contributes to the family's larger image.
I won't be posting much more about the technical side of my future endeavor, but I will be talking about the challenges this new role will bring to me personally. I don't want to bog down my friends and family with too much of the technical and professional, and I don't want future clients to have to wade through family photos in an attempt to find me and my services online. I'll have channels for each, and each will have their own voice.
It's a one of many new challenges that will arise in the coming months, but one that I am eager to explore in the near future.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Say Something, Say Something, Anything
In the '90s the band James released the album, Laid, and it was a hit among the teenagers of the time. One of my favorite tracks was always "Say Something". Its lyrics are as follows (image courtesy of Wikipedia):
Say something, say something, anything.
I've shown you everything.
Give me a sign.
Say something, say something, anything.
Your silence is deafening.
Pay me in kind.
I love this song and lately it has bounced around my head as I think of different types of blog posts for potential customers. This has become a bit of an obsession as as it applies to multiple sectors of the economy. Although I love this song and its lyrics, it isn't quite the right sensibility for content marketing.
Content marketing is the concept of providing quality information about your business in an effort to allow your customers to get to know you better, to build brand loyalty, and to bring self-serve information to them when they are ready to find you out in a crowded marketplace. It is a unique idea in that content marketing isn't just about launching promotions, about "selling" yourself to your customer, but making yourself available to them when they want you.
Content marketing is sincere, informative, timely, and necessary in a fractured digital marketplace. According to Youtility by Jay Baer, customers in 2011 needed 10.4 sources of information before making a purchasing decision. This is up from 5.3 sources in 2010. With this dramatic increase in customer researching trends, companies that stay on the forefront of information will be the ones who are found. As such, content marketing, the act of providing sincere and informative resources to customers, is becoming more and more necessary no matter what segment of the marketplace you are in.
This is where the James song comes into play, although tangentially. As a company in the modern marketplace, you need to "say something, say something," but it can't be "anything." The information modern consumers are looking for is open, honest, and revealing about your company. They aren't looking for more hype, more media noise. They are looking for a reason to connect with your company in particular. It is my mission to help you find that content, develop it, and deliver it. If you say the right something, if you develop your online presence in open and responsive ways that your customers crave, then they will surely give you a sign and pay you in kind.
That is the mission. I choose to accept it. Thanks, James.
Say something, say something, anything.
I've shown you everything.
Give me a sign.
Say something, say something, anything.
Your silence is deafening.
Pay me in kind.
I love this song and lately it has bounced around my head as I think of different types of blog posts for potential customers. This has become a bit of an obsession as as it applies to multiple sectors of the economy. Although I love this song and its lyrics, it isn't quite the right sensibility for content marketing.
Content marketing is the concept of providing quality information about your business in an effort to allow your customers to get to know you better, to build brand loyalty, and to bring self-serve information to them when they are ready to find you out in a crowded marketplace. It is a unique idea in that content marketing isn't just about launching promotions, about "selling" yourself to your customer, but making yourself available to them when they want you.
Content marketing is sincere, informative, timely, and necessary in a fractured digital marketplace. According to Youtility by Jay Baer, customers in 2011 needed 10.4 sources of information before making a purchasing decision. This is up from 5.3 sources in 2010. With this dramatic increase in customer researching trends, companies that stay on the forefront of information will be the ones who are found. As such, content marketing, the act of providing sincere and informative resources to customers, is becoming more and more necessary no matter what segment of the marketplace you are in.
This is where the James song comes into play, although tangentially. As a company in the modern marketplace, you need to "say something, say something," but it can't be "anything." The information modern consumers are looking for is open, honest, and revealing about your company. They aren't looking for more hype, more media noise. They are looking for a reason to connect with your company in particular. It is my mission to help you find that content, develop it, and deliver it. If you say the right something, if you develop your online presence in open and responsive ways that your customers crave, then they will surely give you a sign and pay you in kind.
That is the mission. I choose to accept it. Thanks, James.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Impulses
In light of my last post about big changes afoot, I thought I would begin to describe the impulse that brings me to this place. I am an enabler. I don't mean this in the negative pop psychology sense of the word, but, rather, in the sense that I believe myself to be motivated, and even gifted, with the ability to help others achieve their potential. It is this propensity, this gift, that has lead me to this moment, where I try and turn my gift into something more, to work it, adapt it, and shape it into something that enables not only individuals with dreams, but the dreams themselves.
I want to become a resource for those in my community who are working to carve out a piece of the world that is their own. I want to assist them in their endeavors by bringing my words, my compassion, my enabling tendencies to the table in order to help them improve their own circumstances.
How does one do that?
In my case, it is by writing. I am looking to move into the future by being a megaphone for others. By working in tandem with the people of my community, I want to develop a business where I can function as the ghost writer of dreams and ambitions. I want to help others capitalize on their gifts by using my own. In my mind, it is a win-win situation.
I've been looking for a way to write for money. I'm not ashamed of that. I love to write, and I want to find a way to do it for the rest of my life. I write creatively in many forms: stories, poems, essays, etc, but those are not the most lucrative pursuits at the moment. So, I turn to my past experience as a business professional who wrote marketing materials, request for proposal responses, and other copy in order to create a future where I find myself in front of the blank page.
My former teacher, Jack Driscoll, once said, "The impulse to write is the impulse to love -- to love humans, to love language, to love the world." I see my new venture as a way of upholding these ideals, a way of embracing them. The people I hope to work for in the future, after I have finished my LLC application, business plan, and mission statement, are all people I love. They have been role models for me in many different ways throughout my life, and I see a void in their operations I can fill. So as I take my first steps into this bright future, rising early into darkened November mornings, and working late into misty evenings, I do so with a passion and purpose that sets me alight, and casts light into what looks distinctly like the future.
I want to become a resource for those in my community who are working to carve out a piece of the world that is their own. I want to assist them in their endeavors by bringing my words, my compassion, my enabling tendencies to the table in order to help them improve their own circumstances.
How does one do that?
In my case, it is by writing. I am looking to move into the future by being a megaphone for others. By working in tandem with the people of my community, I want to develop a business where I can function as the ghost writer of dreams and ambitions. I want to help others capitalize on their gifts by using my own. In my mind, it is a win-win situation.
I've been looking for a way to write for money. I'm not ashamed of that. I love to write, and I want to find a way to do it for the rest of my life. I write creatively in many forms: stories, poems, essays, etc, but those are not the most lucrative pursuits at the moment. So, I turn to my past experience as a business professional who wrote marketing materials, request for proposal responses, and other copy in order to create a future where I find myself in front of the blank page.
My former teacher, Jack Driscoll, once said, "The impulse to write is the impulse to love -- to love humans, to love language, to love the world." I see my new venture as a way of upholding these ideals, a way of embracing them. The people I hope to work for in the future, after I have finished my LLC application, business plan, and mission statement, are all people I love. They have been role models for me in many different ways throughout my life, and I see a void in their operations I can fill. So as I take my first steps into this bright future, rising early into darkened November mornings, and working late into misty evenings, I do so with a passion and purpose that sets me alight, and casts light into what looks distinctly like the future.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Big Changes
The last couple of months have seen big changes for me personally. I've been struck by a new idea that could lead to the formation of a new endeavor that would capitalize on my love of writing while ensuring that I am home more. While I can't reveal all of the details, the last couple of months have found me diving into research and development of the concept.
One of the major shifts that will result from this new endeavor is a much greater online presence and a new "re-branding" of my online identity. It is an exciting new world full of new risks, challenges, and rewards, and one that I look forward to with the type of excitement that gets my heart beating, races my thoughts in a million different directions, and provides a concrete path to using my talents with words in new and exciting ways.
As a result, I am going to recommit myself to this online endeavor. The blog will move beyond a repository for personal thoughts and transform into a den of ideas, concepts, and, yes, the occasional post about my family and the roles that sustain me in life. For those of you who got in on the ground floor and encouraged this early version of the blog, I thank you. Your support and encouragement has been the ground in which this new seed has been planted. You'll hear from me soon. And often. I hope you find this idea as thrilling as I do.
Until next time.
One of the major shifts that will result from this new endeavor is a much greater online presence and a new "re-branding" of my online identity. It is an exciting new world full of new risks, challenges, and rewards, and one that I look forward to with the type of excitement that gets my heart beating, races my thoughts in a million different directions, and provides a concrete path to using my talents with words in new and exciting ways.
As a result, I am going to recommit myself to this online endeavor. The blog will move beyond a repository for personal thoughts and transform into a den of ideas, concepts, and, yes, the occasional post about my family and the roles that sustain me in life. For those of you who got in on the ground floor and encouraged this early version of the blog, I thank you. Your support and encouragement has been the ground in which this new seed has been planted. You'll hear from me soon. And often. I hope you find this idea as thrilling as I do.
Until next time.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
A Dancer
One of my family's most common evening activities is to stream videos of music and dancing on the television. This often results in dance performances by my daughter. Sometimes I join in, sometimes Tracy does, but Shea is always on the floor, watching the dancers and moving to the music.
We've had her in a couple of dance classes, intro level stuff, but tonight I saw something in the way she moved that seemed different from her normal routines, her normal ways of being in her body. Many of you parents might recognize this moment.
She danced in the living room and I suddenly had a vision of Shea as an older child of thirteen or fourteen. It was like looking through a window in time to some as of yet delineated moment and I was startled by how beautiful she will become as an older woman. I saw a lithe young woman who felt the music moving through her body and finding the natural expression of it in the lilt of her hips, the movement of a hand, and the lift and glide of her feet. She was tall, taller than I have pictured her in past visions of my grown girl, and there was none of the awkardness of her current struggles with her walk. She was flexible, graceful, and I was touched.
I'm going to post a video of her dancing. While most of you may only see a little girl dancing in the living room, the moment was transcendent for me. I've seen her potential in a new way tonight and it threatened to overtake me with joy.
We've had her in a couple of dance classes, intro level stuff, but tonight I saw something in the way she moved that seemed different from her normal routines, her normal ways of being in her body. Many of you parents might recognize this moment.
She danced in the living room and I suddenly had a vision of Shea as an older child of thirteen or fourteen. It was like looking through a window in time to some as of yet delineated moment and I was startled by how beautiful she will become as an older woman. I saw a lithe young woman who felt the music moving through her body and finding the natural expression of it in the lilt of her hips, the movement of a hand, and the lift and glide of her feet. She was tall, taller than I have pictured her in past visions of my grown girl, and there was none of the awkardness of her current struggles with her walk. She was flexible, graceful, and I was touched.
I'm going to post a video of her dancing. While most of you may only see a little girl dancing in the living room, the moment was transcendent for me. I've seen her potential in a new way tonight and it threatened to overtake me with joy.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Glue Stick as Spiritual Skeleton Key
Whenever I find myself rummaging through Shea's art supply drawers and the kitchen's junk drawers for a glue stick, I know I'm in for a spiritually taxing couple of days. It means that I have my "book of ceremonies" open on my desk and I have just printed a new set of pages that contains the words I will speak in the coming days. I draw my paper cutter out of the bottom desk drawer, trim the pages to fit the size of my black, leather bound book, and proceed to methodically glue the trimmed, printed pages of the ceremony into the book.
I don't know when this process became more than the sum actions themselves, but they have. I find myself in a subdued, trance-like state now as I slide the razor cutter over the pages to trim them down. I outline the blank back page with long, careful strokes with the glue stick, and then I place the ceremony, page by page into my "ledger."
Today's entry is unusual for me in a way. Normally if I am asked to perform a ceremony, it is a wedding. Tomorrow is not. It is a funeral. The funeral for my wife's uncle Bill, a good man who was taken from us too soon. Beyond all the obvious differences between weddings and funerals, there are a few subtleties for the officiant that others may not realize. In many ways, the writing moves are the same. You want to properly express the gravitas of the event, you need to make sure to lighten the mood at the appropriate moments via storytelling, and, above all, you need to feel what you say, even if you have written the words in advance and have rehearsed them many times. This spontaneity is critical. The officiant, or speaker, must allow themselves to live in the moment in a way that makes them vulnerable.
I often find myself sneaking away after performing a wedding in order to protect myself from the comments, both positive and negative, expressed by those in attendance. It is in moments like this that I wished I still smoked and could retreat to a smoky, antisocial corner with legitimate excuse. Instead, I find that I am often drawn back into the festivities before I am fully prepared as I have no legitimate excuse to be prowling the edges of the property on my own.
I am always so honored to be asked to participate in these types of events, to be asked to speak, to find the appropriate words to dignify the occasion, but they come at a cost, and the key that unlocks this whole process is that glue stick. That simple office supply now operates as metaphor for my spiritual anxiety.
I've written the words, rehearsed them, read them to my wife, but now that they are glued in my "book of ceremonies" they are real beyond their earlier manifestations. They seem small now, insignificant, and not up to the task of capturing the life of a man like Bill. I hope others disagree, but odds are I'll never know.
I'm trying to lift your spirit to the light, Bill. I hope I've lived up to the task. I'm putting the glue stick down, and trusting myself to what I've written. Until tomorrow...
I don't know when this process became more than the sum actions themselves, but they have. I find myself in a subdued, trance-like state now as I slide the razor cutter over the pages to trim them down. I outline the blank back page with long, careful strokes with the glue stick, and then I place the ceremony, page by page into my "ledger."
Today's entry is unusual for me in a way. Normally if I am asked to perform a ceremony, it is a wedding. Tomorrow is not. It is a funeral. The funeral for my wife's uncle Bill, a good man who was taken from us too soon. Beyond all the obvious differences between weddings and funerals, there are a few subtleties for the officiant that others may not realize. In many ways, the writing moves are the same. You want to properly express the gravitas of the event, you need to make sure to lighten the mood at the appropriate moments via storytelling, and, above all, you need to feel what you say, even if you have written the words in advance and have rehearsed them many times. This spontaneity is critical. The officiant, or speaker, must allow themselves to live in the moment in a way that makes them vulnerable.
I often find myself sneaking away after performing a wedding in order to protect myself from the comments, both positive and negative, expressed by those in attendance. It is in moments like this that I wished I still smoked and could retreat to a smoky, antisocial corner with legitimate excuse. Instead, I find that I am often drawn back into the festivities before I am fully prepared as I have no legitimate excuse to be prowling the edges of the property on my own.
I am always so honored to be asked to participate in these types of events, to be asked to speak, to find the appropriate words to dignify the occasion, but they come at a cost, and the key that unlocks this whole process is that glue stick. That simple office supply now operates as metaphor for my spiritual anxiety.
I've written the words, rehearsed them, read them to my wife, but now that they are glued in my "book of ceremonies" they are real beyond their earlier manifestations. They seem small now, insignificant, and not up to the task of capturing the life of a man like Bill. I hope others disagree, but odds are I'll never know.
I'm trying to lift your spirit to the light, Bill. I hope I've lived up to the task. I'm putting the glue stick down, and trusting myself to what I've written. Until tomorrow...
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
The Good Ones
We lost one of the good ones this week. Bill Usher, my wife's uncle, passed away in the early morning hours Monday, and my family is reeling from the effects. Bill Usher was a good man. One of the best. He was an amazing mix of characteristics that drew people to him like moths to a flame. His passion for life expressed itself in so many aspects of his life. Here are just a few moments that epitomize that.
One of the first times I met Bill was on a ski vacation to Sunriver, Oregon. I was with a large group of my wife's friends and Bill came over with his wife Mary to have dinner with us. The night was a festive one. Bill drank and ate with gusto and his laugh was infectious, filling the room with his presence. Towards the end of the night, when we'd all had a "little" bit to drink, the party evolved into a dance party. Bill laughed and danced with the best of us. The boys started getting rowdy and all of a sudden I saw this sixty year old man pick up our friend Shad and "body slam" him into the couch. It wasn't hurtful, merely playful, but I remember being impressed by how strong and powerful he was. I'd learn more about his strength and fitness on the ski slopes.
We met Bill at Mt. Bachelor one sunny weekend morning. He was strapped in and ready to go. Being that I was on my high school ski team and have skied for years, I didn't worry too much about keeping up with him. I couldn't have been more wrong. The man was like a dart down the mountain. I don't know if he took a single turn down the entire run. He simply pointed his skis down the hill and flew. I found myself having to push it to keep up. He almost always beat me down the mountain. He was in his sixties at this time and I was in my mid-twenties. I marveled at him and remember deciding in that moment that I wanted to be him when I was older. I wanted to have that same gusto about life that he did. I wanted to have passion and joy about the things I did. I wanted to take risks, to feel the wind in my hair, my laugh trailing me down the mountain as his did.
I got to know Bill better over the coming years. His passion for life continued to marvel me, and when I took a job as a teacher, I found a new reason to enjoy our conversations together. Bill was a fantastic teacher, as is evident by his many former students who stopped him in restaurants and on the street in Bend. When Tracy and I visited Bill and Mary, he was full of curiosity and questions about my students, about how I was trying to reach them, about how I maintained the standards in my classroom. He cared, not only about me, but about the profession as well. He found it a noble calling, a worthy occupation, and he understood the pitfalls and the drawbacks of it as well. I could talk to him about things that were happening in my classroom that some folks either wouldn't understand or didn't care about.
He was a good one.
That's the closest I can get to summing it up. A good one. We know those good people when they come into our lives and we feel it when they leave us. Bill Usher came into my life in a flurry of laughter and joy. He always made me feel welcome in his home and in his life. I've been lucky to share these last 14 or so years with him. He taught me a lot of things about how to be in the world. His presence will be missed. So, I raise my glass to him (as he would want all of us to do) and drink to the good one himself. We'll miss you, Bill.
One of the first times I met Bill was on a ski vacation to Sunriver, Oregon. I was with a large group of my wife's friends and Bill came over with his wife Mary to have dinner with us. The night was a festive one. Bill drank and ate with gusto and his laugh was infectious, filling the room with his presence. Towards the end of the night, when we'd all had a "little" bit to drink, the party evolved into a dance party. Bill laughed and danced with the best of us. The boys started getting rowdy and all of a sudden I saw this sixty year old man pick up our friend Shad and "body slam" him into the couch. It wasn't hurtful, merely playful, but I remember being impressed by how strong and powerful he was. I'd learn more about his strength and fitness on the ski slopes.
We met Bill at Mt. Bachelor one sunny weekend morning. He was strapped in and ready to go. Being that I was on my high school ski team and have skied for years, I didn't worry too much about keeping up with him. I couldn't have been more wrong. The man was like a dart down the mountain. I don't know if he took a single turn down the entire run. He simply pointed his skis down the hill and flew. I found myself having to push it to keep up. He almost always beat me down the mountain. He was in his sixties at this time and I was in my mid-twenties. I marveled at him and remember deciding in that moment that I wanted to be him when I was older. I wanted to have that same gusto about life that he did. I wanted to have passion and joy about the things I did. I wanted to take risks, to feel the wind in my hair, my laugh trailing me down the mountain as his did.
I got to know Bill better over the coming years. His passion for life continued to marvel me, and when I took a job as a teacher, I found a new reason to enjoy our conversations together. Bill was a fantastic teacher, as is evident by his many former students who stopped him in restaurants and on the street in Bend. When Tracy and I visited Bill and Mary, he was full of curiosity and questions about my students, about how I was trying to reach them, about how I maintained the standards in my classroom. He cared, not only about me, but about the profession as well. He found it a noble calling, a worthy occupation, and he understood the pitfalls and the drawbacks of it as well. I could talk to him about things that were happening in my classroom that some folks either wouldn't understand or didn't care about.
He was a good one.
That's the closest I can get to summing it up. A good one. We know those good people when they come into our lives and we feel it when they leave us. Bill Usher came into my life in a flurry of laughter and joy. He always made me feel welcome in his home and in his life. I've been lucky to share these last 14 or so years with him. He taught me a lot of things about how to be in the world. His presence will be missed. So, I raise my glass to him (as he would want all of us to do) and drink to the good one himself. We'll miss you, Bill.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Finishing
I stand in the early morning hours around Wikiup Reservoir dressed in my workout gear and bike helmet waiting for the duathalon to start. I've never done anything even remotely close to this, so I'm nervous, as is my brother who stands next to me. We've even lapsed into our adolescent bickering when I won't follow his advice about how to handle my bike tire's need for more air. Waves of bikers, four abreast, line up and wait for their turn to begin the race. My heart beats wildly in my chest as we approach the starting line. We aren't allowed to mount our bikes until we cross a line on the other side of the official start, so my bike cleats clack along on the asphalt as I near the start. My brother wishes me good luck with good humor and we are told to begin. I jog my bike across the start line and into the free zone, where I throw my leg over and begin what will be a three hour lesson in finishing.
From the first moments we begin, I can tell I am not in my brother's class athletically. He's already pulling ahead of me by lengths and we haven't event crossed the first mile of the 28 mile bike ride. I try to keep up for a while, but my nerves and the elevation have me panting. My chest tightens with anxiety as I have the first thought of many, Can I do this? I tell myself it is too early for this kind of thinking and push the thought out of my mind. I peddle on.
The next time I have the thought is during the one significant incline of the bike course, which happens around mile 12. I was told the incline lasted about three quarters of a mile, but I swear that thing stretched on for two. As I pedal my way up the hill, passing a few folks, but mostly being passed by others, I tell myself I can stop and take a rest once I reach the top. Once this thought is in my head, it begins to infiltrate my mindset. Why not just stop here and have a "Goo" and then finish the hill? Just take a momentary rest. It's amazing how that one thought propagates and tries to push out all the other competing thoughts. I strengthen my resolve and tell myself no. I crest the top of the hill without stopping and keep pushing on. Cresting that hill did wonders for my motivation and stamina. The rest of the bike course seemed to simply slip by with a feeling that almost resembles pleasure.
At the transition point, when I switch out of my biking gear and get on with the running, I feel good. I'm tired, sure, but these are the first moments when I really begin to feel that I can accomplish this feat. Keep in mind, I haven't jogged a single step yet.
I leave the transition post feeling pretty good. The day is getting hot in Sunriver, with temperatures expected to crest in the 90s, and although I've been good about water and hydrating all day, I'm starting to feel the wear of the heat. Once I jog out of the transition and get about a mile into the run, I can feel myself getting a bit wobbly. I slow to a fast walk in order to make sure I can keep going, but I'm suddenly struck with anxiety about my ability to finish. The idea of getting this far (I trained the least for the biking portion) and failing causes me to pick up my pace again and to push forward with a new, if not a bit addled, resolve to cross the line.
It takes me multiple sessions of walking to get to the end of the 10k course, but as I draw near, there are spectators who encourage me on. "One more mile," they shout. "Just 500 more yards. You can do it." And I find myself believing them. Knowing it is true. I pick up the pace from a walk to a jog and resolve to not slow down until I cross the finish line. In the last corner, I feel myself flagging something serious. I'm getting a little sick to my stomach and I hope to not make a fool out of myself by getting sick at the finish line.
When I turn the last corner, I'm overjoyed that I've made it, but I scan the crowd for my family. I don't see them. Much of my motivation has been for my daughter to see me finish and I'm disappointed that she is going to miss it. She missed my finish at a 5k race I ran earlier in the season. I'm within feet of the finish line when I see a movement through the race course dividers. My daughter steps through the bars and runs to hold my hand. She wants to finish the race with me. She takes my hand and I could swear that she pulls me across that finish line.
I've never done anything like that duathalon before. Never pushed my body to the limit like that. But, it wasn't the physical challenge that was the hardest for me. It was the mental one. It's given me a new clarity about things in my life, about the things that I want, and what it takes to get them. I'm still in a state of recovery and rejuvenation from my years of grinding too hard after things that weren't necessarily in line with what I want, but I'm springing back. More soon...
From the first moments we begin, I can tell I am not in my brother's class athletically. He's already pulling ahead of me by lengths and we haven't event crossed the first mile of the 28 mile bike ride. I try to keep up for a while, but my nerves and the elevation have me panting. My chest tightens with anxiety as I have the first thought of many, Can I do this? I tell myself it is too early for this kind of thinking and push the thought out of my mind. I peddle on.
The next time I have the thought is during the one significant incline of the bike course, which happens around mile 12. I was told the incline lasted about three quarters of a mile, but I swear that thing stretched on for two. As I pedal my way up the hill, passing a few folks, but mostly being passed by others, I tell myself I can stop and take a rest once I reach the top. Once this thought is in my head, it begins to infiltrate my mindset. Why not just stop here and have a "Goo" and then finish the hill? Just take a momentary rest. It's amazing how that one thought propagates and tries to push out all the other competing thoughts. I strengthen my resolve and tell myself no. I crest the top of the hill without stopping and keep pushing on. Cresting that hill did wonders for my motivation and stamina. The rest of the bike course seemed to simply slip by with a feeling that almost resembles pleasure.
At the transition point, when I switch out of my biking gear and get on with the running, I feel good. I'm tired, sure, but these are the first moments when I really begin to feel that I can accomplish this feat. Keep in mind, I haven't jogged a single step yet.
I leave the transition post feeling pretty good. The day is getting hot in Sunriver, with temperatures expected to crest in the 90s, and although I've been good about water and hydrating all day, I'm starting to feel the wear of the heat. Once I jog out of the transition and get about a mile into the run, I can feel myself getting a bit wobbly. I slow to a fast walk in order to make sure I can keep going, but I'm suddenly struck with anxiety about my ability to finish. The idea of getting this far (I trained the least for the biking portion) and failing causes me to pick up my pace again and to push forward with a new, if not a bit addled, resolve to cross the line.
It takes me multiple sessions of walking to get to the end of the 10k course, but as I draw near, there are spectators who encourage me on. "One more mile," they shout. "Just 500 more yards. You can do it." And I find myself believing them. Knowing it is true. I pick up the pace from a walk to a jog and resolve to not slow down until I cross the finish line. In the last corner, I feel myself flagging something serious. I'm getting a little sick to my stomach and I hope to not make a fool out of myself by getting sick at the finish line.
When I turn the last corner, I'm overjoyed that I've made it, but I scan the crowd for my family. I don't see them. Much of my motivation has been for my daughter to see me finish and I'm disappointed that she is going to miss it. She missed my finish at a 5k race I ran earlier in the season. I'm within feet of the finish line when I see a movement through the race course dividers. My daughter steps through the bars and runs to hold my hand. She wants to finish the race with me. She takes my hand and I could swear that she pulls me across that finish line.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Going Back to Basics
I've been away from my computer, more or less, for two weeks. I haven't really been responding to emails unless they've been urgent. I haven't been trolling Facebook much, and I've been ignoring my phone as much as possible. This is all an effort to get back to basics. I've been monitoring three email accounts for four years now, one from each of the schools I worked at and one personal address. This makes for a lot of time spent in front of the computer and NOT writing. It's been great to get out of that mode.
The thing I did notice about it though was that I was still having trouble coming back to the page. Each time I sat down to write, I was overwhelmed with the personal relationships in my life. There's been family illness on both sides of the family, some friends from work have been dealing with heavy life-altering issues, and I've just been unplugged from a lot of my other friends, which causes me to think after them.
In short, the personal was getting in the way of the creative. I couldn't move into the creative space because the issues of the day were standing between me and the kind of unfettered, meditative thinking I need to create whole cloth fiction. So, I needed to do something about this. It's been going on for days, and I had to take action. What did I do? I got back to basics.
My writing practice originated when I was young and I often wrote letters to the people in my life in order to tame the feelings of childhood and adolescence. I decided to take on this task today. I wrote five letters today in greeting cards. I hand wrote each of them as I sat in my living room and I will deliver them in the coming days. I already delivered one to my father for a belated Father's Day celebration. In the morning, my wife will find a pastel purple envelope peeking out at her from the corner of her purse. Two coworkers will find letters tacked to the board at work, and my wife's Uncle Bill will receive one when we arrive in Bend.
It is cathartic to tell friends and family how you feel. It takes a certain emotional burden off the writer's shoulders to know that you've taken care of your affairs. The poet Madeline DeFrees once talked about having to "clear the decks" before she could write. She would tidy up her home and have to get everything put away. She began to recognize this as a part of her process and she knew a poem was coming. I feel similarly in that I've "cleared the decks" of my mental real estate. I've made room for something new and exciting to enter. I have a blank greeting card next to me, so don't be surprised if the next greeting card lands on your doorstep. I'm looking to make room because I know there's a story waiting to be born.
The thing I did notice about it though was that I was still having trouble coming back to the page. Each time I sat down to write, I was overwhelmed with the personal relationships in my life. There's been family illness on both sides of the family, some friends from work have been dealing with heavy life-altering issues, and I've just been unplugged from a lot of my other friends, which causes me to think after them.
In short, the personal was getting in the way of the creative. I couldn't move into the creative space because the issues of the day were standing between me and the kind of unfettered, meditative thinking I need to create whole cloth fiction. So, I needed to do something about this. It's been going on for days, and I had to take action. What did I do? I got back to basics.
My writing practice originated when I was young and I often wrote letters to the people in my life in order to tame the feelings of childhood and adolescence. I decided to take on this task today. I wrote five letters today in greeting cards. I hand wrote each of them as I sat in my living room and I will deliver them in the coming days. I already delivered one to my father for a belated Father's Day celebration. In the morning, my wife will find a pastel purple envelope peeking out at her from the corner of her purse. Two coworkers will find letters tacked to the board at work, and my wife's Uncle Bill will receive one when we arrive in Bend.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Limitless Desire
The gaping maw of free time is quickly approaching as spring term comes to a close, and it has gotten me thinking about what I want from this newfound freedom. The answer is everything. My downfall has never been my lack of interest in the world, but an overabundance of it. I want to know everything. I want to experience everything I can in this life because I know it is so short. The result is an overabundance of desire.
I desire a consistent writing practice. I want to read voraciously. I want to train for a duathalon. I want to spend time with my family. I want to run through the sprinklers with my daughter. I want to take Spanish classes, voice lessons, guitar lessons, and dance classes with my wife. I want to go fishing and camping. I want to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. I want to travel to British Columbia, New Zealand, Vietnam, and Africa. I want more time for intimacy with my wife. I want to write letters to friends and to have long phone conversations with them. I want to catch up on my Netflix queue. I want to go to live theater. I want to perform live theater. I want all of these things and more. I yearn for all of these things, and it sometimes paralyzes me.
The thing I understand about myself is that all of these things come from the same place, a place of love. I love the world too much and, like a lover, I want to know every inch of the world and this lovely life we are given. I want to explore it, to revel in all the pleasures and pains a close intimacy brings. In the meantime, I have to pick.
I've never been good at picking.
But I know I must, so I choose writing/reading, family, and travel for now. These are the things I will actively pursue through the summer months. I will work to deepen my connections to these people and practices and leave the others to the future. I'm not giving up on any of my dreams. That's not something I'm comfortable with. I will be a dreamer and a student my whole life. I will strive and push to have all the things I want while simultaneously providing for the wants, needs, and desires of my wife and child. They deserve all the wonderful things the world has to provide as well, and I hope their lives are as abundantly blessed with desire.
So, cheers to today and tomorrow. Each day is full of our own potential, but potential begins with the dream, the desire to strive past our current self.
Friday, May 17, 2013
A Rich Poor Life - An Experiment in Lifestyle
I recently refused a contract for continued work at a small private university. As a person with an advanced degree in the arts, this seems like a ludicrous tactic. After all, I know many a fellow classmate who would be grateful for the contract and a chance to work inside the walls of academia. I was too, grateful that is, but I was also exhausted.
I came to teach writing at the college level because I loved to write, but in the pursuit of a full time job, I overbooked myself and did not write. In order to advance as an university level writing professor, I must publish as well as teach. In order to publish, I need to write. In order to write, I need to teach less. In order to teach less, I need to make more money in another way, or I need to live more frugally. This meant cutting out the $400/month fuel bill and the 2 1/2 hour commute on days I taught at the university. As such, I've had to rearrange the structure of my life and my family (thank you, Tracy and Shea).
Without getting into all the details, I will simply say this, "It's time to live a rich, poor life." In the coming months, it is my hope to reconnect and reground myself into my own home, my own family, and my own creative practice. I'm stepping off the hamster wheel and actively working on engaging with those people and those activities I love the most. In doing so, I'm hoping to ignite the creative spark that brings me back to the page.
My quest over the summer and in the coming months is to find ways to spend quality time with my family in a way that is both cost-conscious and engaged. No more late nights grading papers while my family sleeps. I'm looking forward to swimming with my daughter, hiking with my wife, competing in a duathalon with my brother, camping with friends, and rediscovering my time and my energy when I'm not dedicating it to all things work.
I'll be using my blog to update folks on my results, but I'm not going to put myself on a schedule of posting like I've tried to do in the past. I'm being forgiving of myself as I court and woo myself back into the writing practice. This is a loving reconciliation, not a stressful new commitment. I hope the experiment yields results.
I came to teach writing at the college level because I loved to write, but in the pursuit of a full time job, I overbooked myself and did not write. In order to advance as an university level writing professor, I must publish as well as teach. In order to publish, I need to write. In order to write, I need to teach less. In order to teach less, I need to make more money in another way, or I need to live more frugally. This meant cutting out the $400/month fuel bill and the 2 1/2 hour commute on days I taught at the university. As such, I've had to rearrange the structure of my life and my family (thank you, Tracy and Shea).
Without getting into all the details, I will simply say this, "It's time to live a rich, poor life." In the coming months, it is my hope to reconnect and reground myself into my own home, my own family, and my own creative practice. I'm stepping off the hamster wheel and actively working on engaging with those people and those activities I love the most. In doing so, I'm hoping to ignite the creative spark that brings me back to the page.
My quest over the summer and in the coming months is to find ways to spend quality time with my family in a way that is both cost-conscious and engaged. No more late nights grading papers while my family sleeps. I'm looking forward to swimming with my daughter, hiking with my wife, competing in a duathalon with my brother, camping with friends, and rediscovering my time and my energy when I'm not dedicating it to all things work.
I'll be using my blog to update folks on my results, but I'm not going to put myself on a schedule of posting like I've tried to do in the past. I'm being forgiving of myself as I court and woo myself back into the writing practice. This is a loving reconciliation, not a stressful new commitment. I hope the experiment yields results.
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