Sunday School

The best lessons you'll ever learn are the lessons of life. And, the only time you'll ever learn them, is when you're out living. A good day to get out and live a little is Sunday. Now, not every Sunday will enlighten you, but get out on enough Sundays and they'll offer you one heck of a chance. Last Sunday did to me...

Early Sunday morning, I watched the French Open final - as in tennis, as in Roger Federer, as in the greatest ever. And that's where Sunday's schooling began...Here's a guy who literally has everything: wife, child on the way, financial wealth beyond most imaginations, status, and unparalleled success, really, in the history of sports. All of this, and in an instant, he is humbled. And, the thousands there, and the millions watching know it and are humbled themselves because in place of cheers are the tears of a man who had won everywhere but there, and Sunday, finally did. I never thought he would. Even the greatest try and fail, and they try again and fail again and again...but, the greatest are not deterred by failure, they are inspired by it, and that is what makes them great. Never lose your passion.

As I watched the crowd that sat watching the match, I couldn't help but take note of just how different it looked than a crowd here in the US. Everyone looked great. Granted, this is a tennis match, and granted I once tried to start a clothing company myself, so I pick up on things like this, but whether you notice it yourself or someone points it out to you, it was pretty clear that this crowd knew how to dress. I bring this up because I and everyone I know who's been to Europe comes back saying the same things: food is amazing, buildings are amazing and seemingly everyone dresses nicely. Think about it. If you live here in the States, walk downtown tomorrow (wherever you live), and take note of just how people are dressed. If you live in New York or Chicago, you might not be aware of this issue, but America needs to step it up. T-shirts, loose jeans (I'm not talking hip-hop baggy jeans, I'm talking jeans without any sort of attempt at style, nor shape), polo shirts or button-down shirts that look like the person bought it large enough to still fit if he decides to continue the Cheesecake Factory diet for the next year or two, and shoes that look like the person either couldn't decide if he was going to go for a run after that meal at the Cheesecake Factory or just cushion the three-pound serving now sitting in his gut at 6pm, long enough to get him home and into bed by 8. Go to Vegas for a weekend, and then go to Monte Carlo (the real one, not the hotel in Vegas)...you'll get the idea. But, it's more than the lack of style and class in the American wardrobe; it's evident in our buildings, in most of our food, definitely in our cars. It's even in our educations. At the end of the match, the commentator was amazed at how easily Federer was switching back and forth between English and Swiss-French. Only an American would be amazed at someone who speaks two languages fluently. And, after noticing how much classier and more presentable the crowd looked than even an American tennis crowd, and hearing the commentator's astounded remarks, I realized just why we've become a nation of bad taste, bad health and bad test scores: we're lazy. People don't want to take the time or make the effort. Americans seem to have a sense of entitlement, specifically, that we are instantly due respect. Why should we speak another language? People should learn ours (by the way, it's not ours). Why put some artistic thought into a vehicle model when we can just throw some wheels on a cart, stick a big engine in it, skip the suspension, and sell it for dirt cheap? (GM just filed for bankruptcy.) Why should I have to wear anything but some sandals, jeans I should be farming in, and this t-shirt from that rad concert I went to four years ago? I'm me, and people should show instant respect no matter how I present myself. Heck, I might even go to a job interview like this. I have a good resume and a lot of experience, so they should definitely hire me. All you have to do is watch an old movie to see the difference between the effort Americans made in the past as compared to the effort Americans make today. Places like New York City are stepping it up. The rest of America needs to follow suit (pun intended).

So, anyway, as I was cleaning my house on Sunday thinking about how to solve national and global crises, Li brought me some frozen yogurt. What a perfect interruption. I needed it. And, on this particular day, it was especially nice of her. Once again, she was the button that kept me together as my household chores on my day off began to tear me apart a bit.

Having my energy back, I went grocery shopping at Lazy Acres. I took the beach route home to enjoy the view and a nice drive - to live a little on what was a nice Sunday. As I approached the pier and State Street, I came to a stop at the signal. I looked to my right, and at the entrance of the pier, was a homeless man on the ground reaching up for the handle on his wheelchair full of blankets. He was shaking, and reaching as hard as he could! And the people walking by kept doing just that. In the moment I was witness to this, I'll bet about two or three of the hundred or so people that passed by (it was a busy day downtown) actually bothered to look down at him even though he was directly in the path of most everyone. I was completely astonished. Then, as the man's arm shook as he reached harder and harder, he finally latched onto the handle, but couldn't muster the strength to pull himself up. He instantly became still. I mean, completely still, arm still raised, hand still grasping the handle. Still, no one came to his aid, not even to investigate from a distance. Unable to watch anymore, I pulled over at the entrance to the pier behind the trolley bus. I was just barely out of traffic's way, but I wasn't in a proper parking place. I actually thought there was a chance the gentleman could have died right then and there. That might sound extreme, but the way he was convulsing and then suddenly stopped without any further movement at all had me very concerned. Not being properly equipped with gloves, nor being properly trained in any sort of medical care at all, I did what I thought would be the next best thing and called 911 to have an ambulance come assist the man. As I waited, I got out of my truck anyway to make sure the man was responsive. I went over to him and asked, "Sir, are you ok?" He didn't respond. I asked again but louder, and he finally did. His eyes were glazed beyond that of a healthy state, and he absolutely reeked of alcohol. I was saddened by this but relieved that we was at least alive. At that precise moment, a bicyclist came by and yelled at me for having my truck in the path of the pedestrian traffic. It wasn't, and he wasn't even riding his bike where he should have been. I pointed out to him that he should be more thoughtful before he speaks, and perhaps he would like to help me with the gentleman in trouble there on the corner. He quickly realized his rush to judgment and quieted himself mid-sentence. He rode off. He didn't stop to help. It took 14 minutes for someone to arrive. It wasn't an ambulance, it was a cop. He then proceeded to take 4 minutes before even getting out of his car (yes, I actually timed all of this). He then slowly went to his trunk, got his gloves, and then finally approached the man. Granted, 911 has probably had this kind of call before - homeless man not moving, sprawled out on the ground. And, probably, the authorities or medics find the person to be reasonably fine, but severely intoxicated. Clearly, though, had this not been a homeless person, it would have been the medics who would've shown up, and not the authorities, and they would've shown up much faster. I couldn't help but think how shallow some people can be with their sense of community, if they even have a sense of community at all.

I could take a lot from Sunday's lessons, and I have. But, I think, even as I type now, what I've taken most from Sunday is that I can do more. I can do more with my personal goals. I can do more with my community goals. So...I will, and maybe it will in some way big or small have a positive effect enough for others to do the same.

Intro to Spring

I want to trip inside your head
Spend a day there
To hear the things you haven't said
And see what you might see...




In the past week, I did just that...

It's been a while since the star mile, I know. There's been a lot worth sharing, no doubt, but I'm reserving these canvases for select moments only. The past month, especially the past week, seems like it's been a perfect intro to spring. Light warms, layers melt, and you never know what might come peaking through...or, maybe you knew all along. Last Monday morning, I sat down with my dad to discuss work and our current renovation project. These convos are never fun. Especially, now that we're down to the fourth quarter when all the shots seem to count a lot more. But, I think it was just after our exchange on the dark stain that I went with for the doors, that our conversation immediately, but somehow smoothly transitioned into an enlightening chat about life. To make a long story short, I got to know my dad a little better, and he got to know me bettter too. And, from the sound of it, although we couldn't be more different in some ways, we're essentially the same person...even so much as by the point in life when we realized we can do more. We talked about example, determination, health, stress, failure, success, love, romance, generosity, and humility. He made himself vulnerable in front of me, and for me, which is something very rare for any son to see a father do, and something I, myself, will remember and always be humbled by. The rest of my week was great. I had the most productive week. But, as good as a productive week at work can be, thankfully, the rush was balanced by several little exchanges with someone who might have been out of town, but was very much in my thoughts. If I could take a trip to or spend a day anywhere...I know exactly where I'd go. And, as luck would have it, my week closed out just like that. Last night, hearing the things that hadn't been said was like watching petals unfold to reveal the most beautiful flower I've ever seen. And, when a brush of the hair a while ago was, at the time, as much something to one as it was the other, then you've truly seen what the other has seen. As it turns out, I'd spent part of my week throwing things away from times past. It was this moment, the high of my week, that made me happy I did so before and not after.


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Star Mile

Reach for the stars
That's what they say
Glimmering hopes
Of what might be await
All of my life
Still to this day
I've walked the star mile
Up there far away

And, to tell you the truth
Sometimes it pays
But much too often
That glimmer fades
Still, I've given things up
For alluring displays
Along the star mile
Light blinding my way

The only thing is
Between the displays
Of the star mile
Is the empty of space
And, it’s then when I wonder
Why I came all this way
But I’ve seen no path brighter
And, that’s why I’ve stayed

Then, just like that
Starlight’s delay
Something is flashing
From back where I came
So, I left the star mile
And went on my way
To see what it was
Just for a day

I’ve come to know life
Up there far away
Up with the stars
Where it’s easy to stay
But as different it is
If with you, it's ok
I'd rather be under them
Like Saturday

The Paint's on the Palette

Sometimes, you pick the moment. And, sometimes, the moment picks you. I've sat down at my desk well over a dozen times the past few weeks ready to share insights and humor, a piece of my mind, and maybe even a piece of my heart, and every single time, I've found myself at the piano about an hour later tapping a different kind of key. God knows I haven't been without inspiration lately. My goodness. Sometimes, though, no matter how many notes you play, words you type, or brushstrokes to the canvas, that song, that poem, that painting, well, they don't have a chance. Why? Because this is all about more than just me or you or any of us. There's a bigger picture that we're all a part of. You think you're using the brush to paint? Ever thought maybe it's the brush that's using you? Either way, it all has to come together before that picture can be painted. It's been the same for everyone from Monet to Pollock, and now for you and me. To get that masterpiece, you gotta mix more than just paint. And that's precisely when you begin to really create something from those primary colors of yours...

The past week has been full of spontaneous surprises. Everything from potato skins to "yes" to not feeling the least bit cold under the moon. Have you ever had one of those perfect days that you couldn't have planned? When things just come together, under the garb of randomness, but you can't help but look back and think spontaneity had a plan all along? Those are the days you wish could last forever. Truth be told, I don't think I'd ever had one of those days until yesterday. But as tomorrow usually does, tomorrow came and turned into today, reminding me that some days are better than others. And, that's ok. We need those special days that are just, for some reason a little nicer, because even though every day is worth painting, the special days remind us exactly why we put our paint on the palette to begin with.