I received this quote via email this morning.
"Pain (any pain--emotional, physical, mental) has a message. The information it has about our life can be remarkably specific, but it usually falls into one of two categories: We would be more alive if we did more of this and life would be more lovely if we did less of that. Once we get the pain's message, and follow its advice, the pain goes away."-- Peter McWilliams
And I thought it profound. Then I thought who the hell is Peter McWilliams? So I googled him. (Did you know that Google is now a verb?) Peter McWilliams was a self-help writer who died at 50 from AIDS and Cancer. (Guess he couldn’t help himself…in more ways than one. Yes, I know. God is going to strike me dead for being so sarcastic, but if s/he hasn’t done it already, I might as well just keep going.) McWilliams also became known as an outspoken medical cannibis activist. (Now we’re talkin’.)
But the point I’m belaboring to make is that pain is a clue that something is wrong. And I’m not just talking about where it hurts. I’m talking on a macro level. For instance, if you drink, like I do, and are hung over, like I am, the pain you feel is from dehydration. But the fact that drinking causes pain, means there’s something unhealthy going on that makes you self inflict this pain in the first place. That is the pain you have to look at; the pain from the source, not the symptom. So as I sit here drinking bottle after bottle of water, my rehydrating-electrolyte-replenishing-miracle-cure Pedialyte having failed me today, I’m pondering why I drink in the first place.
Oh yeah, now I remember, I live with three men – of varying ages – in my house. That’s right, I’m marred with two kids. Need I say more?
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Lost Loves
Today in the car, I was listening to Pat Green’s latest CD called “What I’m For.” The song that caught my attention was called “Carry On.”
The song is about “being a little bit tired of the city” and all the B.S. we put up with in our every day lives. He suggests that maybe we all need to get away in “a little bit of old top down.”
I had a little bit of old top down…once. It was a little red Mazda Miata – B.K. – Before Kids. Literally right before kids. I was pregnant with my first son when I had it. Imagine a 5’5” very pregnant woman trying to get in and out of a low-to-the-ground, tiny sports car and you’ll see the humor in it. Graceful as I tried to be, I failed. The belly was just too much. Some guy rear-ended me in that car and when I wrestled myself – protuberance first - from the car to survey the damage I thought he was going to need an ambulance. I at least felt vindicated.
I still miss it. Fifteen years later, I’m still pining for it. I see one on the road and I look longingly at it. Hubby number two pressed hard to get rid of it since it only sat two. Yes, that’s just one reason he’s hubby number two. Of course, my dad was never a fan of the car and neither was my main client, also a man, who worried about my safety. They both said, “Not safe, Sue. Think about your son.”
So here I am, rag topless, with the son, thank God, still safe. I’m sure it’s in no small part due to my choice of cars over the years. But I do confess that as I sit here pining, I am counting down the days until he goes to college or has his own car and I can get my hands on a little red ragtop again.
The song is about “being a little bit tired of the city” and all the B.S. we put up with in our every day lives. He suggests that maybe we all need to get away in “a little bit of old top down.”
I had a little bit of old top down…once. It was a little red Mazda Miata – B.K. – Before Kids. Literally right before kids. I was pregnant with my first son when I had it. Imagine a 5’5” very pregnant woman trying to get in and out of a low-to-the-ground, tiny sports car and you’ll see the humor in it. Graceful as I tried to be, I failed. The belly was just too much. Some guy rear-ended me in that car and when I wrestled myself – protuberance first - from the car to survey the damage I thought he was going to need an ambulance. I at least felt vindicated.
I still miss it. Fifteen years later, I’m still pining for it. I see one on the road and I look longingly at it. Hubby number two pressed hard to get rid of it since it only sat two. Yes, that’s just one reason he’s hubby number two. Of course, my dad was never a fan of the car and neither was my main client, also a man, who worried about my safety. They both said, “Not safe, Sue. Think about your son.”
So here I am, rag topless, with the son, thank God, still safe. I’m sure it’s in no small part due to my choice of cars over the years. But I do confess that as I sit here pining, I am counting down the days until he goes to college or has his own car and I can get my hands on a little red ragtop again.
Laughing, Yawning and Vomiting are Contagious
Today, a really funny thing happened to me and I couldn’t stop laughing. The guy on the phone, who unintentionally made me laugh, laughed along with me completely unaware that I was laughing at him.
Because I thought what he said was so funny, after I hung up on him, I called my husband. But I was in such hysterics, he couldn’t understand a word I said, yet he also laughed a good hearty one just listening to me convulse.
Other human actions are contagious as well. And I don’t know about you, but I’d so prefer to be laughing then yawning or vomiting. Yawning is one thing. Yeah it’s a drag to yawn. Even thinking about it makes me yawn, but vomiting, that’s a whole other story. Yuk. I can’t be anywhere near it. I can’t hear it, see it or God forbid, smell it. Cookies tossed every time.
So you want to know what was so funny? I’ll tell you, but you probably won’t think it’s so funny now.
I went out for Indian food for the first time this weekend. And while I liked it a lot and look forward to eating it again, the whole Indian experience has me amused. I think it’s about the accent. The native Indian, speaking English, has such a thick accent, I always have to ask multiple times for whatever is being said to be repeated. I speak Spanish, studied French and a bit of Hebrew. I have a good ear for languages, but Indian, can’t do.
Now throw in the fact that every dreaded long-distance telemarketer that calls my house is from India. And it’s pretty well known that we hate those calls, so they pretend to be American. Not just Salmon with an indigenous name who could be an Indian-American, but Bob. And this cracks me up. Whenever I get the call, it’s usually over a bad phone line too. So as soon as I hear static, I’m ready. At first I say excuse me I didn’t understand a word you just said. They repeat it. I still don’t get it, so I ask them to say that again, a little less tolerantly, as in “What?” And they repeat something like this – think Indian accent – “Aaljdakldkldasklfasdklf Bill alkdjlakwdfdlkdf…”
Today, during the day, I got one of those calls. And it threw me, because it wasn’t at night, but in the middle of my work day. It sounded like this: Static on the line, gibberish in Indian-English and then “my name is Bernie.”
I felt the laugh coming before it started. You know the one that comes on fast, starting from really deep inside your belly. The one that takes you by surprise and then takes over your entire body along with all of your sense and faculties. Well that’s what happened. I couldn’t believe my ears so instead of saying “What?” I said incredulously “Your. Name. Is. Bernie? And lost it.
If you’re not laughing now, I guess you really had to be there…but hey it’s 7 p.m and the phone is ringing. Maybe Bernie’s calling you too.
Because I thought what he said was so funny, after I hung up on him, I called my husband. But I was in such hysterics, he couldn’t understand a word I said, yet he also laughed a good hearty one just listening to me convulse.
Other human actions are contagious as well. And I don’t know about you, but I’d so prefer to be laughing then yawning or vomiting. Yawning is one thing. Yeah it’s a drag to yawn. Even thinking about it makes me yawn, but vomiting, that’s a whole other story. Yuk. I can’t be anywhere near it. I can’t hear it, see it or God forbid, smell it. Cookies tossed every time.
So you want to know what was so funny? I’ll tell you, but you probably won’t think it’s so funny now.
I went out for Indian food for the first time this weekend. And while I liked it a lot and look forward to eating it again, the whole Indian experience has me amused. I think it’s about the accent. The native Indian, speaking English, has such a thick accent, I always have to ask multiple times for whatever is being said to be repeated. I speak Spanish, studied French and a bit of Hebrew. I have a good ear for languages, but Indian, can’t do.
Now throw in the fact that every dreaded long-distance telemarketer that calls my house is from India. And it’s pretty well known that we hate those calls, so they pretend to be American. Not just Salmon with an indigenous name who could be an Indian-American, but Bob. And this cracks me up. Whenever I get the call, it’s usually over a bad phone line too. So as soon as I hear static, I’m ready. At first I say excuse me I didn’t understand a word you just said. They repeat it. I still don’t get it, so I ask them to say that again, a little less tolerantly, as in “What?” And they repeat something like this – think Indian accent – “Aaljdakldkldasklfasdklf Bill alkdjlakwdfdlkdf…”
Today, during the day, I got one of those calls. And it threw me, because it wasn’t at night, but in the middle of my work day. It sounded like this: Static on the line, gibberish in Indian-English and then “my name is Bernie.”
I felt the laugh coming before it started. You know the one that comes on fast, starting from really deep inside your belly. The one that takes you by surprise and then takes over your entire body along with all of your sense and faculties. Well that’s what happened. I couldn’t believe my ears so instead of saying “What?” I said incredulously “Your. Name. Is. Bernie? And lost it.
If you’re not laughing now, I guess you really had to be there…but hey it’s 7 p.m and the phone is ringing. Maybe Bernie’s calling you too.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Ability to Read Is One of Life’s Greatest Gifts
I love books. I love the way they feel in my hand. Hardcover or paperback makes no difference. I love the sound and smell of a brand new book being opened for the first time. I love the excitement of reading that first word that starts me off on a new journey.
I love reading. I love the stillness of sitting with a good book. I love the portability of books. I love how my eyes scan a page and I don’t even realize it ‘cause I’m so engrossed in the images those words conjure up in my mind. I love characters that stay with me for years. I love writers who teach me how to turn a new phrase.
I also love being a reader. Readers are interesting, always gaining new facts, insights to ponder and stories to share. Readers also write well and have a large and colorful, vocabulary.
Both of my kids love books. My little one loves to study the pictures and now is just beginning to read. He can recognize common three letter words and memorizes entire books from repetitive reading. My older one and I share novels. We both love action adventure, military suspense, mysteries, pop fiction, etc. We talk about what we liked and disliked in detail. Reading allows us to connect when sometimes we’re completely disconnected.
I was just reading one of my SEAL books and in it, one of the SEALs on a mission, killed his first enemy with a knife so as not to alert any others of his presence. A second SEAL did the same thing. At the end of the chapter, the first SEAL, who’d acted exactly without thinking, which probably saved not only his life, but the lives of all the others with him, suddenly realized that this was the first time he’d killed someone. And he did it automatically, precisely and stealthily, exactly as he’d been trained. The issue is he isn’t quite sure how he feels about that.
Were it not for my love of reading, I would not be pondering the complexities that surround having to kill someone. Though I’ve thought about killing someone, okay multiple people, on more than one occasion, I never really meant it. And killing someone, with my bare hands no less, isn’t something I ever expect to come up against. I mean I don’t even like someone standing too close to me, breathing in my own personal space, let along secreting yucky bodily fluids on me from a deadly knife wound.
So thanks to reading, I can wholeheartedly say, I completely support whatever means active-duty SEALs or the military in general use to protect themselves. After all, they’re out there protecting my freedom. I admire their abilities and their dedication. And while I have learned it’s in very poor taste to ask a SEAL how many people he’s killed, the fact the he has is still cool.
I love reading. I love the stillness of sitting with a good book. I love the portability of books. I love how my eyes scan a page and I don’t even realize it ‘cause I’m so engrossed in the images those words conjure up in my mind. I love characters that stay with me for years. I love writers who teach me how to turn a new phrase.
I also love being a reader. Readers are interesting, always gaining new facts, insights to ponder and stories to share. Readers also write well and have a large and colorful, vocabulary.
Both of my kids love books. My little one loves to study the pictures and now is just beginning to read. He can recognize common three letter words and memorizes entire books from repetitive reading. My older one and I share novels. We both love action adventure, military suspense, mysteries, pop fiction, etc. We talk about what we liked and disliked in detail. Reading allows us to connect when sometimes we’re completely disconnected.
I was just reading one of my SEAL books and in it, one of the SEALs on a mission, killed his first enemy with a knife so as not to alert any others of his presence. A second SEAL did the same thing. At the end of the chapter, the first SEAL, who’d acted exactly without thinking, which probably saved not only his life, but the lives of all the others with him, suddenly realized that this was the first time he’d killed someone. And he did it automatically, precisely and stealthily, exactly as he’d been trained. The issue is he isn’t quite sure how he feels about that.
Were it not for my love of reading, I would not be pondering the complexities that surround having to kill someone. Though I’ve thought about killing someone, okay multiple people, on more than one occasion, I never really meant it. And killing someone, with my bare hands no less, isn’t something I ever expect to come up against. I mean I don’t even like someone standing too close to me, breathing in my own personal space, let along secreting yucky bodily fluids on me from a deadly knife wound.
So thanks to reading, I can wholeheartedly say, I completely support whatever means active-duty SEALs or the military in general use to protect themselves. After all, they’re out there protecting my freedom. I admire their abilities and their dedication. And while I have learned it’s in very poor taste to ask a SEAL how many people he’s killed, the fact the he has is still cool.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Touching
How perfect is it to follow an article on kissing than with its predecessor – touching?
A thank you to Scott Patterson’s ezine article “How to Touch a Woman and Get Her Excited,” which arrived in my inbox today and got me thinking…
Touching, regardless of whether it’s a means to an end or simply an end in and of itself, is vital to our very survival. Science has proven that babies in the very early weeks of life need to be touched in order to form appropriate attachment bonds thanks to the result of Harry Harlow’s study of Rhesus monkey’s way back in the ‘50s, which demonstrated how when baby monkey’s were deprived of touch, they suffered emotionally and even exhibited antisocial behavior.
Based upon my own experience, touching and being touched is one of the great joys in my life. Every morning I wake my little boy for school by touching his face, stroking his hands and rubbing his back. When he first opens his eyes and returns that touch to my face, I simply melt. Even with my older son, whose job it is to separate from me, I make sure to touch his face, pat his back or at least tap an arm once a day and when I get a hug in return, my day is made.
So the idea of touch progression intrigues me. It reminds me of behavioral systematic desensitization therapy, which exposes a phobic person to his or her fear systematically in order to become desensitized and therefore less fearful.
The idea behind this model is to touch “safely” with increasing levels of risk to then touch “sexually,” allowing the intended person to slowly get comfortable with you, create sexual tension and ultimately gear up for the big pay-off of intimacy and sex – though not necessarily in that order.:)
The author created a "touching ladder" to follow as a step-by-step guideline. And while this article was geared toward men, I believe it works in any relationship, at least in the early stages. Not only could you use this system to get someone in bed, but you could use it to put the other person at ease with you, encourage the other person to see your point of view or persuade the other person to give you whatever it is that you want, just by using touch.
Starting with low risk touch to high risk touch, the steps are as follows.
Caution: Do not proceed until you are sure she, in this case, is comfortable.
Touch her arm
Touch her leg
Touch her medium risk areas (forearms, shoulders, knee, or wrist)
Hold her hand
Put your arms around her
Have her sit on your lap (not advised for men)
Touch her more intimate areas (face, chest, neck and inner thighs)
Think of this model as creating sexual tension as well as sexual acceptance, which as a writer, I’m all over.
In practical terms, use this system in a two-steps-forward, one-step-back effort, meaning you should pull back after advancing to make sure that s/he is still comfortable with you. Be the first to break contact and if the other party is enjoying it, s/he will find a way to get you to reinitiate the touching – otherwise known as creating sexual tension – the romance writer’s best friend.
A thank you to Scott Patterson’s ezine article “How to Touch a Woman and Get Her Excited,” which arrived in my inbox today and got me thinking…
Touching, regardless of whether it’s a means to an end or simply an end in and of itself, is vital to our very survival. Science has proven that babies in the very early weeks of life need to be touched in order to form appropriate attachment bonds thanks to the result of Harry Harlow’s study of Rhesus monkey’s way back in the ‘50s, which demonstrated how when baby monkey’s were deprived of touch, they suffered emotionally and even exhibited antisocial behavior.
Based upon my own experience, touching and being touched is one of the great joys in my life. Every morning I wake my little boy for school by touching his face, stroking his hands and rubbing his back. When he first opens his eyes and returns that touch to my face, I simply melt. Even with my older son, whose job it is to separate from me, I make sure to touch his face, pat his back or at least tap an arm once a day and when I get a hug in return, my day is made.
So the idea of touch progression intrigues me. It reminds me of behavioral systematic desensitization therapy, which exposes a phobic person to his or her fear systematically in order to become desensitized and therefore less fearful.
The idea behind this model is to touch “safely” with increasing levels of risk to then touch “sexually,” allowing the intended person to slowly get comfortable with you, create sexual tension and ultimately gear up for the big pay-off of intimacy and sex – though not necessarily in that order.:)
The author created a "touching ladder" to follow as a step-by-step guideline. And while this article was geared toward men, I believe it works in any relationship, at least in the early stages. Not only could you use this system to get someone in bed, but you could use it to put the other person at ease with you, encourage the other person to see your point of view or persuade the other person to give you whatever it is that you want, just by using touch.
Starting with low risk touch to high risk touch, the steps are as follows.
Caution: Do not proceed until you are sure she, in this case, is comfortable.
Touch her arm
Touch her leg
Touch her medium risk areas (forearms, shoulders, knee, or wrist)
Hold her hand
Put your arms around her
Have her sit on your lap (not advised for men)
Touch her more intimate areas (face, chest, neck and inner thighs)
Think of this model as creating sexual tension as well as sexual acceptance, which as a writer, I’m all over.
In practical terms, use this system in a two-steps-forward, one-step-back effort, meaning you should pull back after advancing to make sure that s/he is still comfortable with you. Be the first to break contact and if the other party is enjoying it, s/he will find a way to get you to reinitiate the touching – otherwise known as creating sexual tension – the romance writer’s best friend.
Kissing
I just read an article called The Telltale Kiss by Joel Garreau from the Washington Post Service in my local paper, The Miami Herald. As a romance writer, I spend lots of time on the kiss. I probably spend ten times more time leading up to the kiss -- as in describing how his eyes drop to her lips, how she thinks about how his lips are going to taste as she parts hers, and what this lovely upper level persuasion is going to do for the lower level invasion soon to come -- than on the actual kiss itself, which tells you just how important, at least to romance, the kiss really is.
So I thought I’d share some facts about the kiss that I found fascinating. In the book “Why We Love: The Nature and Chemistry of Romantic Love” by Helen Fisher, she explains that “much of the cortex [the outermost or superficial layer of an organ] is devoted to picking up sensations from around the lips, cheeks, tongue and nose. Out of 12 cranial nerves, five of them are around the mouth.” She says that we pick up even the most sensitive feelings, intricate tastes, smells, touch and even temperature from the kiss. So much so that kissing is an advertisement of who we are, what we want and what we can give.
“There are three distinctly different brain systems for mating and reproduction that we have evolved. One is the sex drive. The second is romantic love – the elation, the craving, the obsessive thinking. And the third is attachment, the sense of calm and security you can feel with a long-term partner.”
Kissing “exchanges testosterone that can help to trigger the sex drive. If the kiss is also exciting and novel, it will drive up dopamine, which is associated with romantic love. In long term partners, it drives up oxytocin, triggering the attachment system.”
So next time you go in for a kiss, remember, a kiss isn’t just a kiss. It’s a transmitter for loads of information. Pay attention.
Now for some kissing facts courtesy of Mr. Garreau:
2/3 of all people tilt their heads to the right when kissing regardless of which handed they are
Men think kissing is a great way to end a fight. Women don’t. But, science has proven that kissing is so powerful to females, once kissed they’re helpless in its grip.
That little foot lift by women in the throws of a kiss is called a “foot pop.”
The science of kissing is called philematology.
More men than women think a good kiss involves tongue, saliva and moaning.
Once a relationship is established, more women then men use the kiss as a way to monitor commitment.
Along with a host of other happenings in your body, when kissing your earlobes swell.
Cortisol levels drop while kissing, which means it reduces stress.
So I thought I’d share some facts about the kiss that I found fascinating. In the book “Why We Love: The Nature and Chemistry of Romantic Love” by Helen Fisher, she explains that “much of the cortex [the outermost or superficial layer of an organ] is devoted to picking up sensations from around the lips, cheeks, tongue and nose. Out of 12 cranial nerves, five of them are around the mouth.” She says that we pick up even the most sensitive feelings, intricate tastes, smells, touch and even temperature from the kiss. So much so that kissing is an advertisement of who we are, what we want and what we can give.
“There are three distinctly different brain systems for mating and reproduction that we have evolved. One is the sex drive. The second is romantic love – the elation, the craving, the obsessive thinking. And the third is attachment, the sense of calm and security you can feel with a long-term partner.”
Kissing “exchanges testosterone that can help to trigger the sex drive. If the kiss is also exciting and novel, it will drive up dopamine, which is associated with romantic love. In long term partners, it drives up oxytocin, triggering the attachment system.”
So next time you go in for a kiss, remember, a kiss isn’t just a kiss. It’s a transmitter for loads of information. Pay attention.
Now for some kissing facts courtesy of Mr. Garreau:
2/3 of all people tilt their heads to the right when kissing regardless of which handed they are
Men think kissing is a great way to end a fight. Women don’t. But, science has proven that kissing is so powerful to females, once kissed they’re helpless in its grip.
That little foot lift by women in the throws of a kiss is called a “foot pop.”
The science of kissing is called philematology.
More men than women think a good kiss involves tongue, saliva and moaning.
Once a relationship is established, more women then men use the kiss as a way to monitor commitment.
Along with a host of other happenings in your body, when kissing your earlobes swell.
Cortisol levels drop while kissing, which means it reduces stress.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Limits
Everyone has limits. Limits as to how much crap they’re going to take. Limits as to how long they’re willing to wait. Limits as to how much or how little they’re willing to say or get involved and limits as to how much they’re willing to spend for whatever.
Some limits are self imposed and others simply are. For instance, I have a very short limit on waiting for anything and even shorter limit on how long I can hold my tongue, but I will never be six-foot tall or able to bench press my weight.
Still other limits are important to break. Some are fun, others sexy and still others down-right dangerous and therefore even more compelling. These are the limits I want to address. These are the limits I’m fixated on pushing myself beyond so I can revel in what happens when I breakthrough to the other side.
If it’s true that we attract our dominant thoughts, then I must be attracting people who are interested in challenging me. Encouraging me to push beyond my limits, fixed or self imposed, in order for me to get to a different place. Each of these people I have manifested into my life – the majority of whom I have not known previously – have taken me to a place beyond where I’ve ever been. And I have to say, I’ve not felt so alive as I do right now.
I’ve surpassed my limits and gone places I never thought to go and I am so glad I did. The things I’ve learned from going beyond my boundaries are profound. The feelings I have are thrilling, even exhilarating. Yet it’s addicting. I can’t wait to do more. Go farther. Explore deeper. Reach higher levels.
And herein lays the issue. How much exploration is too much? Well, if it hurts, I guess then don’t do it. If it hurts other people, same rule applies. Otherwise, why not continue on with the journey until if and when I reach an end, ideally learning and growing along the way?
So, it must be true that I’m never satisfied because there’s always another corner to turn. There’s always another door to open and walk through. And while others are content to wait for things to happen to them, I’m not. I have to know what’s on the other side.
Some limits are self imposed and others simply are. For instance, I have a very short limit on waiting for anything and even shorter limit on how long I can hold my tongue, but I will never be six-foot tall or able to bench press my weight.
Still other limits are important to break. Some are fun, others sexy and still others down-right dangerous and therefore even more compelling. These are the limits I want to address. These are the limits I’m fixated on pushing myself beyond so I can revel in what happens when I breakthrough to the other side.
If it’s true that we attract our dominant thoughts, then I must be attracting people who are interested in challenging me. Encouraging me to push beyond my limits, fixed or self imposed, in order for me to get to a different place. Each of these people I have manifested into my life – the majority of whom I have not known previously – have taken me to a place beyond where I’ve ever been. And I have to say, I’ve not felt so alive as I do right now.
I’ve surpassed my limits and gone places I never thought to go and I am so glad I did. The things I’ve learned from going beyond my boundaries are profound. The feelings I have are thrilling, even exhilarating. Yet it’s addicting. I can’t wait to do more. Go farther. Explore deeper. Reach higher levels.
And herein lays the issue. How much exploration is too much? Well, if it hurts, I guess then don’t do it. If it hurts other people, same rule applies. Otherwise, why not continue on with the journey until if and when I reach an end, ideally learning and growing along the way?
So, it must be true that I’m never satisfied because there’s always another corner to turn. There’s always another door to open and walk through. And while others are content to wait for things to happen to them, I’m not. I have to know what’s on the other side.
Nostalgia is in the Air
It must be nostalgia time in the Reddy Silverman house.
A couple of days ago, I watched The Rookie, about an over-the-hill high school teacher and baseball coach who fulfills his lifelong dream of making it to the major leagues as a pitcher. Today, I’m watching A League of Their Own as they flashback over the lives of the women in the All-American Girls Baseball League from 1943 – 1954.
Over the past few days, thanks to Facebook, I’ve been back in touch with old friends. And coincidentally, it’s also time for my 30-year high school reunion and today is my birthday. So a lot is going on at the same time.
I usually love birthdays. I celebrate mine all month. I mean what’s the alternative? Death? So I am happy about another birthday coming – me being active, healthy and with a great family. But this one seems to be marking time. At almost half a century, I wonder how many days I truly do have left and more so what am I going to do with them to make them meaningful.
At this age or time of my life, having meaning and leaving a mark are important to me. I’m not old. At least I don’t feel old. I don’t feel any different that I did when I was 20, though my body if it could speak would probably say something entirely different. And recently, I set out for validation of my youth, which I think although necessary, was really stupid. And now that I’ve found old friends and renewed meaningful past acquaintances, I feel so much better about where I am in my life.
Just the simple fact that I right now I am sitting in backyard on a chaise lounge in the sun with an ice cold glass of iced tea and my Blackberry next to me, my Ipod in my ears and my laptop, well on my lap, is a sure sign that my life is good. So while I am literally where I want to be, I am not figuratively where I want to be…yet. And in between those ellipses, is a long journey. It takes time to dream, believe in it, take action and stick with it through to fruition.
So here I go. In this beautiful setting, to crank out another chapter of SEAL Master and take one step closer to realizing my dream of publishing this novel.
A couple of days ago, I watched The Rookie, about an over-the-hill high school teacher and baseball coach who fulfills his lifelong dream of making it to the major leagues as a pitcher. Today, I’m watching A League of Their Own as they flashback over the lives of the women in the All-American Girls Baseball League from 1943 – 1954.
Over the past few days, thanks to Facebook, I’ve been back in touch with old friends. And coincidentally, it’s also time for my 30-year high school reunion and today is my birthday. So a lot is going on at the same time.
I usually love birthdays. I celebrate mine all month. I mean what’s the alternative? Death? So I am happy about another birthday coming – me being active, healthy and with a great family. But this one seems to be marking time. At almost half a century, I wonder how many days I truly do have left and more so what am I going to do with them to make them meaningful.
At this age or time of my life, having meaning and leaving a mark are important to me. I’m not old. At least I don’t feel old. I don’t feel any different that I did when I was 20, though my body if it could speak would probably say something entirely different. And recently, I set out for validation of my youth, which I think although necessary, was really stupid. And now that I’ve found old friends and renewed meaningful past acquaintances, I feel so much better about where I am in my life.
Just the simple fact that I right now I am sitting in backyard on a chaise lounge in the sun with an ice cold glass of iced tea and my Blackberry next to me, my Ipod in my ears and my laptop, well on my lap, is a sure sign that my life is good. So while I am literally where I want to be, I am not figuratively where I want to be…yet. And in between those ellipses, is a long journey. It takes time to dream, believe in it, take action and stick with it through to fruition.
So here I go. In this beautiful setting, to crank out another chapter of SEAL Master and take one step closer to realizing my dream of publishing this novel.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
She Loves Him No Matter What
I’m watching The Rookie for at least the 20th time. We’re big into sports movies in my house. Well sports and action movies: Star Wars, the Die Hard series, Indiana Jones, including the fourth, and Harry Potter – though the books are better. And with two boys under 21, we regularly watch Remember the Titans, Miracle and Glory Road among others though I will pay homage to the best of the best -- Bull Durham, Rudy, Rocky, The Natural and Field of Dreams are all-time favorites.
Right now the scene is with Rachael Griffiths, who plays the wife to Dennis Quaid’s Jim Morris character – the aging pitcher who gets a second chance at major league fame – and I’m thinking the way she looks at him despite the fear she feels with him pursuing his dream is what great stories are made of. She loves her man regardless of whether he’s a teacher/high school baseball coach or major league ball player and because she loves him she goes along with him on his journey to pursue his dream.
There is something incredibly compelling about following dreams…but their risky. Dangerous. Fools errands. And following one’s dreams is a very private and personal thing. It’s about mustering up all the courage you have just to say your dream out loud. For me it’s “I want to publish a novel.” Then there’s the matter of putting that spoken thought into action and then taking that one leap of faith to set you on the road. The fear is great. For me, that fear is public humiliation. Yet, I feel the fear and do it anyway.
And taking that first step, once the fear is gone, is exhilarating. But that’s only the beginning because once the exhilaration ebbs, what’s left is you alone pursuing your dream. Or rather me. Alone. Dug in and determined. And yet, that’s exactly where all the satisfaction lies. In the stubbornness. In the commitment. In the pain. And that’s only the physical side. On an emotional level, there’s a fear of losing it all. On one side if you don’t act, you could lose your dream and on the other side is if you do act, you could lose what you already have and as we get older the list of all that is can be quite long. A spouse, children, extended family, a home, community or lifestyle you either love or have become accustomed to.
People always ask me why I chose Navy SEALs for my hero worship. And besides the obvious hottie factor, I think the simple fact is that each one of them has pursued a dream and made it come true. It wasn’t handed to them. Each man had to dig down deep and pull through a series of events that were the hardest thing they ever had to do. Each man had to say to himself, I’m not going to give up. Ever. And that I admire. That I want to emulate. That, I want to accomplish.
As I write this, I click over to my email to get some distance before posting and in my quote of the day I find this:
"There are no such things as limits to growth, because there are no limits to the human capacity for intelligence, imagination, and wonder." -- Ronald Reagan.
Despite my dislike for Reagan as President, the guy knew how to dream.
So as I finish watching this movie I’m reminded of my dream. And as I go about pursuing it, I want to acknowledge all of those affected by it and say thank you.
Right now the scene is with Rachael Griffiths, who plays the wife to Dennis Quaid’s Jim Morris character – the aging pitcher who gets a second chance at major league fame – and I’m thinking the way she looks at him despite the fear she feels with him pursuing his dream is what great stories are made of. She loves her man regardless of whether he’s a teacher/high school baseball coach or major league ball player and because she loves him she goes along with him on his journey to pursue his dream.
There is something incredibly compelling about following dreams…but their risky. Dangerous. Fools errands. And following one’s dreams is a very private and personal thing. It’s about mustering up all the courage you have just to say your dream out loud. For me it’s “I want to publish a novel.” Then there’s the matter of putting that spoken thought into action and then taking that one leap of faith to set you on the road. The fear is great. For me, that fear is public humiliation. Yet, I feel the fear and do it anyway.
And taking that first step, once the fear is gone, is exhilarating. But that’s only the beginning because once the exhilaration ebbs, what’s left is you alone pursuing your dream. Or rather me. Alone. Dug in and determined. And yet, that’s exactly where all the satisfaction lies. In the stubbornness. In the commitment. In the pain. And that’s only the physical side. On an emotional level, there’s a fear of losing it all. On one side if you don’t act, you could lose your dream and on the other side is if you do act, you could lose what you already have and as we get older the list of all that is can be quite long. A spouse, children, extended family, a home, community or lifestyle you either love or have become accustomed to.
People always ask me why I chose Navy SEALs for my hero worship. And besides the obvious hottie factor, I think the simple fact is that each one of them has pursued a dream and made it come true. It wasn’t handed to them. Each man had to dig down deep and pull through a series of events that were the hardest thing they ever had to do. Each man had to say to himself, I’m not going to give up. Ever. And that I admire. That I want to emulate. That, I want to accomplish.
As I write this, I click over to my email to get some distance before posting and in my quote of the day I find this:
"There are no such things as limits to growth, because there are no limits to the human capacity for intelligence, imagination, and wonder." -- Ronald Reagan.
Despite my dislike for Reagan as President, the guy knew how to dream.
So as I finish watching this movie I’m reminded of my dream. And as I go about pursuing it, I want to acknowledge all of those affected by it and say thank you.
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