I don’t know if this tip will help any of you, but surprisingly, it’s worked exceptionally well for me. When I was learning how to deescalate a fight and/or end it violently and quickly, the trainer told me of a trick he recommends to some clients if they work out at home and need to “crunch” their time and focus. Everyone gets distracted. Food. Pets. Kids. As Seen on TV commercials.
I laughed when the trainer told me because it echoes what I tend to do before sleep. Most nights, I put the song “Save Your Tears” by The Weeknd on a one-hour repeat on my Alexa. Not that anyone asked, but I discovered that I’ve also developed the habit of putting my teddy bear laterally across my stomach and surgery scar. It took me several nights of falling asleep that way to REALIZE I was doing it. I’ve done it so many times now that my subconscious is etched by the groove of the song. It’s rare that it doesn’t push me over the edge into dreamland. I fully expect to hear the song in the car one day and then find myself upside down in a holler somewhere, after an impromptu nap on the highway.
The trick he told me is to find a motivational song and put it on repeat whenever I want to crunch my time and do my sets with shorter rest intervals – without getting distracted by the million things to do. Since I’m a Rocky fan, I chose a remix of “Rocky Going The FN Distance Construct Remix.” If the song is still playing, it prompts and reminds me to stay moving and focused on the intervals instead of lolly-gagging and letting time stretch and get away from me. I used Audacity on my computer to truncate the ending unnaturally; the sudden ending always triggers me to recognize that I’m supposed to be focused. And then the song starts again.
It works for me. Years ago, when I was in 9th grade and started running, “Rocky” ran in my head a lot. It’s silly, of course. Now, if I feel myself fading as I run, I put the same remix on and find myself sailing.
I wish life had that same sort of soundtrack to kick us in the ass and keep us on point for our goals and betterment.
I know this can’t go on forever, this radiant burn and energy.
Can you see it in my eyes from the picture?
I’ve earned the wrinkles and the scars. I’ve earned the smile today, too.
I’m sitting here with the door wide open, enjoying a warm December afternoon. Güino, my tuxedo cat, prowls the landing outside, awaiting another squirrel’s visit. I watched a few divebomb the bird feeders outside today, collecting pecans, peanuts, and even suet from the songbird’s offering plate. It’s cloudy outside but such clouds have never brought melancholy; quite the opposite.
When I went outside this early morning and felt the air, I wanted nothing more than to put on my other shoes and take off walking across Northwest Arkansas. Work of course pulled me back to reality. I used the pace of work to draw me into a blurring zone of activity; hallways, concrete, and lots of stairs. Now that I have a Fitbit, I realize that I’m logging 50+ floors each day, which tickles me. I can walk 25,000 steps without giving it a second thought. As my friend Tammy taught me, “Nothing tastes as good as this feels,” the occasional realization that I don’t realize that I’m walking without another hundred pounds of me on my back. It feels like I’m gliding on air a lot of the time. I wish I had done this transformation twenty years ago.
I got to hug Kathy, a coworker of mine who has logged 30+ years there. She’s retiring Friday. I made her a personal canvas with a departing message, one conveying the bittersweet goodbye of her approaching and permanent absence. I didn’t start greeting her warmly or with a hug until a little over a year ago. Covid aside, that’s a shame. Personal connection helps all of us nullify that urge to be ‘professional,’ aloof, or behave in ways that violate our obligation to treat each other as people first and foremost.
Even after work as I wandered Walmart in search of people and stories, I felt like I was radiating an aura of energy. I helped three people while I was there. My biggest reward was saving someone a few hundred dollars on an alternate laptop. I gave the woman my email address and told her to write me if she has any issues with her Chromebook. I wished a few dozen people “Merry Christmas!” as I glided around the aisles. I saw the biggest afro hair I’ve ever seen there. I watched as someone cleverly misused the self-service kiosk to avoid paying for an item. (You get what you make us pay for Walmart.) Another man pulled at least twenty jugs of milk out of the cooler to inspect some unseen quality that only he could see. And I handed the Salvation Army bell ringer her choice of diet or regular soda. Thankfully, she chose regular, leaving me to down the entire bottle of Coke Zero in about two minutes.
If I felt this way every day, I’m not sure it might not be too much. It’s a wondrous feeling while it’s happening. I find myself mourning its eventual loss, though, as ridiculous and odd thing as that might be to say.
My sister wrote me, telling me that she’s still having difficulty, especially now that another round of inevitable physical symptoms creeps up on her. I can’t imagine struggling with addiction and past patterns. The ones I have are enough to keep me dancing; her shadows are longer and deeper than mine. Our pasts overlap and because of that, I understand the complexity.
Meanwhile, I’m going to step outside and take another short walk. I feel like I might be leaving visible energy trails in my footprints. I hope so.
And I hope that some of y’all are feeling exuberant, too, even if you can’t identify the cause. For many of you, it’s Christmas season, when exuberance is supposed to infuse your life like the first observed lightning bug of the summer.
While energy cannot truly be erased, our measure of it is limited by the burning fuse of our lives.
I can FEEL my fuse burning. I know I sound crazy sometimes. But if you can imagine looking up at the sky and sun and thinking to yourself that the same force that powers the universe powers us, it might be more relatable.
What goes up must come down. That’s okay. I’ve captured this day-long feeling of radiance and bottled a bit of it in my memory.
Nothing momentous happened today. And that’s precisely why it felt so precious.
Before, I felt rich. Not because of my house, car, or miscellaneous and extraneous things to fill them.
Now? I’m poorer but I still feel rich. Despite the emergency surgery and the financial drain of that craziness, I have a job and my feet grace the ground without much pain for my age.
I prize wittiness and humor, sarcasm, and even dark humor. Snark? I can’t get enough.
Around me, I do see people that should stop being so cruel. But I don’t characterize everyone as being prone to cruelty. On a long enough timeline, we are all going to be assholes. Yes, even you, Greg.
While there are limits, I can walk outside and run or walk for as long as I want.
I can get in the car and just drive. Anywhere.
I can open a book or a web browser and find a little slice of the world and fill my mind with things I’d never imagined.
I can communicate with millions of people through social media and forums.
I can eat in a multitude of places that will grace my mouth with culinary delight.
I can see people, hug, and listen as they tell their stories, the same ones that probably drive their partners or family crazy.
Normal life as we expect is impossible for much of the world.
We forget that achieving our innermost dreams is a great goal but unrealistic. And that leaves the ground we walk every day feeling a little bit frosty to us.
Only gratitude and realization can ever cure us of our dissatisfaction with so much to be happy for.
Our ancestors cherished tribe, food, fire, and safety. They strived for something better, faster, and more complicated. Now that we have it, we all sometimes know in our hearts that we have more than enough to fill this world with love, comfort, and hope if we but choose to.
Okay guys! I thought extra large shirts were a miracle. Then large. Now I am at medium. My manager found an old badge of mine at work, one from at least 12 years ago. Even he was caught off guard that the person in the photo was me. As egotistical as it sounds, I’m still having trouble realizing that my light feet and flexibility are truly here to stay. But my confidence tells me otherwise. It’s not about thinking I look good. It’s about knowing I’m again like I’m supposed to be.
Every once in a while I erase the whiteboard in the kitchen and write the first thing that comes to mind. Today’s is a simple set of statements, but ones very hard to reconcile in the scheme of life. We often find ourselves looking back, thinking about the heydays and moments we were at the point we thought as best. With regrets, what~ifs, despondency. Hoping we may one day find those moments again.
What we need to take away from those minutes though is that the past is the past, and whether we think things were somehow better before we need to see the now with a fresh set of eyes and appreciation. There are lovely things, amazing seconds, right here and now.
We all have a “gilded” age full of sparkle and shine, it will always not be now. But if you can’t appreciate all the beauty of the day just now happening because of it… that is doing this one a disservice. There is so much to be grateful for right this moment, focusing on the past only causes you to gloss over it.
(Note: recently, I was asked to write some sample advice columns. Here’s an off-the-cuff one for you to read…)
Question: “My girlfriend doesn’t reply to my texts for a long time but answers other people constantly. What should I do?”
Well, because it’s important, what kind of shoes do you wear? I hope you say Nike or Adidas because they’ll pay me the most for mentioning them. #payme
I hope running shoes is your answer. You need to buy a nice, comfortable pair. Put them on – and then run. Away.
I’m not going to ask you what you mean by “a long time.” I am assuming you’re not obsessive or crazy. I could be wrong. If you’re writing me for advice, you might need to reconsider your life choices.
Another assumption is that if you’re writing me for advice, that it’s a deal-breaker sort of problem if it isn’t addressed to your satisfaction.
Her failing to answer you (her person) isn’t a question of boundaries. It is of course her right to answer when and if she chooses. But if she chooses to ignore yours while texting other randos, she also is free to face the consequences of failing to appreciate that’s she in a relationship that requires open communication and time.
I am assuming you’ve already discussed expectations, reciprocity, and feelings about this? If you haven’t, you’re part of the problem. No matter how scary it is, you must be able to reveal what’s on your mind and in your heart – even if it might initially sound needy or negative. If you can’t risk doing so, you need to practice. You’ll never be happy with anyone if you can’t. Ms. No-Reply can find someone who will tolerate being treated as lesser.
There are a lot of fancy words for that kind of behavior. She’s clearly showing you she doesn’t prioritize you with her time. We all have a limited amount of time in our day. If she’s choosing to ignore the closest person in her life, there’s a reason. No matter how she explains it away, it’s just that she’s not that into you. This is especially true if she’s being funny, witty, or exchanging multiple long messages with other people. She’s investing her time and energy elsewhere. You should do the same.
Being honest with her again about your feelings isn’t going to help. She’s going to be defensive and gaslight you about your totally understandable reaction. And probably make a snarky TikTok to poke fun at you. If she does, laugh if you can. Someone else will appreciate your earnest desire to share your life and thoughts with them.
Adults answer their lovers with at least the same frequency and enthusiasm as they do others. The Enthusiasm Rule dictates that they should.
The no-texting is a clear starting gun.
You’ve already got your running shoes on. Use them.*
*And if you don’t have running shoes, remember: Nike or Adidas, please.#paymetwice .
The screenshot is of this week’s sleep for me. Months ago, part of my therapy was to learn to sleep again. My benchmark is 6 hours, which probably seems low to most of you. It’s not. I CAN sleep more, but my natural rhythm at this weight is six hours. At some point, I’m going to take a week and see if I can sleep for eight hours and see if it lowers my motivation again. It did before. I’m not sure I actually fell asleep as early as I did on some of those nights; the Fitbit interprets low heart rate and breaths as light sleep, even if I’m awake and listening to music or a podcast, or wrestling with my cat Güino.
In February, I wrote a post titled “Shirtless in February.” I never felt too weird about people seeing my body. We all know what people look like, more or less, whether they’re layered in two shirts, a tunic, and a bathrobe. It’s anatomy, not magic. (Although there is magic and chemistry in the process of seeing someone, that’s for another post.) 🙂 We fool ourselves by thinking we’re being clever. In my case, I wish someone had been creative enough to tell me to stop eating and lose weight twenty years ago, and in such a way that I would have HEARD the concern. We don’t have a way to lovingly talk to someone about this sort of thing without setting off a firestorm of defense or anger. That’s a problem.
As a side note, the world would also be much better off if you accept the compliment if someone thinks you are pretty, beautiful, handsome, or attractive. There is no universal standard for such things. Can we stop insisting there is? One of the most beautiful things is a quick smile and a sense of humor, even if the teeth behind it are crooked. I’m being serious. There’s no single formula for beauty or even attraction.
Yesterday, I had tons of energy. I ate an abnormally large lunch and then had a therapy session. We laughed a lot, which is always a good sign. As I often say, she can laugh easily because she’s billing me. I already knew I was feeling better due to the volume of pranks and creative things I’d been doing. After, around 4, I felt anxious. Having a Fitbit pays off in these circumstances. Because I have the premium option, I could see the metrics in real-time and progress. Seeing the physiological effects helps me deal with it.
Today, I woke up feeling like I was walking on air, which is becoming very common -and when I don’t feel that energy, I wonder what causes it. I realized that I expect that I will always wake up ready to ring the bell and step into the day. I wanted to go running all morning. Unfortunately, work intervened. Work “let” me walk 15-20K steps, though. It wasn’t until after work that I realized that not running yesterday affected my level of anxiety in the afternoon. It should have been evident to me. I’ve only missed a couple of days of running in the last couple of weeks. If I find myself incapable of constant running, I switch to running in intervals and burn through the miles or minutes that way. Anything incremental is better than not doing anything. I’m not sure I will continue running. I’d do it if someone agreed to chase me each day. Add a little danger and/or mystery to the equation.
I hit the streets this afternoon. I enjoyed the incredible 75-degree afternoon. Weirdly, I could sense this might be the last such incredibly temperate afternoon to enjoy – maybe for weeks. The Upper 70s in December? Yes, please! And so, I ran. After a few minutes, I took my shirt off. The slight breeze gave me wings. Even though I didn’t want to, I stopped. I felt like I could run ten miles, which would be a discomfort payment I wouldn’t want to make tomorrow. I did run up and down the apartment stairs a few dozen times when I got back, though.
An actual test of whether someone cares what they look like is if they can run without a shirt on. Forget swimming without one; the litmus test is running, where there’s no water to hide your body. For 54, I look normal. My scar left what looks like a second belly-button indentation a few inches above my real one. The surgery left a “pooch” between the two indentations. When I think back to how I looked and felt before, it is still hard to believe I fooled myself for so long. I’m not a fan of people being ashamed of their bodies, no matter what shape they are in. I understand it, but when you compare the vast variety of body types and shapes, everyone has something they hate about themselves. Except for me. I accept it all because it’s me. I did the work needed to remove the excuses I kept whispering in my head. Looking normal is something I hadn’t anticipated.
Don’t worry; I’m still not going to ACT normal, so you can cross that expectation off of your list.
I’m going to put a picture below. Not so that people could say something nice – or mean. Anyone who wants to snark is welcome to as long as it’s creative. I love creative snark, and I need to practice not caring that other people think I look like Danny DeVito grown up and thinner. I’m not sucking my gut in. I don’t have one. I have a weird pooch that can’t be fixed without surgery, which will not happen. I already lost a knife fight with a surgeon. He got the last laugh with the catheter.
People keep telling me to stop losing weight. I haven’t lost any weight since before my surgery. I’m just working to change my body mass. I ate a donut and seven Ghiradelli chocolate squares this morning.
I’m still experimenting with the ‘how’ of it. There are days when I’m glad I’ve done it all for no other reason than to know I did it. The future could hit me with any number of calamities or illnesses. It’s a question of when not if.
I’ve encouraged anyone interested in doing something to change themselves. No matter what else I’ve done, I can’t imagine how I would feel if I still weighed 230, 240, or 250+ lbs. The voice in my head answers: “Dead.” You don’t have to go to the gym, buy supplements, or do a lot of cardio to lose weight. You don’t even have to invest a lot of time. All it takes is a change of mind about how you want to look and feel. Small changes, constantly reinforced. Because I’ve learned to say so, I’ll include the caveat that there are exceptions. But I’m not writing about the exceptions. As the year winds down, the barrage of New Year’s Resolutions and commitments ramp up. And I reply, “Why wait? You can do one thing today to start. And you can do it right here and right now.”
If you’re happy with your body, stop struggling to worry about your weight. And don’t worry about how people perceive you. You can’t change that.
He’s been gone 28 years today. He died at 3:33 in the morning. I was awake at that time this morning and took my first drink of coffee as I watched the minute click over. Nothing noteworthy happened unless you factor in the gratitude that I felt for still being here.
He violently tried to mold me into the man he thought he was. In doing so, he achieved the opposite result. And I’m grateful. His legacy is one of addiction, fists, and one of the wildest senses of humor I’ve ever experienced. He was in prison in Pendleton, Indiana, when he was in his 20s, and accumulated countless DUIs, fights, arrests, and violent confrontations. He also found his humanity from time to time and helped other people. I remind myself of those times as often as I can because they were just as much a part of him as the times he lashed out.
I think back to his funeral, with Jimmy and Mike sitting near me. Both of them are gone now. Both of them, unfortunately, absorbed much of the Terry inclination for self-destruction. Though I couldn’t apply the realization properly, I recognized at a young age that I was susceptible to much of the same sort of demons that possessed so many of my family. I learned to dance around them.
I was Bobby Dean’s accidental namesake. Not too many years before he died, I killed off that part of me, both in name and spirit.
It probably saved my life. Walking around with the people close to me calling me X was a constant reminder that I could choose my own way. While I have stumbled with the best of them, I’ve managed to keep my sanity all these years.
But through the arc of time, I still feel stirrings of Bobby Dean inside of me. Some of that is hard steel. Some of it is limitless humor. He taught me to take hard, unexpected punches and to swallow the blood, even if I did so through tears. At 54, things look entirely different to me. I don’t judge him as harshly as I once did. Being human has taught me that although I will never eclipse the stupidity and violence of some of my dad’s actions, I have that part of Bobby Dean inside of me. It is strangely comforting, even as I strive to be his opposite.
Were he alive, I would love to sit and have a coffee with him while he smoked a camel. And to talk to him about the sister I didn’t know I had. As reprehensible as the behavior was that led to her creation, it’s hard to fault the universe for the result. She’s a kind human being and proof that Bobby Dean could contribute to the creation of a stellar human being. If we met again, I don’t know whether we would hug or trade punches. Or both. But I do know that I would be overwhelmed. I can now see him as a person apart from being my dad. There was so much I could have learned from him; he was a mechanic, electrician, tiler, carpenter, painter, welder, gunsmith, outdoorsman, and farmer. If only he had acquired the skills to be loving, his life would have been ideal.
He, of course, hasn’t changed. He made his choices and left his footprints. He had his chance and walked the Earth. My understanding of him has changed. He would laugh at me and tell me to put my boots on and go out and get the punch in the face. He would also call me his favorite curse word: _ _ _ _ s u c k e r. Then offer me one of those horrible peppermint Brach candies that he loved.
Out of all the lessons I learned from him, one he didn’t even know he was teaching, is that we all need people and love. To find a way to get past what we’ve done and who we think we are. If we’re alive, we can use the steel and even the heartache to turn away from the things that make us lesser.
To Bobby Dean. Dad. Troubled human being.
Love, X . P.S. Below are more pictures, some of which I amateurishly colorized. All of the images used in this post were originally in black and white.
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Dad in 1963. He was about 19.
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Dad standing on a horse, of course.
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Dad with Goldie, somewhere around 1974-75. He was 31, which blows my mind to consider.
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My sister Marsha, brother Mike, me. Seeing it in color changes everything.
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Me as a toddler. The picture looks strikingly different in color!
“You’re only given a little spark of madness, you mustn’t lose it.” — Robin WIlliams
As for my smaller lighter brooch I made and wore today, it was wildly successful. Sure, I had a couple of eyerolls and a bit of derision. 98% was effusively humorous. One person asked me to make one for her husband, who struggles to avoid losing lighters. I imagined him on the construction site with a lighter-brooch on his shirt, while his coworkers chortled at him. The woman at the gas station thought it was both practical and creative. The booth clerk at the flea market said, “Art is in the eye of the beholder. That’s fairly creative, X.”
Though I make these things to be creative and for self-amusement, I also accidentally discover human behavior lessons by doing so.
You’ll hear me say with regularity, “Anything can be made into a brooch if you’re audacious enough.” The fact that I have one made out of a pregnancy test should be proof enough of that.
“Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.” -Oscar Wilde
Rare is the person who directly expresses displeasure. Not so much about the specific idea or implementation; rather, the IDEA of such a thing. Those people are to be avoided. It belies a lack of enthusiasm for creativity and the autonomy of others to be ridiculous. People who can’t engage in random acts of ridiculousness aren’t part of my tribe, to put it mildly.
People who directly say, “It’s not that clever or not appealing” either do so because they are honest, which is truly a great thing, or they can’t help but to express negativity, which is its opposite. I’m carefree about people’s reactions but I do notice when someone isn’t engaging in a spirit of enthusiasm or encouragement. Life is bland enough without encouraging more of the same.
To everyone who thought it was clever, thank you. To those who didn’t, I can’t hit all home runs. But out of the hundreds of people I ran across today, my cigarette lighter brooch was the most singular thing I saw anyone wearing today. And that’s a home run each and every time – in part because it gives people the opportunity to be amused, annoyed, or to interact. I can’t be certain that NO ONE has ever made a working cigarette lighter brooch. But I am certain that the idea came to me from the mist of my own mind – and that no one I know has ever seen one. Until today. That makes me happy.
The best line I came up with today was a play on words: “Can I send you a Bic pic?”
“Creativity is contagious, pass it on.” – Albert Einstein
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 