Phil RedBeard

Lessons from the Jedi

What do you do when the world is crumbling all around you, or feels like it? Is that the time to give in? Do you forsake all else and focus on survival? Or is survival meaningless without the stories we tell each other to make sense of life preserved?

I haven’t done anything creative in weeks. Personal troubles at home, tragedy with a housemate, and the deteriorating state of things has left me completed drained. I can’t shake the despair. I was doing so well, and now I feel as if I can’t win and that evil is taking over.

I can’t ignore the pain and utter hopelessness exploding around me. There’s a bit in the Star Wars: Return of the Jedi novelization in which Luke Skywalker is hiding from Darth Vader on the second Death Star, trying to shut out his thoughts of Leia, to save her from the twisted machinations of the Dark Lord. And yet, at that exact moment, she cries out in pain. The text says that Luke had

“…no way to hide what was in his mind—Leia was in pain. Her agony cried to him now, and his spirit cried with her. He tried to shut it out, to shut it up, but the cry was loud, and he couldn’t stifle it, couldn’t leave it alone, had to cradle it openly, to give it solace.”
Star Wars: Return of the Jedi by Donald F. Glut

It’s a beautiful bit written by Donald F. Glut, and it’s how I feel at the moment. People are crying out in pain and I must give their cries solace.

But I have allies in the fight. Leia had Han, and Chewie, to stand with her. Luke felt her pain, but it wasn’t his to endure. He felt it, and then had to let it go. He quickly learned that to keep Leia safe he had to lean on his faith in his friends, and focus on what was in front of him, namely, defeating the evil inside of Anakin that was Vader. For me, my fight is against my depression, the despair inside of me. When I have a handle on that fight, then I can turn to help others in their oppression.

The Jedi religion focuses on letting go, on trusting in something greater than yourself, and in taking each moment as a whole in itself. The Jedi is mindful, calm, at peace. Not unconcerned, but aware. Ready to engage, but also still and in the moment. Cognizant of the darkness around but firmly in the light.

I want to be Jedi-like in my manner, and in my expression. Able to reach out and help another at any moment, and yet centered and free to be myself. The world isn’t actually falling apart. Things are bad. It feels, at times, that the Sith are winning, that the Empire has got a choke-hold on things, but as long as there is a resistance, there is hope. And rebellions are built on hope!

In the end, Luke only persevered, saved his father, and defeated evil by surrendering. I think for me that means I must stop taking it all on myself. That’s how I win, not by fighting what I hate, but by saving what I love. It doesn’t all live and die with me. Darkness is burned away by even the littlest spark catching fire. I light those fires with my creativity, my joy, and my exuberance for life.

If you need me, I’ll be communing with the Living Force, and clearing my mind of darkness. I will be reaching out with my feelings, and lighting all the sparks that I can.

Father’s Day

I don’t much remember my early childhood with my dad. This isn’t so much a specific memory error as I don’t remember much at all anyway. But I do remember holding his hand as I walked as a young kid, or taking naps on Sunday afternoon next to him on the couch.

I remember him coaching (or was it umpiring?) the T-ball team I played on. After getting a hit, I remember fixing my gaze on him as he stood by first base. As I ran up the line, I was running towards my father. I remember how excited I would be if I beat out the play, to stand next to him while I waited for the next batter to get a hit, or the disappointment if I was out, to have to jog back to the bench and leave my dad standing there.

Much later, in my junior year of high school, he and I played on the same church softball team. I don’t remember our team being that good overall, but my dad pitched and I played infield/outfield. It was fun watching him from the center of the diamond, and knowing we were playing the game I (almost*) love together. *Softball is not baseball.

Not everything from my childhood with my dad was roses and sunshine. I also remember being terrified of my dad. “Just wait until your father comes home” was no idle threat, and if I was disobedient, my mother would say variations of that, and I would live in fear the rest of the day of what would happen when my father did arrive home from work. I would usually receive a violent spanking, maybe get yelled at, or have some other abusive punishment. I know now that he was struggling with his own mental health, tough work environments, and the stress of raising me and my brothers and sister. I don’t say this to excuse the abuse, but to put it in context. He did the best he could, even if that was sometimes horrible.

It took me a long time to understand and appreciate my dad. I certainly didn’t know about mental health and stress as a kid or teenager. I just knew my dad would often sleep a lot after work, be moody, and sometimes emotionally unavailable. He would yell, he could be violent, but that wasn’t all he was. He was, and ever is, gracious, generous, loving, ready to help out where he can, paradoxically patient (in relation to his emotional swings), and funny. He is smart, incredibly wise and understanding, and always ready for a good time.

It was from my father that I received, and am ever grateful for, my love of all things science fiction, of Isaac Asimov, of Star Trek, and many other things. We enjoy many of the same books, and films, and he was my gateway to nerd culture. Without him, I would not be who I am today, in more ways than one.

I’ve said before that as I grew up, matured, and left home, I felt like I had two dads. One that wasn’t much fun to be around, and one that I loved a lot. I viscerally hated the first, and enduringly cared for the second. It made for some complicated feelings. As a young adult, I wasn’t around my father much. He was in Papua New Guinea and I was in various colleges, universities, and my first home with my first wife. I spent much of my time nursing an overpowering rage towards my dad as I dealt with my own precipitously declining mental health. My first therapy sessions were more about him and my anger towards him than my failing marriage or anything else.

I often wonder if I had focused my attention in therapy elsewhere if I would still be married to my first wife, and if I wouldn’t know my dad as I do today. That is still an impossible choice to make, even in hindsight, but I all I knew then was an overwhelming cloud of negativity towards him that I wanted to dispel. As I got healthier, got started on medication, and talked so much about our life together, he and I, I realized we had more in common than not, and I learned to love who he is, and accept who he was.

My marriage failed spectacularly, but I regained my father. I will leave history to judge what the ultimate meaning of that is, but I’ll just say I am glad to have a relationship with my dad once again. It was still rocky over the few years following the onset of my therapy, but I am so ecstatic to say that my dad and I have a fantastic relationship now. We can talk about almost anything, we share so many things in common, and we enjoy our time together.

For me, Father’s Day was complicated. I was expected to make cards for, and show appreciate for, a man who at times abused and loved me, who frightened and delighted me, who was there and not there. It was difficult. Now I am so happy that Father’s Day is an uncomplicated time to celebrate my dad, in all his failures and successes.

I cherish and love my dad so much. I am forever grateful that I am his son. I didn’t get to chose my dad, or have much choice over how my first eighteen years played out, but I do get to choose him now. We are both so much in a better place than we were seventeen years ago, and while its been a tough journey, it’s a road we’ve walked together. I look forward to the rest of our travels, my dad and I.

I recently watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade with my father, and my favorite part of that film is the relationship between Indy and his father. Their interplay and rediscovery of a wounded relationship was always something I identified with. I have now what they discovered in that film: an appreciation of who my dad is, and a renewed joy in spending life together with him.

In some ways, I will always be running towards my father, following in his footsteps, trying to be the best man he was always striving to be, and didn’t know how to be. I don’t know if I’ll ever arrive where he is, but I do know we can stand together now, safe, and looking forward to what is ahead.

I love you, Dad.

Grief Persevering

I’ve thought about Memorial Day this year, and what it usually is: a time for flag waving and troop honoring and over-the-top patriotism for America. But that thought just sickens me. America is broken. It is full of hurt and sadness and evil from a very particular, and thankfully very small, but yet strong, minority. I cannot, in good conscience, praise the troops who fight in wars I do not support with weapons I do not think should exist, when many are dying on my own front door step.

So today I offer a verse in memoriam for those who have died recently in Uvalde and in every mass shooting in my lifetime, which is way more than I care to count. It is a small token I grant, but it is the best I can do right now.

This Memorial Day
Instead of honoring soldiers
Or cops who can’t police
Themselves, much less others,
I’m grieving insurmountable loss
Not just the loss of innocents
Children parents elders - everyone
Who falls to build another up -
Not a person but an ideal:
“A good man with a gun”
(Such a fucking filthy lie!)
But I forgot, it’s rocks and sin
That murders, not guns and men.
As if rocks could be bothered
Under the metal hail, casing
Each school and supermarket and
Synagogue and - everywhere where
Bullets fly in the face of innocence.
But if it’s sin, then repent of the evil
Of banning abortion, but not guns,
Of decrying politics, but not NRA funds
Of feigning helplessness, but ignoring a world
Where this hasn’t happened in decades
Or has America cornered the market on sin?
But if it’s sin, then repent of the evil in your heart
The evil that loves guns, killers or not.
The evil that won’t vote, to end to stop to halt
The sale of one more AR-15, the failure
To well regulate one more non-existent
Militia. We have a military now, standing still,
To defend us from all threats foreign -
But not domestic. Good guys with guns -
(That filthy fucking lie!)
Stand outside the door debating going home
While the children within will never
Go again. But tell me again how removing one gun
Wouldn’t have made any difference
to the ripped apart
So love your gun, your freedom, your self,
(For what is love but grief persevering?)
So persevere with your righteousness
While others mourn their dead
This Memorial Day.

Guns are absolutely a problem, and while yes, guns cannot do anything without a human agent to set them off, they sure do make it much, much easier. The overwhelming evidence shows that good people with guns have not stopped a single school shooting, and have failed so many other places. Police are almost useless in these cases as well. I am 100% for banning and taking guns away. They are tools of war, weapons of death, and have no place in civilian life. We, as a nation, have simply shown we lack the morality, the maturity, and the mastery to handle them responsibly and they should be taken away, as you would take a stick from a bully child who is hurting other children.

It bewilders me that some will vote for bans on abortion, or books, or whatever else, but not think for a second that banning guns will do anything to mitigate our murder problem. It has, and would again. I amazes me that we fetishize the 2nd Amendment of the Constitution of the United (hardly) States of America, and the Constitution itself as infallible, unchangeable doctrines. Who ever said that the founders got everything right, for all time? Who ever said they shouldn’t be improved upon?

Today, Memorial Day, or any day hence, I will not stand for an anthem, a pledge, or any sort of patriotic theater. That is still my right as an American. I won’t do it simply because the America represented by these displays is not an America I can support or that represents me. Unless and until that changes, I will take the metaphorical, and sometimes physical, knee. Our children are depending on us to change things and to keep them safe wherever they are or go. And right now, we are failing them so completely that it is unbearable.

We MUST do better.

Endgame

Eighteen, at last count. Eighteen children lie murdered today. It is horrifying. Beyond sad. Infuriating. Another school shooting. And just writing that sentence is beyond my comprehension. I was a young teen when Columbine happened. Now school shootings occur with disarming regularity. Our terror at the unimaginable has shifted into numbness at the mundane routine mess of it all.

I am beyond asking when it will stop. It didn’t stop after Columbine. It didn’t stop after Sandy Hook. It won’t stop after Uvalde.

I’ve been trying to make sense of it. For the longest time I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but shake with rage. Then I just needed escape from this reality. I am watching a super hero movie. I wanted something in which the good people lost everything and the bad guys won, and then the good guys beat them and it ends happily. But the strange thing is that the Avengers don’t win. They avenge. They can’t stop the bad things from happening. But they do the right thing, the hard thing, in spite of losing it all. Maybe I can, too?

It is a shallow lesson and an inadequate response to an unthinkable tragedy that is sadly all too easily imagined. But it is all I have right now, so I will hold on to it for what it is: pop psychology based on pop culture. But the stories we tell each other are powerful. They aren’t fact, but they can so often be true. Truth emanates from human experience, and we reflect human experience by telling each other stories. It is an experience as old as humanity.

But if that is to bring solace, it is small, and not enough. Eighteen children should be alive to love the Avengers’s stories with me. To grow up and love running in the green grass beneath the yellow sun. To be safe at school, or church, or the grocer, or the public square. But they are not here anymore. What truly haunts me about all this is how it never should have happened. I could insert a bunch of buzzwords and get “political” but that’s been said before, and in America, it is well known what should happen, who should make it happen, and in the end, what should never happen again.

Maybe like a magician, we have given away the key to the universe of time, and now simply have to watch the devastation unfold time and time again until enough people have died, and then we get a miraculous second chance to bring back the dead. But no, I must be once again confusing reality with with what my soul wants so badly. Space monsters and power villains are no match for the truth. Evil doesn’t need to be purple, or red, or larger than life. It just needs a gun and an opportunity. Taking the gun away will prevent the opportunity from finding percussive voice. Sure, bad people will still find ways to hurt good people, but we shouldn’t be making it easy, damn it!

I just want every single person to grow up without fearing for their lives, fearing because someone full of rage has a gun and can use it freely, carry it openly, and put a bullet in our loved one’s fragile bodies. I don’t blame the guns, but oh, they make it so much easier. The wizard knew the endgame of his story. I don’t know the endgame to mine, to our shared story, our shared existence in this country. But I know one step I can take to work towards the future where America is free from the constant barrage of gun violence. I will take that step as often as I can.

If it means losing friends, losing the love of family, or endangering a comfortable life, then so be it. Some things are worth fighting for, and by loving peace and all my fellow humans regardless of race, gender, orientation, religion, nationality, or any other puny thing that would seem to divide us, then I can make this world a better place. I will do it in the name of the eighteen children who died today, and all others I have mourned since Columbine. They deserved better, and I will do what I can to make sure those who come after receive better.

I won’t avenge. I can’t. Avenging isn’t what I do. I will love. And I will fight. And by all that is good on this earth, I hope we all win. It is the only thing that will make all this pain worth it, in the end: making a better future by learning from the past. It is the only true way forward. And go forward we must.

Woody’s Roundup

Employment

Two weeks have passed, and I’ve been working as an agent of Human Resources at a small, local university. The current HR assistant is resigning so she can spend the summer abroad, and then pursue further education. But she hung around long enough to be training me these past two weeks.

I’ve been grateful for her assistance and the proverbial “crash course” I’ve received in how to do the job. My job seems it will be a combination of long term projects I am taking over, and what I call “email chasing”, that is, an HR related email comes in and it is my job to decide if it is something I need to pass on to the HR supervisor, or if it is something I can handle. If the latter, I then act on the email, which usually means replying and starting a new task. It’s a lot of hurry up or wait.

The job has gone well the 10 days I’ve been working thus far, but I’ve had the safety net of the previous person there to check my work or help me along. I won’t have that come Monday. Honestly, I think it will be fine, but I’m also a little terrified about taking over all by myself. My supervisor doesn’t work every day, so I will have to rely on my training and instincts to get by. Plus a lot of “email chasing” will be emailing my supervisor to double check things until I really internalize the job.

As I said in my interview prior to being hired, I am interested to be a part of an HR department. I’ve had a few bad experiences in my time as a worker with HR, and I would like to provide a more positive experience if I can. Time will tell, but really, I am an assistant more than anything, and may not have the opportunity to make much of an impact on the public face of this department. But if I can make a difference behind the scenes, that will be enough for me.

Scheduling

My previous job required early wake up calls and late evenings, at times. As a result, I haven’t had a “normal” sleep schedule for a long time, probably about 8 years. In that time, I was also diagnosed with sleep apnea. To say I haven’t slept adequately in a long, long time is probably very true. The first two weeks of May I have noticed that I have slept slightly longer each day. I was waking up before 6am when the month started, and now, exactly two weeks in, I am sleeping till just after 7am. I am hopeful that I can stretch that to 8am eventually.

Getting adequate rest is vital to me having energy to get through the day and focus at my job. I could survive at my past job with daytime naps, but that isn’t feasible anymore. Getting by without napping will be huge. I will see how it goes, but I’m hopeful that my body will adjust to a better normal.

Plus, this job is only part time, so my hours remain flexible. I will be working a few each day, but will have the freedom to come and go in the office as I need. It feels like having a job and being free all at the same time. Working from home is a possibility, as is working when necessary in order to accommodate life. Best of both worlds, I imagine.

Payment

My new job pays a living wage, $15 per hour, which should be the minimum wage in the USA (and isn’t) but as I’ve never had that much before, I am very happy to maybe have a bit more breathing room financially. I have a few things I’d like to do with my increased income, and a few outstanding debts to try to get on top of. With more coming in every two weeks, it would be nice to do both.

So many in my country struggle to get by without adequate income, even when working much more than “full time”, it really seems luxurious to get what is mis-called a “living wage”. For so long I’ve made less than $10 per hour, and had to beg for raises of 25 cents each year, that to make as much as I finally am seems amazing. It shouldn’t be this way, and I am troubled by those who don’t have what I have. But I’m grateful for my position.

Celebrating

To cap a chaotic two weeks of training, panic, and euphoria at getting and starting a new job, I celebrated by going to my first baseball game of 2022. My parents joined me, and I was thrilled to treat my dad to an early Father’s Day gift as he got to see his favorite Boston Red Sox defeat the Texas Rangers 7-1. I so much enjoy a night out at the ballpark, and last night was relaxing and a perfect cap to my first two weeks on the job.

Today I was able to celebrate further by attending Brick Fest Live in Dallas. Brick Fest Live is a small LEGO convention, and I went with my mother this afternoon. It was great to walk around the convention center and take in the various and creative creations by the LEGO aficionados in attendance. The highlight for me was an enormous recreation of Terok Nor, also known as Deep Space 9 from the Star Trek show of the same name. It was easily a few feet in diameter, and about as tall. I was able to talk to the builder for a few minutes, and share our love of Trek and LEGO. There were also more than several large LEGO sculptures, one of Woody from Toy Story. It was charming, and great to see the creative part usage in some of the sculptures, where even small bricks make a big difference.

Image of Sheriff Woody from Toy Story created in LEGO bricks — Sheriff Woody…in LEGO

Forwards

I start Monday doing my new job essentially by myself. I continue trying to gain financial independence. I’m sleeping better and longer. And along the way, life continues and I get to have fun with my family when opportunities arise. I am better off now than I was before May. Life isn’t perfect, and never will be, but things are trending up, as they say. And I’ll keep walking forwards, as a simple man, making my way in the universe.

Endings

As I type, I have two shifts left at my current job: this evening, and tomorrow morning. I have been working at this current company, off and on, and to varying degrees, since October of 2014. I quit once before for about a year to work another job that, obviously, didn’t last too long. I thought then that I was done with them forever. But when the other job fizzled, and I couldn’t find another, I went back. I’m not sure that was a good decision.

Sure, it has been great to have employment, but it hasn’t exactly been steady, good, or well-paying. There are many things about this employer, and the job itself, that I don’t appreciate. I currently work six days a week, if not very long each day, and working on Sundays has meant missing out on many family and social events. I usually wake up pretty early to start a shift, and am working when my wife arrives home from her job. It is less than ideal on both sides, and I believe my sleep has suffered for years because of the too-early mornings.

That said, it was great of this company to give me a job again after I quit once, and while it hasn’t been good, it has sustained through seven years as an employee. A lot has happened to me in the eight surrounding years, to whit: I moved across country, reunited with my family, improved my mental and physical health, got married – wow, when I list it all out, it’s a lot. I have much to be proud of.

This current company gave me my first steady employment back in 2014. In the few years prior to that, I had graduated university, gotten married, moved across country, and promptly fell into a black depression that kept me from working, ended that marriage, and almost killed me. When my wife left, out of necessity I tried to get a job, and in fits and starts worked for three or four companies, but never for very long. Then I found my current job, and it was just what I could handle, and more importantly, it paid what bills I had once my ex’s spousal support ended.

I remember first working for them in a studio basement apartment with my little dog curled up in front of my laptop, in the dead of early, early morning. Then she would curl up next to me as I slept through the day to wake up in early afternoon to work the next shift, she again curled up by the laptop. That dog and this job sustained me though many dark days. For that, I am grateful. It kept me alive in more ways than one. I was at the job, working, when I heard that my beloved grandmother died. I took this job across the country when I moved, and have sat in many different rooms talking on the phone, which is what I do, basically. Life has passed me by while I’ve been working this job.

A feeling of inertia, of a powerless motion-less existence has followed me for awhile during the working of this job. Many people talk of “dead-end jobs” and I would categorize this as one of them. There is no advancement, no improvement, just the same thing every day, in my room, by myself, talking on the phone to people I will never meet or interact with outside of a voice conversation. It has been deadening to my soul. I have avoided talking much about my work because, while I don’t exactly hate it, I have not felt any joy in it.

That is why, now, I am so excited to have sent in my resignation email, and to be looking down at two lonely, little shifts between me and being done forever. I am making a promise to myself that no matter what happens with my next employment, which I start on Monday next week, I will not return to this employer. Again, I thank them for taking me on (twice) and sustaining me, but I cannot work for them ever again. If this next job, for any reason, doesn’t work out, I will do what I must to keep moving forward rather than go backwards.

Some talk of quitting, or not enduring, as a weakness or a failure of character. I am not one of those people. I think that if something isn’t serving, helping, or improving your life, it needs to be ended as soon as possible. Life is so very short, as I’ve learned through Covid-19 and other life lessons, and is too short to work nothing jobs and not live, but exist. I’ve talked for a long time about getting out and moving on, but was too scared to make it happen. Then my employer cut my hours, and I knew it was time to stand up and do something different. Stagnation has not been good for my health, and I really feel that in this death, there will be rebirth.

For what it is worth, I feel really good about my approaching employment. I’m nervous about being able to do what I need to in order to fulfill my new duties. I worry about learning everything I need to learn as I get started, but that is for the future, for beginnings. This is about endings, and I am so glad that this part of my life is ending and soon will be over. I don’t ever need to work this job again, and for that, I am so very, very happy! I have the worst case of senior-itis that I haven’t had since finishing university. It is exhilarating, and freeing. I feel as if I stand on the precipice of something good, and only need to jump and I’ll fly. We will see. In the meantime, two more shifts are between me and my future.

I can quit, I can end, and I can thrive!

Milestones

Hit. Single. Squibber. Blooper. Line drive. Bouncer. Whatever you call it, Detroit Tigers’ designated hitter Miguel Cabrera has 3,002 of them (at time of writing). Some of them were home runs, doubles, and I’m sure a few were even triples. In fact, Cabrera’s first hit was actually a home run, as were his 1,000th and 2,000th hits. Three thousand was a slap shot through the infield into right field. Not even Cabrera can hit it out of the park every time.

I’ve been watching Miguel Cabrera play baseball since 2003. It’s surreal that I saw his journey begin 19 years ago, and while not over now, 2022 is certainly the twilight of his career. Cabrera started with the then Florida Marlins, and I was living in Orlando at the time. I watched the Marlins advance to the World Series that year, and saw Cabrera and his teammates defeat the New York Yankees to win it all. (A lifelong Cleveland baseball fan, I will nonetheless cheer for any team playing against the Yankees.)

I almost saw Miguel Cabrera hit his 500th home run. Ever since I was young, I’ve wanted to visit all 30 Major League Baseball stadiums, and number 10 on my list was Comerica Park, home of the Detroit Tigers. Last year Cabrera was chasing another milestone: 500 home runs. Alas, he didn’t hit one while I was there, needing a few more games to get to the momentous number, though like his 3,000th hit, I saw the game on TV.

Ever since this afternoon’s famous hit, I’ve been thinking about other milestones I’ve witnessed in baseball. First to come to mind is Cal Ripken Jr’s breaking of Lou Gerig’s consecutive game streak in 1995. Gerig played for 2,130 straight games. Ripken would play for another 502 games to set the record at 2,632, finally ending the streak in 1998. I was eight years old when I watched Ripken on that first historic night.

Roger Maris, back in 1961, set the home run record for most home runs in a single season at 61. That record would stand until 1998, truly an historic year in baseball, when Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire would simultaneously chase Maris’ record. I remember watching highlight after highlight of home run after home run as those two power hitters traded the most home runs that year. McGwire would come out on top with 70, a record that would stand until Barry Bonds hit 73 three years later in 2001. Sosa, McGwire, and Bonds have all been plagued by allegations of steroid or other PED use that sullies their achievements, but as a kid in the 90’s nothing was more exciting than watching all those home runs fly out of the ball park.

Mariano Rivera is one of the greatest closing pitchers of all time, and currently holds the record for saves at 652, set in 2013. I remember Rivera not just saving baseball games, but completely shutting them down. Whenever he came out of the bullpen, to Metallica’s “Enter Sandman”, you just knew the game was over for the opposing team, and it very often was.

As I’ve grown up watching baseball, and continued to watch it every year, I’ve seen many amazing plays, records, and incredible feats on the diamond. Along the way, I’ve grown up and have been making a life for myself. It was always my dream to play professional baseball, and while that dream never materialized, I remain a lifelong lover of the game. It’s surreal to me that I’ve seen so many great, now Hall of Fame, players, and Miguel Cabrera is one who I’ve been privileged to see for his entire career so far. There have been others, of course, having watched baseball for close to 35 years, but Cabrera stands out among them. Congratulations to him on 3,002 hits and as many more as he can collect before he retires to well deserved accolades and eventually the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame.

Play Ball!

It’s been a while, everyone. I’m struggling to stay positive and forward thinking. Objectively, I am doing alright, but psychologically, it doesn’t feel that way. That’s depression, I guess.

When last I wrote, my job had been halved, and it still is. Since then I’ve been on a job interview, and am doing the maddening waiting game to hear if I have new employment. A painting was in progress, and I finished it, though I am disappointed with the end result (it was a paint by number kit, which I hadn’t attempted since my childhood). I haven’t worked out this week aside from doing yard work on Monday, which hit my fitness goals while not feeling like working out, a net positive I guess. Overall, I feel defeated.

I have created some more pieces for my photography diorama which I am extremely happy with, and I am still working on my 52 Week Photography Challenge, though I missed a photo (which I plan to make up this week). You can see both the diorama bits and my latest challenge pic on my Instagram. I have purchased a few new books that I am excited to try to read. I have projects to work on, and things to do around the house. I don’t lack for directions to go.

Yet I don’t know what is going on. Perhaps I need to adjust medication, or maybe I need to just endure some doldrums. Maybe a new job would provide the pick-me-up that I need. I just don’t know. I am taking at least one, sometimes two, short naps a day, even on days when I work out or am more active. Lately, when I do have a more active or productive day, it feels like I pay for it for the next few days. By that I mean I spend the following days unable to do much other than sit around. I try to give myself grace, and let be what will be, but it’s hard to not feel like I “should” be doing this or that. The sin of productivity follows me all the days of my life, it seems.

Last time I wrote that I don’t want to complain, and while I am trying hard not to do that, it really is difficult. I admit my frustration; clearly I want things that I cannot access right now. If you follow my blog regularly it probably feels a bit down in the mouth recently. If nothing else, I strive for honesty here. You won’t find much sugarcoating, so take this for what it is: a real look at my life. This blog is called A Simple Man, and that is all I am: a simple man, trying to make my way in the universe.

I spent part of yesterday, or the day before, just sitting outside with my pups. It was warm in the sunshine, with a nice breeze. The dogs were soaking up both, and I tried to stay in the moment, practicing mindfulness and being present where I was, not letting my mind wander or my thoughts intrude in the peacefulness. Mostly I was successful. I got some vitamin D, and a small respite from all this negativity that I’ve been experiencing lately. It was great. Then I had to come inside and back to all the grey. Still, I am thankful for what I have right now. It could be, and has been, much worse at times in my life. I’ll take all the forward progress I’ve made.

As always, I march ever onward. I really want to bring a positive blog post soon, and hope I can. For now, it is what it is. I was just watching a baseball game, and the Guardians won a double-header. But I am reminded that baseball is 162 games in a season, and is perhaps the hardest grind there is among the top sports. You don’t win baseball in an at bat, an inning pitched, or even in a game, but over the long haul. If you are not prepared to hurt, to be down and out, and to completely strike out, baseball is not for you. Champions are made from those who show up to the ballpark day after day and tie on their cleats, button up their jersey, and straighten their hat and go back out there to compete again. I’ll take a lesson from my favorite sport, and remember that it isn’t today that determines whether I am on top or not, but rather it’s the many days of being in the sun that proves I am where I want to be.

Doldrums

Whew. It’s been a tough few weeks. As I write this, I am cognizant that compared to many people’s experiences right now in the world, I’ve got it very good. *gestures at Ukraine, Florida, the world*

My job cut my hours in half, taking me from a sustainable, if barely, job to a ridiculously low level of employment. I have been struggling to work out more than three times a week, and as a result have seen few gains in my fitness level and health that I can measure. Sleep is coming more readily during the day as I take more and longer naps when before I had been cutting back. Depression is looming in my soul.

My 52 Week Photography challenge continues; I am working on a painting; a new project is in the early stages (but won’t be realized most likely until the fall or next year). My body and spirit feel very run down. I’m exhausted.

Today I could barely muster the energy to work out, though I did make it all the way through. I am obviously writing now, but I feel that I am just going through the motions on other things. There is more I want to do, to achieve, to accomplish, but right now it seems a hill too high to surmount.

I need a new job, one that can’t or won’t arbitrarily cut my hours while also paying a sustainable wage that my current job isn’t. An interview for such a job seemed lined up, but then was made to disappear for reasons beyond my control. I loathe few things as I do job hunting, but it appears I need to be back at it. My family is depending on my financial contributions, and in the future I can see needing additional funds for things yet beyond the horizon.

Not long ago I wrote about how my life was going well and I was feeling contented and I was working on my projects and challenges consistently. That has ground to a slow progress. And I don’t know precisely why, though I have mentioned a few things that seem contributory. Maybe that is all it is? I don’t know precisely. I wish I knew how to combat this cyclical depression I am in, and am hoping that my current doldrums don’t stretch into a new gloomy existence.

Complaining is not my agenda. If that is how I come across, I apologize. Frustration is shot through what I am feeling. Can I get a break? or better yet: can I push through this wall, over this hill, to the next plain or plateau? I want to get above where I am currently, and not go backwards. In some ways, I have done precisely that. Awareness of how far I have come over last year at this time, or two years ago, reaches me. Having tasted a little of that, I want more, and find it bitter to sample regression.

The only thing I can see is to keep grinding forwards. I will look for employment elsewhere. I will take my pictures, write on my blog, prepare my projects, and sleep when I can’t bear to be awake. Even slow progress is progress, and I mustn’t forget that. Here again I offer a real look at where I am and what I am going through. Life and Depression ain’t all roses and sweet cakes. It’s exercise and slogging and setbacks in between triumphs and achievement.

I’m listening to the soundtrack to the 2016 science fiction film Passengers as I write, and it is both haunting and beautiful. Despite its flaws, I really like that film and this music is part of why. The score strikes me in a deeply emotional way, and the story of that film reminds me that even when things are terrible, wonder and amazement and a life are still possible. It just may not look like what I envisioned when I set out on my journey.

The word for my 2022 is still challenges and I guess I am seeing a few knuckleballs thrown at me right now. I thought that my challenges would be mainly artistic and expressive, but boy do other aberrations intervene in a smoothly running operation, too. Best grab my tools and get to fixing what’s wrong, get to overcoming the current challenges.

Thirty-Five

In a few short hours I will turn a calendar page and with it, a new age: thirty-five. I am quite liking my thirties as I approach their half-way point. It is amazing to me that I have reached this milestone of ages, and not just because covid or other darker forces could have abruptly ended my life on this planet. Life itself is a continual wonder. I often ponder how much time I have to live, and if things are equal, I may live to seventy or even eighty. If so, I have more time to be alive than I have already lived, and that thought is an incredible thought.

With longevity in mind, I have been working out, to try to give myself a good chance of healthily making it to a more senior age. I don’t know, genetics may play as strong a role in that pursuit, but it certainly can’t hurt to be more active. I am also continually working on my mental health, to make living as great an experience as it can be. I have my hobbies, projects, and life pursuits. I previously spoke about how my experience with covid lent me new perspective, and has given me a bit of purpose in life that I was lacking previously.

I am working on many projects just in 2022, and have the beginnings of plans for 2023. For the first time in my life, I feel that I have things I want to accomplish. I published a book of poetry, and that is just the beginning of my endeavors. I would like to write more on purpose, and maybe do a themed book of poetry instead of a mere collection. I am still kicking around the idea of a podcast, and have what I think is a niche I can fill. I want to have fun with photography, and may even return to a lifelong pursuit of LEGO joy. I don’t know. I have, potentially, many years to explore old loves and discover new ones.

Just today, as I celebrated my birthday and my sister’s birthday, I took time to be present and enjoy my sister’s daughters. My nieces are still quite new to this thing called life, and seeing their unfettered happiness and exuberance for each discovered thing is quite refreshing. They are so fun to observe. They make me “feel young, as when the world was new”, as Dr. Carol Marcus once said. I love them so much, and not least for the perspective they impart.

I often laugh at my dogs, who more than any of us, I believe, live in an eternal now. Duncan is so dumb, but so happy much of the time. He just soaks up love and each thing that happens with seeming sublime contentment. He lives for walks, and dinner, and pets, and scratching his back in the dirt and fresh cut grass. Cassie is a little more aware, but still snuggles deep in blankets to sleep without a care, and lick (her love language, it seems) and cuddle when I sleep, and frolic when the mood strikes her. I could learn much from them about living for the present and not being stressed about how much life I have to live, or what is past or yet to be.

As I reflect on that prologue of thirty-four years, and that epilogue of a hoped for forty-five plus years, I know that my fears pertaining to existence are perhaps vestigial evolutionary traits meant to keep me alive in a much more primeval world. In this supposedly modern 21st century world, it seems more distracting than anything. I don’t want to no longer exist, but I also don’t want to be so pre-occupied with existential mortality that I forget to live, as do my nieces, or my furry companions. I want to be mindful of what it is to breathe and move along the river of time. Captain Picard encouraged us that “time is a companion”, one that reminds everyone to cherish each moment, because “it will never come again”.

As I move from thirty-four to thirty-five, I don’t want it to simply be another number, I want it to be an intentional step from what was to what will be along the road of what is, the road that never ends until it does, and none of us has any idea when that will be. That is partly terrifying, exciting, wonderful, frenetic, and freeing. I can make my future whatever I want it to be, so I better “make it a good one” as Doc Brown implored.

I am happy to be thirty-four becoming thirty-five, and I can’t wait to see what the rest of 2022, and the beginning of 2023, has in store. I know there is much war, pain, disease, and darkness in the world. But, oh my, it is full of peace, tranquility, vitality, and light as well. And while it is my mission to reduce the former and enlarge the latter, it is also right and good to live as much as I am able along the way. After all, “all you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you” as Gandalf teaches. I quote him often, as he is full of down-to-earth wisdom. My mentors, fictional or physical, often resound within my skull, reminding me of what I so often forget: that life is to be lived. So live I shall.

Thank you thirty-four, and each year prior. You have taught and served me well. Thank you for your lessons, your wisdom, and your many adventures. I can’t wait for a new year. Stan Lee often shouted: “Excelsior!” Onward indeed. Thirty-five awaits…