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January 26, 2005
"This is real."
"and, in the end,
the love you take
is equal to the love you make"
once upon a time, far back in waning of the glory days of a healthier economy, i worked at a place that seemed like camelot. with a stated mission of recovering child support, it had the noblest of goals, the purest of objectives.
i found not only friends there, but respect, appreciation for who i was and what i could do, that made it seem like everything i felt i had ever wanted in high school.
by and large, it was the people that made this place so significant for me. for, as we know, every fairytale land is only as meaningful as the characters that inhabit it, and here, there were many that gave it life and even love. but for me, there was one that rose above, who shone more consistently and persistently across the land. she was a princess that needed no throne to ascend to, that needed only the truest of smiles as a crown. she was, simply, Julie.
Julie was a good worker, mature as necessary, but beyond that, someone constantly full of almost childlike, innocent, and genuine enthusiasm and love. to be her friend was to know and feel the sun on your face every day, almost without fail. Julie's life wasn't perfect, as no princess' really is. she was as wonderfully human as she could be - not immune to tears, though slow and rare to anger. but with rare exception, her smile was there every day.
at the time, i was probably even more susceptible to my emotions than i am now. but anger, sorrow, depression, were often beaten back, if not defeated, by Julie's uncompromising and unrelenting love.
camelot fell, as so many utopian kingdoms do in fairy tales, to the hubris and greed of those who ruled it. in this time, i succeeded in getting myself banished from my own quickly deteriorating fairytale existence. on my last day at work, after my supervisor told me, weeping, that i was being laid off, i took a detour on the way back to my desk, avoiding the waiting HR director with her box. i ducked and dove through the maze of cubicles, saying my goodbyes, my friends directing me away from the path of my increasingly agitated pursuer, until i at last went to see my friends in the legal division where i had once worked. i remember the hugs that day, not the least of all from Julie.
i withdrew from Julie and so many other friends in the months that followed, as i searched for a job, left a relationship, and entered a fairly dark phase. but i always knew in some way that i would see her again, that the friendship would resume as it had left off, and i would be better for it.
all of this sounds like exaggeration, indeed the stuff of fairy tales. but it's true. i knew it then, and have known since, that Julie was someone extraordinary and special.
but i didn't think enough of it, didn't realize what it meant, how real it was, what "real" even was, until today.
yesterday, without warning, Julie passed out at a doctor's office. after everything she had struggled through, after all the strength she imparted with her friendship and her love, some tiny blood vessel in her brain gave way, and she fell to sleep.
she remained in a coma, and today, with a doctor's pronouncement and a decision by her mother and sisters, she was gone.
i have been selfish enough to feel lucky that i've been so remarkably untouched by death. it was hard when my grandparents died, many years ago, but it was different. i've never lost a friend without warning or expectation. i've felt guilty about that, and selfishly dreaded the day my luck ran out and someone close to me died.
when i got word of what had happened this morning, there was shock. i honestly had no idea how to process it, as if new pathways in my brain had to be created for the first time. but it didn't take long to miss her, to feel how complete and umitigated loss and grief can be.
as much as i ask "why" in my life, tonight i sort of don't. it's not that i blindly accept it - i would give anything to have her back, for her daughter, for her family, for her friends, for me. i don't know when the tears will stop coming. i also don't believe that she died for some cosmic reason, or to teach anyone anything, but the fact is, she did teach today. as much as i should have learned from her before about love and friendship, she taught me much more about life and love today.
this morning, the intensive care waiting room filled quickly with her friends, just as fast as the word could spread and people could get there, until as many as 17 friends were gathered to wait, when many would believe there was nothing left to wait for, to bear witness, and for the chance of seeing her long enough to say goodbye.
we all got to see her. i had my moment alone with her. her chest rose and fell. her pulse and blood pressure monitors seemed perfect. her hand was still warm when i held it. i talked to her, and never doubted that she heard.
Alexis, her daughter, arrived. her family and the priest and the chaplain and social worker explained things to her, and she went to see her mother. the little girl is only nine years old, but today, she was so clearly her mother's child, so clearly of some extraordinary lineage.
leaving her mother's room, she stopped before the nurses and thanked them for everything they had done.
in the waiting room, Alexis received us all, without shyness, but with all the grace and nobility of a princess herself, nodding and smiling and hugging everyone that spoke to her.
several friends cautiously spoke of being visited by Julie last night. i tend to be skeptical, despite my belief that time and space are not as simple as we perceive them. but knowing Julie, and knowing these people, i felt i had to believe.
one girl said that Julie had come to her in a dream, and said, "This is real," a message the girl didn't immediately understand.
it did seem cryptic, but this afternoon, there in the waiting room, with the televisions on, people walking around us, the telephones ringing, something extraordinary was happening. i saw clearly that everyone there had been given love and happiness by Julie, love and happiness that bore the unmistakeable imprint of her soul and her smile. i saw a nine year old girl that had just lost her mother not only receiving, but giving back so much love. i saw that it all made sense, and the words "this is real" kept sounding in my head.
the endurance, the persistence, the truth of love, is real, all the love passed on so freely by our princess, our friend, and in the end, our teacher, Julie, now resides in Alexis, her family, and her friends, hopefully to be given again.
this is real. this is real. and in this, there's some hope, some meaning, some comfort. nothing else, i think, could be more real. it may not curb the grief, but i hope that ultimately this truth and the memory of everything she did to show it to me will be more powerful.
so, thank you, Julie. we won't forget.
good night, princess.
Posted by Rob at 10:44 PM | Comments (2)
January 22, 2005
into the void, i say boo.
it's late, and though i've made the wrong choice before and been too lucky getting home, tonight, it's not so bad. but still, it's another night, too much drink, and friends that like to make the rounds, live the life. mike's a good one - he just wants me to be happy. he's not so frivolous that he doesn't know better, but he seems to be able to keep the nights like tonight in balance with what really matters to him.
but i'm not so good at this, and it can get away from me. too prone to disappointment, too susceptible to disillusionment, too unwilling to play a part, too uninteresting to so much of what's out there, but also too uninterested in so much of what's out there.
sometimes, i press on, to the bitter end, watch the games play out around me, some real, some not, try my hand occasionally, shut down the bar. i say my goodnights. i'm happy for my time with my friends, happy to feel alive in a way, in the mix.
the walk to the car is always peaceful and not, walking alone, feeling the night winding down around me, feeling endings and beginnings, some memories simply transferring to a new location, stretching, seeking to make it to dawn.
how long has it been since i stayed awake with someone, just talking, just quiet, just being, feeling the joy and mild delirium of realizing the sun was rising?
music in the car, quieter now, zero 7, peter gabriel, frou frou sings of the dumbing down of love. the long road away from the city, moving swiftly, silently down the expressway, moving upstream in a river of lights, going home. the winding road, diving and sweeping through the curves, down into the valley, up the long hill.
and i arrive here, the cold closed out behind me, and my cats rub quietly against my legs, soundlessly, not playful, not demanding, the way i know that they feel and understand me at times when i need that.
and with all the friends i have, all the love available to me, i leave the lights off, sit before the computer, and send my thoughts and feelings off to someone i've never met before. someone that's not an enfatuation, just someone that i think understands. i think she listens, i think she cares, but i have no illusions or delusions about how much or what it means.
it doesn't matter. for me, here at midnight, it's like prayer, sending the cries and the silence in my heart into electronic skies, without censor or fear, wanting but not expecting response, just speaking into the void, for the sake of the faith that something might be heard.
Posted by Rob at 12:09 AM | Comments (0)
January 21, 2005
spreading freedom
so, i see that our repressident wants to spread democracy and freedom across the world. gotta wonder how he intends to do that. naturally, unilateral applicaiton of brute force springs to mind. regardless, one can imagine regimes falling to democracy in a sort of, i don't know... domino effect, despite efforts by terrorists, hippies, homosexuals and other godless peoples to contain us.
damn, i've got this weird sense of deja-vu.
anyway, in principle, i think it's a grand idea. the problem is that when w. suggests something, the knee jerk reaction is to be diametrically opposed, in both theory and practice. "freedom"? oh, hell no, freedom is bad and icky and leads to, um, venereal disease.
but come on, freedom for all individuals is clearly a good thing that we can all appreciate and agree on as a noble goal. so what we really need is to find some delivery methods we can all agree on, rather than the default position of bombing the crap out of someone and then invading.
clearly, spreading freedom by mail or other carrier service would be preferable. pack it in dry ice, and freedom will keep as it's being shipped to most destinations. instead of military uniforms, let freedom be carried by people in postal, ups, and fed-ex uniforms.
i have an even more exciting idea, though - spread freedom through an exciting and positive traveling team of exciting and positive dancers and singers that will spread the exciting and positive message of freedom through exciting and positive concert assemblies at high schools, parliaments, and palaces around the world. call them "the 2 free cru", or "the democrat cats."
it'll be just like those assemblies we went to in school, except more, i don't know, jingoistic.
"whoa, jenny, are those electrodes you're attaching to that man's nipples?"
"why, yes, najeef, they are. i'm trying to extract a confession for a crime he didn't commit."
"whoa, jenny. that just ain't cool. yo? how can you be free if your people aren't free?"
"why, yes, najeef, i see that you're right. let's sing!"
"YOU DOWN WITH G.O.P.? YEAH, YOU KNOW ME..."
and so on and so forth. other messages could be worked in as well, like the importance of eating plenty of fiber, brushing and flossing after meals, saying no to drugs, and worshipping a protestant-loving white god.
pending the underwriting by halliburton, coca-cola and phillip morris, i'll be holding auditions, though as primary writer, i get to play both margaret thatcher and the evil jimmy carter. stay tuned.
Posted by Rob at 03:33 PM | Comments (0)
January 20, 2005
i'm a frickin' clydesdale.
so, i'm just taking a second to look at the course for the 3M half-marathon, just 10 days away.
i've already registered, but i notice that there are categories for "clydesdales" and "fillies." a "clydesdale" is apparently a male runner 200 pounds or over. a "filly" is a woman greater than or equal to 150 lbs.
well fcuk me. these stupid running people just don't know when to stop, do they? i'm six feet tall and pretty damned athletic. on my worst day, i don't consider myself fat, tubby, chubby, stout, or husky. "rugged" has been suggested, and i like that.
but the running stick people are likening me to a big-assed sweaty horse with hairy ankles and a predilection for leather straps that will pee in the street while it's hauling beer around.
ok. some of that does ring eerily true. but still, it ain't right. now i really can't help but yell at every short-short wearin', callista-flockhart-lookin' dude, "yeah, you better run, skeletor! i'd hate to fall on you and get a splinter in my butt! stop running! eat something! you probably weigh less than my left hoof, you freak! i mean, foot. my left foot."
i do know that at 220 lbs, i'm doing a hell of a lot more work. so, i've been working on dropping weight. i've gone from a high of about 227 a couple of weeks ago to 220. i plan to get to 215 before the 3M, then hopefully between 205 and 210 by the freescale half-marathon on february 13. but even those are ambitious goals - there's no way i could reasonably get under 200 in time, and even then, to these people, i'd just move out of "clydesdale" into "smaller, but still pretty heavy workhorse" category, which just ain't worth enough to forgo the now very-occasional cookie.
that's ok, i guess. i take heart in the words of charles barkley: "I've always said that my 'playing weight' is whatever I happen to weigh when I'm playing." on the upside, my svelte-challenged body will keep me from becoming assimilated by the stupid psycho running stick people. so maybe i bought a copy of runner's world a couple of weeks ago, and i keep it hidden inside a hustler. so maybe i've been shopping for new running shoes and forgot that the new air jordans come out in february. so maybe i like the taste of energy gel. but as long as i'm "rugged", i'm a normal human being and not a "runner", right?
right?
p.s. - now looking at the freescale info. their clydesdale division starts at 190 pounds, the fillies start at 140.
skinny bastards.
Posted by Rob at 02:23 PM | Comments (1)
January 19, 2005
meanwhile, back at the pub...
ahh, home. but not home. i allowed myself the indulgence today, feeling the need, knowing i've been generally more disciplined, and knowing that i could restrain myself now. so, after work, i came down to the pub, fado's, alone, with a self-imposed limit of two beers and a $2.95 plate of sliders (three tiny but yummy burgerlets of caramelized onion and beefy goodness). all in the name of writing, of course - sort of a date with myself to be alone with pen and paper.
there's one booth in the back corner, a small light over my left shoulder, but shielded so that i can lean back into darkness. there's a thick wooden tree-trunk pillar before me, and a railing and stage to my right. with a candle and my iPod, i am an island, just offshore from a half-dozen real worlds.
i listen to my ipod when it's loud, or, in quieter times, i listen to the quieter music they play, when it's not unusual to hear aimee mann followed by jeff buckley followed by u2, then some sinead o'connor.
fado's is a corporate bar, quite frankly. i've heard the interior is produced and shipped from ireland, which seems a bit odd. there are locations in atlanta and seattle and elsewhere. but it's not tgi fridays, no starbuck's, even. i've found that chain or not, corporate or not, it comes down to the people that work there.
the people here, from club-boy caesar, to the lush and luminous esther, pixie-like melody, the very british, effortlessly charming ("heather, my darling, what can i get for you?) duncan: they all have my back, all have smiles and hellos for me, all under the friendly eyes of wade and brian, the managers. they seem to feel more a part of the place than they might elsewhere - some of them, like duncan and others, have been here for years. i see them in their off hours eating here, and some have even hung out with my friends and me.
the people here have always been quick to help and genuinely friendly, to a consistent degree i haven't even found at the local bars i like to go to.
the atmosphere here is dark and warm. near my corner at the back of the pub, at the back of the long bar, under a copper bail labeled "the office," british, irish, and scottish expatriates have gathered for as long as i can recall.
between them and me stretches a canopy of true, rough-hewn wood, some 18 inches thick, supported by a trio of massive tree trunks. countless times now, i've sat alone or with heather or fread at the bar table built around the farthest of the trunks from me. even more times, i've sat with friends old and newly met at the long corner table in the very corner to my left. and many more times lately, i've sat right here at this small table on the cushioned bench, watching, sipping beer, and writing.
memories can be made anywhere, but some places are more fertile than others, for reasons that go beyond business structure and the other factors one might use to discriminate.
seven or eight years ago, i started coming here with a friend from work. i had a hard time with it at first, mired between loathing the young/professional/beautiful people that crowded there to ogle each other and trade bullshit, and my fondness for my friend debra, who immediately and effectively connected with the less-affected crowd of accented men that gathered regularly in the "office." debra and those people won out.
and so, for a time, the bar became a center of social activity for me, even though i was mostly an observer of most of it. but it still proved a point of connection, with no better illustration than the meeting of sheila and david.
sheila was my neighbor, a diminutive, perpetually cheerful nurse, and a recent divorcee when i met her, who was still saddled with the unlikely and unfortunate married name of... "pooser." i became fast friends with her, and her little dog, too, a determined little boston terrier named "inga."
sheila became, and remains to this day, a confidant, her usefulness in that role actually enhanced by the fact that she now lives in seattle, so that even at 1:00 in the morning, i have someone i can call to kvetch to that will be, at most, only slightly annoyed with me.
when she was here, though, we had a lot of fun. she would laugh and clap her hands like a kid when we'd go driving fast in my little convertible, careening around corners, and even laughing when she admitted to being occasionally frightened.
she wasn't clapping or laughing on our second-fastest drive together, though, doing 110 up loop one at 3:00 in the morning. she had called me, in serious pain, needing help to get to the hospital. hours later, i watched as she underwent the spinal tap that revealed a case of spinal meningitis, an unenthusiastic first experience for both of us. in case you were wondering, an actual spinal tap is apparently not as quite as funny as the movie.
months later, sheila rushed over to my apartment with her massive medical kit to patch me up and rush me to the hospital when a game of basketball led to a hard foul, which led to a fight. ok, not so much of a fight as, let's say, a pummeling, since i never landed a punch in defense, but had my nose broken and the rest of my face bludgeoned fairly well in a matter of seconds.
that is a story for another time.
but we had a great time at the hospital, a lot more fun than we were able to have with the spinal tap. i played dead, soaked with blood as i was, and she took pictures. we giggled when the social worker at the hospital came down to essentially find out if sheila had done all this to me in some domestic dispute.
but, as usual, i digress.
so, one night, i came to fado's with my friend debra. at some point, i left, and sheila came in minutes later, looking for my friend karen, who i had no idea was a friend and coworker of sheila's.
as sheila walked through, a girl that i think debra knew was talking to one of the british regulars, trying to dispel his notion of a lack of dating prospects in the city. in a risky attempt to demonstrate, she grabbed sheila, whom neither she nor debra knew, and offered her up as an example.
i must apologize for the painful obviousness of the coming cliche, and even the style in which i am so likely to present it, but i now have to fork over some dough (happily, of course) to buy a ticket to seattle to see sheila and david get married this may.
for years, i only returned here to fado's sporadically, and never at my own suggestion. changes pulled me away and our particular group of regulars apart to an extent. curiously, for some time, splits in a couple of fado-born relationshipsresulted in two groups of people becoming regulars at two other pubs across the street from each other, sixth street becoming a sad sort of mason-dixon line.
a little over a year ago, i came to work a block away from fado's, returning to a building i had worked in 12 years earlier.
i came here, reluctantly, for a quick lunch one day. then we came for the occasional happy hour. i came for a trivia contest, then several more, my teams usually dominating under a variety of names, including "the swift goat veterinarians for trivia", "dick cheney's lesbian daughters" (in which i was an honorary lesbian member), "the ken jennings experience", and "zell miller is a putrid whore".
these names all made sense and were very clever and timely in their day.
we came for a happy hour and my friend and boss, fread, won the guinness-pouring contest, scoring some money, some cool schwag, and passes for the legal division to attend the st. patrick's day party. there, i went up to and chatted up a girl, something that was new to me in those early and exciting days of last year.
more importantly, when i began to rediscover writing, i found not only liquid jet-fuel here, but comfort and familiarity, as if the ghost of my muse lived here.
it's a rare place where i feel ok being alone, probably because i don't feel alone. in some small measure, i feel at home. for many, for most people, home is one place, maybe a few. like other things we seek in life - balance, meaning, hope, even love, a sense of home is shaped by choice, time and memory, but there's also just a feel, a vibe. for me, i find home mostly in people, but also in a small number of actual places. the bottom line is that home is where i find it, when i find it. it's just wherever i find myself being the most myself.
so here i sit, in a corporate chain bar. i drink my lager and lime. i have music, i have friendly faces, and i write, pages and pages at a time, and sometimes, like tonight, i smile and almost laugh with joy because the words, great or not, come pouring out of me. perhaps things will change here, or i'll change, or something might pull me away, but for tonight, for now, this is just fine.
Posted by Rob at 11:10 PM | Comments (0)
January 18, 2005
something different
so, last night, in the cathartic course of writing that last entry, i worked, once again, through the bulk of the process of yet another recovery from doubt. the answers were all there, obvious even to me.
today, it continued - comments and phone calls from more friends than i really anticipated read my blog on any given day. and i felt really good, and really stupid. good that i have such friends, good that by and large, though i might struggle with things occasionally, the progress isn't glacial, but mostly positive. stupid in that those doubts recur and i fall prey to them so easily.
at the same time, i realize that having those doubts and questions in my mind keep me at a level of awareness that i appreciate and value, as a human being and certainly as a writer. i'd rather know that side, understand it, and see a better truth than to be ignorant, to have it all come too easily. i'm just fortunate i have so many friends willing to ride out the times of questions and even despair.
so, tonight, i was determined to write something funny, something light. i sat before the computer. i paced. i had a couple of beers. nothing has struck me as writeably funny for a while. new slight fear - what if medication makes me intractably dull? we'll see.
so i turned my attention back to the novel thingy, and there's a new piece to it. look, i'm not so sure i'm on a good track, here. writing dialogue, progressing a story on a large scale feels uncomfortable and awkward and... chunky. i think i tend to be overdramatic, maybe overwrought. so, this sort of writing may not work out for me at all. but maybe it'll end up like a really bad movie that you can't help but stay up and watch just to find out what the hell happens.
Posted by Rob at 11:54 PM | Comments (1)
January 17, 2005
where i am, part two: just keep swimming
where was i? oh yeah, where i am. look, the past two weeks have been a mess. when i last wrote, i was intending to try to look back and recount some of the important bits, and maybe figure some things out in the process. but that process seems a bit arduous for me now, and no doubt tedious for any readers. and i'm tired - i only want answers, not more analysis.
i just hit an impasse. the problem with change, is that, well, things change, and that can be baffling. i mean, reorientation does involve first disorienting oneself, doesn't it? i talked a good game on new year's eve, saying things that i still believe in, but belief and faith have been difficult lately.
in the last couple of weeks, i began to dislike myself again. i had regained much of the weight i lost last year, and hated how i looked.
i realized that i had simply repeated, once again, the same financial mistakes, when i had yet to, even with help, overcome the consequences of the previous round of mistakes.
it's hurt that a couple of new friendships that i had come to rely on have seemed to disappear without any reason i can discern. i miss their companionship and their warmth.
and, despite of generally taking a more laid-back, take-it-as-it-comes approach to dating, i tire of the repeated failures in that area. even without really trying, i meet a lot of people. i've met an unusual number of people i find myself interested in lately, but time after time, it's been disappointing. i'm still more confident than i've been in my life, but there's a truth in the pattern of those continuing failures, and it's only logical to question myself.
and, i can't talk about rejection without acknowledging a sort of hypocrisy, confessing to being sort of an uncomfortable double-agent for rejection. there are some wonderful, beautiful people that have opened themselves up to me, who, to their credit, haven't stopped caring or being friends to me, despite my repeated refusal to let relationships develop. i know that for some of them, i'm a link in a chain of recent rejections and disappointments. it's not a failure of open-mindedness on my part, or any failure or shortcoming on their parts, but it's just sort of the hideous truth of the process - people want what they want, and any of our roles could easily be reversed. i think we are very often the same monster to others that we ourselves fear.
on top of it all, i got out of touch with writing for a while, there. i hear bits and pieces of feedback from people, but as i've said, i'm someone that likes his consistent affirmation and validation. particularly with the dramatic lack of response to a couple of my last posts of last year, i began feeling like i was amusing no one but myself with all of this. and writing itself became more difficult - i couldn't afford the oh-so productive trips to the pub alone. and, drinking much past a couple of beers doesn't seem to mix well with the new medications.
then, when i do write, like tonight, it feels tiresome and sterile, subtle and miniscule variations on a theme of whining and despair. i'm a narcissistic writer - i love to re-read my stuff. i find moments in it that i look on with pride because i feel they've captured some beauty and reflected it accurately. i've even allowed myself a couple of drinks tonight, but this is all it's getting me.
so, the upshot of all this? where am i now? i've lost some weight just in the last week or so, almost 10 pounds. i missed my 10 mile run saturday morning, but with my friend laurel's help, ran 9 sunday morning, only coming up the mile short due to mistake on my part. i've decided to run two half-marathons in two weeks, and i intend to try to run the san diego rock 'n roll marathon in june.
i've redoubled my efforts at my job, and i pounded out an impressive amount of work over the last week and a half, skipping lunches, even going in for a few hours today. i'm playing basketball again, which challenges me mentally, rebuilding my will and perseverance. and dull or not, i am here with my beer trying to write.
discipline. one of those friends i fear lost sold me on the virtue of not asking "why", but just doing, and letting the why follow. that's sort of all i got right now - do, and have faith in the maybe, or don't do, and be certain that nothing will continue to happen...
Posted by Rob at 09:54 PM | Comments (6)
January 13, 2005
minimalist result of stupid misreading blog of the day
a headline in this morning's austin american statesman bluntly reveals a new alternative to both the flu, social security and national health care crises - kill 'em!:
Flu now widespread in state
Caretakers for the chronically ill, people over 50 may get shot.
Posted by Rob at 09:14 AM | Comments (0)
January 11, 2005
where i am, part one: 14 miles
i'm on an island in a busy intersection,
i can't go forward, now i can't turn back.
can't see the future, it's getting away from me,
i just watch the taillights glowing.
one step closer to knowing...
- u2, one step closer
so, both of you readers know that at last report, i was optimistic about the new year, and i was on a roll with the writing. but the last 10 days or so, i've been off-balance, somehow. i was even in a bit of doubt whether i'd continue doing this.
but tonight, i have some breathing room, i feel good after a run, and i've had a few lager and limes. so, let's recap and see what the hell's going on, here. but for the sake of sanity and the possibility of my getting some sleep tonight after several nights of some fairly tortured dreams, i'ma break it into more easily digested bits.
on the second day of the new year, i ran 14 miles. i had been taunted a few days earlier by a friend who called the half-marathon "a cop-out," and said i should run the full. i think i had never been so angry at her before. i intended to call her on her birthday, which is either new year's eve or new year's day, but i got caught up in things and... forgot. a little unconscious statement?
but, angry as i was, my buttons had been pushed. i thought that maybe i should run the full. then i thought, "screw that," that maybe even the full wasn't such a big deal unless you were one of the elite runners. a lot of people, including my friend, had run full marathons. now, runners are talking about running 50 miles or more.
so, i decided maybe i'd run the 14-mile training run, without my usual kick in the last couple of miles, to see how i felt. if i felt i could imagine running even 6 more miles, i'd go for the full, and just not even tell my naysayer friend about it. if not, i'd stick with the half, and just not even tell my naysayer friend about it.
i met up with running buddy janay at 6:30 sunday morning, at the Runtex Store for Psychotic Running People up at the Gateway shopping center, way up in north austin. it was dark when we left, and because several different training groups were combined, we looked pretty impressive, scores of determined-looking, lightly-clad men and women jogging en masse.
the run was difficult for me. it was relatively warm and humid, i had stupidly gotten only about 4 hours of sleep, and i could just never find a rhythm. had it not been for janay, i surely would have bailed out at some point. as we ran southward, tracking the mopac expressway like it was a river, i kept computing how close i was to potential sanctuaries... richard lives four blocks that way... mike's parents are just a little ways over there, they'd take me in...
but janay kept me talking, just like in the movies, where my character had been shot, and/or had both legs trapped under a massive boulder, and/or was freezing to death, and i'm whining about how cold i feel and how i just want to sleep, and the other character has to try to keep me conscious and talking and not, like, dying and stuff.
about a third of the way through, janay and i were in a pretty deep conversation - she was sharing some stuff, and i wheezed and grunted meaningfully in empathetic response. we had just crossed a bridge over the expressway, and i heard a big v-8 engine wide-open up ahead. about a quarter of a mile up, i saw a huge old cruiser, an old oldsmobile or pontiac or something, crest a small rise in the road.
i suggested we move to the sidewalk, and janay agreed. had there been other runners around, it would be polite and customary to yell "car!", though in this case, "holy shit!" would have been more appropriate. the car, driven by a woman, with one passenger, blasted by us, trailing a fair amount of smoke. the driver looked perfectly calm, as if it were 7:30am on a sunday morning (which it was), and she had a backseat full of groceries.
seconds later, a sheriff's car, followed by two or three austin police squad cars, blasted by. as he approached, the sheriff's deputy pointed ahead, quizzically, and we nodded and jerked our thumbs in affirmation in the direction of the engine noise and trail of smoke.
the starsky and hutch moment, unfortunately, failed to provide an adrenaline kick. my pained plodding continued.
but janay and i made it, ending the run in a light drizzle, though at that point, i, at least, was already soaked in sweat. i normally try to kick into a higher gear in the last mile or two, but on this day, i had nothing. i pushed to finish the last half mile hard, but my strides were heavy, though determined and long.
afterwards, janay and i limped over to magnolia cafe for breakfast. she was able to change shirts. i went to the restroom and wrung out my amazing, high-tech, but nevertheless soaked nike running shirt, then held it under the hand dryer for several minutes.
a little kid, about 7 or 8 years old, came in, and i felt a bit awkward in a small bathroom, without a shirt, with a little kid. i went out to the hallway, and his mother was out there waiting. she was young, maybe in her early twenties, attractive, but beginning to show signs not of age, but of maybe some... accelerated living. we began talking, and she told me about the upcoming custody battle with her ex-husband for her two kids, because he didn't want to pay child support.
the conversation actually lasted for a good 10 to 15 minutes while her son was in the restroom. when he emerged, i wished her luck, and went back in to resume the drying process.
a split-second later, i reemerged, having found the entire room soaked and smelling of urine.
i had an awesome breakfast, and janay drove me back up north to my car. i went home and slept the rest of the day. my feelings were pretty mixed...
i was happy to have completed 14 miles, but disappointed in how difficult it had been for me, unlike the 12 mile run a few weeks earlier. at the same time, having a bad run reminded me that i was still trying to do something that was tough for me. finishing it reminded me that how far i run matters far less than how far i push myself. i'm proud of myself, and of my friends that are doing it. in fact, we've since decided to run both the 3M half on january 30th, and the freescale half on february 13th. i'm thinking of it as one full marathon with a really long pee break.
i felt the rare camaraderie of enduring and accomplishing something with one other person, but i felt the realization that moments of companionship like that have always proven fleeting, and i wondered at what they really meant, at the end of the day when people turn their attentions to more important connections and events to endure.
and, i caught myself once again wondering about the "why" of it all; wondering how much the pushing and the effort, not so much in the running, but in the everyday, would end up meaning; wondering what would ever really change in my life...
Posted by Rob at 11:29 PM | Comments (2)
January 03, 2005
you say you want a revolution...
When I was a child, everything I saw in my dreamed life was about changing the world. I wanted to be an astronaut for much of my life, my steady childhood diet of Star Trek instilling in me not only a desire for adventure, but the belief that I could help carry the best traits of humanity into space. Plus, there was apparently an unlimited supply of babes out in space.
Eventually, bad eyesight and a bit of disillusionment at the faltering of our space program, plus the realization that I would have a difficult enough time with earth babes, disabused me of that dream.
Even before I envisioned myself as an astronaut, though, and straight through to the present day, music and writing have been even stronger constants and passions in my life. The motivation and significance has never been that different from the reasons I wanted to be an astronaut. I saw the opportunity for adventure and the half altruistic/half megalomanical impulse to be someone who moved humanity forward.
From a very early age, I realized the power of making people feel. For the sake of efficiency and self-protection, we keep our hearts silent through much, if not all, of each day. To break through that, just for the space of a song, a story, a movie, or the moment of seeing a picture, has value. Art has the power not only to entertain, but to keep us in touch with our better and truer selves. Deep down, I always felt this was how I would best change the world.
It did not happen. A few years ago, I visited Mr. Bolton, who had been my supervisor at a job I held while in college. He was a renaissance man, full of knowledge of and passion for music, writing, art and science, all complemented by an unbounded compassion. He was without a doubt one of the great guides and influences in my life, and he showed a tremendous amount of faith that those same traits and abilities were in me.
When I saw him again, the first thing he asked me was, "have you changed the world?" I laughed and said "not yet," thinking he was teasing me about youthful idealism. He wasn't laughing. He just asked me, "Why the hell not?"
I still believe that I was meant to change the world. Looking at where I am and what I haven't done, at my own seeming inability to change my own life, I often have a tremendous sense of waste and loss. There are many ways to impact the world, and they're all necessary, but law was not my right way. I remember meeting a for-real space shuttle pilot at a party a few years ago. We talked at length, and when he asked what I did, I was ashamed to tell him I was an attorney. Seeing live music, hanging out with musicians like I did tonight, it's really hard not to feel an immense sadness and a certain disconnectedness.
Only in the last year have I seen that it's not too late yet. The law failed to completely squelch all of my creativity. I've been surrounded by people who think big, who still see the possibilities in themselves, in the world, and in me.
There are a lot of different ways it might all play out for me, individually, but one opportunity has opened that embodies the spirit, means, and scope of ideas. It's an idea that's only formally a few days old, though like most ideas, like most revolutions, it's been simmering for some time.
Julie, who I've referred to quite a bit here for practical reasons but more so for the inspiration and support she's lent, has been going through the process of finding her own best, most meaningful path. The result is that she's decided to throw a revolution, and she's inviting others to come and help. It is called, tentatively, "The Revolution Project."
Julie is much more adept at explaining the genesis of the idea, where she sees it going, and what it needs to work, so I won't even try to rehash all that. But the point is, it's based on the ideas of empathy, of inspiring people to believe they can create positive change, and to provide the resources and support for people to actualize that belief.
So much social activism, critical as it is, is preaching to the choir. There's plenty of political and philosophical debate out there, but it seems to largely involve people who are already intellectually entrenched in their politics and beliefs. That entrenchment even derails activism that merely attempts to raise awareness. What Julie proposes is different, because it goes straight to the heart. It bypasses the academic and intellectual and begins with one of our greatest natural impulses - empathy.
The clear example of empathy at work is the world reaction to the tsunami disaster. The scale of the tragedy on the other side of the world last week had impact on people worldwide. But, clearly, the images seen and stories heard were even more effective in stirring people to care and to respond. I believe that many people donated money or volunteered time out of some primal recognition of a connection to those people on the screen, and a desire to maintain that connection.
Then it was a matter of letting people know what the needs are, and telling them how to go about it. Empathy and connection were developed, then backed up with information. And that, as I understand it in its early formative concept, is how the Revolution Project would work.
So, maybe this all sounds sort of wacky. But the world has gotten pretty fcuking wacky, hasn't it? Our lives, the modern way of life, the media, politics, all have us at least several steps removed from our hearts so much of the time. I hate to sound like a prophet of doom, but every day, the wheels are turning, further widening that gap, and some of our grand artificial constructs are growing unchecked by concern for the implications for humanity, for our souls.
It seems more wacky not to have a revolution, to meekly submit, to lose something of ourselves. It's a grand idea, its manifesto broad, even in its infancy. What's the focus, you ask? Whatcha got?
Most people don't start revolutions because of fear of failure, doubts of whether they can lead, doubts as to whether enough will follow. While charisma and knowledge are important, what makes a revolutionary is an idea, and a matter of will. Julie has the idea, and the will, and the charisma and background and support, to boot. The same is all that's required of anyone who decides that it's time to really push for a change. People aren't born revolutionaries - they become revolutionaries by taking part in revolutions.
So, check out what she has to say. Go back a bit and look at the entries that led up to this moment, and see if anything resonates with you. (At the top of the entry brought up by this link, there are links moving you forward (right) and backward (left). Go right.)
There are so many ways to play a part, whether you take up this particular path, or choose instead to make some small change in your life, or to dedicate yourself to continuing the good, compassionate work many of you already do. But regardless of what you choose to do, or how you choose to do it, do something. Stay conscious, stay feeling, because the revolution begins and ends in the heart.
Posted by Rob at 02:09 PM | Comments (0)
January 01, 2005
minimalist superstitious regret blog of the day
i don't care much for football. played it for four years because i didn't know any better.
i went to the university of texas, four years undergrad, three years in law school, so, yeah, i'm a ut fan as much as i'm a fan of any college program. it's all relative.
i watched four moments of the rose bowl today. i watched the first two possessions, saw cedric benson get hurt.
i got home from running errands, the score is texas 14, michigan 7, michigan just failed to make a first down, so they have to punt. i fear the jinx i seem to put on ut football teams. but then, in this time of more positive thinking, i decide to kill off the jinx.
the punt is up, the ut receiver drops it. michigan recovers. i change channels.
check back minutes later, in time to see a michigan touchdown to tie the game. change the channel.
i just now turned it on - i haven't done too much damage this time! ut is up, 21 to 14! the first play (one damned play) i watch... michigan touchdown.
makes me wish i had been for bush.
i'm going to go rent some movies.
Posted by Rob at 06:17 PM | Comments (0)