I remember Fall.
I remember the drive through the leaves and along the lakeshore. I recall the sight of a road lined by trees encompassing every color in the spectrum for as far as the eye can see. I remember Alanis, John Meyer, Ani and all manner of other folk rock artists guiding my car along its way. I drove to spend a weekend in a Best Western with my girlfriend, I drove to allow the one in the passenger seat to let it all out, I drove to end the pain, love the infatuation, embrace the world. I drove with a car full of friends or completely alone. My destination was not important. In the trip was the magic.
I find myself in the midst of life’s turmoil. A relationship longed treasured may come to an end because of the necessity of life. Those tears of which I spoke, the ones that prove that this has been the best time of my life, have flowed. My smile has wavered, but it has not disappeared. This is a sad end, if that is what it shall be. But, be it the beginning of something new and even more precious? Do I not hold my friends so very close to me? Would I not lay down my life for their happiness? Their safety? Just to get them to laugh? Look guys! I’ll yell, I know you’re sad, so here! I have jumped into the path of this trolley! It has to be like 50 years since anyone has been killed by a trolley!! WHAT FUN! And they would laugh and my work would be done. Actually, that is pretty funny when I think about it. Taken out by a trolley, imagine the headlines! “Man’s Face Catches Red Line To Downtown.”
The point is, friendship is just as meaningful as love, sometimes even more so. There is, however, less sex, but that’s OK. Sex just screws things up anyway, especially between friends…….ESPECIALLY between DRUNK friends!
I stood today, in front of my mirror. After I had finished my best Peter Griffin impressions and lip synced a little to Michael Bolton, I asked my reflection this simple little question: “Brooks, wanna make out?” Then I asked, “Brooks, are you happy? Right here, right now, in this moment, in your jogging outfit, about to run your fat head even further into oblivion, ARE-YOU-HAPPY?” My reflection rubbed its go-tee in a pondering sort of fashion (since I do not have glasses to whip off and chew ever so slightly whilst I think, this will have to do). After a moment, it nodded, Silent Bob style. In my thoughts I heard, “Yes, I am happy, right here, right now. We may lose her as a girlfriend, but she is amazing, she will find someone who will make her happy and we will have her as a friend, BEST friend. We may leave this place, this wonderful land of wonderful people, but we will forever have it in our minds and we will forever have it to come back to. We may be moving back home to start all over again because YOU insisted on selling EVERYTHING, even the black velveteen art, but that just means that we remain free. Things will not hold us down like they did before. And when we have things again, there will be no hurtful memories attached to it. You will no longer find hair from your long lost dog in the couch nor will you be reminded of old times and unhealthy people when you sit down at the dinner table and see the various marks that were left behind. Yes, I am happy and I can see that you are too.”
Soon, I will be wandering the shores of Lake Michigan. The colors will be changing, the sweaters will come out (along with my uber sexy coat!), the Fall décor, the crisp breeze, the overwhelming urge to hop in my car and go enjoy it. I may be wandering that beach with friends, a new someone or all on my own. Right now, that matters not. Life’s journey continues on. Life’s choices bring with them life’s consequences. This is my time, this is my place.
Will this new vision come true? Will life completely turn around on me again? Who knows? All that is known for certain is that, day by day, I will live. Someday my life will flash before my eyes, my job is to make certain that the show is a good one!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Paris and Antigua
The next couple of weeks are going to be sweet!
Next week, probably Tuesday or so, Stephanie and I are loading up the little Tracer and heading out into the wilds of Guatemala. We will see places like Tikal and Semuc Champe (or however one spells it).
Tikal is most likely Guatemala’s number one tourist attraction. It is a Mayan ruin site, the oldest religious site, in fact. It is in the far north of the country. I am very much looking forward to seeing it. I am also very much looking forward to seeing the monkeys that inhabit the surrounding rain forests. There are a select few places to stay in Tikal, we’ll be sort of roughing it. Also, Star Wars filmed in Tikal. I can not wait! It will be beyond sweet! Near death stories will come after we make it back…..hear that fates??? NEAR death, please and thank you!
The week after next brings a visit from my buddy, my pal, Geoff of Michigan. I feel so worldly! I must tell people who he is and where he is from! Nice. He shall hang out here in Antigua with me for 5 days, I shall show him the sights and Shannon shall protect us. Awesome.
A very strange thing is happening at the moment. A huge crowd is gathered outside of Antigua’s best hotel, about three blocks away from where I live. That huge crowd is gathered hoping to get a glimpse of Paris Hilton. Not kidding. She’s down here for a reality show or something like that, who knows. I am not among the throngs. I love Paris, but I am no stalker. Welcome to Antigua! I bet everyone in the crowd has a flute that they will try to sell her……insider Antigua joke.
Everyday here in Guatemala is another adventure. Life comes at you hard and fast here.
Yet, I feel that anywhere in the world, from Antigua to Boise, life can be like that if one allows it. Is it not our own choice to sit on the couch and let the hours tick past? Is it also not our choice to instead spend those hours amongst friends or strangers allowing the next adventure to come to pass? One can not catch a dream if one is not in the path that it travels. Believe me, sometimes, being hit with a bit of the unexpected is the very best thing that will ever happen to you! Safe and secure is not the way life is lived. So, I say to you, hop into a car and go! Say yes! Be that person that everyone envies because everything cool happens to them!
That’s my little schpeel for the day, folks. I am now off to the internet to research adventure for the upcoming road trip!!! YES! WE WILL BUY SNACKS!!!!
Next week, probably Tuesday or so, Stephanie and I are loading up the little Tracer and heading out into the wilds of Guatemala. We will see places like Tikal and Semuc Champe (or however one spells it).
Tikal is most likely Guatemala’s number one tourist attraction. It is a Mayan ruin site, the oldest religious site, in fact. It is in the far north of the country. I am very much looking forward to seeing it. I am also very much looking forward to seeing the monkeys that inhabit the surrounding rain forests. There are a select few places to stay in Tikal, we’ll be sort of roughing it. Also, Star Wars filmed in Tikal. I can not wait! It will be beyond sweet! Near death stories will come after we make it back…..hear that fates??? NEAR death, please and thank you!
The week after next brings a visit from my buddy, my pal, Geoff of Michigan. I feel so worldly! I must tell people who he is and where he is from! Nice. He shall hang out here in Antigua with me for 5 days, I shall show him the sights and Shannon shall protect us. Awesome.
A very strange thing is happening at the moment. A huge crowd is gathered outside of Antigua’s best hotel, about three blocks away from where I live. That huge crowd is gathered hoping to get a glimpse of Paris Hilton. Not kidding. She’s down here for a reality show or something like that, who knows. I am not among the throngs. I love Paris, but I am no stalker. Welcome to Antigua! I bet everyone in the crowd has a flute that they will try to sell her……insider Antigua joke.
Everyday here in Guatemala is another adventure. Life comes at you hard and fast here.
Yet, I feel that anywhere in the world, from Antigua to Boise, life can be like that if one allows it. Is it not our own choice to sit on the couch and let the hours tick past? Is it also not our choice to instead spend those hours amongst friends or strangers allowing the next adventure to come to pass? One can not catch a dream if one is not in the path that it travels. Believe me, sometimes, being hit with a bit of the unexpected is the very best thing that will ever happen to you! Safe and secure is not the way life is lived. So, I say to you, hop into a car and go! Say yes! Be that person that everyone envies because everything cool happens to them!
That’s my little schpeel for the day, folks. I am now off to the internet to research adventure for the upcoming road trip!!! YES! WE WILL BUY SNACKS!!!!
Monday, August 17, 2009
Gander and Guatemala
What follows is an article I wrote about a Support Team that I lead while with Safe Passage. For those of you that have asked, this is a great example of what life is like on a Support Team!
Leaving a comfort zone for any reason is oftentimes the single most difficult thing a person can do. Leaving that comfort zone for guaranteed uncertainty in a far away land amongst an unfamiliar people makes the task even harder. Yet, in late April, 5 women did just that.
They left the familiarity and convenience of their United Church of Canada behind and ventured into Zones 7 and 3 of Guatemala City, two of the poorest, most at risk, dangerous zones in an already uncertain city.
For two of the five, this was their second trip and for the Gander Group leader, Reverend Stephanie McClellan, of the Gander Pastoral Charge for the United Church of Canada, this was her third trip.
Most would wonder why Rev. Stephanie, along with Lorraine Elliott, Marilyn Boone, Juanita Andrews and Lynda Manuel, would make this trip once, let alone two and three times. One conversation with any of these women will convince anyone that their reason was more than sound.
"The Gander Group," as they were known, went to Guatemala to offer a week of support to an organization known as Safe Passage (safepassage.org). Safe Passage works to break the cycle of poverty that is present within the community of the Guatemala City Garbage dump. For decades families have scavenged a living from the trash piles of this unregulated dump. They sort through all manner of household, business, industrial, medical and other waste trying to find items to eat, wear, sell and build their homes with. Safe Passage works with the children of these families, paying for their education, offering free medical and social care for the entire family, obtaining scholarships for higher education, providing a balanced diet and hygiene education as well as a plethora of other services. Their ultimate goal is to free the child from the cycle of poverty that has ensnared the rest of their family and allow the child to play, be educated and be free. This, in turn, allows the family a chance to break free as well. The success of a child often means the betterment of the entire family in Guatemala, where family ties are so very close.
"Every visit I have made has been life changing. As team leader, I am eager to expose others to this experience of poverty and richness, bleakness and joy, despair and hope," Rev. McClellan said. "My church asked me to lead a mission trip. I forged connections with Safe Passage and continue to bring teams down for the exposure and continued learning, growth and readjustment of my own priorities."
Many of the Gander Group Team members were moved by the Academy Award nominated short documentary "Recycled Life" (recycledlifedoc.com). This documentary showcases what life is like for a "Guajero" or dump worker.
"For a few hours a day the children are removed from the poverty they know and are loved, clothed and fed," said Juanita Andrews, reflecting on her view of what many call "the oasis," Safe Passage’s Guarderia, or pre-school program. This building is well landscaped, open and completely child friendly even though it sits on land that is considered within the dump.
Safe Passage is staffed by teachers and counselors, but its backbone is its volunteers. Safe Passage is a non-profit NGO with its headquarters in Maine, USA. For anyone to give of their time, whether that be one day, one week, or a number of years, is an amazing sacrifice that Safe Passage survives on. These volunteers are a special breed of people, as any visitor to the project will see.
"How wonderful the volunteers are with the children! Their dedication and passion for the children was awesome!" Marilyn Boone said.
"You could just see their self esteem showing through as the staff and volunteers praised the children with kind words and reassuring smiles," said Lorraine Elliot, expanding on Marilyn’s thought.
All five team members stated that they would love to return to Safe Passage and would encourage all that they knew to do the same.
"I believe more people should experience what I have. There is so much to learn from it about life," Marilyn Boone said.
"This certainly helps people see how skewed our priorities can get in our affluent culture. It has been amazing making a difference with one kid one smile at a time," Rev. McClellan said.
The Gander Group continues to work on behalf of Safe Passage. They have each spoken at their different churches and at other various engagements. They are also actively screening "Recycled Life" for friends and those interested.
"This is a very emotional experience. Be prepared to shed tears, share laughter and smiles. This is an experience that will stay with you forever," said Lynda Manuel, when asked what advice she would offer a new team.
For more information on all things Safe Passage, including how to build your own story in Guatemala, visit their website safepassage.org.
Brooks Vanderbush can be reached at brooks_in_antigua@operamail.com.
Leaving a comfort zone for any reason is oftentimes the single most difficult thing a person can do. Leaving that comfort zone for guaranteed uncertainty in a far away land amongst an unfamiliar people makes the task even harder. Yet, in late April, 5 women did just that.
They left the familiarity and convenience of their United Church of Canada behind and ventured into Zones 7 and 3 of Guatemala City, two of the poorest, most at risk, dangerous zones in an already uncertain city.
For two of the five, this was their second trip and for the Gander Group leader, Reverend Stephanie McClellan, of the Gander Pastoral Charge for the United Church of Canada, this was her third trip.
Most would wonder why Rev. Stephanie, along with Lorraine Elliott, Marilyn Boone, Juanita Andrews and Lynda Manuel, would make this trip once, let alone two and three times. One conversation with any of these women will convince anyone that their reason was more than sound.
"The Gander Group," as they were known, went to Guatemala to offer a week of support to an organization known as Safe Passage (safepassage.org). Safe Passage works to break the cycle of poverty that is present within the community of the Guatemala City Garbage dump. For decades families have scavenged a living from the trash piles of this unregulated dump. They sort through all manner of household, business, industrial, medical and other waste trying to find items to eat, wear, sell and build their homes with. Safe Passage works with the children of these families, paying for their education, offering free medical and social care for the entire family, obtaining scholarships for higher education, providing a balanced diet and hygiene education as well as a plethora of other services. Their ultimate goal is to free the child from the cycle of poverty that has ensnared the rest of their family and allow the child to play, be educated and be free. This, in turn, allows the family a chance to break free as well. The success of a child often means the betterment of the entire family in Guatemala, where family ties are so very close.
"Every visit I have made has been life changing. As team leader, I am eager to expose others to this experience of poverty and richness, bleakness and joy, despair and hope," Rev. McClellan said. "My church asked me to lead a mission trip. I forged connections with Safe Passage and continue to bring teams down for the exposure and continued learning, growth and readjustment of my own priorities."
Many of the Gander Group Team members were moved by the Academy Award nominated short documentary "Recycled Life" (recycledlifedoc.com). This documentary showcases what life is like for a "Guajero" or dump worker.
"For a few hours a day the children are removed from the poverty they know and are loved, clothed and fed," said Juanita Andrews, reflecting on her view of what many call "the oasis," Safe Passage’s Guarderia, or pre-school program. This building is well landscaped, open and completely child friendly even though it sits on land that is considered within the dump.
Safe Passage is staffed by teachers and counselors, but its backbone is its volunteers. Safe Passage is a non-profit NGO with its headquarters in Maine, USA. For anyone to give of their time, whether that be one day, one week, or a number of years, is an amazing sacrifice that Safe Passage survives on. These volunteers are a special breed of people, as any visitor to the project will see.
"How wonderful the volunteers are with the children! Their dedication and passion for the children was awesome!" Marilyn Boone said.
"You could just see their self esteem showing through as the staff and volunteers praised the children with kind words and reassuring smiles," said Lorraine Elliot, expanding on Marilyn’s thought.
All five team members stated that they would love to return to Safe Passage and would encourage all that they knew to do the same.
"I believe more people should experience what I have. There is so much to learn from it about life," Marilyn Boone said.
"This certainly helps people see how skewed our priorities can get in our affluent culture. It has been amazing making a difference with one kid one smile at a time," Rev. McClellan said.
The Gander Group continues to work on behalf of Safe Passage. They have each spoken at their different churches and at other various engagements. They are also actively screening "Recycled Life" for friends and those interested.
"This is a very emotional experience. Be prepared to shed tears, share laughter and smiles. This is an experience that will stay with you forever," said Lynda Manuel, when asked what advice she would offer a new team.
For more information on all things Safe Passage, including how to build your own story in Guatemala, visit their website safepassage.org.
Brooks Vanderbush can be reached at brooks_in_antigua@operamail.com.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Two Months
I have often pondered what would happen to a mosquito’s social life should he or she ever be sprayed with “Off.”
Would it become a social pariah? Would it be shunned? Or, would it be praised as one who had survived the Great Starvation Inducing Scent?
What makes such drama so very interesting?
I sit here tonight in the midst of my massive domain. This house sprawls and echoes with its emptiness. Yesterday, there was a party, today there was just Steph and me. Tonight, there is only me. While I am a fan of solitude at times, right now it is a bit strange.
Two months, exactly, from yesterday, is when I will be moving on. Two small months. Two months from today I may be 3,000 miles away from this country, the people I have grown to love and the life I have spent over a year living. I do not know where I will be, but I am almost certain that it will not be here. The thought brings a lump to my throat and a smile to my face.
When I arrived in this country, over one year ago, I did so with much fear and anticipation. Would I fit in? Would I have friends beyond my amazing girlfriend? Would I have fun? Would I have adventures? Would I make a difference? Would this decision to drop everything and move to Central America turn out to be the right one?
I cannot answer that last question yet, but the others are obvious. Yes, I fit right in with these crazy bastards living on the edge of life, my fellow travelers, my fellow dreamers, my fellow citizens of this planet.
Yes, I have friends beyond Steph. I have friends that I have laughed with, drank and stumbled with, cried with, discussed the universe and how life is in Georgia (the country) with. I have played and I have played hard. The friendships that have grown during my time here have been fast and reckless. Some I have known for more than a year, some I only knew for a week or two. All have left an impression upon my soul that will never be undone.
Yes, I have had fun! Be it on my own or with my crew, I have had insane amounts of fun. The kind of fun that comes with a slight tinge of danger, the kind of fun that leaves one yearning for more! The kind of fun that permeates the soul and sets a fire within it, one that will never be extinguished. I suffer permanently from wanderlust and I shall indulge it fully until my dying day, be that tomorrow, December 21, 2012 or at an extreme old age, I shall practice my citizenship of this planet to its fullest extent!
Yes! I HAVE HAD AVENTURES! From the normal, everyday adventures that come from living the life of a wanderer in the third world to the kind that only come along once every now and then and include a dead guy, this life I lead has been enriched to the nth degree by my existence in Guatemala.
Yes, I have made a difference. From the children at Safe Passage to the bar counseling sessions with friends and complete strangers, I have reached out to those who have needed me and I have given my all to see them rise above their sadness, their pain to become the Phoenix that is so very often whispered of.
As I said, the last question remains to be seen. Was it wise to cut off a blossoming writing career and sell off a life’s worth of belongings, memories, things just to come and live on a shoestring budget in the third world 3,000 miles from my own, personal shining city on a hill? Hadn’t I just spent 4 years working my name into the writing game just so? Hadn’t I just started earning enough to save, play and enjoy life? Was it wise to throw all of that away?
No, it was not wise. However, the beginnings of most adventures are rarely founded on wise ideals. History is full of men and women who chose danger over safety, adventure over normal, unwise over wise. Perhaps this will turn out to be the grandest experiment of my life. I seriously doubt it, as that would mean that I would be settling down upon my return to….wherever.
I do not know if this decision was the one that should have been made, but it was the one that was made and I must live with the consequences of that.
Last night, my home was full of good friends, good food, good drink and good conversation. If that one moment, the moment where laughter filled my home, where music filled my space and where love filled my heart, be the moment to which I look for an answer to whether this is right or wrong, the answer is right, unabashedly so.
This life is unforgiving and ever giving. This life warrants living. This life, my life, is being lived. I decided, I dropped everything, I moved and I found a whole new way to be, a whole new side to this life that has brought me memories and happiness that will not soon fall away.
Would it become a social pariah? Would it be shunned? Or, would it be praised as one who had survived the Great Starvation Inducing Scent?
What makes such drama so very interesting?
I sit here tonight in the midst of my massive domain. This house sprawls and echoes with its emptiness. Yesterday, there was a party, today there was just Steph and me. Tonight, there is only me. While I am a fan of solitude at times, right now it is a bit strange.
Two months, exactly, from yesterday, is when I will be moving on. Two small months. Two months from today I may be 3,000 miles away from this country, the people I have grown to love and the life I have spent over a year living. I do not know where I will be, but I am almost certain that it will not be here. The thought brings a lump to my throat and a smile to my face.
When I arrived in this country, over one year ago, I did so with much fear and anticipation. Would I fit in? Would I have friends beyond my amazing girlfriend? Would I have fun? Would I have adventures? Would I make a difference? Would this decision to drop everything and move to Central America turn out to be the right one?
I cannot answer that last question yet, but the others are obvious. Yes, I fit right in with these crazy bastards living on the edge of life, my fellow travelers, my fellow dreamers, my fellow citizens of this planet.
Yes, I have friends beyond Steph. I have friends that I have laughed with, drank and stumbled with, cried with, discussed the universe and how life is in Georgia (the country) with. I have played and I have played hard. The friendships that have grown during my time here have been fast and reckless. Some I have known for more than a year, some I only knew for a week or two. All have left an impression upon my soul that will never be undone.
Yes, I have had fun! Be it on my own or with my crew, I have had insane amounts of fun. The kind of fun that comes with a slight tinge of danger, the kind of fun that leaves one yearning for more! The kind of fun that permeates the soul and sets a fire within it, one that will never be extinguished. I suffer permanently from wanderlust and I shall indulge it fully until my dying day, be that tomorrow, December 21, 2012 or at an extreme old age, I shall practice my citizenship of this planet to its fullest extent!
Yes! I HAVE HAD AVENTURES! From the normal, everyday adventures that come from living the life of a wanderer in the third world to the kind that only come along once every now and then and include a dead guy, this life I lead has been enriched to the nth degree by my existence in Guatemala.
Yes, I have made a difference. From the children at Safe Passage to the bar counseling sessions with friends and complete strangers, I have reached out to those who have needed me and I have given my all to see them rise above their sadness, their pain to become the Phoenix that is so very often whispered of.
As I said, the last question remains to be seen. Was it wise to cut off a blossoming writing career and sell off a life’s worth of belongings, memories, things just to come and live on a shoestring budget in the third world 3,000 miles from my own, personal shining city on a hill? Hadn’t I just spent 4 years working my name into the writing game just so? Hadn’t I just started earning enough to save, play and enjoy life? Was it wise to throw all of that away?
No, it was not wise. However, the beginnings of most adventures are rarely founded on wise ideals. History is full of men and women who chose danger over safety, adventure over normal, unwise over wise. Perhaps this will turn out to be the grandest experiment of my life. I seriously doubt it, as that would mean that I would be settling down upon my return to….wherever.
I do not know if this decision was the one that should have been made, but it was the one that was made and I must live with the consequences of that.
Last night, my home was full of good friends, good food, good drink and good conversation. If that one moment, the moment where laughter filled my home, where music filled my space and where love filled my heart, be the moment to which I look for an answer to whether this is right or wrong, the answer is right, unabashedly so.
This life is unforgiving and ever giving. This life warrants living. This life, my life, is being lived. I decided, I dropped everything, I moved and I found a whole new way to be, a whole new side to this life that has brought me memories and happiness that will not soon fall away.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
How a Broken Foot Relates to Life
I’ve been forced to slow down the last couple of days. A broken foot will do that for you.
It was on a jog a few days ago that I must have screwed it up. It feels like a stress fracture of some sort. I do not remember hurting it or doing anything that may have hurt it. I can only assume that it was my child like enthusiasm whilst running down the stairs at Cerro De La Cruz that did me in. I was Fred Astaire reincarnated! Either that or the moment that I broke it was so horrible that my mind erased it from my memory to save my already fragile psyche from further harm. Who knows?
I have gone jogging twice since the horrid, dull, makes me want to throw up pain began. I jog through the peak of the pain, ignoring the sensations traversing through my person, then it just goes away. I would be an awesome POW.
This hasn’t REALLY slowed me down at all. I’ve never been the type to allow something like pain to dictate what I will or will not do. My tooth hurts every now and then, but do you think that I will turn down chocolate just because of that? Hell no.
Life is a lot like that, isn’t it? Life hurts sometimes. Life makes you want to stay in bed, life makes you fear the slightest movement, because if it hurts so much right now, surely it will hurt even worse to go out and continue on, or, worse yet, move on!
Yet, there are some amongst us who, like myself, decide to ignore that pain, be it physical or emotional. We decide to climb up out of ourselves, become more than the sum of our being and trudge on.
I am in physical pain right now and it annoys the hell out of me. But I have been in “crippling” emotional pain before, too. Just like this stupid foot injury makes me fear throwing on my shoes and running out the door, my “emotional hurt” made me fear throwing on my game and putting myself back into the swing of things. I hated the thought of being hurt again. I hated the thought of being hurt worse than I already was. I hated the thought of any emotion passing through my brain as it all seemed so pointless.
Then, my 30 seconds of self pity died away and I put on my sexy shirt and joined my friends at the pub. Guess what? The pain went away. No, not because of copious amounts of alcohol, because pain, in any form, is a motivator. One has to live to be rid of it. I was hurt and then I lived and now I am so very glad that I went through that period, for it was that trauma, that pain, that transition that sent me to the heights that I inhabit today. The pain forced me out of my protective shell and into the real world where I found love, happiness, success and a life worth suffering for.
So, using that same mentality, I have thrown on my shoes and am heading out the door with Shannon to meet up with Val to get a liquado. I’ll be damned if a broken foot is going to keep me from good convo and a sugary drink!
It was on a jog a few days ago that I must have screwed it up. It feels like a stress fracture of some sort. I do not remember hurting it or doing anything that may have hurt it. I can only assume that it was my child like enthusiasm whilst running down the stairs at Cerro De La Cruz that did me in. I was Fred Astaire reincarnated! Either that or the moment that I broke it was so horrible that my mind erased it from my memory to save my already fragile psyche from further harm. Who knows?
I have gone jogging twice since the horrid, dull, makes me want to throw up pain began. I jog through the peak of the pain, ignoring the sensations traversing through my person, then it just goes away. I would be an awesome POW.
This hasn’t REALLY slowed me down at all. I’ve never been the type to allow something like pain to dictate what I will or will not do. My tooth hurts every now and then, but do you think that I will turn down chocolate just because of that? Hell no.
Life is a lot like that, isn’t it? Life hurts sometimes. Life makes you want to stay in bed, life makes you fear the slightest movement, because if it hurts so much right now, surely it will hurt even worse to go out and continue on, or, worse yet, move on!
Yet, there are some amongst us who, like myself, decide to ignore that pain, be it physical or emotional. We decide to climb up out of ourselves, become more than the sum of our being and trudge on.
I am in physical pain right now and it annoys the hell out of me. But I have been in “crippling” emotional pain before, too. Just like this stupid foot injury makes me fear throwing on my shoes and running out the door, my “emotional hurt” made me fear throwing on my game and putting myself back into the swing of things. I hated the thought of being hurt again. I hated the thought of being hurt worse than I already was. I hated the thought of any emotion passing through my brain as it all seemed so pointless.
Then, my 30 seconds of self pity died away and I put on my sexy shirt and joined my friends at the pub. Guess what? The pain went away. No, not because of copious amounts of alcohol, because pain, in any form, is a motivator. One has to live to be rid of it. I was hurt and then I lived and now I am so very glad that I went through that period, for it was that trauma, that pain, that transition that sent me to the heights that I inhabit today. The pain forced me out of my protective shell and into the real world where I found love, happiness, success and a life worth suffering for.
So, using that same mentality, I have thrown on my shoes and am heading out the door with Shannon to meet up with Val to get a liquado. I’ll be damned if a broken foot is going to keep me from good convo and a sugary drink!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Coke Heads Over For Supper
People say that the life of a wanderer is an amazing one full of adventure and last minute heroics. Well, I am here to tell you that the people who say that sort of thing are full of……correctness! They are absolutely right! One moment one is kicked back, watching a horrid movie, the biggest decision that they have to make is whether or not to stop the movie, the next, they are planning the proper security procedures (read: WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW??) involved in meeting a friend and making sure that her person stays safe and in one piece because drug dealers are chasing her down……AND SHE’S HIDING OUT AT THAT “ONE’S” HOUSE!!! Yeah, typical night in a wandering wanderer’s life! (For that “one’s” own safety, that is as far as that story will go)
For the life of me, I would not trade this adventure for anything.
I imagine that this life is only going to get more exciting, what with certain surrounding governments preparing for war with each other and elements within this very country plotting their own coup. There is a scene of myself that I sometimes see in my mind’s eye. That scene has me in front of a window, drink in my right hand, left hand in my pocket, standing in the midst of a debris filled bar room here in Antigua. The sound of bombing and weapons fire permeates the senses as the curtains flutter with each blast. I look out of the window to the panicked streets beyond, take a sip from my drink and ponder my next move very carefully. Maybe Angelina Jolie is there with me to…….HA! Just kidding. A strange calm has settled over me, one that comes from a year full of shock and awe. One that comes from a body so worn down by the constant need for 24/7 vigilance that it can no longer manage a raised eyebrow, let alone a frantic, screaming, flailing arms run!
As far fetched as that little scenario sounds to those of you in the US, to those of us here in the 3rd world, things can be like that in an instant. Life is truly lived on the edge in these parts of the world.
In a sense, I am already in a debris filled room sipping a drink and pondering my next move. If I could see into my mind, that would be the scene. The time to decide what my future holds is drawing near! I must choose between further adventure, big cities and Jaguars that are actually affordable! (I’ve always wanted a Jag!) “Further adventure” sees me staying here for a while longer or traveling to some other God forsaken corner of the globe to carve out an existence one day at a time with people that the world has left behind. “Big cities” sees me rocking out in Chicago or NYC, doing God knows what (hopefully writing, not whoring) and adding that ever longed for “big city” chapter to my life’s book. “Affordable Jaguars” sees me back in Michigan, buying a car, getting a few writing jobs (already mostly lined up) and living in an amazing spot for free (also already lined up), if only for a few months. Who knows where I will land? I would LOVE to do all three! Michigan would be perfect for me to regain some composure. Then a move to Chicago, where I feel life is most certainly beckoning me from. But, this life is unpredictable. I could be rubbed out by the volcano or coke heads. Who knows??
This life is a magic show! A trick and trade! A slight of hand rendition that shows me in the center ring and the 2nd ring and the 3rd ring. Which is the me that is real? Well, look behind the curtain and find out! Then, maybe, could you let me in on the trick?? I would really like to know! That is really how this life feels sometimes. A bit over exaggerated, a bit showy, but still my life and oh how I love it!
Saying yes to things has brought me trouble it seems. That is fine, no worries my friend! I am certain of survival, right to the bitter end!
For the life of me, I would not trade this adventure for anything.
I imagine that this life is only going to get more exciting, what with certain surrounding governments preparing for war with each other and elements within this very country plotting their own coup. There is a scene of myself that I sometimes see in my mind’s eye. That scene has me in front of a window, drink in my right hand, left hand in my pocket, standing in the midst of a debris filled bar room here in Antigua. The sound of bombing and weapons fire permeates the senses as the curtains flutter with each blast. I look out of the window to the panicked streets beyond, take a sip from my drink and ponder my next move very carefully. Maybe Angelina Jolie is there with me to…….HA! Just kidding. A strange calm has settled over me, one that comes from a year full of shock and awe. One that comes from a body so worn down by the constant need for 24/7 vigilance that it can no longer manage a raised eyebrow, let alone a frantic, screaming, flailing arms run!
As far fetched as that little scenario sounds to those of you in the US, to those of us here in the 3rd world, things can be like that in an instant. Life is truly lived on the edge in these parts of the world.
In a sense, I am already in a debris filled room sipping a drink and pondering my next move. If I could see into my mind, that would be the scene. The time to decide what my future holds is drawing near! I must choose between further adventure, big cities and Jaguars that are actually affordable! (I’ve always wanted a Jag!) “Further adventure” sees me staying here for a while longer or traveling to some other God forsaken corner of the globe to carve out an existence one day at a time with people that the world has left behind. “Big cities” sees me rocking out in Chicago or NYC, doing God knows what (hopefully writing, not whoring) and adding that ever longed for “big city” chapter to my life’s book. “Affordable Jaguars” sees me back in Michigan, buying a car, getting a few writing jobs (already mostly lined up) and living in an amazing spot for free (also already lined up), if only for a few months. Who knows where I will land? I would LOVE to do all three! Michigan would be perfect for me to regain some composure. Then a move to Chicago, where I feel life is most certainly beckoning me from. But, this life is unpredictable. I could be rubbed out by the volcano or coke heads. Who knows??
This life is a magic show! A trick and trade! A slight of hand rendition that shows me in the center ring and the 2nd ring and the 3rd ring. Which is the me that is real? Well, look behind the curtain and find out! Then, maybe, could you let me in on the trick?? I would really like to know! That is really how this life feels sometimes. A bit over exaggerated, a bit showy, but still my life and oh how I love it!
Saying yes to things has brought me trouble it seems. That is fine, no worries my friend! I am certain of survival, right to the bitter end!
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Fly On
Fly on, little one,
Fly to heights as yet unknown,
Fly on, little one,
Life and love for you have flown,
This moment has been beautiful,
This matching, serene,
But for you, my little one,
Life has scripted,
Yet another scene,
Fly on, little one,
Fly to newer grander things,
Set aside the tears and sobs,
Force your voice to sing,
Even though the hurt,
Is so very huge right now,
Spread your wings and fly,
Flight will come somehow,
This perfect little place,
Was meant for a short time,
This perfect little place,
Is no longer your’s or mine,
Fly on, little one,
Be brave, be true,
Fly on, little one,
Life yet has plans for you.
Fly to heights as yet unknown,
Fly on, little one,
Life and love for you have flown,
This moment has been beautiful,
This matching, serene,
But for you, my little one,
Life has scripted,
Yet another scene,
Fly on, little one,
Fly to newer grander things,
Set aside the tears and sobs,
Force your voice to sing,
Even though the hurt,
Is so very huge right now,
Spread your wings and fly,
Flight will come somehow,
This perfect little place,
Was meant for a short time,
This perfect little place,
Is no longer your’s or mine,
Fly on, little one,
Be brave, be true,
Fly on, little one,
Life yet has plans for you.
Destiny's Key
Sadly, I have fallen behind.
Since my last posting (that was not musing) I have been to three amazing parties, have seen my girlfriend pull off an amazing event that was months in the making and have had my weekly haircut.
I say “sadly” only in jest. For, when one such as me, meaning one who loves nothing more than to write, falls so utterly far behind on his own life’s events, is that really “sad”? I look at my life and I see that I am living it. Every single day opportunities arise and I force myself to say “YES.” Last night’s fun, however, was almost a missed opportunity……..
Like most good stories, this one begins at a party and ends at one. The Quincinera is a right of passage of 15 year old girls in this part of the world. Think “Sweet 16” but with more responsibility. It was Stephanie’s job to create an amazing Quincinera for 20 Safe Passage girls that would otherwise have never of had one as a result of the abject poverty in which they live in. Steph did this AMAZING job with the help of one her Support Teams. The party was truly awesome!
During the gathering, I sat at a table that included Shannon (this seems to be a lovely habit forming wherein Shannon and I find ourselves somewhere near each other. I say this because Shannon is always the coolest person in the room and I feed off of that), Liz, Ana, Nellie and Carmen (all Safe Passage peeps). Liz informed me that the coming Friday would be Nellie’s going away party at their house in the city and that I must attend. Nellie fixed me with a devil’s glare and said “You HAVE to come.”
When the actual day arrived, I thought little of the coming event. My mind was fixated on the jog that I needed to do. I did it and it was good, all the way up to the cross overlooking Antigua and back. That is one hell of a run! After the run I was dead. I checked out Facebook and found that I had no ride into the city for that night. Slightly relieved, I wrote to Liz saying how sorry I was and how much I owed her for making and then breaking a promise. I then wrote Nellie and told her how amazing she is and how much it would suck not to have her around. I then went about the business of preparing for a laid back evening. About two hours later I received a call from Marielos (another Safe Passage peep) saying that we had a ride. I made some sorry excuse and went back to my solo-ness. Then Stephanie called me out on Facebook and I had the beginnings of a change of heart.
As I wandered to the video store I knew that I had a HUGE decision to make. I had Q200 in my pocket and that was all the Q that I had. I needed that money as a deposit to rent two videos. If I spent that money on videos, I would have no money to buy drinks and to give Jorge (the ride) a few Q for the ride in. If I didn’t spend it and bought drinks instead, I would not have money to change my mind and rent movies. I decided that I would go into the store and check out the selection.
“Four people’s lives collide in one night.” That is what the tagline is for a very entertaining looking movie that I was checking out. Then the thought hit me. Lives…..living. Why would I want to spend the night watching a movie about the very thing that I could be living? So, I put the movie back, bought drinks, called Marielos, found out that Yaelle (Safe Passage and completely awesome) was already counting me in and saving my seat in the van and went home to pass the one hour until the party bus arrived.
The party was amazing. The people were awesome. When the music sucked, Shannon and I escaped to the roof and chilled, discussing everything from break dancing to Canadian stereotypes. When the music was sweet, we’d rush back into the pulsating mass.
Thinking back on that night, I would not now miss it for the world. I had an insane amount of fun, some really embarrassing and stupid pictures were taken of me and life felt satisfied by my decision. Have you ever been in the midst of a decision only to have life whisper in your ear “You’re already there, just go.”
I realize that my mantra is quite obvious, that I seem to say the same thing. My hope is that through my example as well as those of which I write, others can open up and live life too. So many things depress us or send us into a comfortable little rut. They are so easy to say yes to. Yes, I will stay in this job for another year, I hate it, but what harm would that do me? Yes, I will watch a video and ignore that little tug in my brain to accept the invitation. Yes, I will just sit here nursing my beer because that is far easier than going and saying hi to that gorgeous thing over there. See what I mean? Yes’ are so very easy when there is no risk, no life. A yes to life is hard and it oftentimes involves risk. BUT, a yes to life is where an adventure begins, a friendship grows or a romance blossoms. The hardest yes’ yield the most amazing results. Risk is rewarded. Heed these words, my friends: My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.
And now, if you don’t mind, I have a highlight to watch. It seems that ARod hit a walk-off two run homer last night in the bottom of the 15th inning to lift the Yankees over the Red Sox. There is some overdo cheering needing to be done!
Since my last posting (that was not musing) I have been to three amazing parties, have seen my girlfriend pull off an amazing event that was months in the making and have had my weekly haircut.
I say “sadly” only in jest. For, when one such as me, meaning one who loves nothing more than to write, falls so utterly far behind on his own life’s events, is that really “sad”? I look at my life and I see that I am living it. Every single day opportunities arise and I force myself to say “YES.” Last night’s fun, however, was almost a missed opportunity……..
Like most good stories, this one begins at a party and ends at one. The Quincinera is a right of passage of 15 year old girls in this part of the world. Think “Sweet 16” but with more responsibility. It was Stephanie’s job to create an amazing Quincinera for 20 Safe Passage girls that would otherwise have never of had one as a result of the abject poverty in which they live in. Steph did this AMAZING job with the help of one her Support Teams. The party was truly awesome!
During the gathering, I sat at a table that included Shannon (this seems to be a lovely habit forming wherein Shannon and I find ourselves somewhere near each other. I say this because Shannon is always the coolest person in the room and I feed off of that), Liz, Ana, Nellie and Carmen (all Safe Passage peeps). Liz informed me that the coming Friday would be Nellie’s going away party at their house in the city and that I must attend. Nellie fixed me with a devil’s glare and said “You HAVE to come.”
When the actual day arrived, I thought little of the coming event. My mind was fixated on the jog that I needed to do. I did it and it was good, all the way up to the cross overlooking Antigua and back. That is one hell of a run! After the run I was dead. I checked out Facebook and found that I had no ride into the city for that night. Slightly relieved, I wrote to Liz saying how sorry I was and how much I owed her for making and then breaking a promise. I then wrote Nellie and told her how amazing she is and how much it would suck not to have her around. I then went about the business of preparing for a laid back evening. About two hours later I received a call from Marielos (another Safe Passage peep) saying that we had a ride. I made some sorry excuse and went back to my solo-ness. Then Stephanie called me out on Facebook and I had the beginnings of a change of heart.
As I wandered to the video store I knew that I had a HUGE decision to make. I had Q200 in my pocket and that was all the Q that I had. I needed that money as a deposit to rent two videos. If I spent that money on videos, I would have no money to buy drinks and to give Jorge (the ride) a few Q for the ride in. If I didn’t spend it and bought drinks instead, I would not have money to change my mind and rent movies. I decided that I would go into the store and check out the selection.
“Four people’s lives collide in one night.” That is what the tagline is for a very entertaining looking movie that I was checking out. Then the thought hit me. Lives…..living. Why would I want to spend the night watching a movie about the very thing that I could be living? So, I put the movie back, bought drinks, called Marielos, found out that Yaelle (Safe Passage and completely awesome) was already counting me in and saving my seat in the van and went home to pass the one hour until the party bus arrived.
The party was amazing. The people were awesome. When the music sucked, Shannon and I escaped to the roof and chilled, discussing everything from break dancing to Canadian stereotypes. When the music was sweet, we’d rush back into the pulsating mass.
Thinking back on that night, I would not now miss it for the world. I had an insane amount of fun, some really embarrassing and stupid pictures were taken of me and life felt satisfied by my decision. Have you ever been in the midst of a decision only to have life whisper in your ear “You’re already there, just go.”
I realize that my mantra is quite obvious, that I seem to say the same thing. My hope is that through my example as well as those of which I write, others can open up and live life too. So many things depress us or send us into a comfortable little rut. They are so easy to say yes to. Yes, I will stay in this job for another year, I hate it, but what harm would that do me? Yes, I will watch a video and ignore that little tug in my brain to accept the invitation. Yes, I will just sit here nursing my beer because that is far easier than going and saying hi to that gorgeous thing over there. See what I mean? Yes’ are so very easy when there is no risk, no life. A yes to life is hard and it oftentimes involves risk. BUT, a yes to life is where an adventure begins, a friendship grows or a romance blossoms. The hardest yes’ yield the most amazing results. Risk is rewarded. Heed these words, my friends: My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.
And now, if you don’t mind, I have a highlight to watch. It seems that ARod hit a walk-off two run homer last night in the bottom of the 15th inning to lift the Yankees over the Red Sox. There is some overdo cheering needing to be done!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
This Life of Hats
I have worn many a hat in my 27 years. Much like a child, I feel as though it is quite necessary to point out to you that I am, in fact, almost 28! In my, almost, three decades (GOOD GOD) of life, I have been blessed, and cursed, with the talents of a chameleon.
My first hat was dirty, void of proper language skills and quite prone to the dark side of the day. I speak, of course, of the restaurant industry. I waited tables at 16. I was privy to a million jokes and words that most 16 year olds would still attribute to a foreign language. I worked under chefs that would have been arrested were they not garbed in (formerly) white coats and tall, starched hats. The waitresses were of a completely different species of woman than any I had ever met and the preps were much more likely to be cutting up some random drug than the daily salad. I learned to be hard, to not take things so seriously, to laugh something off when every fiber within me cried out for retribution. I learned that hierarchy was more about how fun you were than how long you had worked or what your title was. One could own a business and still occupy the lowest rung on the "coolness" ladder. I picked up bad habits that will never serve me in the normal working world. Thank God I will never be in the normal working world. My short time in the restaurant industry opened up a world that one is better off knowing about. Some would say that it was a bit of a street education. I would say that it was one of the most fascinating times of my life. I decided then and there that I will forever love the human condition.
My second hat matched the sweater vest and green carpet that the stereotype carried along with it. To the outside world, I worked with freaks, weirdoes, murderers, drug addicts, alcoholics, the unwanted. To those that now inhabited my new world, I worked with what we were all a simple missed neuron fire away from becoming. I counseled the mentally ill. I began at the bottom, when I was 18, and I worked my way up. Through almost all of my future hats, I would still wear this one, be it secretly or out in the open. I saw crisis the likes of which I could never imagine. I held those that had no hope, trying my best to comfort the sobbing and troubled thoughts. With one hand I would stroke the back of the poor soul now leaning on me as their last shred of faith threatened to give way. With the other hand, I used every ounce of my strength to bear down on the bath towel, quickly soaking with blood, wrapped around the gaping wrist wound. My voice would be both calming and commanding as I assured them that everything would be OK in one breath and ordered an ambulance with the next. I watched as those without any care left in them came through our door, then two weeks later, they would leave, happy, healthy, ready to battle what life had to throw their way. I lost a few, those who chose to take a path without calling for help, but I saved so many. The human condition, of which I thought that I had learned so much, was on stark display during my decade of wearing this hat.
My third hat was tall, black and smelled of roses. My work with those in crisis caused my heart to turn to those that would need me most. My next hat brought me into the world of the bereaved. I worked for one year as an assistant funeral director. The beautiful home in which so many lives came and went became so familiar to me. I went to work with certain expectations, brought forth by TV, movies and books. I came home from work completely baffled, unsure of how the creators of those pieces of entertainment could have ever come up with those generalities. There was no pale, old, creepy skeleton of a man wringing his hands behind a dark window, sizing those up for coffins as they walked by. There was no crazy uncle who could put a lightbulb into his mouth and have it ignite; there was neither demonic horse nor ominous room full of unworldly instruments. There was simply a home, a mansion to be exact. Within this home worked six men and two women, none any scarier than the next. The owner was a warm and inviting individual, willing to give of the vast knowledge that life had brought his way. The mourning was real, but not unhealthy and the job was rather fun. I saw things that I am thankful for. I know the inner workings of a funeral home. I know that it is not as horrid as once believed. However, the car, I must say, is completely amazing.
My fourth hat was shaped as though it fell from a Picasso and it came with a set of wings. Throughout my life, I had marveled at the sky and at the steel birds that muscled through it. I had promised myself that one day, I too would fly. When I first entered the cockpit of a Cessna 172, I had never flown before in my life. Now, having never left the ground, I began the jog down the checklist, preparing to pilot this bird to over 1,000 feet. That checklist yet remains with me, hanging just there, upon my office wall. It is turned to its back, where the procedures for takeoff begin. Each time that I gaze upon it, I am reminded of the bolt of electricity that flowed through my being, striking my very core, as I gently pulled the stick back and felt myself escape the surly bonds of earth. I look at it and remember my first lesson in stalls and how much I loved them. Not engine stalls, mind you, those are supremely easy to handle as one simply becomes a glider. Wing stalls. A wing stall is when the plane is taking action that causes the wings to lose their lift and the plane comes falling out of the sky. We would do this on purpose, fighting the controls, forcing the plane to climb, climb, climb until the climbing stopped and it began to fall. Through a quick little set of movements, one is able to regain lift quite easily, but the feeling of free fall, however brief, is simply beyond description.
My fifth hat resembled my fourth in shape and shine, but this one came with a gun. As many young boys do, I toyed with the notion of being a cop. For two years in fact, I toyed. I saw humanity at its very worst. I fought, I arrested, I handed out tickets, I sped after, I crept up on and I was called every name in the book. For two years I dealt with the fact that whenever I arrived to work, no one, aside from my friends in blue, would want to see me, after all, does anyone ever want to see a cop? The job was exciting, tedious, nerve wracking and boring beyond all measure. I loved it and I hated it and I loved it some more. After a time, I began to grow weary of the fights, the names, the lies, the time wasted on hopeless cases. The novelty of being behind that big badge on the door and those flashing lights wore off and I moved on, unsure of where to go, but knowing that I was worlds stronger having spent that short time behind the star.
My sixth hat is one that I continue to shape daily. I draw upon all of my life experiences, some listed here, some not. I put pen to paper, the only thing that I seem to be good at, and went out in search of a story. Well, I found one. I was soon employed by three newspapers and a men´s magazine. My stories ranged from the local Christmas decoration competition to sitting down with John McCain and Mitt Romney. After a time that I thought would be spent picking up the pieces of a life shattered by chasing some damn fool dream, I continue to write, and I continue to put on new hats.
My story is not unique. I now wear the hat of freelancer and volunteer. At Safe Passage (safepassage.org) in Antigua and Guatemala City, Guatemala, every volunteer has a past that glistens with hope, opportunity and the vibrations of a good tale worth the telling. Life beckons us, be it from afar or screaming in our ear whilst twisting our arm. At Safe Passage, one can continue, or begin, their own story.
I imagine myself in a city. I am standing in my apartment high above the city streets. I am gazing out of my window at the night as the lights paint a canvas of perfect upon my retinas. I am old, not alone, loved and successful. I have my hands in my pockets and Sinatra on the stereo, or whatever music will be produced from then. I wear the wrinkles of a million miles and a billion adventures. My head seems a bit more shaped by the many hats it has worn since my days in Guatemala. My face is hard, but my eyes twinkle with anticipation. I still draw breath, I still control the road. I am thinking of Safe Passage, and the lessons that it has taught, the lives I have changed. I know that life is still out there, that many more hats have yet to be worn. I grab my coat from its post and head out to try one on.
My first hat was dirty, void of proper language skills and quite prone to the dark side of the day. I speak, of course, of the restaurant industry. I waited tables at 16. I was privy to a million jokes and words that most 16 year olds would still attribute to a foreign language. I worked under chefs that would have been arrested were they not garbed in (formerly) white coats and tall, starched hats. The waitresses were of a completely different species of woman than any I had ever met and the preps were much more likely to be cutting up some random drug than the daily salad. I learned to be hard, to not take things so seriously, to laugh something off when every fiber within me cried out for retribution. I learned that hierarchy was more about how fun you were than how long you had worked or what your title was. One could own a business and still occupy the lowest rung on the "coolness" ladder. I picked up bad habits that will never serve me in the normal working world. Thank God I will never be in the normal working world. My short time in the restaurant industry opened up a world that one is better off knowing about. Some would say that it was a bit of a street education. I would say that it was one of the most fascinating times of my life. I decided then and there that I will forever love the human condition.
My second hat matched the sweater vest and green carpet that the stereotype carried along with it. To the outside world, I worked with freaks, weirdoes, murderers, drug addicts, alcoholics, the unwanted. To those that now inhabited my new world, I worked with what we were all a simple missed neuron fire away from becoming. I counseled the mentally ill. I began at the bottom, when I was 18, and I worked my way up. Through almost all of my future hats, I would still wear this one, be it secretly or out in the open. I saw crisis the likes of which I could never imagine. I held those that had no hope, trying my best to comfort the sobbing and troubled thoughts. With one hand I would stroke the back of the poor soul now leaning on me as their last shred of faith threatened to give way. With the other hand, I used every ounce of my strength to bear down on the bath towel, quickly soaking with blood, wrapped around the gaping wrist wound. My voice would be both calming and commanding as I assured them that everything would be OK in one breath and ordered an ambulance with the next. I watched as those without any care left in them came through our door, then two weeks later, they would leave, happy, healthy, ready to battle what life had to throw their way. I lost a few, those who chose to take a path without calling for help, but I saved so many. The human condition, of which I thought that I had learned so much, was on stark display during my decade of wearing this hat.
My third hat was tall, black and smelled of roses. My work with those in crisis caused my heart to turn to those that would need me most. My next hat brought me into the world of the bereaved. I worked for one year as an assistant funeral director. The beautiful home in which so many lives came and went became so familiar to me. I went to work with certain expectations, brought forth by TV, movies and books. I came home from work completely baffled, unsure of how the creators of those pieces of entertainment could have ever come up with those generalities. There was no pale, old, creepy skeleton of a man wringing his hands behind a dark window, sizing those up for coffins as they walked by. There was no crazy uncle who could put a lightbulb into his mouth and have it ignite; there was neither demonic horse nor ominous room full of unworldly instruments. There was simply a home, a mansion to be exact. Within this home worked six men and two women, none any scarier than the next. The owner was a warm and inviting individual, willing to give of the vast knowledge that life had brought his way. The mourning was real, but not unhealthy and the job was rather fun. I saw things that I am thankful for. I know the inner workings of a funeral home. I know that it is not as horrid as once believed. However, the car, I must say, is completely amazing.
My fourth hat was shaped as though it fell from a Picasso and it came with a set of wings. Throughout my life, I had marveled at the sky and at the steel birds that muscled through it. I had promised myself that one day, I too would fly. When I first entered the cockpit of a Cessna 172, I had never flown before in my life. Now, having never left the ground, I began the jog down the checklist, preparing to pilot this bird to over 1,000 feet. That checklist yet remains with me, hanging just there, upon my office wall. It is turned to its back, where the procedures for takeoff begin. Each time that I gaze upon it, I am reminded of the bolt of electricity that flowed through my being, striking my very core, as I gently pulled the stick back and felt myself escape the surly bonds of earth. I look at it and remember my first lesson in stalls and how much I loved them. Not engine stalls, mind you, those are supremely easy to handle as one simply becomes a glider. Wing stalls. A wing stall is when the plane is taking action that causes the wings to lose their lift and the plane comes falling out of the sky. We would do this on purpose, fighting the controls, forcing the plane to climb, climb, climb until the climbing stopped and it began to fall. Through a quick little set of movements, one is able to regain lift quite easily, but the feeling of free fall, however brief, is simply beyond description.
My fifth hat resembled my fourth in shape and shine, but this one came with a gun. As many young boys do, I toyed with the notion of being a cop. For two years in fact, I toyed. I saw humanity at its very worst. I fought, I arrested, I handed out tickets, I sped after, I crept up on and I was called every name in the book. For two years I dealt with the fact that whenever I arrived to work, no one, aside from my friends in blue, would want to see me, after all, does anyone ever want to see a cop? The job was exciting, tedious, nerve wracking and boring beyond all measure. I loved it and I hated it and I loved it some more. After a time, I began to grow weary of the fights, the names, the lies, the time wasted on hopeless cases. The novelty of being behind that big badge on the door and those flashing lights wore off and I moved on, unsure of where to go, but knowing that I was worlds stronger having spent that short time behind the star.
My sixth hat is one that I continue to shape daily. I draw upon all of my life experiences, some listed here, some not. I put pen to paper, the only thing that I seem to be good at, and went out in search of a story. Well, I found one. I was soon employed by three newspapers and a men´s magazine. My stories ranged from the local Christmas decoration competition to sitting down with John McCain and Mitt Romney. After a time that I thought would be spent picking up the pieces of a life shattered by chasing some damn fool dream, I continue to write, and I continue to put on new hats.
My story is not unique. I now wear the hat of freelancer and volunteer. At Safe Passage (safepassage.org) in Antigua and Guatemala City, Guatemala, every volunteer has a past that glistens with hope, opportunity and the vibrations of a good tale worth the telling. Life beckons us, be it from afar or screaming in our ear whilst twisting our arm. At Safe Passage, one can continue, or begin, their own story.
I imagine myself in a city. I am standing in my apartment high above the city streets. I am gazing out of my window at the night as the lights paint a canvas of perfect upon my retinas. I am old, not alone, loved and successful. I have my hands in my pockets and Sinatra on the stereo, or whatever music will be produced from then. I wear the wrinkles of a million miles and a billion adventures. My head seems a bit more shaped by the many hats it has worn since my days in Guatemala. My face is hard, but my eyes twinkle with anticipation. I still draw breath, I still control the road. I am thinking of Safe Passage, and the lessons that it has taught, the lives I have changed. I know that life is still out there, that many more hats have yet to be worn. I grab my coat from its post and head out to try one on.
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