About: Patience (Part Two)

I make my way through the revolving doors, not yet aware of the predicament I’ve put myself in.  The weight is easy at this point…barely announcing its presence…not yet unleashing its fury.  Off in the distance shines a tower.  I’ve been told the room number I must find and the fact that it lies in a tower just around the bend, just past the elevators.  I see the bend…I see the elevators…I will see the tower soon.  But first I must navigate my parcel through the packed casino floor.  There is no other way to go.  Forward, backward, left, right, past the cars, onto the turtles, advance past the logs on the river, then safe to the lilly pad.  Midway to the tower and my parcel introduces itself to me.  I suddenly realize that a time-out might be in order.  I find the nearest empty chair…smack dab between two super seniors fresh from the buffet.  Pleasantries and quizzical faces are exchanged and I’m off again.  It appears that in the mere moments of rest I’ve lost a significant portion of my strength.  80lbs is no joke, and now it feels like 100. 

Only by the grace of God do I make it to the elevators.  I’m headed to floor five, and I decide it’s better to hang on to the container at this point as my journey is almost finished.  I’m afraid if I set this down again, it will rest in this elevator in perpetuity.  No wine for the party…no “job well done”…no joy in Mudville, for Casey has struck out.  I can’t let that happen.  I’ll hang on to it for just a few moments longer, make a run for the room, and perhaps crack a bottle all for myself.

As I exit the elevator for the final leg of the trip, the lack of streamers and weeping women disturbs me.  Where are the well-wishers encouraging me around the final bend?...Where are my congratulatory hugs?... Where are the babies I’m to kiss?...Wait a second…??...where’s the room? 

With no other options at this moment, I set down the container in the middle of the round room.  I know the room number I’m seeking…of this I’m sure.  I also know that it’s not here.  I grab my phone and start dialing like a telemarketer.  I call the groom-to-be.  Ring…ring…ring…ring.  Ring…ring…ring…ring.  Of course he’s not answering!  He’s probably in a similar predicament as me…stumbling  amidst the lights and noise, muscles straining at their capacity, just trying to get by.  I call the General.  Ring…ring…ring…ring.  Ring…ring…ring…ring.  Why would he answer either??!!  I’ll probably see him stepping out of the elevator behind me, bleary-eyed and as confused as I.  I call the Ghostbusters, hoping they’ll be in control…but alas, I’m left to my own devices.  In a last ditch effort, I call the room number and the bride-to-be answers.  Validation!  I DO know the right room number!  Her voice calms me…brings me back to focus.  She has the answers, she will fix this situation.  I was right about the room number, indeed, but I was wrong about the tower, says she.  Turns out there are more than one bends, and more than one elevators…and I’m as far off course as Columbus when he “discovered” America. 

My heart sinks.  My resolve disappears.  My body protests.  I’m in trouble.  It’s 5:29pm.

About: Patience (Part One)

It’s 6:30pm, and I’ve yet to eat a single bite all day.  Around 8:30am the morning was greeted with bitterness, confusion, and anger…the by-product of another memorable forgettable evening.  We’re in Vegas, and one of my best friends is getting married the next evening, but today is moving day.  We’ve paid our last respects to bachelorhood…now it’s time to start the hotel shuffle.  We go here, he goes there, she and him somewhere else…and the motion is set very early.  MGM, Tropicana, Paris, a few places in between, all a blur…a blur with undertones of ravenous hunger. 

Finally, after countless trips to the car and back again, this hotel and that hotel and this hotel again…all are as settled as possible, and now it’s time to eat.  It’s 4:30pm, and the body is begging for something, anything to chase away the residuals of last night’s adventures.  The phone rings.  Of course we can help the bride and groom to be get things set up for tomorrow’s reception at Caesars…after all, that’s the reason we’re all here!  Food will have to wait, but only for a short time.  This task cannot possibly last too long. 

Standing outside the entrance to Caligula’s lair, the coordination begins.  Phone calls are coming in left and right.  Directions are given to unreceptive ears.  Time marches on.  Patience is tested.  The stomach is angry.   It’s 5pm. 

It’s safe to say that all who know me would describe me as an extremely patient man (if they were asked to say something that was entirely untruthful), but it’s not my day…so I put on my best face, and silently pray that the supplies arrive soon.  That prayer is answered at 5:14pm.

The cars pull up.  Two SUVs.  Massive.  Filled to the brim.  Overflowing.  Although the task seems daunting at the onset, four 30 something dudes using hunger as a motivation should be able to knock this out in no time.  Our only instructions…we can’t ask the hotel staff for assistance in any way, because you’re technically not supposed to bring in outside food and beverages to their establishment.  This could lead to annoying little problems that could only add to the stress level of an already stressful time for our special couple…so it must be kept on the extreme DL.  No problem.  We will comply.  I will comply.

It’s 5:15pm.  My buddy the General, with a hunger on par with my own dives into the job by opening the driver’s side back door.  Las Vegas is loud…very loud.  It’s hard to hear your own thoughts at times above all the hustle and bustle.  Rarely does Las Vegas go silent.  But this was one of those moments.  All noise ceased.  All humanity stood in place.  All was quiet, all was calm…all except the thunderous, echoing crash of one crystal serving bowl transforming itself into 10,000 shards of glass on the cold Nevada pavement.  “Don’t worry about it…as long as it’s not my crystal serving bowl!!!” cried the former owner of said crystal serving bowl.  Good times.

Being an admittedly impatient and indescribably hungry man with an aversion to awkward situations and a plethora (long live El Guapo) of things to be transferred from point A to point B, I grab the first item I can get a hold of.  Two SUVs.  Massive.  Filled to the brim.  Overflowing.  This is not going to be a one trip job, so I might as well leave the chaos behind me and head off for the first of many trips to the room.  My duty is clear.  My resolve is steadfast.  My adversary?...an 80lb plastic container chock full of wine bottles.  It’s 5:17pm.

Stay tuned.

About: Time Travel

I’m 32.  It’s quiet for a change.  I’m typing…thinking…breathing…closing my eyes…

I’m three.  I just met Mickey Mouse for the first time.  I was scared.  Perhaps the physical manifestation of the character I loved so much on the television was more than my young mind was able to process.  I cried.  Mickey’s facial expression never changed. 

I’m 21.  The limo pulls up to my house unexpected.  All those that had gathered for the celebration of this arbitrary day pile in, and we’re off to the steakhouse of my choice.  I’m excited for this milestone, as most are I imagine.  Good friends, good family, good food, good life.  The limo driver drops the adults off at their final destination, and the kidults set out for a night of…whatever.  Good friends, good times, good life.

But I’m 32.  There’s a movie on…but I’m not watching it.  There’s always background noise required, I have to fill the silence.  I blink…

I’m inside the womb.  The woman that’s carrying me makes one of the hardest decisions of her life, and thus sets in motion the greatest gift two people desperate to raise a child they can call their own will ever know.  Four lives are forever changed. 

I’m 15.  We win the lottery.  I’m going to south Florida to watch the team I love desperately compete in the biggest game they will ever take part in.  I’m sick…sicker than sick…at the most inopportune time of my life.  I press on, ignoring the pain and discomfort as only a young man on a journey of passion can do.  I have no concept of the financial sacrifices that have been made to put me in this position, all I know is I’m here…I’ve made it…I’ll never forget these moments, this trip, this day.  49 – 26 is the outcome, not surprising at all in retrospect.  Oh well…this is just the beginning, right?  There will be many more games of this magnitude to attend down the line…this is only the beginning…right?

But I’m 32!  Life has changed so much these past three years.  So many adjustments…so much change.  Good change, don’t get me wrong…but change nonetheless.  Change is always hard for me.  My eyes are getting heavy…

I’m five.  It’s the holiday season…so why is everyone crying?  I can’t figure it out…I’m not sure what’s going on, but I can tell it’s not good.  Something’s changed.  Something’s missing.  We’re all in nice clothes, Sunday’s best.  The little girl next to me?...she’s five too.  I put my arm around her, I want to make her smile…I want to make her feel better.  I love her so much, even at five I know that…and the little tiny girl in her mama’s arms over there?  I know I love her too…even at five, I know I’ll always love her too.  I just want everyone to be happy again.  I don’t really know what’s going on, but I know something’s changed.  Something’s missing.

I’m 36.  The past six years have been a blur.  The little girl waiting by the front door is six years old.  Yesterday, she was opening her eyes for the very first time, today she’s  going to school for the first time.  She’s excited…no fear in this child.  She’s ready to greet the world with open arms…she loves everyone.  I know everyone will love her too, there’s no doubt.  None.  I hope everyone will love her too…I hope.  I’ve taught her the importance of friends.  She’s seen how much daddy’s friends have meant to him.  He’s told her countless times that he’s practically known them since he was her age.  She listens to daddy…he still knows what he’s talking about.  Still two more years before her sister has her first day of school.  Two long years.  Must…not…blink.

No…I’m 32.  Everyone is sleeping.  I wake up early, I go to work, I come home, I go to bed…lather, rinse, repeat.  Over, and over, and over.  Monotony…safety…comfort…frustration.  Up, out, back, bed…

I’m six.  I’m rocking a beautiful lunch pail with a thermos inside.  It’s time to make the 26 mile trek to “The Box”.  The first trip “down the hill” of a lifetime of trips “down the hill”.  Mom and dad look happy…proud (sad?).  I’m about to meet a group of people that will change my life forever. 

I’m 60.  She’s 30, and she’s 28.  They’re both married…and I walked them both down the aisle.  I gave them away…but not really.  I didn’t tell them I was crossing my fingers and toes.  They’re still mine.  Fingers and toes will stand up in court to void any contract.  Their mother and I are still in love after all these years.  Our house is not as full of bodies as it once was, but it’s still full of all the love those bodies produced. 

I’m 32 I, I know it!!  I don’t feel it though.  Not at all, not ever.  So young by some standards, so old by others.  A baby in my parents eyes, an old man in the eyes of my daughters.  The movie in the background can’t capture my attention.  My thoughts drift…I’m 32, aren’t I?

I’m eight years old.  Nan and Pop are with me.  We’re at Sea World!  I’ve never been here before, and everything is amazing…a world I didn’t know existed.  It’s raining.  It’s raining hard.  We’re safe and dry under the cover of some restaurant.  I want to go.  I want to stay dry, but I want to go.  There, off in the distance…the next destination that offers cover.  If I run as fast as I can go, I’ll be relatively dry once I get there.  I make a bee-line without notice and without warning.  All that lies in the way, a tiny wall.  I can jump it…no worries.  I run and run, and jump as high as I can.  I clear the wall with no problem whatsoever…unless you consider landing knee deep in the tide pool exhibit on the other side a problem.

I’m 28 and I’ve never been this scared.  Breathing is becoming a challenge, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…can’t remember what comes next.  I’m standing in front of a large group of people…no eyes on me, however.  They’re all looking at the girl.  I’m looking at the girl.  God sends rays of sunshine down through the cloudy February day to shine on the girl.  The ground is wet.  Please don’t fall.  She doesn’t.  I start that day alone…I leave that day never to be alone again.  The future is bright…the past the vehicle that delivered us to this day.

I’m 32, aren’t I?  But I close my eyes and I’m three, I’m 30, I’m not even born, I’m 60.  Time is not linear as I thought.  Time doesn’t exist.  Time is a tool we use to make sense of it all, to make sense of the “journey”.  Time is nothing but a map the mind uses to take us back to where we’ve been and ahead to where we want to go.  I blink and I’m young.  Blink again, and I’m old.  Again and I’m somewhere in between.  Time travel exists, and my eyelids are the machine.  I’m everything I ever was, everything I am, and everything I will become…and I’m 32, aren't I?

About: Regrets

Regrets are an interesting beast.  It seems like you’re always told to live your life without regrets…but is this really possible?  Dictionary.com defines regret as, “to think of with a sense of loss”.  Is it possible to travel through time without looking back on certain aspects and not feel bits of a “sense of loss” when it comes to certain decisions of the past?  I shall examine a list of a couple of my own regrets, and see what they bring to light.

 

1.  Starting School, Quitting School, Starting School, Quitting School, Starting School:  For those who don’t know me well, I’ve done an exhaustive tour of many of the institutions of higher learning in the greater San Diego County…UCSD, Grossmont, SDSU, and finally the University of Phoenix.  I started off straight out of high school at UCSD with an education that was to be 100% handled by President Clinton.  I proceeded to piss that all away with laziness and lack of focus.  I turned a four year degree into a nine year degree…minus the doctorate.  I don’t really know why the transition was so hard for me…I just wish I had finished what I started, the first time.

 

2.  Staying the Course on the Relationship From Hell:  I never have been a possessor of a high level of self-confidence.  I guess this would probably explain why I stuck it out in the worst relationship known to man…for over three years.  Three long, exhausting, horrifying, wasted years.  If I wasn’t so convinced that I would never find true happiness after, I would have hit the eject button after month four.  I strained relationships with friends, moved out of the state, gave up a decent job, and squashed any chances of a musical career…all for the “love” of an emotionally unstable borderline psychotic.

 

There are many other “regrets” of my formative years, but these are just the two the jump to mind most readily, and are probably the biggest ones I have.  But here’s the interesting thing that came to me on the drive home this afternoon.  Were it not for these true “senses of loss”, these true regrets, I would not be sitting where I am right now, with a heart full of contentment.  Here’s the path that all these bad, regretful decisions caused me to take:

 

       Quitting UCSD led to finishing Grossmont

       Finishing Grossmont led to attending SDSU

       SDSU led to quitting again, to join my buddy at said decent job, still lacking college degree

       Decent job led to awful relationship

       Awful relationship led to ill advised out of state move, and quitting of decent job

       Ill advised out of state move led to return to CA with no job and no prospects

       No job led to finding current company

       Current company led to new friend who told me about UoP

       Failed awful relationship led to getting a “revenge degree” at UoP, upon recommendation of new friend, to show awful relationship co-author what I could make of myself

       First night at UoP led to all that has happened since

 

I will never forget that first night in October of 2004 at the University of Phoenix campus off of Aero Dr in San Diego.  I scoped out the room to see what I was up against in this new environment.  It didn’t take long for my eyes to come to rest on the person asleep upstairs (at this moment, I mean…she was sitting at a table at the point in the current narrative).  I can’t really describe what happened to me at that moment…but it was akin to a punch in the gut.  A good punch, but a punch nonetheless.  I started searching the confines of my brain for any way to bring this girl into my life.  While the instructor went around the room asking everyone for a brief synopsis of their current states of being, I gathered that she lived 15 miles from my work.  This seemed like a close enough proximity to mention to her that perhaps we should be in a learning team together…I mean, I practically worked next door to her house!! (thankfully she was not that adept at county geography)…but I digress.  More on our history perhaps some other time…

 

…the point is this.  Were it not for a life full of past “regrets”…Emily wouldn’t be turning two today.  Kaitlyn wouldn’t be starting to form a personality of her own, with smiles that light up a room.  Zoey would be barking in some other house (or more likely dead from the swift boot of a less patient owner than I)!  There will always be regrets…but those regrets form the foundation of the lives we build for ourselves…of the people we become…and the people we share our lives with. 

 

 

Let’s raise a glass to regrets!!!