Friendship and the blessing of Jamie Levi...

It seems like such a long time ago that Jamie Levi walked — well, more like stormed — into my life.

A smile that could light up a thousand skyscrapers and a laugh that you’d recognize from around a dark corner, Jamie was one of those special souls who had the ability to brighten the lives of those around her. She had her own demons from time to time, mind you, but she still always found ways to lift the spirits of the people she blessed with her friendship.

Jamie and I had a special relationship in that we thought about dating, held hands and snuggled for a week, decided not to date, became great friends and then she eventually set me up with her sister, Jessica, who I dated on and off throughout my sophomore year of college. We kind of formed a three-person bond as both Jessica and I were — and probably still are — very complicated individuals and Jamie knew us both so well and she kind of became the glue in the fixture.

Regardless, no matter what happened, we all stayed good friends thereafter and would always be there for each other, even after she transferred out. My memory races to a night sleeping on the floor of her house in Ohio, laughing, talking stupid and literally being the young souls we were at the time, or to a night of Jamie sneaking me in and out of the girls’ dormitory, just for the hell of it. Our bond was strong, and our souls very much kindred in many ways.

Whether it was Jamie’s inability to say the word “old,” which she pronounced “owed,” or the pride she took in Jessica’s amazingly gorgeous singing voice, Jamie was always chipper when all eyes were on her, and she kept her own personal demons within a small circle of friends. We all leaned on one another when the weight of the world became too much to bear and we helped carry each other through those darkest of hours.

In college, all you have are your friends. Other than that, your first dose of independent reality is like a cold bucket of ice on a sub-zero winter’s morn. We became our own foundation, along with plenty of other friends, in what became our little tribe of goof. In what seems to be a pattern in my life, I always tend to travel in a large and loyal pack, and this pack was no different.

I was playing baseball for our college, so springs became a little more of a narcissistic time for me but Jamie would still be there, when she could, and our friendship was always alive and well, even if we hadn’t found time to spend together for a few weeks at a time — the truest test of a real friendship. We had our moments where we wanted to punch each other in the belly, but they were few and far between and normal for any friendship of merit.

The phone call came in the middle of the morning.

I remember it well because I was sitting in a soundproof recording studio working my first month at a TV production studio here in Las Vegas. It was Jessica, whom I hadn’t spoken with in a while. In fact, I hadn’t heard from Jamie since I had graduated college and moved out west.

Mind you, this is before Facebook or MySpace kept the world connected with a mere mouse click, but somehow Jessica had managed to find me at work, and hearing her voice not only startled me, but also sent a jolt of butterflies throughout my stomach as I tried to figure out why Jess was calling me at work, out of the blue.

Her words echoed in my ears as she uttered the last thing I thought I’d hear that morning, “Jamie’s gone.” Everything thereafter turned into a blur as my eyes watered, and a burning sensation flamed up my spine through my soul. Her remaining words sounded like a mumble as I struggled with the reality of it all. All I could make out was "car," "accident," and "gone" before my mind began spinning like a top.

Doing my best to comfort Jessica, who at this point was — in essence — emotionally in shock and trying to be as strong as she possibly could despite losing her big sister, my words rang hollow even in my own head. We spoke for a great deal of time before I hung up the phone and slid down into our studio couch reserved for clients, frozen, not knowing what my next physical move nonetheless emotional move might be.

My boss, sensing the life being sucked out of me, asked if I’d like the afternoon off to get myself back together. I numbingly nodded before walking out to my car and driving off towards the foothills of the southern Nevada desert, where I finally let out the pent up emotions inside, wetting the dry ground with my tears and wallowing in the immense sense of loss under the blazing orange January sky.

Even now, 10 years later, I can still take my heart back to that moment, where life got a little darker and someone I cared deeply for was stripped from our lives. The feeling is strong, loosely tied with whatever comfort I can latch onto.

When someone special passes on too soon, there are profound moments in one’s life where that person still finds their way back into your heart, comforting you, giving you hope when life seems to have been sapped of all joy.

On a lonesome night not too long ago, when my life hit an internal crossroads cloaked in failure, fear and doubt, I felt her — or perhaps the memory of her — comforting me.

It was there, on that hopeless night, SHE found me. I heard the first sound through my hapless tears and the echo of Kings of Leon’s “Cold Desert” on the stereo…it was Jamie, as young and as beautiful as I remembered the first day I met her, standing there with that old familiar disapproving yet playfully smirking scowl on her face — my last vision of her beauty, etched in my mind’s eye, before she was gone forever.

In that moment, and many times thereafter, I wondered what she might think of the man I'd become, with my failures and my inability to consistently keep on the straight and narrow mixed with my great moments of success and elation, and on this one night during one of the most testing years of my life, I felt her presence amidst the lonesome desert wind and solemn night sky.

At first, I’d felt as if I had let her down again, but this time from beyond the great divide.

My heart needed one more moment, one more brief instant where I could hear from her own familiar voice how far off from the right path I’ve been or — maybe, just maybe — how close I really am. Ten minutes is all I asked for, just to hear her remind me that this is all worth it. That this whole rat race we found together as young adults but now rang hollow with every step I took wasn’t without meaning or purpose.

And in my circling mind, her words weren’t of disappointment, but of pride. On this lonely night, she was proud of me, and I couldn’t figure out, for the life of me, why. Despite my own self-doubt, I was comforted and refined with the idea that perhaps I was doing right, that I was a man she’d be proud of so long after she’d left us.

Without a doubt, this profound moment reminded me that I was running the good race, fighting the good fight, and living the right dream. From within, I felt ready for the coming dawn.

The truth is, people who come through our lives become our DNA, they become who we are and we them. Our actions and our decisions honor their place in our lives, and their affirmation — or perceived affirmation — becomes as valuable as any currency. We share the most intimate of experiences together, and then eventually continue on our own treks through this life with or without them. Sometimes, we take those moments for granted as they happen because we always believe deep down inside that there will be more of them, and more opportunity to show our gratitude.

Sometimes, that chance never comes again.

What we’re left with in our lifetime is a memory, a still-framed picture, and a special moment that only we shared and that is etched in our soul for our entire lives — a singular moment, where the world melted away and life became about two people, sitting on a truck bed and laughing at the coming storm of adulthood.

It's these intimate yet defining moments that binds us together, as individuals and as a collective, throughout time...and like a lightning bolt flashing quickly across the electric black sky, they are gone in the blink of an eye — never to return, no matter how hard we try to emulate them. A wrinkle in time, forever lost to the unforgiving destiny that awaits us.

20/20 vision on a treacherous path...

Landmines litter the path on which we travel.

Every step, a treacherous guess. Every yard, a despicable and fearsome event. Every moment, defining beyond all measure.

Battling isn’t rare, but the norm, as we tick down the hours of existence, minute by minute, towards something special. Everything sits in our grasp, whether we know it or not, waiting for our limitless hands to take hold with all their infinite strength.

It’s too bad many of us fail to realize the strength within.

When you successfully maneuver through life’s greatest battles and tests, the confidence within you grows and the world shrinks in size. With the right kind of eyes, opportunity shines like Jay Gatsby’s vision of the green light, minute and faraway, vividly real to the point where you can almost taste its scent and feel the warm embrace of its far-reaching touch.

This warm embrace eludes us, but not because it’s ambiguity defeats us. It’s because we defeat ourselves. Life tricks our mortal minds into rationalizing the difficulty within each battle, mortifying us into a fear that locks our instincts and freezes our reaction time. Clamming up at the first sign of adversity, dancing around the reality that life allows for outs and every problem is bound to have a solution.

Emotionally charged, physically drained, life continues its barrage while many simply collapse under the pressure that is, if anything, self-created. The realization that strength comes from within, through persistence, is the first step towards fighting the winning fight. Until awareness is attained, we can never press on past the seemingly weighted bonds of life’s tests.

But heavy shackles turn into paper mache once the light turns on within one’s soul. The bonds are snapped like twigs and freedom is closer than captivity. The path is illuminated, showing every snare along the way, as we step freely towards the light. The landmines become obsolete, duds, merely window dressing once we can see clearly our fated path.

Our inner strength carries us, blessed from a Divine Maker, who has provided us with all the tools we need to succeed so long as we fine-tune them with persistence, faith and fearlessness. The blind see, the crippled walk and the fearful are comforted by the warm blanket of reassurance while the green light grows brighter on the horizon as life opens up like a budding flower in a meadow of grace.

The first step? Well, that is the hardest…and it requires a genuine leap of faith bred from the vigor within.

Understanding the misunderstood...

Being understood is just as difficult as understanding.

We all operate on varying levels of consciousness and, while most of us possess the same life skills as the next, troubleshooting and decision-making tend to be uncharted territory. Life can be broken down into varying forms of existence. Optimist, pessimist, serious, goofy, high-strung, laid back, and so on.

What we forget is that, despite the varying degrees of separation between each human, we are wholly different beasts in this journey called life. This alone is grounds for communication issues, misunderstanding, judgment and distaste. Because we all think differently, and take pride in ourselves, we tend to shift towards the idea that our way is the only way, that the street to bliss is paved with one path and no other.

Hogwash.

One man’s path is another man’s disaster, and if we fail to recognize the differences in each other, we will fail to coexist as humans. What looks completely insane to one man might be completely normal for another. Much of this comes from a differing value system, whether it be monetary, religious, or any of the other means with which to govern one’s life. These differences make it difficult for us to understand, to empathize, with others as they make their own push for happiness during these blessed lifetimes we are bestowed upon from the moment we pop out of the womb into this flawed existence.

I’m not perfect, nor could anything I do be considered “by the book.” It’s not planned that way, but simply by design thanks to the genetic and emotional DNA given to me at birth and over the scope and span of my lifetime as it stands today.

Therein sits the struggle.

The closest of friends question motives, question decision-making and – in essence – question me, and I have a hard time with this. My heart is not an object up for auction or review. It is mine and mine alone, and true friendship understands that, while you may not UNDERSTAND the decisions I make, you TRUST that I making them with the purest of intentions in mind. There is more than one way to skin a cat, as my pappy always used to say (sorry PETA, but it’s a stellar analogy). Every path taken, even decision making, is based on the idea that I am doing my best with what I have been given.

Sometimes, it is in our nature to misunderstand the decision making of others because we fail to see this wonderful world from their eyes. I can’t see life through the eyes of a money-loving businessman, yet in judging, I fail to recognize that this “love” of money might not be what it seems. Perhaps it’s simply a means to provide for his family. Again, failure to empathize with another member of this global community we engage on a daily basis shifts my understanding to judgment instead of faith.

What sits at the core of this problem is a need to understand, instead of trust, others. We’ve gone so far from trust to become suspicious animals that are always waiting for the other shoe to drop in relationships because we’ve failed to flush the past. Been burned once? Well, never again. This sad shift from trust in civilization has created a society that is destined to continue shifting so far away from each other that common relationships will be based more on like-thinking instead of towards finding people you care about in life no matter the differences you have.

Friendships are valuable when permitted to blossom, but when one party believes they are better than another, when they question the decisions made by the other, it tends to become a one-sided and arrogant existence. It’s a symbiotic relationship in that we give in one area and receive in the other. One may be wise in mathematics but the other in grammar but who’s to say which of the two are better? Neither, of course, but the mathematic believes in numbers while the writer sees only from an aesthetic point of view. The numbers man judges the word lover for not being more linear while the writer judges the numbers man for being too logical without accounting for human emotion. Both could add depth to the other if they worked together in give and take.

It’s analog vs. digital. Vinyl vs. MP3. Power vs. Finesse.

Finding that common trust in friendships, and in society as a whole, should be the quest for every man. Agreeing to disagree, but trusting the others motives is tough yet productive. Having faith in your friends regardless of your understanding is the true test of love, no matter the circumstance, and if you can’t trust in them, you fail yourself as a friend. At some point, you have to believe the pilot flying the plane knows where they’re going while you sit in coach en route to this untold destination, letting go of that internal struggle to always be in control.

Let them navigate with your support and trust, not judgment because, in the end, and in life, nobody enjoys a back seat driver…

Distracted negligence...

Words can hardly contain my feelings of shock and repulsion by reports of the movement that resulted in the publication of "new" editions of "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn" in which the offensive racial epithets "injun" and the "n-word" are now replaced by "Indian" and "slave" respectively. Gotta love butchering classic literature of its purpose because the words and their context are unattractive.

Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. The dehumanizing of slaves in "Huck Finn" and the father figure relationship between Huck and Jim is what exposes racism at its core. We might as well start teaching this generation "The Cat in the Hat" and "Green Eggs and Ham" while asking them to write their essays in crayon because this will be the first generation since the birth of Western Civilization to actually be less educated than its predecessor.

I watch my niece and nephew use their computers, and I talk to my middle schoolers about what they do on their computers and what they're reading in their spare time. Whereas much of our generation spends time looking up useless information that increases our continuing thirst for knowledge, they're playing "Poke the Penguin," a game where all you do is touch the mouse on the penguin and it literally just pokes it. No joke. You don't have to answer a math question or pass a trivia quiz to earn the right to poke this frumpy little psuedobird. You just poke, laugh and continue to be distracted from the reality of the real world.

They play this thing for hours, then watch brainless Disney channel shows like "Hannah Montana," listen to canned "musicians" like Justin Bieber, or venture into fantasy as video gaming avatars. Education has gone from a learning experience to a contest of who can come up with the most exciting way to implement knowledge, subliminally at best and humiliating without a doubt. The minute the idea of watching a documentary, or reading a piece of literature (not of the vampire fiction catalog) is mentioned, stares of pain, resistance and disgust flush over their faces as if someone told them "The Hills" is scripted and Edward never loved Bella. If there aren't any explosions, bells and whistles or superficial rewards, they don't want a thing to do with it.

And forget internal rewards of learning. This generation just doesn't want to get better. Improvement is tuned out, by design, because they're learned from the best -- us.

Their parents don't care because our generation, Generation Y, has become the most narcissistic parental guides in history. We have spawned these modern SpongeBob'd younglings. Our generation would rather ignore the needs of our own children, play video games ourselves, watch reality TV, tune out, distract ourselves from the burden of reality and responsibility while placing our own priorities ahead of our children's. It's literally an inconvenience for many parents to simply sit at the dinner table and spend time explaining, educating and working with them to help foster growth as higher level thinkers.

Tired from work? Too bad. Accepting the burden of parenthood is the responsibility the generations that preceded us also had to do. It's slowly slipping down a dangerous path.

"Generation Y" is literally still sitting at the kids table, and our children are paying the price. You wonder how a government with sinister motives could ever garner the trust and faith of the masses in this day and age? I see a generation ripe with rubes ready and waiting for 'big brother' to command and control them into bondage...the ingredients are there and all that is needed is an insidious group willing to take the reigns of control like the Pied Piper.

We sit at a dangerous precipice. Our future dangles in the hands of a generation ill-prepared to protect and defend free civilization...the less educated, the easier one is manipulated into control. As it stands now, this next generation will be the first to take that step backwards towards a history we've so quickly forgotten and are damning ourselves to repeat.

Somehow, some way, our generation needs to firmly plant their foot in defiance and answer the call. If not, we fail our society, our children and ourselves in one fell swoop.