Life needs no cheese

When the warm days fade into the dusk of night, there is no darker place than the inner-most sanctum of the human mind. We recede into this quiet solitude, reflect, refine, evolve, once we process the moments in our lives that have impacted us. As we grow, our journey is sometimes without order, a chaotic barrage of irrationality, yet -- at times -- it is a sequence of carefully planned moments considered safe by normal standards.

It's these dark nights where I find myself contemplating the most consistent of human experiences: death.

Having learned of the passing of a handful of friends and their family members the past few weeks, I find myself struggling to wipe the away the idea of what death brings. Now, I'm not talking specifically about the afterlife, but instead the process of expiring. The brain waves, the thoughts, the emotions, the confusion and the finality of it all. I'm by no means looking forward to learning the truth of these things any time soon, but it weighs on me heavily.

Whether I am speaking to friends with faith in God or friends whose only faith is in their non-belief, the constant chatter keeps me up at night, staring into the spinning blades of our ceiling fan as my mind whirls in thought. Whatever comes next, after we expire on this world, whatever adventure that awaits us beyond this realm, this reality, has me struggling with the speed at which time seems to move as we grow older. I see faces, once youthful, eyes once bright, and -- in their place -- aged caricatures of someone I once knew.

For the first time in my life, I feel old. I see time shedding its skin more frequently now. For someone with a massive Peter Pan complex, these are tough pills to swallow for so many reasons. The youthful vibrance that fills my heart is sometimes muffled by the limitations of age, both physical and societal. What was once so commonplace is now a fleeting twinkle, a brief moment, followed by constant shifting time as I age all the while. No more hide-and-seek, no more recklessness, no more youth...

But I refuse to buy into this. This life is such a gift, why spend it coiled in fear or worrying about the perception of the collective? To truly live is to throw the chains of limitations from one's shoulders in an attempt to capture every single moment this life has to offer. We get one shot at this, and we shouldn't spend these fleeting hours living in a confined space or with an anchor tied to our feet. We must strike out, do the impossible, live the dream, step outside the rat race we have been conditioned for so long to maneuver through. Forget the cheese, it's merely a distraction.

Jump out of an airplane. Hike the Pacific Crest Trail for three months. Play "Airline Roulette" and let fate take you somewhere out of the ordinary. Steer away from the conformity of society. Live deeply, madly, and love just as carelessly. Challenge the system, stare down a roaring lion, dance aimlessly with a beautiful stranger, live a life far from average. Get off the treadmill of expectation, and -- instead -- push the limits of what life has to offer. Never settled for anything less. Take chances and leave no regret behind.

They say you experience three deaths when you expire: when the body ceases to function, the second death is when you're put in the grave and the third death is when your name is spoken for the final time. What kind of legacy do we leave behind if we fail to strike out and taste everything this world has to offer?

Life needs no cheese. It simply needs oxygen and a youthful heart...seek it. With every breath.

The human spirit's 'war of attrition'

One would wonder how long it takes for a singular man to lose faith in humanity, and the poor sample products it produces on a more-than-frequent basis. Since the dawn of the Internet, an invention that was meant to bring us closer together, we have shifted so far from community, principled living and self-awareness that permeated the early days of this nation.

Distracted by design, we fall prey to the consistent barrage of technology, reality television and sycophantic celebrity hero worship. A majority of those in this time would much rather live vicariously, nay, follow along the paths of others instead of their own. If you’re walking into the future on a path, you must realize that you are no longer following your own.

Your path should only be visible in the rear view mirror and, in turn, nonexistent up front as you wade through the foliage of life.

We blaze our own trails, we kick our own dust and we follow our own whims away from the dark, conformist reality many exist within today.  Instead of seeking personal growth through asking the toughest of questions of one’s self and those who come into their sphere of influence, many simply bury their heads in the cold sand while they wait out logic until it no longer remains.

It’s a war of attrition when it comes to the human spirit. I love the wonderful miracles we, as humans, are capable of but, in turn, we are capable of such jaw-dropping brutality and selfishness. We brood, we envy, we cheat and we lie; all in the name of wealth and notoriety. Cashing in, running out with wants, not needs. Pampered, or soft, or both, we have forgotten our true sense as humans, spiraling deeper into a world of bullish ignorance where those who scream loudest gain most traction, and those with the newest ideas are outcast as “different.”

One can only give themselves over to this culture so many times before it imprints on the tablet of their heart, eating away at them like some vicious parasite. It envelops their common sense, and strangles away its ability to absorb nutrients, which is full of truth.

In a culture that would prefer filling its heart with food for sheep, and not a lion, we merely become like the uncultured Big Mac lover, who’d rather eat at McDonald’s than a five-star restaurant despite an open invitation to the table. Constantly shoving processed knowledge through the corrupt mainstream media, which pushes its agenda for ad revenue by altering the perception of those who have no inclination to even check the ingredients.

It’s hard to maintain a respect for our society and the bastard children it has spawned. For every Good Samaritan, there’s a swindler in the bushes ready to pick your pocket. A helping hand is not accommodating when paired with a blade suddenly extended from its twin. So, I ask how long it might take for one to lose faith in the society we live, and I still cannot find the answer.

Whether in solitude or amidst the frenzied scramble from the core of the rat race, I can’t help but hope that there will come a new renaissance of logical thinking. Ethnocentricity, on a social and political scale, is tearing us apart, brick by brick, in an incremental rhythm that constantly works in the shadows and in silence.

But I refuse to give up my fantasy of a world without distraction, where men and women seek to understand their purpose, not their net worth as measured in a stock portfolio…

Four Horses...

In my studying the philosophy of Zen, I came upon an old story about four types of horses and the misconception of perfection. It was quite telling and had a firm application within my own life.

It is said that there are four kinds of horses: excellent ones, good ones, poor ones, and bad ones. The best horse will run slow and fast, right and left, at the driver's will, before it actually sees the shadow of the whip; the second best will run as well as the first one does, just before the whip actually reaches its skin; the third one will run when it feels pain on its body (the initial crack of the ship); and the fourth will only run after the pain penetrates to the deepest marrow of its bones.

With that in mind, you can imagine how difficult it is for the fourth one to learn how to run properly and with great success.

Almost all of us instinctively want to be the best horse but if it is impossible to be the best one, we want to be the second best, and so on. Many people believe that, in life, we must train to be the best horse, which becomes problematic.

If you live your life in the right manner, with an open mind and a persevering spirit, it doesn’t matter if you are the best or the worst horse. In fact, it is believed that the worst horse is the most effective when all is said and done. The story teaches that in your very imperfections you will find the basis for your firm, way-seeking mind.

Those who run best naturally usually have trouble accepting the true evolution of one’s self. They have become “experts” and thus limit themselves because of their rigidity of spirit and stubborn pride. In essence, they believe they are fine where they are and have no further progress to make, giving in to one of life’s greatest falsehoods.

It’s the horse that runs last — the horse that feels the pain of life — that shows its value when all is said and done. This horse must experience all that is life to learn — the total pain from the whip — thus allowing it to find more meaning in all that they do, maintaining the beginner’s mind and an open approach to everything life attempts to teach them.

When compared to the overall body of work, the last horse actually becomes the first horse and the first horse the last. It is the last horse that runs freely, inspired and with an unrivaled vigor because of the path it took to become the great runner it eventually evolved into. It’s appreciation is boundless.

How many times do we limit ourselves with the expert’s state of mind? We need not improve because we are perfect where we stand.

Athletes peak and plateau when they take this train of thought, only to be passed by the “hungrier” athletes who used their beginner’s mind to learn more than one way to achieve success. Teachers become relics, failing to evolve with the changing methods of a modern age. Pastors fall into spiritual complacency when they buy into the myth of their own self-importance.

Life does not ever finish with its lessons, yet we find ourselves content with this harmful complacency. Growth is imperative in achieving our fullest potential, something that may take a lifetime of education to finally see to fruition. From pastors to coaches, teachers to musicians, if we settle for the status quo, we limit ourselves.

In studying some of these philosophies, I’ve come across the fundamental ideal for achieving one’s potential: a beginner’s mind knows no limits because of its belief that it is always in need of learning, while the so-called expert peaks and washes back into the ocean of mediocrity.

One must ask themselves if they are too good to learn, too strong to grow, and too developed to evolve. If they answer is “yes,” then they are limited to the bounds of that perceived perfection. Of course we all know this is a fallacy because no man is perfect. Being aware of our imperfections, and open to new ideas is what continues our evolution.

At one point the world was flat, yet now we see it as a miniscule grain of sand in an expansive universe. All grand ideas are the evolution of a beginner’s mind, throwing off the chains of complacency and allowing free thought to permeate the inventive minds they rattle within.

Potential is nothing without being fulfilled. Skills are irrelevant if they never continue to develop. Knowledge is merely average without a continued seeking of education. As our lives continue to pass by with the ever-increasing winds of change, we must carry on with the seeking of life’s lessons, no matter how far-fetched or hard to understand, as they may seem.

If we don’t, we throw ourselves into a prison of mediocrity made from our own blistered and calloused hands…

The rising tide of change...

It rolls back, breaking at its own will, invoking its freedom and strength with every crashing wave, and it slowly rises and falls as the day turns to night and then back again.

Ah, the beautiful power of the tide...

After traveling into the Pacific Northwest, hiking 30 miles into the heart of the Northern Cascades in search of the spirit of Jack Kerouac, who spent 63 days of complete solitude up at the Desolation Fire Lookout in the summer of 1956 a few months shy of him becoming a household name, we were able to see the many factors that led to Kerouac's ascent towards the high water mark for the Lowell, Mass., product.

At this point in his life, Kerouac had spent the better part of a decade as a homeless rucksack, traveling the breadth of this nation, hitchhiking his way across the vast landscape of this country and down through Mexico City. The tide was slowly rising in his life, but it had yet to reach the crest of success he envisioned as he jumped from couch to couch, shady hotel room to train car, and bar to bar every night. Proud of his words, yet somewhat embarrassed of his chronic homelessness, Kerouac drew from this as part of his muse.

His productivity during this time was phenomenal. Pretty much all of his critical success came from the written word he produced during the late 1940s and early-to-mid 50s ("On the Road," his most popular work, was published in 1957, nearly seven years after it was written). By the time, and after writing more than 10 novels that would one day be published, Kerouac's fame finally hit and the rising tide of his existence hit its crest, he could no longer live in anonymity, or be the "observer" he so specifically became known for (along with his rebelliously vast disregard for the rules of prose). As he adapted to the cresting of the tide in his life, he lost all that was vital to his work.

With the fame he so greatly coveted, came the payout: a loss of what made his work so pure in the first place. In the end, what he craved stifled and eventually killed the color so greatly engrained within his work. The overall burden of being the caricature he created of himself weighed him down like a boulder, and cost him the intimacy of many friendships in his life. His production slipped and he failed to produce with the same vigor and individuality that had been so preeminent in his work during the pre-fame portions of his life, but what he lost as the cresting wave covered his lifetime's shining moment can only be measured by what was gained during these vitally productive years of his life.

Kerouac's voice captured a generation.

He was the father of a movement, but also a casualty of its popularity. The tide crashed over his life and his generation in such a way that he could no longer reinvent himself, and — in his early death — it cost him the chance to witness the ever-growing change, the draining of freedom, here in the free America that he so proudly railed for and eagerly described as a place, "too vast with people too vast to ever be degraded to the low level of a slave nation," one that he could "go hitch hiking down that road and on into the remaining years of my life knowing that outside of a couple fights in bars started by drunks I’ll not have a hair of my head (and I need a haircut) harmed by Totalitarian cruelty—"

Did the cresting tide cover over Kerouac before he could see the falling star that has become this once-great nation? Was he spared this realization of this as the Nixon administration slowly sapped individual rights in its battle with the counter-culture during the pre-Watergate era? He missed the rigged fight, and slow yet dangerous catharsis within our borders. Slowly but surely, we have watched individual liberty fall to the wayside under countless disguises from national security to educational reform. Nobody is immune from culpability on the right or the left. Our nation, indivisible, brought this upon itself.

The very same country that Kerouac so grandly described is no longer the same place. The rising tide of the counterculture movement of the 60s and early 70s has crashed into an even more polarizing fight as the divide between classes and cultures becomes more prevalent. We are once again becoming tribal in nature, but it is no longer of the racial variety. Ideology has replaced genes as the catalyst for this ever-evolving battle within the cultures and peoples of this great nation. Our current leaders — the same "freedom fighters" from the freedom and peace movements of the 1960s — have failed us, giving way to the status quo of power and greed.

Perhaps, just perhaps, things weren't as beautiful as Kerouac had though they were in the first place.

Maybe, just maybe, his detachment from the mainstream is what blinded him to the reality that those with power will fight like rabid dogs to keep it, no matter the cost, and no matter the political affiliation. When his friend, Allen Ginsberg, fought for freedom of speech for his controversial poem, "Howl," Kerouac may have seen this coming political storm, or perhaps — in his mind's eye — he saw this as real progress, not a slippery slope towards something worse.

Worse off is the thought that perhaps the great heroes we once honored in our own youth were mere puppets in a propaganda campaign during the early life of what is now known as our modern media. The shine, moxie and glistening beauty surrounding the perception of our great heroes of old has been removed from the facade like a vintage Star Wars figure being taken out of the shipping box and thrown into the bath tub for play time. My generation is finally feeling its way out of this modern age of communication and information, and what we are finding has disillusioned us to the past we could not touch or see with our own senses.

What was an homage to the beauty of this once-great nation has now, today, become something out of an George Orwell novel or a Philip K. Dick short story.

My generation can no longer trust the history books, or view the old publications and movie reels our government so easily spoon-fed to the earlier generation's naivete with anything less than distrust. We are the first generation to clearly see and experience the coming combination of this powerful beast that controls our attention today in the mainstream media and government officials. No generation has been at ground zero for this fight more than Generation-Y as well as the latter portions of Gen-X, and the fallout has become a general distrust of anything we've ever been told was right and true, even what our own parents told us about our past through their own unknowing indoctrination into this "beast" during their youth.

Just because it's honest doesn't make it true.

Similar to how the steroid abuse scandal in Major League Baseball has forced many to always question the success of any player thanks to the trust that was broken prior to the steroid crackdown of the early 2000s, my generation can't look back on our "heroes" without wondering how honorable they really were. I can't help but look at great leaders like George Washington (was he a slave owner?), FDR (did he have foreknowledge of Pearl Harbor?), Abraham Lincoln (was it corporate greed in search of control over the cotton industry or slavery that truly sparked the Civil War?), and countless others portrayed as epic heroes in my youth but have since stumbled into controversy posthumously thanks to continued research and a look between the lines of the history that is almost always written by those considered to be the winners.

The worry that sits within my core is one that wonders how much of what I was taught as a student was a form of propaganda itself. This is the beauty in Kerouac's description of the American life he knew, an America less convoluted by large government or the flourishing business of "pay-for-play politics." I can't help but marvel at how little focus is placed on literature as our historical basis, compared to "history books" and Wikipedia. To understand what our nation was like during a specified time period, one need only to look at the passionate words from the writers of their time period. A failure to do this neuters the strength buried within the written word, and the rising tide of each generation as described by first-hand accounts, not a politically-motivated bastardization of the truth that comes with revisionist history.

The rising tide facing my generation is more about trust and faith than anything, and the battle lines are intertwining. When a large portion of an entire generation loses faith in its government, its political process, its truthfulness outside of political gain, and the general fabric that brought us into our role as a world power and protective big brother, which has been deformed — in our eyes — into the Orwellian version of a "protective big brother," we have a rising tide that could turn into a tsunami of destruction further down the line.

With every passing generation, each imparts its own strengths and weaknesses to the next. Ours will most definitely pass on its serious distrust in the system, our lack of faith in our leaders, and a general malaise that anything we try to do in a attempt to better this country only falls on deaf ears and is slated to be swallowed up into the corrupt system that has mutated into its current corporate form.

This is the modern rising tide heading towards the shores of our discontent.

How much it will cover over, how strong its first landfall will be and how long it will roll over us is anyone's guess, but the only thing I can guarantee is that once it rolls back, it will only come back stronger the next time, and — if we haven't built our belief systems and accountability on dry land instead of the sandy shored — its damage may exceed anything our imagination could conceive.

But, as in all things, there must be hope that tomorrow can be the first day of a brave new world the likes of Aldous Huxley couldn't possibly imagine...

Preparing for the journey...

This is what I wrote for our guys as they prepare for what is the first varsity season for most of them...

“The road of life twists and turns and no two directions are ever the same. Yet our lessons come from the journey, not the destination.”

As we enter the 2011 season, it must be understood that there will be a roller coaster of emotions from the start to the finish line, wherever that may be. Mental preparation should never be underestimated as you prepare for whatever unknowns lay ahead. Here are a few things to consider as we start the season together.

1. EXPECTATIONS: The journey of a thousand miles begins with a footstep. Expect one thing: extreme highs and lows. Expect mistakes and successes alike, and embrace them as a lesson to learn from, and then forge ahead. The season will be a roller coaster, so prepare yourself for anything that might happen. Expect the unexpected.

2. GOALS: Failing to prepare is preparing to fail. Create personal and team goals before the season begins. Use a 3x5-inch index card and place it somewhere you can see it on a daily basis (bathroom mirror, ceiling above your bed). As the season progresses, continue to alter these goals as they are accomplished.

3. BELIEF: The 4-minute mile was thought to be unattainable until it was first broken. Within the next 18 months, 45 runners also broke the barrier. Stay away from fixed mindsets as they only obscure the unlimited boundaries of potential within each of you. “I can’t” sabotages your own efforts. Dream big.

4. RELAX: “Relax in order to max.” No good thing has come from being stiff and tense. Relax and let go, trusting in everything you’ve worked on. Be like water, which is fluid, yielding and soft, yet strong enough to form huge canyons. Don’t allow yourself to feed the butterflies within.

5. FOCUS: Focus on the here-and-now, and nothing else. Whatever has happened or will happen is out of your control. Worry about the next pitch and only the next pitch. Flush the mistakes and move on. If you spend too much time worrying about what’s behind you, you’ll trip over what’s in front of you. Pay full attention to the present. Focus only on the things within your control. You can’t control the wind, bad hops, great breaking balls, or poor umpiring. When a plane flies from San Francisco to Hawaii, it is off-course 90% of the time. It eventually reaches Hawaii safely because the pilot corrects for the interference and errors caused by the uncontrollable winds. Adapt.

6. DON’T THINK – DO: Analysis is paralysis. Trust your instincts and the training. Learn from the mistakes but don’t dwell on them.

7. REFLECT: Performance is the result of priorities. Reflect on your natural performance patterns. Recall the success and what factors contributed to them (become a creature of habit). Eliminate the factors that led to failure. Always take time out every night to reflect on the day’s lessons.

8. FEAR: This is a natural emotion that indicates the need to be alert. It is a survival instinct, and it allows you to understand the importance of the situation and then prepare for it. The other side of every fear is freedom. To keep from being overwhelmed, break down the expanse of the season into smaller parts: game-by-game, inning-by-inning, out-by-out, pitch-by-pitch.

9. FAILURE: Success comes to those who can weather the storm. If you expect it, you can then prepare to learn from it. Just don’t get comfortable with it. Life’s greatest lessons come from failure, not success. Work to ensure you aren’t making the same mistakes twice. Accept slumps as part of the game and don’t resist it. The tighter you grip at a fistful of sand, the more slip through your fingers. Same with slumps.

10. DON’T DWELL: Don’t dwell on the losses OR the victories. Enjoy the moment, and move on to the next task at hand. You’re only as good as your last performance, so don’t let success become a burden. Use the memory of success to give you inspiration during the inevitable decline that comes from great success. Always work to continually return to the top of the mountain.

HAVE FUN! They don’t say “WORK Ball,” they say “PLAY ball” for a reason…

Just remember, perfection is unattainable. Strive for excellence and the success will follow.

Guilty by association

In perusing the Internet for random facts of nonsense, I recently read a study by Nicholas A. Christakis and James Fowler from Harvard Medical School regarding obesity and its relation to an individual’s social network.

The study forms the conclusion that an individual’s chances of becoming obese are increased by 57 percent if they are tied together by no more than two degrees of separation and the percentage increases even more when the subjects lived within a close geographic radius from each other.

In other words, when mom used to tell you that you actually were “who you hung out with,” she was dead on (as moms usually are, despite our kicking and screaming).

The fact that this study proves that individuals are more likely to be overweight if the people they hang out with are overweight brings things into perspective. It doesn’t have to only be applied to obesity. Much of this can also relate to drinking habits, study habits, spiritual development and any host of socially encouraged behaviors.

Surrounding yourself with people with like interests is what draws friends together, but it can also affect the person you become thereafter. While initial like interests lure you in, their other personality traits also become a part of the package.

Their own personal habits will mesh with yours, as will theirs to you. Therein lay the danger, as the stronger personality usually provides a majority of the influence and it leaves each and every one of us susceptible to altering our own personal belief systems.

As a coach, this couldn’t possibly be any more important as not all of our players’ friends are athletes or model citizens. If they happen to spend a great deal of time with morons, dropouts, druggies, hooligans and any other adjectives with a negative connotation, you will most definitely see a drop in performance and leave your whole team open to this potential virus creeping in.

The study exposes our occasional failure to think long and hard about who we make a priority in our lives. Alcoholics usually hang out with alcoholics, drug addicts generally maintain a tight circle of fellow drug addicts, free thinkers usually hang out with free thinkers and character-driven people usually surround themselves with those who also maintain that set of personal morals.

In a dangerous game of “Six Degrees of Separation,” one must take serious inventory when choosing those they surround themselves with. If you run with wolves, you yourself will become a wolf, finding your own life on a path that could very easily lead to destruction or worse…

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.

Ron Santo and a son's love...

This is one thing that reminds me of the innocence of my own childhood and the undying love and respect I have for my own father. Hate the Cubs as some of you may, but there is nothing more special in my life, outside of our faith in God, than that bond me and my pappy have than in our dual love of the Cubs.

Whether it was a Fathers Day in the bleachers, a late-night together -- me dozing off on his lap as he ate non-frosting blueberry Pop Tarts and drank Vitamin D milk while watching the Cubs play a night game on the west coast, or simply being on the phone with him in the midst of his prostate cancer radiation treatments as Carlo Zambrano threw the first no-hitter since my dad's childhood, it is and has always been one common and unbreakable bond between the two of us...

Ron Santo was very symbolic of that "blind loyalty" many of us Cub fans share...hate the Cubs as you might, but there's as much father-son sentimentality in my "fan-dom" as there is team loyalty. It's my fondest childhood memory of me and my dad, playing whiffle ball in the front lawn as I emulated every batting stance and pitching windup from my modern Cubs against him, as he perfectly emulated the batting stances and pitching motion of his favorite '69 Cubs.

My dad loved Ron Santo as a hero, and it strikes a chord with me when one of my pappy's own heroes passes on...life is fragile and it always brings to light the mortality we share daily with our own fathers....our mentors ...our own personal heroes...and, for me, my best friend...

"He whispered, "Don't Cry, we'll meet by and by near the Heavenly Hall of Fame. I've got season's tickets to watch the Angels now, so its just what I'm going to do...but you the living, you're stuck here with the Cubs, so its me that feels sorry for you!"

"Do they still play the blues in Chicago When baseball season rolls around When the snow melts away, Do the Cubbies still play In their ivy-covered burial ground When I was a boy they were my pride and joy But now they only bring fatigue To the home of the brave The land of the free And the doormat of the National League..."

Poof...

It's been a while since I've posted on here as I have been busy with life, teaching and a host of fun with some special people in my life. While busy, the last few months have been quite therapeutic in so many ways...it's been a rough eight months. I've made some life changing decisions, faced the darkest of times followed by some amazingly bright moments of reassurance. I've walked, stumbled, stood tall, fought back, dodged, ducked, battled and shown resilience.

It's been a constant barrage of lessons I wouldn't trade for anything in the world, and here are a few of the more poignant I've learned as I've sprinted through this mine field of life in 2010.

1) NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF THE LAWNMOWER: I know it sounds pretty sophomoric but this dance move can lead to very special things, depending on your luck. A dork like me could stumble into the arms of a '10' by merely mowing the lawn on the dance floor, especially if a 'gunslinger' is added into the mix. Delicious isn't a word to describe its power.

2) CALLOUSED HEARTS LEAD TO LONELINESS: There's so much pain in this world, but its only rivaled by the wonderful moments pain can lead to. Early this year, my life changed from one to another as I experienced a dose of heartache. Seriously, I thought I'd never feel the same, and maybe it's true, but at the same time, it allowed me to purge myself from some bad habits I have acquired along the way. What can I say: I'm a hopeless romantic trying to be romantic without being as hopeless...this is still a work in progress.

3) NOTHING IS AS UPLIFTING AS A KIND WORD FROM A STRANGER: Ever had a bad day? Yeah, me too. In fact, in one of the worst days of my year, I happen to receive a compliment from a total stranger that not only boosted my confidence but also encouraged me in a moment I felt as far from the finish line as I've ever been. It's strange, but a compliment from a friend is great but when someone — someone without any vested interest in your success or failure — encourages you, it makes those darkest of moments light up like a Christmas tree. I've made it a point to find ways to encourage complete strangers since that day, and here's hoping it's passed forward to others as well.

4) STILL HATE VEGAS DOUSCHES: They don't change. Sorry, I'm not into Fox Racing, don't enjoy UFC, wear TapOut gear, don white flat-billed caps cocked to the left and I don't treat women like garbage. If that's being cool, well, I'm content with being as dorky as possible. I've seen so many tool bags treat the lovely ladies in their lives with such contempt and disrespect lately, it's enough to make a grown man wretch. I've also learned that some women gravitate towards that and it's unfortunate. They deserve to have someone appreciate them for all the beauty they have inside and out yet they're like a magnet for these overgrown children who would rather watch a cage fight than spend a night on a hilltop kissing her gently under the stars.

5) SOBRIETY SEEMS TO BE A GOOD IDEA FROM TIME TO TIME: I haven't had a sip of alcohol since February. Not a drop, and I think it has allowed me to dig deeper into the layers I may have overlooked over the course of my life. It's not like I've been sloppy drunk all the time prior, but I've noticed a sense of clear thinking, far from numbed and sharper than a blade, as I tackle serious issues from my past. It's a pretty good thing to take timeouts from the ole booze and allow your mind, body and soul recharge. In fact, it's reassuring that it doesn't take much effort to refrain, and I'm happy to have battled through some tough moments and feel every bit of emotion as I endured.

6) NEVER TAKE THINGS FOR GRANTED: I know we all say this, but what happens? We take someone for granted and, "POOF!" they're gone. The human mind has a tendency to get comfortable when it is in the same place for too long. Nothing hurts worse worse than to feel taken for granted, and there's few more hurtful things to do to friends or people you care about than to make them feel this way either. The grass is always greener, and then — when it's gone — the opposing grass never quite measures up. This requires breaking the patterns of our past and realizing a good thing when you have it. Nothing more painful than regret...

7) WE'RE ALL MORONS: Nobody gives perfect advice. In fact, we usually do more damage than good, but we usually make ourselves less valuable the moment we open our mouths. Listen more often, stay off those iPhones, don't text others when you're spending time with someone special and always allow the other person vent. It's amazing how helpful you can be when you simply hold someone and allow them to spill their guts. Everyone wants to be heard, and deserves to have that luxury. Listen, and don't minimize others' pain by simply waiting for your turn to run your mouth. Give them the floor, rhetorically. With that said, what do I know? I'm the king of the morons.

When those nervous butterflies roll in, and life seems to painfully flick your earlobes, just remember that life comes in peaks and valleys. Sometimes the best times get overshadowed by our own ignorance and the worst times come and go without the least bit of learning. Be still, and listen to life's voice as you travel this path, and learn through every experience as if it's your first day of high school...

The Phantom Burden...

A man, falsely accused and convicted despite his innocence, was sentenced to walk the earth with a large boulder strapped onto his shoulders. Forced to carry this burden with every breath, the man toiled through life with the weight of his burden pushing him down with every step. Fighting many sleepless nights, shedding solitary tears hidden behind the façade of a jester’s smile, he walked the earth carrying his burden everywhere, a shell of his former self.

Finally, years later, he was found to be innocent and his sentence was vacated. The boulder was lifted and he was free to continue his life without the boulder and the weight it brought upon him. A funny thing happened to the man once his burden was lifted. Maybe it was his body’s constant conditioning to walk with the burden, or perhaps his fear that he would, once again, find himself unjustly accused and punished, but even with the boulder gone, the man simply refused to stand upright again, instead choosing to walk hunched over as if he still carried his unjust punishment.

His family begged him to move on and to rise up, his friends urged him to stand strong and put his past behind him, but the man simply did not have the strength or courage to move on. He was conditioned to carry a phantom burden in his mind’s eye, walking the earth as if he were responsible for something he had no control over.

Finally, one day as the man walked out away from his house, he looked towards a new path he hadn’t noticed. This path was different than anything he had ever seen — it led to a place of untold adventure, satisfaction and peace. But the path was perilous, steep and was no place for a man who could not stand upright or carry himself through the snares and unstable footing.

Desperate for peace and a new start, he looked back at his house, then down at the path — which was blocked by a large boulder, reminiscent of the very same boulder he had carried all those years. In despair, he finally looked upwards towards the heavens. As he stretched his neck back to look to the skies, he straightened his back — slowly but with confidence — as he peered at the clouds in the bright, blue beautiful sky. Suddenly, as if through a Divine hand, he straightened out as tall as he had ever stood

Surprised, but with a new set of eyes and a new perspective, the man looked across the land. He saw his home behind him, the new path in front of him and the boulder standing in his way. Upright and finally at peace with a newfound posture, the man rose from the ashes that had become his phantom burden — looking back to wave goodbye to his home before lifting the boulder with ease, pushing it far off into the brush.

Finally able to see the high-water mark of his life clearly visible in the distance, the man threw aside his cares and — standing tall in peace for the first time in years — he took his first steps towards a new life, one of perpetual joy, peace and a sense that his burden would no longer be anything but a memory.

He was renewed.

Belief and technique for modern prose...

Nothing from me, but from Jack Kerouac's own fingertips...this now sits where I can read it whenever I sit down to document life in vivid detail, with enthusiasm...

1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy

2. Submissive to everything, open, listening

3. Try never get drunk outside yr own house

4. Be in love with yr life

5. Something that you feel will find its own form

6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind

7. Blow as deep as you want to blow

8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind

9. The unspeakable visions of the individual

10. No time for poetry but exactly what is

11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest

12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you

13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition

14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time

15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog

16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye

17. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself

18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea

19. Accept loss forever

20. Believe in the holy contour of life

21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind

22. Dont think of words when you stop but to see picture better

23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning

24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge

25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it

26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form

27. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness

28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better

29. You're a Genius all the time

30. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

The CLICKITY-CLACK of life's coaster...

Last night, I had a strange dream: Me and a faceless friend were at an amusement park, preparing to hop on the first roller coaster we saw that didn't have an excessive line. Once we found it, we started strolling through the galley like excited children. I'm sure most of you've felt that before at amusement parks, speeding through an empty line as the park nears its close so you can double or triple ride one of the attractions. Skipping around every corner, occasionally hopping over a section or two.

Once we got to the boarding station, it became apparent to me why this coaster lacked any riders — the first drop, preceded by what looked to be a limitless ascent, was beyond the clouds and into the stratosphere. In fact, you couldn't even see what the drop was. My heart jumped, as I'm scared to death of heights, but this faceless friend kept pushing me on, goading me into the last seat because "it's the fastest and you can get buggy-whipped from the speed." Before I could blink, I was sitting in the final car of an empty train watching the attendant wave goodbye as we left the station.

To make matters worse as we started the slow, clackity-clack of the ascent, my restraint didn't feel right. In fact, it wasn't restraining me from anything...CLACKITY-CLACK. I squirmed as we continued the ascent to this limitless peak, which — in my mind — held what would be the most massive inverted drop I've ever experienced...CLACKITY-CLACK. Pulling down the restraint, I could still feel myself slipping under it, and through it, with no semblance of protection from the impending climax and subsequent drop.

CLACKITY-CLACK, CLACKITY-CLACK...closer the climax came, and the more panicked I became. My stomach churned. There was no way I could stay in the car for the first drop, nonetheless the entire ride, and I couldn't find a way to get myself secure. CLACKITY-CLACK, CLACKITY-CLACK, CLACKITY-CLACK...the time of ascent — which should have take much longer to complete — neared its end. Still, no sense of security, no matter how hard I pulled or pushed or hung onto the restraints.

CLACKITY-CLACK...CLACK...CLACK...CLACK...CLACK...the moment arrived and my heart stopped in its tracks as I peered out over the vast expanse of the globe. The final CLACK slowed as the cars reached their final ascent. A pause, and then, knowing my restraints were of little use to me, I took one peaceful deep breath and hung on for dear life as my faceless partner patted my shoulder in support. CLACK (pause) CLACK (pause) CLACK...silence...silence stead for the slight breeze above all the Earth whistling through my ears, and all the panic within in me peaked like a acid wave before the wheels turned, and the cars began to follow the track down through the clouds into the nearly infinite drop.

But a funny thing happened on the way down: the drop never came. In fact, it was merely a short dip into a ride that more resembled a kiddy park attraction than one found at a Six Flags. Up and down, it tickled my tummy but never did we find ourselves in any real danger. The restraints, which I feared would never hold, tightened up and we rode the hilly coaster until we finally arrived safely into the station.

So invigorated from the emotional spectrum I had just experienced, I unlocked my restraints, and ran quickly to the front of the coaster, plopped down in the front seat and was ready to give it another ride, this time so I could enjoy the ascent and all the beauty it entailed that I had missed in my panicked state the first time. My excitement peaked, only to find out the ride was now closed for the night and I had to vacate the amusement park.

I can still feel the sense of panic in my gut now as I re-tell the story. Every sense was vivid in detail and every emotion unquestioned. The dream itself became symbolic of how so many of us face the coming adversity. How many times in life do we rashly hop on what looks to be an easy trail and then find out its far from easy, and reserved for only experienced climbers? We kick, scream, cry, panic in every moment leading to our climax, only to find out our fears were unfounded and the worst was merely of our own creation.

Panic is such a deceptive emotion. Salesmen use it to close business deals through the sense of urgency, teachers use to through pop quizzes, parents use it to arrive to church on time and we force it upon ourselves when we live through circumstances we are unsure about. In essence, panic is as man-made as plutonium and as pointless as gills on an flat screen TV. We burden ourselves with this emotion, blinding ourselves to the beauty of the journey around us as we travel each path.

In my own life, I have some major hurdles to conquer in the next few months. There is plenty of uncertainty ahead of me, but somewhere — like my faceless ride partner — there is Someone encouraging us to stare it head on and live without fear, despite possible failure. Why do we always fear failure? Failure is the world's greatest teaching tool. We don't learn much through victory because it easily masks the flaws within us. It's through failure that we learn to adapt and rise above the lesson to become something better, something evolved.

We are drenched in failure, whether you see it or not. As humans, we are flawed and lacking in so many ways. We kill our own, we steal from our own, and we treat others with contempt instead of like family. Our society is so lost that we'd sell our own first-born for a leg up in this world, with common decency floating out the window from our wrist like a child's complimentary carnival balloon.

To survive, we must embrace the roller coaster of life, stare it head on and NEVER forget what's most important — the view itself. If we spend the entire ascent worrying if we're going to survive the fall, we miss out on all the beauty leading up to it. Sure, the fall may be massive but sometimes — most times — it is hardly ever as bad as it seems. We make mountains out of molehills so many times in this life that we forget about the beauty of the here and now. Worse, we never get a second chance to experience because once the time passes, you can't go back and re-ride the experience. The park's closed.

Let go of the panic, the fear, that pollutes our ability to enjoy today. We're never guaranteed tomorrow and we never even get a chance to reach the peak we fear so much. Faith in something better, in God, provides us our own riding partner because there is no question in my mind that He is sitting there, riding shotgun, smiling at our own blindness. If we spend less time worrying about our restraints and more time enjoying the ascent, we can see Him gesturing to all the beautiful landmarks of life as we slowly climb the CLICKITY-CLACK of passing time.

The ascension does not allow for do-overs, and panic only blinds you to the entire scope and span of its beauty. Don't miss out. Slow down, enjoy it, and let go of the panic you've created within your own heart. Give it away, and enjoy the ride...besides, who wants to have that memory captured with a sour face when we pass the "Coaster Cam?" I sure don't, and I will give my all to enjoy this ascension as best I can before it peaks, and is gone, never to return again.