Well, I guess I'm Indecisive... Maybe...

Back at it after all this time. I am again forcing myself to write, although I can't quite decide what the motivation was.

Life has been pretty good to me, all things considered. I can't really complain. (I'm not sure why people say that because the truth is that I can and do complain regardless of the fact that other people may have better reasons to do so.) I actully need to find some good motivation for staying on top of my ramblings. It seems like when I think of life as being more problematic, I'm more likely to write about it. My life has generally escaped that probelmatic place. Or, (shudder), has this been a lull, and I'm getting ready to re-enter the storm.

Na, I'm not to worried about drama right now. Drama has found me nonetheless. I guess it's kind of like a cold. You could think that you were over it, and maybe you were, but there is another one that you are not yet ressistant to.

So, what is going on with me. The big note is that I have somehow been fortunate enough, lucky enough, or....I think it's luck...It could be my good looks and...no it's luck...anyway I am about to enter a new stage in life. I guess it's alot like a stage I have been in before, except that last time I'm pretty sure that it sucked, and this time I'm happily confident that it won't. Ya, that sums it up. Check back later and maybe there will be some clarity to this...drabble.

So, This is What That Feels Like

So the suspense is over and I can finally finish what started a few years ago. It's now official, I am that guy, the divorce guy. I'm not sure that this is going to sink in very easily. I am a terrible quiter. What do I feel like? Mean, selfish, scared, lonely, but funny, I don't feel any regret for this decision. So what happened? Well I can frame it a little bit, but it still sucks.

You never think that will happen to you when you start, at least I didn't. I knew exactly where I was going and what I wanted to do. I think that in general I have been on the same trail for. It's kind of funny, I read a paper while I was packing up my stuff that I had written in college, and for all intents and purposes, I am the exact same guy. A little older, better credit score, more crap to take care of, but the same.

So where did I go wrong? Well, no excuses really change any result. I wish that I had done a few things differently in the past. The real kicker though, I'm not sure that anything that I did would have changed the outcome, other than to just say "ya, that's cool, do whatever you want, whenever you want, and with whoever you want, and in the end I'll still be here bringing home a paycheck. Oh ya, and please yell at me all the time for stupid crap, and please tell me how stupid my friends are, and no we don't ever need to have kids, and sure, I really wanted a roomate more than a wife."

No, in the end it didn't seem very palatable.

About 3 years ago something fairly drastic changed. Counseling said that a certain friend of the wifes was a "vector" of change. Fair enough. In the end I'm not sure that I will ever deal well with everything that happened as a result of the "vector". In general some advice for all from someone who has no business giving any; if it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, its not a turkey. Be carefull who your friends are, they affect what you become, and for all you spouses out there, if you have a bad feeling about someone being around your spouse, be honest about it and tell them why. Now if you get lied to after that about the nature of stuff, that's not your fault, but still, you gotta say something. I will never no exactly everything that went on in the past, and I really don't want to know all the details. I do wish that things had been different. I do wish that the "change" had never occured.

What change? Well, it's tough to put a finger on, but when activism and femanism and independence and liberalism take over for things like moderation and equality and interdependence and family, that makes it really hard for a traditional punk like myself. Just my opinion? Yup.

I came to a critical moment a few weeks ago. I had another good friend pass in a horrible accident. I began to think of how short and fragile life is. At the same time, after being roomates instead of a couple for the last six months or so, I had to ask myself "Do you really think that things will change and go back to how they once were? Can that happen?" For so long I had hoped that around the next corner it would, and I thought that if I just did a little something different, sacrificed a little more of what I wanted then it could. Then I noticed, that in every scenario, the person I was with that would make living with the past and the pain okay, was not this new person, but the one that i was in love with so long ago. And I had to ask, is that person ever coming back, and how many years do you wait and work for that? I am done.

Friends and family are great, all of mine have been nothing but supportive. Strangley, almost sureally, most have said something to the effect of what took so long. That doesn't stop you from feeling. It is the most low I have ever felt. I know though that it gets better from here. I really just got tired. I've felt alone for what seems like forever. It hurt so bad, but felt so good to say I was through. It sucked, but at the same time it was so good. I hate to lose, I hate it. I hate to quit anything, I'm the optimist. But in this situation it was finally time to accept that I cannot win everything. I cannot have everything. I cannot change everything. And as much as I'd like to, I cannot make people live in any manner other than that which they choose.

It reminds me of a great principle of why we are here. It would sure be nice sometimes to be able to have all the decisions made for us, and have everyone follow the life map to the T. But that's not the plan. I feel like I will have to pay for this, because I do think it's wrong, but I can't help but think that repentence is found in starting over, and trying again with someone who wants to be a companion, a friend, a lover, a wife, a mother, and ultimately a piece of me, and I of them. I know that is possible, I know that it does happen, I know that it can happen for me, and I don't belive in chance and luck and happenstance. I also know that I can go and do the things that I'm supposed to, because their is a real eternal plan out there, and there are no expectations given by the guy watching over us all, unless he preapres a way for us to meet those expectations that he has for us.

So what now? Now i'm going to do all the things that I have been doing. I'll just be doing them alone for awhile. I may throw in a trip to South America or Africa and just dissapear for a while, but I'll be fine. In the end, the most exciting thing about the terrible ending, is the prospect that there then must be a wonderful begining.

So, this is what that feels like.

Courage, so what.

I've often herd courage defined in the past. I think that the definitions all kind of varied, but the one I liked said something to the effect of courage is nothing more than being afraid, and then moving forward despite that fear, without regard to the damage that you may now inflict on yourself. What kind of crazy concept is this? The concept were a person looks at darkness, fear, and loss and says "I will go anyway. I will do this anyway. For the potential reward is too great, too critical, too important not to make this grand, indeed sometimes greatest of gambles." I think that there are many small things that we do that seem courageous, but it is the greatest that truly define us. In my life it has been that way. The greatest defining moments have always been associated with uncertainty, great risk, and of course there is fear.

I remmember quite vividly the moment that I decided to go on a mission. I remmember vividly the times that I choose to chase love even though it meant pain. I remmeber the moments that I spoke up and out in my carrier, and maybe shot over may head, and the rewards that came from being a risk taker. The most memorable experiences in all aspects of my life are associated with some type of risk. Is that then the secret. It might be. The cautious is rarely considered courageous. He who allows circumstance to dictate his life rarely has a life that is later deemed worthy of much introspection or celebration. In fact the greatest men I have ever known have without question always opened themselves up to the battles, to the pain, to the risk. It is without question the fire that forges the metal within.

How many heroes don't get to tell that story? How many of the noble and great are not remmebered? How many take the step only to be crushed by the hand of fate and destiny. I'm glad that such a statistic is not kept, for in keeping it, we would only be validating the true waste of ones life. I'm begining to think it is infinatley better, no matter the result, to be crushed by the weight and gravity of a situation, than it is too sit iddly by and daily, iddly die. For the ones who don't try neither win nor are they spared the gut wrenching pain of knowing that they have been too weak to dare. They are left cowarding and misserable, wondering what they might attain if only they tried. And they will sit forever and still wonder what might have been. What a terrible fate, drowning in what ifs'. All of us do. All of us are in a sense treading water, maybe just wading. Waiting for the moment when we either gain, or lose enough reason to jump.

Courage, so what? As you may have guessed it's on my mind. I'm quitting. Does it really take courage to quit something. After all, it's not so much doing as lack thereoff. At least that's what I would have thought. But now maybe my perspective has changed. Now I understand a little more, maybe alot more. In certain situations, the great act of courage is not to run with, but to question enough, be brave enough, to ask "why do I run?" How ironic that it might take courage to quit running, quit trying, quit carring. It is without a doubt the most difficult thing that I have ever done. I'm afraid. I'm scarred. I must face my war alone. Some decisions are so difficult that you can't really get help, or maybe don't want it. That's when you know you're on the really dangerous ground, the landmines, when you really don't even want a friend there with you, because you know the truth. Isn't it the most amazing empowering thing when they stand up anyway? When they throw you a rifle, when they shout, if only for a moment the encouragement you needed to walk that last yard? That is what you find in your search for courage. You find it, and it is not in a lonely place reserved for the hardened and heroed. It was in the hand that reached for you. It was deep inside of your soul. It was in the soft voice that spoke to you. It was in the air that you took for granted. That is where it was all along.

And now I look over the wall. Now I see the great emptiness, the field before me. I hold nothing. Worldly possesions are meaningless. I have nothing but a rifle. I cannot see the other side. I have nothing to lose, accept everything. I have nothing to gain, accept everything. My senses seem sharper, though at the same time numb. Everything is happening quickly, yet in slow motion. Is this what it feels like? Is this the feeling before the explosion? Is this the feeling before the impact? I feel so alive, and so scarred, and I know that this is the moment that I must decide... I tell myself that after I begin to run, this will be easy. I only need to step one boot onto the field. And so this... this is my moment...

Courage, so what?

I know this guy

"I know this guy..." has got to be one of my favorite ways to start a story. We all know some guy, and usually a little more about ourselves because we knew some guy. He's quite a bit like all of us, and has lessons to teach us all. He is us, because humanity shares so much that we can see ourselves in that situation.

I know this guy who is trying to figure out what to do with his life, and it's tough to figure out what to tell him. He had it all figured out and planned, and was pretty much following that plan, but he apparently ran into a snag. You see, the best layed plans in one's life cannot account for changes in the plans of those around us. that is even more pronounced when you're talking about those who are the closest to you. A funny thing happens when you latch onto people and decide that they are a part of your life; your life now becomes affected by there decisions. That's how it works.

I had this discussion the other day with some guy, and it's interesting to see how some people tale life today. The old saying that no man is an island is true. I certainly know that the actions of family and friends have the capcity to dynamically affect me. I have been told that it shouldn't by some, that I should just do my own thing and not care, but that seems so hollow and pointless. What is life if it is not love of things shared? What is scary to me is how destructive it can be to be around others who don't care.

I know this guy, I wish that I could answer his questions, but unfortunatly, he and I must sit back and watch the world pass for awhile.

Stuff, and the Lack Thereof

I have a colleague that I work with regularly named...well we'll just say his name is "Doug". Anyway, Doug and I were having this great conversation the other day in Cheyenne about money and finances, and what to do with money an finances. We had both recently purchased new "toys" in the form of motorcycles. We both then promptly upped or life insurance.

It was interesting when we started talking about it just how much crap we had. We're both married without kids. Doug is a few years older than me, so he rightfully has a little more crap. But it was interesting how much crap we can accumulate and then how tuff it is to find an excuse to use all that crap. Doug was in fact having buyers remorse from having so much crap. We're alot alike Doug and I, although totally different. I was feeling a little over crapped myself.

On the way home from Cheyenne I made the decision. I was going to sell some crap. Funny, it worked out. I had a restoration project 68' Bronco in the garage, and a pickup, a couple motorcycles, several billion guns, skis, snowboard, climbing gear... I decided to sell the most logical thing... the truck. It sold super fast and I used the money to pay off the truck's loan, a toy loan, the wifes old school loan, and some leftover lasik costs. The end result...except for my house payment, I'm basically debt free...weird.

I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. I fell like the same guy...sort of. I may change my mind as soon as I have to fix something on my now quasi 40 year old daily driver. But hey, it has character, and a roll cage. You know what? I thought I'd miss the truck, I've sold some guns, thought I'd miss those, but you really don't. It's just crap, and you can only have so much of it before it owns you, rather than vice versa. I like having a few toys, and a cool car, but in the end I could be just as content without them. They are really just substitutes for the finer things in life. The best things in life aren't really free. They have to be earned, and given.

I think the best things are memories of an Elk hunt in the middle of nowhere, a glass lake at sunset, flying through the air the moment before gravity claims you, trusting someone with your heart and being rewarded with love, working for a noble cause, a room full of people you care about, the moment when you felt like a rock star even though you wheren't, seeing a child laugh. Those are the really good things.

All the other stuff is just...well...crap.

Yes, I want to have kids

You know, I love kids, and realy wish we had 1 or 2, then my sister reminds me what that means:

"Once upon a time Kimber woke up at 5:45 am. She helped Mom and Dad get up at 5:45 am, too.She dumped Mom's flowers on the floor while waiting for her pancakes.She had her cup taken away at breakfast for diving her hands in it to splash around.She had to be chased down after breakfast and forced to wash the syrup off her hands. She sat on the potty for awhile and then she ran away while naked to keep Mom from putting her pullup back on. (Mom won)She went outside to play with the dog. She had to be forced to put her shoes on. Once her shoes were on, she had to take them off again because she had done a dance in the dog water (again) and was forced to go inside.She jumped in Hyrum's crib and had to be kicked out of the nursery.She ran into Daddies closet and closed herself in while Mommy was feeding Hyrum. She removed every pair of Daddies work pants from every hanger and then hung hte hangers back up neatly while the pants stayed on the floor.She cleaned off Daddies end table by the desk (by dumping all the contents of it on the ground and swishing them around with her hands).She removed Daddies new CD's from their case and Mommy helped her put them back.She found a crayon somewhere while Mommy was still picking up the stuff from Dads table.She hid in Mom's bathroom and was drawing on the 3rd wall when Mom found her.She helped Mommy wash the wall for about 30 seconds before she had to try and overturn the trashcan to get at Dad's shaving cream on the counter. She sat on the potty again for a few seconds. She wanted to sit on the potty without help and to wipe herself without help (good, except that she had already wet her pullup).She had to be locked out of the bathroom and washed because she was playing "put all the paper in the toilet"...again. She had to be held down with Mom's leg to put her pullup and pants back on.She closed herself in th ecloset for awhile and played with her bracelets. She had to be locked out of Mom and Dad's room and closet because she kept taking things off of Mom's dresser and hiding them in her mouth or under the bed. Hyrum needed attention (Kimber's cue to do something horrible).Kimber bounced in Hyrum's crib and squelled until she got kicked out of the nursery again.She found Mom's keys, hid behind the big chair in the living room, and turned on the car alarm. She held very still and was silent as Mom frantically tried to find her to turn off the car alarm. This was very funny for Kimber.She found the guest room and began removing the contents of Mom's dresser boxes. She had to be locked out of the guest room.She decided to help Mommy go to the bathroom. She tried playing the "put all the paper in the toilet" game...again... as Mommy sat on the potty. She had to be locked out of the guest bathroom.She found the flowers on the floor in the kitchen and removed the petals- not in one place, understand? She removed them as she pranced around on her tippy toes. The flower petals are in her bedroom, all aroudn the island in the kitchen, on the coach, and across the family room. She sat down to read a book while Mom typed this.Now, Kimber has found more flowers and is decorating the boring carpet in the hall with more of those lovely yellow petals.It is 9:47 am."

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

So, what a wonderful few weeks I have had. They say that you must experience the bad in order to understand the good things you go through, and that must be the case in everything. Including things as seemingly un-profound as motorcycles and Ford Broncos. First the motorcycle:

A few weeks ago I became the happy parent of a Yamaha WR250F. I think the F stands for “fast”. After a few tweeks it was ready to go. I had to swap some throttle stuff and some baffle garbage that the EPA thought was important, but that impeded my “need for speed”. It’s basically like a little off road rocket ship now. My wife was supportive under one condition. She said “your not allowed to buy all that safety crap that makes you look like a dork when you ride around.” Realize that my wife holds the title of former Miss Anti-Safety… of the world I think. She will not wear a seat belt, thinks helmets are gay, drives like Mario Andretti, or at least a female version of the same, and believes that she could easily defend herself from a house full of AK47 wielding terrorists with a girls aluminum fast pitch softball bat.

Well, in marriage we should all try and keep all or promises, but sometimes we don’t. I bought a helmet and boots, which she was okay with, then the other day a Yamaha mechanic offers me all his “old gear” (last years) for $40. Of course I bought it. So there I was last weekend with my chest/shoulder protector etc… riding around when I discovered what all that stuff is for. My uncle finished top 10 in the Baja 1000 four years in a row on a motorcycle. He told me “the first 400 miles are the most dangerous.” Well, I believe him. There were four of us, me, Cody, Jason, and Sean (I can never decide when you call your friend Bishop and when you use his name). Anyway, we were riding around the badlands outside Worland Wyoming, and I decided to unleash an impressive display of speed by passing these dorks. My evil plan was coming together perfectly until a big sink hole appeared in front of me. Well, I almost made it. I got spit sideways over the top of the bike and annihilated a small hill with my right shoulder. Did I mention that I really like protective gear. It took me a minute to shake the cobwebs out, but after that, the only thing hurt was my ego, oh ya, and my knee that hit the bike upon ejection. Interestingly enough, my knee pads were in my bag back at the truck, I didn’t think they looked cool. Suffice it to say, I think they look cool now.

We rode for another 5 uneventful hours. Dang, its fun. We also met up and made friends with some local pros. They’re all in high school of course so it’s like “hey who are those guys. Oh, those are our 30 year old loser guy groupies who follow us around to try and learn stuff.” Actually the kids are pretty cool, and don’t give us too much guff for trying to pretend we’re teenagers.

My wife gave me endless crap about the protective gear, and will doubtless continue to do so, but I have long since realized that although I am bulletproof, a little extra insurance never hurts, whereas not using it usually does.

The other glory to depths of depression happening was Bronco related. I have spent the majority of the winter in my garage outfitting a 1968 ford bronco with a long list of improvements: disc brakes, roll cage, new seats, new sound system, new transmission, flowmaster dual exhaust etc… and topped it all off with a fuel injected high output 5.0 engine from a Ford Mustang. Never buy valve covers on ebay. It started, purred like a kitten (a really big mean kitten) and ran like a dream, till I backed down our slopping drive and oil poured out in a stream down the length of the driveway. Warped ebay valve covers. I was so pissed. Of course not as pissed as my wife who looked at the driveway as being more important than my Bronco project. Well I fixed that problem. Then the stupid fuel pump went out. I go back and forth from loving that Bronco, to hating it. It is I have decided not unlike a marriage. There are good days and bad days. You just have to keep believing that this thing is so cool and has so much potential, that if you just keep working, it’s going to be awesome.

Hey, it takes a few crashes and oil spills in this life to really appreciate the jumps and the purr of a good V8.