Size is relative

 When I was a kid, our neighbors and friends down the road had, well, a really cool backyard.  An above-ground pool, all kinds of stuff on the edge of the woods, and there was a large tree where their older kids had built a tree fort.  To me, as a 5/6 year old, it seemed so massively tall and huge.  I was afraid to climb up into it - besides, it was like the older kid's clubhouse.  But eventually, I did climb the ladder up to it - as I recall (and this might not be how it was, after almost 40 years now, my memory has faded in places) but I remember the ladder just being 2x4's nailed into the tree.  It seemed like they went up 100feet and there were 100 of them.  There were probably 10... it was probably 7-8 feet off the ground.  But at the time... it seemed so large.

Sometimes the size of things really tricks us - our own minds really can twist things around and make things seem much larger than they are.  When you're a kid, it's the physical world. As I've aged, it's been the mental world that's gotten to big for me sometimes.  Sometimes I have problems that seem so large and insurmountable, that I don't face them.  I hide, or I put it to the side for a while.  But, eventually, I start to climb that ladder.  And after some time, perspective shows me that the massive size I imagined wasn't always the case.

I've cleared some large hurdles in my life - some that most people would never have to climb.  But I did them, and they don't seem so bad to me.  Sometimes it's the simple things that trip me up.  But in the end, I have to remind myself that I can do pretty much anything.  And, often, if I fail... I'm still where I was.  And I can try again.

Writing this little missive is a reminder to me of that - I can conquer most anything. I'm stronger and better than I know, and sometimes I have to throw fear off a bit and try harder than I did before.

The wind is like a knife that chills you to the bone.

 It was a cold night here in Central New York.  I ventured out of my house for an event at the Museum of Science and Technology (MoST) where I was promoting the video games I make. Getting out of the house still seems weird in this era of the pandemic, and I actually had a lot of anxiety about it all day today.  It's not even about being sick; I've just found myself dealing with more social anxiety than I ever have in my life.  I used to be quite a social person, but I've become more introspective as I've aged and I've found I really don't need, want or require the stimulus of being out in public like I once did when I was younger.  I'm okay with this; my time as a social butterfly was fun, but not something that really brings me a ton of joy.  However, it was nice to force myself up and out - stepping outside of your routines and your comfort zone is good for one's self, and I did enjoy being out.  I often feel trapped in my own head at things like this - but it was nice to show off the work that me and my friends have made. I do often spend the quieter moments where I'm not engaging with other people, reflecting back on my life - who Steve was at 25 vs. 30, vs. now is an interesting experience.  I'd like to think I have a little bit more "chill" than I once did; I was kind of hyper and spastic when I was younger.  It's how I coped with existence.  But I enjoy seeing how I've changed and grown, and it's a real introspective moment in the middle of the madness that kind of centers me.

But as I packed up my stuff into a suitcase, and rolled it outside, I strolled upon the sidewalk for a bit, in Downtown Syracuse in December on a very cold, slightly windy and snowless night.  Armory Square bustled with life, even in these frozen times.  The lights of the city stood aglow all around me and the wind whipped through my coat, chilling me to the bone.  I get cold very easily these days, due to my anemia, and I recall the crazy, foolish young man I was once who had no problem with the cold. I was that asshole who would be wearing shorts in December, with a coat on above them.  No more - I felt older, and colder, as I walked that side walk - but I appreciated that I had the age and wisdom behind me to appreciate the cold beauty of the evening, and to just be glad I was alive and out and about in this world. I've almost lost it all more times than I can count, and any day I get to be able to walk along the street of my own accord and feel the wind on my skin is a win.  In life, even the mundane moments are a blessing, and I took note of it as I reached my car, put my belongings inside, and prepared to drive myself home after a night out.  My life is far from perfect, but it's my life and I'm still living it - which really is a miracle.  Sometimes good fortune and miracles is being chilled to the bone and being conscious enough to realize it's happening to you.  I drove home in the cold and the dark, lights of the city fading behind me as I drove the freeway home.  Driving down a road I've traversed literal thousands of times, and thankful that I have gotten more chances to do so.  Tomorrow I'm going to get more in the season, set up my Christmas Tree, decorate my house and spend time with my children, and - god - I look forward to it so much.

Thankful 2021

 Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to spend another Thanksgiving Day with my family. Just a little over 18 years ago now, my father donated a kidney to me, and I have been lucky enough to have been around for every Thanksgiving gathering since, with my family and with many others who have taken me into their hearts and homes. 

It's hard to put all the emotions I feel about being thankful into words - I surely exist right now solely because of the generosity and good grace of others. I have a family who has loved and supported me, unconditionally, though many ups and downs for so many years. So to say I'm thankful really undersells it. I am grateful that I've been able to live and allowed to pursue what has been a pretty amazing and crazy life so far. There have been triumphs and defeats, but the love and support has always been there. So many do not get this luxury, and I truly am one of the fortunate ones. 

Hoping that all of us can find a little more grace, a little more charity for one another, and a little more love in our hearts as the years go on. I remain thankful for everything I have been gifted.

Almost Famous

 

Last night, I watched an old favorite movie of mine, "Almost Famous" by Cameron Crowe. It's celebrating its 21st anniversary this year, and I had to take a moment to think back and realize it has been over two decades since I sat in a movie theater with my brother Dave, and we watched this film for the first time.  I fell in love with it instantly; I had a real love for the music of the era, and at the time - playing music was my life. I played in a band with some friends, and we were gigging quite a bit. Writing songs, composing original works - being young, and letting music be our lives. I had the typical dreams of a young man then, of course, I wanted to play music full time - I didn't care about stardom, but I did want to play for people. More and more people, as many as we could. Music was life, and life was music. I was pretty carefree, naive and... well, living a dream. I was lucky enough to do it, and have the support of my family & friends. Life had other plans for me, as many well know, and a few short years later I found myself wheeled into an ER and told I had End Stage Renal Disease - an incurable condition which required dialysis for me to survive. Treatment for the rest of my life. Possibly a kidney transplant, but as I discovered, a transplant is not a cure - just another, better form of therapy. 

 

My life changed in an instant that New Years Eve, 2002. But I still had "Almost Famous". I remember working in a video store when it came out on video - and the owner got the "screener" VHS of the movie months before it was released to the public. He knew how much I loved the film, and he gave me that copy. I watched that tape so many times - I watched it with friends on so many glorious nights of our youth - well into the wee-hours of the morning, we'd watch the story and the music unfold. The movie still reminds me of those days.

 

Of course, in my heart, I wanted to be like Russel Hammond - the handsome, talented lead guitarist and songwriter of the band in the film, Stillwater.  But I knew in my heart that my awkward, nerdy and goofy ass was always more William Miller - the nebbish writer and protagonist of the movie. (And as I got older, I definitely identified more with the great Phillip Seymour Hoffman's portrayal of legendary rock journalist, Lester Bangs.) And as I got sick, and the music took a back seat - my life still went on. And as I aged, I was definitely more comfortable and happy being the William Miller type.  So many of us have dreams and ideals for ourself that aren't really what or who we are... but we find ourselves in so many different ways. I found myself living a life of extraordinary circumstances and adventure over the next twenty years. I found myself during a time where I initially pined that my life was over. And in spite of all the obstacles and hardships I have endured, I have lived a life of miracles and magic. I met so many amazing people, and went to so many amazing places - places I never thought I'd go. I did things I never thought I'd do. I gained the love and friendship of literally hundreds of amazing people - some who I still see and talk to, and others who have drifted out of my view. But it's been amazing. And as my dreams shifted, changed and intensified, I lived out so many amazing things that some other people might only dream of. I've been a lucky person. And the film remains in my life.  I was a 22 year old kid with stars in his eyes the first time I saw it, and watching it as a 43 year old man now... it's amazing what I feel. What I remember. Who I remember. I have that moment where I chuckle when I think back on that 22 year old Steven, sitting in that theater in awe of the story that unfolded on that screen and the dreams that bounced around his head. He'd never believe what this guy here today has done and seen. Dreams are what give us life, they give us hope. Sometimes they change, and we change with them. Sometimes our dreams let us down, and sometimes that can blind us to the miracles were already going through. I know I missed a few things along the way, and I look back in hindsight now and I chide myself for not realizing it more along the journey. But I'm still here today, I'm still alive. Living a different dream, but my dream has had moments of brilliance and happiness I could not have imagined possible then. And still, there's the film. Doris, the bus, rolling down the highway, its occupants inside, dreamers all (fictional parts of the mind of Cameron Crowe) singing Elton John's Tiny Dancer in unison, and enjoying the moment together.  Sometimes I feel like I've been riding that bus with many of you, singing Tiny Dancer together, and I have to recognize that I am one of the luckiest people in the world. Art is something that's subjective, but when something touches you, puts a piece of itself inside your soul and spurs you on in moments when you can't continue, it means something.  Sometimes a silly little film can sit on the edges of your heart, and it can lead you on to your own bliss. I guess I'm just feeling fortunate enough to have been touched by this movie and how much it reminds me of so many friendships over the years. It's the people in my life who have given me purpose and shaped my destiny - my fellow riders on this bus, and those who've welcomed me into their journey, I can say I am so happy you've been in mine. Always remember to cherish these things you love, even if they seem silly, because their roots can often go deeper than just the artifact itself.

The Lamp

 I used to have a lamp in my family room.  I still have one now, of course, but it's a different one.  I had this other lamp for years - it was a really nice looking one.  But the way it was placed and the way the light switch was placed on it made it awkward for me to turn on and off, especially while standing.  Every time I used it, I muttered "Fucking lamp..." like a grumpy old curmudgeon. I wasn't really annoyed; most of the time, I like to put on the air of a grumpy curmudgeon for humorous effect; I'm really not that grumpy or bothered, but it used to seem like it made people laugh.  Just a quirk of my personality - and, I am nothing if not a performer who loves to entertain people. But in reality, I loved that lamp.  I loved it a lot - the fact that it was difficult to turn on and off endeared it to me.  It was another small piece of my life - a part of the puzzle.  But every time, I muttered "Fucking lamp...." that was my stupid way of saying how much I liked it.  I know, it's just a lamp.  It's silly.  But one day, it broke - and now it's gone.  And I don't walk across the room at night to turn it off before I go to bed and mutter "Fucking lamp..." and I really, really miss that.  Sometimes those stupid little things that seem to annoy you are the little things that make your life worth living, and you don't miss them til they are gone.

Life as a collection of moments

 Trying to take stock of a life is a weird thing; you live every day, in and out, and then later on you reflect on that and what it has meant to lead you to the moment you find yourself in.  When I was younger, life seemed so much more vast, so much more infinite. In my twenties, I felt like so much time had already passed and I'd experienced so much, but I knew that there was so much more ahead.  It was an interesting place to look at life, and see what kind of plans you could make for the future. For me, I suppose the whole thing changed when I went from a care-free young person one day to a person with a deadly and chronic disease the next day.  (Of course, in reality, it didn't happen overnight - I'd been sick for ages but unaware. But in my young mind, it seemed almost instantaneous.)

So, I'm a contemplative type - I often think of where I have been, and how it has shaped my today.  Everything I love and enjoy is a result of my past experiences, so I often look to them when I am wondering where to go.  When I was young, I used to believe there was some kind of destination one was headed to; as I get older, I acknowledge what I'd always known but refused to believe in my foolish youth - there is no destination. There is no one right answer, there is no plateau to be reached.  Life changes, goals change, and you're there no matter what.  You either adapt or you languish.

But I still cherish life - and I realize it's been the moments that have made mine so special.  It was the right song on the radio, playing loud as I drove alone in a car at dawn, watching the sunrise crest over the horizon.  It was the quiet of the night as I sat in the woods, around a campfire with friends, yet feeling drawn away to a moment with myself.  It was the song I played in front of a crowd, feeling their love and energy for the music and their gentle encouragement of me as the musician.  It was someone holding my hand during a funeral. It was the sound of laughter echoing through my grandparents house on Christmas. It was holding my new born son, and staring in wonder at the new life I was suddenly tasked with.  It was the right song at the right moment.  It was the friend who wouldn't move. It was the rain falling softly and the right crackle of thunder. It's been so many moments. 

Life isn't great all the time. But remembering the good moments makes it bearable - and it provides the hope that there may be more yet before my time is done.

Perceptions

 I know people love the idea of merit, talent and skill winning people a positive place in life. I mean, we write stories praising such things, there are films where the central thesis is just that and there are songs meant to pump people up to this aspiration.

 But the way the world really works, like anything, is vastly different. People will often be judged and given place or position on something as mediocre and simple as looks.  "Pretty privilege" most certainly exists. And I think people that have been on both sides of that equation can both vouch for it, and say how heinous it is - but if they're on the positive side of pretty privilege now... they're going to ride that wave and say "fuck all y'all" to those in the position they were previously in.

Because as much as we like to extol the virtue of ones actions, heart and accomplishments - what is the one other hugest fiction trope we all LOVE to see in our entertainment? The glow up. People LOVE the makeovers.

We're an odd, interesting species. We extol certain things but absolutely work on another set of values. And this is never going to change.  So sometimes you have to carve out your own way with brute force if you just can't get better looking enough.  In the end, you gotta live with yourself, so do what you have to to feel happy. 

The World Is Changed

 It's hard to know what's just my perception and what is objective truth for all - but I definitely feel like the world is a much different place than it was just 5 years ago.  It just feels like the whole emotional and behavioral zeitgeist of the planet has shifted, and not for the better.

It's been a difficult time, especially in the last year and a half - almost two years.  But I feel more and more like people exist on the edge of a knife, and it takes a lot less of a spark to push people to act and behave more outrageously than they ever would normally.  I've seen people I would normally consider to be level headed with an even temperament just burst into rage and insanity... over essentially nothing.

People are primed to fight. And it's not good at all.  There also seems to be the opposite movement - where people are saying "Be Kind" but it really feels more like slacktivism... people espouse this philosophy but don't practice it.  They just say it, as if they will alleviate the greater symptoms.  And the apathy, in turn, worsens the overall mood even more.

It's a terrible cycle now, and I have no answers, for sure. But I do know that real change starts small - it starts personally and moves out. And often, there's no immediate reward.  We're a people of instant gratification - and this impatience doesn't breed anything good.  We need a little more action for the better and less chatter about it. Myself included. I do hope we can right the ship towards a better equilibrium.  There just needs to be more balance in the world, for people at large.  I hope it's coming for us all.

The Adventures I Didn't Have

 I think most people can relate to the sentiment in the title of this piece.

The Adventures I Didn't Have.

I mean, most people look back on the things "they didn't do".  It's only natural.  Would have, should have, could have's are integral to the human experience.  I try not to dwell on them too much - I had a lot of potential roads not taken, but I always remind myself I wouldn't be where I am today without the paths I took.

This assessment used to be easier to appreciate and like, because at one time I was very happy and content with where my life was. It's harder for me now, because in 100% honesty, I do not like where my life is now.  Currently - I do not enjoy being alive.  I just don't.  It's a difficult time for me, and it has slowly gotten worse over a five year period.  I had to watch every potential nightmare I ever had come true in real time as I stood by, helpless to do anything, and I had to watch it happen to me.  The things that have happened to me in the last five years - this is the kind of stuff that people wake up in a cold sweat from dreaming/thinking about.  I have endured and survived so many possible nightmares.  But, it has left me in a spot, bereft of much happiness and joy. I am not happy with myself, nor my situation.  I exist, I suppose, but it's a life full of pain, disappointment, exhaustion and dehumanization.  

I am lucky, because I do have a spot of true joy and happiness in my life - my children.  I love them so much.  They have given me purpose in life when everything else seems to abandon me.  And I know it's because of their love for me and my love for them that I will get by.  I can learn to live with the pain and the sickness, just because I'm their Dad. This wasn't how I had hoped my life would go, but I have to look at it as The Adventure I Didn't Pick.  And sometimes the adventures you didn't choose but find yourself on are the most rewarding.  So, yeah, at times, I may see reminders of places and things I didn't do - or things I planned on doing in that proverbial future that I no longer have the chance to - I am hoping that with enough time and love, I can heal somewhat.  I often feel bad, because it's a slow process.  I'm trying to live a life while I'm trying to heal my body and mind, and neither one will ever truly be healed. 

But, if I can say one thing - If you ever put off even that simple little thing, like a trip to somewhere just a half hour from home - don't.  Just do it. The risk always lives.  And all we have in life are moments - wonderful, beautiful little moments.  Sometimes alone, sometimes together.  But if you can, indulge yourself and find that moment.

Taffy

 One night when I was five years old, my father came home from work with a strange bundle in his arms.  He had a smile the size of the Mississippi River on his face and his eyes were alight. He called out, "Hey! Look what I have!" My brothers and I peered into the bundle, and staring back at us was the cutest, littlest runty puppy I have ever seen.  As little kids are wont to do in excitement, we squealed with delight, and the little puppy opened it's eyes, yawned and it's little pink tongue came rolling out.  This was our introduction to Taffy.

Taffy was a mutt... my father had bought her off the back of a truck from some teenage girls who needed gas money.  Their dog just had puppies, so they were selling these mixed breed pups cheap.  The dog became a great source of joy for our family, and was part of the living heart that drove us for many years.  She fiercely loved our family - and was notoriously good about staying in our yard, even though it lacked a fence.  When we moved to our new house, she was about two years old but she seemingly instinctively knew the borders of our yard.  She refused to leave it, even if we called her when we were across the street at the neighbors.  She knew that where she was was her yard, and she went no further.  That is until the day we lined up at the end of our street to wait for the school bus.  My mother looked back - there was Taffy, at the edge of our yard, laying down on her paws, longingly watching us.  My mother went back to fussing with us while we waited for the bus, but when she looked back, she saw Taffy edging slowly forward on her paws and knees towards us.  Mom shot a glaring look back, and caught, Taffy walked back to the edge of the yard, and dejectedly sat down again. And the cycle repeated.  It went on this way every morning til we reached Jr. High and walked to school every day.

She went everywhere with us - on camping trips in our pop up camper, to visits with my Dad's folks at their camp on DeRuyter Lake. At the lake, Taffy - part collie and part shepard, would always find some nasty dead fish to roll in.  She'd run up to us, excited, to say "LOOK AT THIS SMELL I FOUND" which we, of course, found repulsive and she'd look at my parents, ears folded back in sadness and shame as they sprayed her with a hose and used shampoo to try and wash it out... but we loved that dog. I had a lot of moments in my childhood, where I was sad or dejected - Taffy knew, and would seek me out, nuzzle her way under my arm, and try to soothe me (and make me pet her. It was symbiotic!)  But I loved that dog in my life growing up.  She was always the love and friend I needed, and always there in times of need.

In my 16th year, that Summer, I noticed her acting different.  Tired. Lethargic.  Not herself.  The day she stopped barking at the doorbell when it rang - I knew something was up.  I took out my video camera, and shot footage of her.  Something inside told me too, and I spoke gently to her and pet her as I shot footage.  She refused food and water.  My soul knew before my brain, and my father and mother wrapped her in a blanket for the evening.  She stayed in the kitchen.  My older brother came home to pet her, and talk to her.  My younger brother held her, pet her and told her how much he loved her.  We knew we were telling her goodbye.  I went to bed that night, and a few hours later, Taffy walked into my room with a vibrance she didn't have earlier.  I woke up from my sleep to see, her, and she came to my bed side and put her snout in my hand.  I said, "Oh, girl, you're feeling better!" hopefully.  But I pet her head gently, and she licked my hand for what seemed like forever.  I looked her in the eyes and told her I loved her.  She turned from me, and I saw her try to scratch open the door to my brother's room. I fell back asleep.

When I woke in the morning, she was gone.  Her body was on the blanket in the kitchen.  My father and mother had tears in their eyes.  I gave her body one last pet, and told her she was a good girl.  My father buried her later that day.

That was 27 years ago. And I still mourn her. The whole family does. We still talk about her - a true member of our family in our formative years.  The dog taught me so much about love, loyalty and selflessness.  And a little about mischief. But here I am, years later, just remembering the love that creature had for me.  The love she had for her family.

Sometimes beautiful things come into your life for a short time.  It seems like forever when you're in them, but you look back and realize it was a small slice of your life.  But the marks they leave in your life, and the impact they make on your soul live on forever.  Not a day goes by that I don't think of that dog and not a day goes by that I don't miss her.  We were so lucky to have her.  Sometimes we're so lucky to have wonderful things, and we only realize the true lasting impacts until much later when they're gone.  But you remember that you are just lucky enough to have experienced it.

He spoke with tears of fifteen years how his dog and him
Traveled about
The dog up and died
He up and died
After twenty years he still grieves

- Mr. Bojangles, The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band