First, I'd like to apologize to all my friends who followed my musings over the last many months. I was embarrassed to realize that I haven't posted since January. Shame on me. We should never be too busy to spend a little time with our friends. Lo siento mucho...
Many of you know that I am now spending a lot of time down in Mexico. We are still doing a lot of preliminary work on getting our northern Baja project up and running, and my last couple of trips down have involved a lot of running around the peninsula, going places that I've never been, meeting new people (some friends, some not), and getting more immersed in this new culture.
Having just wended my way through the time change in the states, I had the opportunity to do it again just yesterday here in Mexico. When you throw in my sojourn a few weeks back through Arizona, land of the eternal mavericks, I guess it's understandable that I have no frigging idea what time it is. My body is telling me that if I'm going to keep screwing with it like this, I'm gonna have to let it set the clock and I'm the one that will need to adjust accordingly. So far, so good. Can't much fight mother nature, and she manifest herself most directly through our internal clocks, metabolism, etc. She's also telling me I need to work on my abs, but that's another story...
So, last night as we were driving up to Los Barriles for dinner, I had the unique experience of almost running down a wild burro on the road. Yes, seriously. He wandered right out in front of us, stopped, looked me square in the eye, as if saying, "Come on, gringo, I dare you." If he'd known how sketchy the brakes were in the truck I was driving he might not have been quite so ballsy. As it was, I really though I was goin to bump him before I brought it to a complete halt, but I never felt a thump and he grinned over his shoulder as he sauntered off into the brush. I told my partner that I'd seen dozens of signs all over these parts warning about cattle in the road, but hadn't seen a single head actually on any of the "major" thoroughfares I've driven, although they of course wander up and down the dirt roads in the periphery of the villages like they own the place. He couldn't explain why there were no "Watch out for wild burros" signs...
So one of my joys of being here is walking the beaches, collecting shells and rocks from the sea, and just communing with nature. Tonight, as every night, the stars are brilliant and breathtaking, and it would be easy to get lost staring up at them while listening to the waves slapping rhythmically onto the shoreline. I can't make that a habit, or I'm likely to forget that I'm here primarily for work. I fear serenity might be terribly addictive...
A few thoughts that have come to me in the past few days as I take my morning strolls on the beach? Well, sure...
One is that walking on the beach for a relative novice is at the outset a scientific experiment. Mind you, my walks tend to be several miles, and walking on wet sand soon makes you keenly aware of things you wouldn't ever have cause to consider walking down a hardpack trail or along city sidewalks. You need to learn which levels of sand will bear your weight, and which will give way and leave you mired ankle deep. You need to learn what footwear, if any, is appropriate. Beach sand, like unwelcome houseguests, arrives unexpectedly and doesn't leave readily. And it's highly abrasive. If surf socks (which are great for swimming and surfing)kept the sand out to begin with, they would be ideal. Unfortunately, they let it in more slowly but NEVER give it up. Flip flops, which the natives like to wear, don't trap sand. However, they do an incredible job of flipping sand up the back of your calves with each and every step, have the attachment piece between the big and second toe which I find terribly annoying, and don't allow for a very efficient stride. In the end, bare feet are likely the best, and if you're blessed with wide feet, as we would all likely have if we'd not started binding them in shoes centuries ago, there is no question. Because in the end, when you or I, being 70 percent water, walk along the shoreline of a sea or ocean from which our ancient ancestors first emerged, we are comingled as nearly as we can be with our planet, which is amazingly, seventy percent water. Crazy, huh?
On a related but slightly different note, it occurred to me this morning, for perhaps the first time in my life, while walking along one of the most pristine shorelines in North America, that I was walking along water which was joined with every other great body of water on the planet. I gazed out at an opportune moment to spot the giant back of a whale emerging from the depths - a whale which likely had swum many of the great oceans of the earth. I shared this tale and realization with my wife this evening - that if I were inclined I could just keep walking - south to Cabo, then northward up the coast to California (the American one), on to Oregon, Washington, and all the way up to Alaska, where later ancestors (than those which first crawled up on land) wandered across the land bridge to what is now called Russia. Thoughts such as these are really not hard to come by when you're wandering alone on a ogrgeous stretch of beach - not a sign of civilization anywhere (if you ignore the tire tracks in the sand...)
Did I mention that before I headed out three young Mexicans drove down to the beach, one emerging from the truck, wandering down to a rocky parch on the shoreline, only to emerge mere moment later carrying a very attractive lobster? Even crazier, huh?
And yesterday I had a visit with a couple of German tourist ladies lounging under a palapa in front of a seaside hotel near town. One, a retired Lufthansa flight attendant, said that she wasn't much taken with this piece of Mexico - that it was too hot and dry and there was no culture - nothing to do. I just shook my head as I walked away. Nothing to do? How crazy is that? She could always go for a walk on the beach. Barefoot...
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Metaphor
I'm always taken aback when literary critics describe a long-ago work as a metaphor for this or that, when there is no evidence that the author intended it as such. On the other hand, I appreciate the fact that readers have the right to extrapolate whatever metaphor they might like from any work, or any experience, for that matter. I am myself a great fan of metaphors, and love seeking them out in everyday life.
As many of you know, I recently completed my first 100-mile bike ride, a fairly grueling accomplishment for a 53 year old, and one of which I am pretty proud. As my childhood hero Clint Eastwood, aka Harry Callahan, said in the 1973 classic, Magnum Force, "A man needs to know his limitations." As one who believes knowledge can only come through direct experience, one must do to know. I now know that my cycling limitation, on a 70 degree day with light winds on a semi-hilly course with adequate nutrition and hydration and a reliable lightweight road bike, is something above 100 miles. No, that's not a metaphor, just an empirical deduction extrapolated from direct experience...
Nonetheless, when one spends more than six hours in the saddle riding solo through the countryside, it is almost inevitable that one will experience a metaphor or two in the process. Following, then, are a few that occurred to me during this ride...
In life, we will find ourselves facing stiff headwinds at times, and favorable tailwinds at others, likewise with ascents and descents of varying intensity. What I've come to realize in my year or so of semi-serious cycling, only reinforced during this first century ride, metaphorically speaking, is that these are to be recognized for what they are, neither blessing nor curse - simply conditions. There is no point in lamenting those which are unfavorable, nor extravagantly celebrating the favorable - both will change as you just keep pedaling. And we have little choice but to keep pedaling, unless we choose to quit. I don't...
At the same time and for the same reason, I find it counterproductive to ignore the blessings which come our way. I know that there are many who will coast when they find themselves on a downhill or with a favorable tailwind. My modus operandi, on the other hand, is to continue to push, even under the most favorable of conditions. Why? Because, as mentioned earlier, conditions will change. By taking maximum advantage of favorable conditions when they exist, we place ourselves in a superior position for the time in which less favorable conditions present themselves. I believe that in the six and a half hours or so during which I was actually riding, I probably coasted for no more than three minutes. With no evidence to the contrary, I choose to believe this was a winning strategy for me.
It didn't hurt that I knew there was a definite end to this trek, which somewhat mitigates it as a metaphor for life, which we know will have an end, but with not an inking of when or where it might come...
A second metaphor was the concrete realization that stopping on an uphill is a very bad idea, regardless of the circumstance. A friend came out to meet me around the 40 mile mark, and when he spotted me he thoughtfully drove on to the next downhill, not wanting to stop me in the middle of a climb. That is a true sign of friendship! I think too often even well-meaning friends, inspired by compassion, might encourage us to take a break while in the midst of confronting some life challenge. The reality is that, once the break is over, the challenge remains to be overcome, getting started once stopped can be increasingly difficult, and for many of us it can prove impossible. In cycling, we call this "bonking," the ultimate failure. Thanks, Michael, for not bonking me...
A third metaphor surrounds the advisability of planning and preparation. Uncharacteristically for me, I actually went out and drove the course the day before. A friend had thoughtfully mapped it out for me, and while I trusted his judgment, it was totally unfamiliar territory for me, and I wanted to know in advance what I would be facing. Sometimes we have this luxury in life, although less often than we would like. As a result of having the opportunity, I was even more inclined than I might have been to get a good night's rest, get myself well hydrated, get all the calories and carbohydrates on board that I could manage, and to dress appropriately and flexibly. There is no question I could have planned and prepared more, and will for the next, but having done what I did I was able to achieve my objective, and in so doing will be better prepared to tackle the next similar challenge.
To torture this metaphor a bit, I have launched myself over the last several years on a spiritual trek which, unlike my little cycling adventure, has no clear road map, too many condition variables to enumerate, and definitely no clear end point. One of the earliest books on Buddhism I read suggested strongly that it was best to follow the well trod path others had charted before us. This advice I've left largely unheeded. Why? Because I am not at all certain I want to go where others have. I want to know how and where they've gone, because I want to be able to recognize it when I cross their paths, knowing that if I am indeed lost I can simply turn in their direction and get to a safe place.
Like most seekers, I am hard pressed to say when exactly my search began, and know that it has never been one with a fixed destination. Unlike traveling in the physical world with a fixed destination and schedule in mind, the spiritual journey, for me at least, is one in which the journey is in fact the objective - seeing all we can see, learning all we can learn, experiencing all we can experience, and hopefully growing all the while. While I suppose one could apply the same free-spirited approach to a terrestrial cycling adventure, I suspect that at some point one would have a fair chance of winding up bleached bones in a riverbed next to a rusting steed missing its rider. Not a terrible way to go, I guess, as long as there was a nice dose of blunt force trauma to ease you on your way...
Yet another observation which I suppose is somewhat metaphorical, is that of the lone rider. I did throw out a weak invitation for company, but wasn't heartbroken when nobody took me up on it. As it was the most beautiful day in months - a rare gem of an opportunity at the end of January, even in Texas, I relished the chance to challenge myself without the added pressure of pushing or pulling or being pushed or pulled. Truth is, I'm more than a bit of a loner for a lot of reasons we shan't touch upon here. I recognize it as something of a character defect, and am working on it, but it is a reality which cycling seems to reinforce. Interestingly, I'd done a short 25-mile memorial ride for a fallen comrade just the night before - the first time in my life I'd ridden with an organized group working as something of a team. There were certain aspects of it I found quite enjoyable - the teamwork, the drafting, the camaraderie. At other points, though, I was chomping at the bit to hit my own pace, which would have likely been middle of this particular pack. Truth is, I took up cycling for fitness, tend to shut the brain down or at least let it free-wheel, and let my body set the pace. No, mindfulness is probably not an apt description of me at these junctures...
In my hodge-podge personal concoction of mostly eastern philosophy, non-duality and impermanence are probably the top two components. In brief explanation, this is to say that each of us is part of a larger whole, and a larger whole still, with no meaningful line of demarcation between the individual and the universe at large. At the same time, while there is no meaningful "self," the only thing over which we have even a modicum of control is the self. Riding alone through virtually uninhabited countryside, particularly in conditions where there are no extreme conditional challenges, is one of life's experiences, like drifting silently in a canoe down a lazy river or sailing on a pleasant day on a favorable tack or hiking peacefully through a quiet forest or along a high mountain trail, when every aspect of existence from the most central core of individual self-consciousness to the infinite beyond the observable meld into an indescribable unified whole, and you feel like you are part of everything and everything is part of you. And then you suddenly realize just how badly your ass actually hurts...
Truthfully, though, I can only see this experience being enhanced by company if the company is with an individual or group with which you are so in synchronization that its presence only adds and doesn't subtract or distract in the slightest. Something to aspire to, I suppose, but we shan't allow the perfect to be the enemy of the good...
Finally, this journey, like all journeys in life, began with the first downward press on the pedal, the first roll of the wheel. Could as easily have been the first step of a marathon or a cross-country hike. Roads are to be ridden, trails to be hiked, life to be lived. There is a time for contemplation and meditation, a vital past-time to which I need to devote more time and less effort. But to the degree that I intend to live life fully and completely, I will strive to remember to accept life on life's terms, to be grateful for blessings, to persevere against hardships. Perhaps some day I'll learn to be a better friend, companion, and team-mate. Until then, I'll do my best to not get in your way or run over you, and to appreciate your giving me a wide berth as you pass by me, pedaling and daydreaming on a back country road...
As a humorous aside, I noted that my random play IPod was playing a Maria Callas aria as I spun south out of Graham, Texas, a sleepy little burg northwest of Mineral Wells. It was perhaps a juxtaposition that needs to be experienced to be fully appreciated. A short while later I rolled up on a convocation between a flock of turkey vultures on one side of the fence and a herd of cows on the other. The birds flew in one direction while the cows bolted in the other as I approached at moderate speed in my admittedly garish cycling outfit. Out of some 2,000 titles ranging from show tunes and Christmas carols to acid rock, "Gone Country" by Alan Jackson was playing. Yes, I laughed out loud as I rode by...
As many of you know, I recently completed my first 100-mile bike ride, a fairly grueling accomplishment for a 53 year old, and one of which I am pretty proud. As my childhood hero Clint Eastwood, aka Harry Callahan, said in the 1973 classic, Magnum Force, "A man needs to know his limitations." As one who believes knowledge can only come through direct experience, one must do to know. I now know that my cycling limitation, on a 70 degree day with light winds on a semi-hilly course with adequate nutrition and hydration and a reliable lightweight road bike, is something above 100 miles. No, that's not a metaphor, just an empirical deduction extrapolated from direct experience...
Nonetheless, when one spends more than six hours in the saddle riding solo through the countryside, it is almost inevitable that one will experience a metaphor or two in the process. Following, then, are a few that occurred to me during this ride...
In life, we will find ourselves facing stiff headwinds at times, and favorable tailwinds at others, likewise with ascents and descents of varying intensity. What I've come to realize in my year or so of semi-serious cycling, only reinforced during this first century ride, metaphorically speaking, is that these are to be recognized for what they are, neither blessing nor curse - simply conditions. There is no point in lamenting those which are unfavorable, nor extravagantly celebrating the favorable - both will change as you just keep pedaling. And we have little choice but to keep pedaling, unless we choose to quit. I don't...
At the same time and for the same reason, I find it counterproductive to ignore the blessings which come our way. I know that there are many who will coast when they find themselves on a downhill or with a favorable tailwind. My modus operandi, on the other hand, is to continue to push, even under the most favorable of conditions. Why? Because, as mentioned earlier, conditions will change. By taking maximum advantage of favorable conditions when they exist, we place ourselves in a superior position for the time in which less favorable conditions present themselves. I believe that in the six and a half hours or so during which I was actually riding, I probably coasted for no more than three minutes. With no evidence to the contrary, I choose to believe this was a winning strategy for me.
It didn't hurt that I knew there was a definite end to this trek, which somewhat mitigates it as a metaphor for life, which we know will have an end, but with not an inking of when or where it might come...
A second metaphor was the concrete realization that stopping on an uphill is a very bad idea, regardless of the circumstance. A friend came out to meet me around the 40 mile mark, and when he spotted me he thoughtfully drove on to the next downhill, not wanting to stop me in the middle of a climb. That is a true sign of friendship! I think too often even well-meaning friends, inspired by compassion, might encourage us to take a break while in the midst of confronting some life challenge. The reality is that, once the break is over, the challenge remains to be overcome, getting started once stopped can be increasingly difficult, and for many of us it can prove impossible. In cycling, we call this "bonking," the ultimate failure. Thanks, Michael, for not bonking me...
A third metaphor surrounds the advisability of planning and preparation. Uncharacteristically for me, I actually went out and drove the course the day before. A friend had thoughtfully mapped it out for me, and while I trusted his judgment, it was totally unfamiliar territory for me, and I wanted to know in advance what I would be facing. Sometimes we have this luxury in life, although less often than we would like. As a result of having the opportunity, I was even more inclined than I might have been to get a good night's rest, get myself well hydrated, get all the calories and carbohydrates on board that I could manage, and to dress appropriately and flexibly. There is no question I could have planned and prepared more, and will for the next, but having done what I did I was able to achieve my objective, and in so doing will be better prepared to tackle the next similar challenge.
To torture this metaphor a bit, I have launched myself over the last several years on a spiritual trek which, unlike my little cycling adventure, has no clear road map, too many condition variables to enumerate, and definitely no clear end point. One of the earliest books on Buddhism I read suggested strongly that it was best to follow the well trod path others had charted before us. This advice I've left largely unheeded. Why? Because I am not at all certain I want to go where others have. I want to know how and where they've gone, because I want to be able to recognize it when I cross their paths, knowing that if I am indeed lost I can simply turn in their direction and get to a safe place.
Like most seekers, I am hard pressed to say when exactly my search began, and know that it has never been one with a fixed destination. Unlike traveling in the physical world with a fixed destination and schedule in mind, the spiritual journey, for me at least, is one in which the journey is in fact the objective - seeing all we can see, learning all we can learn, experiencing all we can experience, and hopefully growing all the while. While I suppose one could apply the same free-spirited approach to a terrestrial cycling adventure, I suspect that at some point one would have a fair chance of winding up bleached bones in a riverbed next to a rusting steed missing its rider. Not a terrible way to go, I guess, as long as there was a nice dose of blunt force trauma to ease you on your way...
Yet another observation which I suppose is somewhat metaphorical, is that of the lone rider. I did throw out a weak invitation for company, but wasn't heartbroken when nobody took me up on it. As it was the most beautiful day in months - a rare gem of an opportunity at the end of January, even in Texas, I relished the chance to challenge myself without the added pressure of pushing or pulling or being pushed or pulled. Truth is, I'm more than a bit of a loner for a lot of reasons we shan't touch upon here. I recognize it as something of a character defect, and am working on it, but it is a reality which cycling seems to reinforce. Interestingly, I'd done a short 25-mile memorial ride for a fallen comrade just the night before - the first time in my life I'd ridden with an organized group working as something of a team. There were certain aspects of it I found quite enjoyable - the teamwork, the drafting, the camaraderie. At other points, though, I was chomping at the bit to hit my own pace, which would have likely been middle of this particular pack. Truth is, I took up cycling for fitness, tend to shut the brain down or at least let it free-wheel, and let my body set the pace. No, mindfulness is probably not an apt description of me at these junctures...
In my hodge-podge personal concoction of mostly eastern philosophy, non-duality and impermanence are probably the top two components. In brief explanation, this is to say that each of us is part of a larger whole, and a larger whole still, with no meaningful line of demarcation between the individual and the universe at large. At the same time, while there is no meaningful "self," the only thing over which we have even a modicum of control is the self. Riding alone through virtually uninhabited countryside, particularly in conditions where there are no extreme conditional challenges, is one of life's experiences, like drifting silently in a canoe down a lazy river or sailing on a pleasant day on a favorable tack or hiking peacefully through a quiet forest or along a high mountain trail, when every aspect of existence from the most central core of individual self-consciousness to the infinite beyond the observable meld into an indescribable unified whole, and you feel like you are part of everything and everything is part of you. And then you suddenly realize just how badly your ass actually hurts...
Truthfully, though, I can only see this experience being enhanced by company if the company is with an individual or group with which you are so in synchronization that its presence only adds and doesn't subtract or distract in the slightest. Something to aspire to, I suppose, but we shan't allow the perfect to be the enemy of the good...
Finally, this journey, like all journeys in life, began with the first downward press on the pedal, the first roll of the wheel. Could as easily have been the first step of a marathon or a cross-country hike. Roads are to be ridden, trails to be hiked, life to be lived. There is a time for contemplation and meditation, a vital past-time to which I need to devote more time and less effort. But to the degree that I intend to live life fully and completely, I will strive to remember to accept life on life's terms, to be grateful for blessings, to persevere against hardships. Perhaps some day I'll learn to be a better friend, companion, and team-mate. Until then, I'll do my best to not get in your way or run over you, and to appreciate your giving me a wide berth as you pass by me, pedaling and daydreaming on a back country road...
As a humorous aside, I noted that my random play IPod was playing a Maria Callas aria as I spun south out of Graham, Texas, a sleepy little burg northwest of Mineral Wells. It was perhaps a juxtaposition that needs to be experienced to be fully appreciated. A short while later I rolled up on a convocation between a flock of turkey vultures on one side of the fence and a herd of cows on the other. The birds flew in one direction while the cows bolted in the other as I approached at moderate speed in my admittedly garish cycling outfit. Out of some 2,000 titles ranging from show tunes and Christmas carols to acid rock, "Gone Country" by Alan Jackson was playing. Yes, I laughed out loud as I rode by...
Saturday, January 15, 2011
New Year, New Thoughts...
Yes, I've been away for a while - apologies. Like everyone else, got busy with the holidays, working my way through the career transition, and in the last several weeks dealing with the health issues of aging parental units. Things are moving along tolerably on all fronts, and I've been appropriately chastised by a few friends for falling down on my blogging, so here goes...
I will start by stating that I am in a much different place this January than I was last. I just reread my first post of 2010, and realize just how far from that place I've come. I am still not meditating, which disturbs me a little, but am in pretty much all other ways much more settled in my mental and spiritual outlook. I am in mid-transition career wise, and not a transition I ever would have imagined a year ago. I am going to be developing a piece of real estate on the Sea of Cortez in Baja Mexico for an old client - traveling back and forth with some regularity, relearning Spanish and utilizing it on a regular basis for the first time in my life. At the same time, I will be able to keep a toe in the recruiting game, handling special projects for my better clients as time and circumstances allow. So, from a career standpoint, a whole lot of new and a little bit of old. Yes, I'm pretty excited.
On the health and fitness front I have taken up cycling with something of a vengeance, continue to work out regularly and eat moderately well. I am about to add swimming to my repertoire, as I don't get enough cardio work in my routine and want to be able to go for long ocean swims without endangering myself. I am probably in the best physical shape of my adult life, which speaks less of the great place I'm in now than about the sorry state I allowed myself to fall into during my earlier working years. I am probably too much like most Americans in this respect, am glad I figured it out early enough to do something about it, and encourage any of you who are feeling a bit weary and listless and out of sorts to strongly consider adding a major dose of exercise to your regimen. I can tell you first-hand that it will improve all aspects of your life. But remember, moderation in all things...
On the recovery front, I still attend AA on my regular schedule. I'll be honest in saying I've not made significant progress in the program this year. It's true, you know, that you only get out of something what you put into it, and I've not really worked it very hard this year. I've stayed sober, which is the main objective, made and strengthened some friendships within the two groups I meet with, and am more comfortable every day admitting to myself and to others that I'm an alcoholic, can't drink like "normal" people, and will never be able to. And I'm actually pretty happy about that. I spent a lot of my life drinking like normal people and on occasion like really abnormal people. Too much of those decades is a blur, and a lot of it wasn't pretty. Not really a big sacrifice to let it go. AA is not a program with an ending - its something you keep doing if you really have the problem and you really want to beat it. So, I'm not beating myself up over not having made any great strides on this front last year. I've got another thirty or forty years to work on it, and its not like there's a finish line...
On that note, one of the things I've noticed about myself this past year is that I've really developed a good deal patience, a notion that I now realize was sorely lacking previously. I've developed patience with myself, patience with others, even patience with our screwed up political system. This isn't the same as apathy, mind you. I still care about a lot of things, and care deeply. But I also have come to recognize that I can't save the world from itself, I can't change others, and I can't change the past or even the present. I can only change the future, and for the most part even then, only for myself, in a very limited way, with the decisions I make and actions I take. That's a pretty finite target on which to focus. I reckon that's what we mean when we say, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change..." It's a simple, yet liberating, realization.
I suppose the biggest change has been in my marriage, which is in a far better place than it was a year ago. We went through some very dark times last spring and summer - when my wife and I both had to come to grips with what an asshole I'd been, along with other major challenges in our relationship. We were at that place too many marriages come to, and which as often as not wind up in divorce. Instead of becoming another grim statistic, we both sought individual counseling and later couples counseling, and developed a level of trust, respect, and open communication that never really existed in our almost three decades together. I don't know if its ever safe to say you're out of the woods, but I think it is safe to say that the forest umbrella is thinning significantly, we see more sunshine and blue sky than shadows these days, and we're holding hands on our journey. Its a good feeling, and one I don't want to lose again.
I'm sorry to disappoint you - know you were hoping upon my belated return for some political zealotry or religious controversy, hellfire and brimstone and whatnot. Not going to happen. I will reveal that I'm communicating with some friends on the inside to see if we can't arrange a rousing welcome party for Mr. Delay, but that's another story for another day...
I will start by stating that I am in a much different place this January than I was last. I just reread my first post of 2010, and realize just how far from that place I've come. I am still not meditating, which disturbs me a little, but am in pretty much all other ways much more settled in my mental and spiritual outlook. I am in mid-transition career wise, and not a transition I ever would have imagined a year ago. I am going to be developing a piece of real estate on the Sea of Cortez in Baja Mexico for an old client - traveling back and forth with some regularity, relearning Spanish and utilizing it on a regular basis for the first time in my life. At the same time, I will be able to keep a toe in the recruiting game, handling special projects for my better clients as time and circumstances allow. So, from a career standpoint, a whole lot of new and a little bit of old. Yes, I'm pretty excited.
On the health and fitness front I have taken up cycling with something of a vengeance, continue to work out regularly and eat moderately well. I am about to add swimming to my repertoire, as I don't get enough cardio work in my routine and want to be able to go for long ocean swims without endangering myself. I am probably in the best physical shape of my adult life, which speaks less of the great place I'm in now than about the sorry state I allowed myself to fall into during my earlier working years. I am probably too much like most Americans in this respect, am glad I figured it out early enough to do something about it, and encourage any of you who are feeling a bit weary and listless and out of sorts to strongly consider adding a major dose of exercise to your regimen. I can tell you first-hand that it will improve all aspects of your life. But remember, moderation in all things...
On the recovery front, I still attend AA on my regular schedule. I'll be honest in saying I've not made significant progress in the program this year. It's true, you know, that you only get out of something what you put into it, and I've not really worked it very hard this year. I've stayed sober, which is the main objective, made and strengthened some friendships within the two groups I meet with, and am more comfortable every day admitting to myself and to others that I'm an alcoholic, can't drink like "normal" people, and will never be able to. And I'm actually pretty happy about that. I spent a lot of my life drinking like normal people and on occasion like really abnormal people. Too much of those decades is a blur, and a lot of it wasn't pretty. Not really a big sacrifice to let it go. AA is not a program with an ending - its something you keep doing if you really have the problem and you really want to beat it. So, I'm not beating myself up over not having made any great strides on this front last year. I've got another thirty or forty years to work on it, and its not like there's a finish line...
On that note, one of the things I've noticed about myself this past year is that I've really developed a good deal patience, a notion that I now realize was sorely lacking previously. I've developed patience with myself, patience with others, even patience with our screwed up political system. This isn't the same as apathy, mind you. I still care about a lot of things, and care deeply. But I also have come to recognize that I can't save the world from itself, I can't change others, and I can't change the past or even the present. I can only change the future, and for the most part even then, only for myself, in a very limited way, with the decisions I make and actions I take. That's a pretty finite target on which to focus. I reckon that's what we mean when we say, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change..." It's a simple, yet liberating, realization.
I suppose the biggest change has been in my marriage, which is in a far better place than it was a year ago. We went through some very dark times last spring and summer - when my wife and I both had to come to grips with what an asshole I'd been, along with other major challenges in our relationship. We were at that place too many marriages come to, and which as often as not wind up in divorce. Instead of becoming another grim statistic, we both sought individual counseling and later couples counseling, and developed a level of trust, respect, and open communication that never really existed in our almost three decades together. I don't know if its ever safe to say you're out of the woods, but I think it is safe to say that the forest umbrella is thinning significantly, we see more sunshine and blue sky than shadows these days, and we're holding hands on our journey. Its a good feeling, and one I don't want to lose again.
I'm sorry to disappoint you - know you were hoping upon my belated return for some political zealotry or religious controversy, hellfire and brimstone and whatnot. Not going to happen. I will reveal that I'm communicating with some friends on the inside to see if we can't arrange a rousing welcome party for Mr. Delay, but that's another story for another day...
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