Bridge Construction

Damn.

I gotta go back.

Set my jaw, clench my fists, and take one step at a time.


It's not as if I haven't done this tango before, with ex-girlfriends, agents, clients, my wife... even my own son. All of them, multiple times. That's how stupid and quick-triggered I was, at those times.

This time, it's different, though. I'm a lot older. Maybe a bit more wise, but I don't want to out-kick my coverage.

Let's just say, I'm learning to finally play the game of Peace.
To plot the map of Good Will.
To finally traverse Forgiveness.

I'm not really as important as I think I am, and I needed to work on more vulnerability as an artistic tool, anyway.

That's it....!

I was an Artistic Tool.



Don't be like me, son.
Apologize quick.
Get out of your own way.
Don't burn the years the way I did, at the Altar of Shallow Self-Consciousness.

You're not worth it.

Your health IS worth it, though--your family's health, as well as the health of those loved-ones who have invested their lives in you.
Always go back, and make it all right.

If it's up to you, do it.

You have honor.
Show loyalty.
Value friendship.
Cherish help.
Welcome correction.
And fix your mistakes.

You are a supreme investment.

Thus, follow suit.
(Act like it)

Jump

"Jump! Don't look down!"

"You've really got nothing to lose," they encourage me.

"You've done it before, you know..."

Ron looked into the glass and pondered the deep bourbon's legs as they shrouded the sides.  "I almost went bankrupt, as well."

"You have endless contacts and resources!"

"Yes, I do," Ron glared into the garish computer screen, and clicked the Unfriend icon, "--every one of them attached to a human."

__________________________

I see myself at the foot of a sickly bed. The poor dog stretched before me--starved, face lined with desperate worry, pummeled by uneven tempos of breath. I put so much hope into it--I thought I was providing such favor, keeping it locked away, being safe. The bloodshot eyes turn my way, and the whimpers turn into a low mumble. I'm going to lose my furry friend, I know.

With a rush of quivering strength, I kick the bed posts, "Look, I know what I'm doing: I'm convincing myself to not step out in faith. There's no real way to lose, so go ahead and die, for all I care!"

Why am I afraid?

___________________________

Ron adjusted himself under the table, moving his arm as such to give the illusion he's itching his leg.

"I just don't want to go through the...leg work, again," he explained to the interviewer with big diamonds and global implants, "the empty calls, the awkward meetings: the dry days of waiting for an answer--"

He knew he was talking to himself, at this point.  How would a corporate trophy wife ever understand the struggle? Inside her head, she rolls her eyes--gotta get the pool cleaned!

"So much excessive spinning; so many un-answers. So much time was wasted, trying to apprehend a hopeful nugget--" Ron abruptly stops, and glares at her. He sets down his pen, crumbles his resume, places it on her iPad (trademark).

Ron, looking around, whispers in her ear, "Look, I'm going to be responsible for a staff of people who need the work. Times could get thin, and it could be my fault. I'm going to be accountable for the quantity and quality of the work.  It stops at me--"

The interviewer reaches around his head, and squeezes his cheek.

She whispers back, smelling of lipstick and Starbucks (copyright): "It also starts at you! Isn't that what you want? No one to tell you how to edit yourself, someone to set your limitations; an overseer who doesn't really know your passion?" 

Ron adjusted himself again. This time, everyone noticed. He didn't care.

______________________________

I'm back at my dog's death bed, but I know it's really me, lying there... I'm mad at the situation. I can't believe I'm explaining myself to my dying dog.

"I didn't know what I was doing. I'm so sorry."

"The right colleagues were impressed," Man's-Best-Friend seems to say, "and you have some true jewels of work. You slept at night."

I start to weep a bit, "The superiors I work for might be upset."

"Your only superior is the one who loves you more than you'll ever know," the doggie rests its head, nuzzling its pillow, "and I always knew you loved me."

...that new damned bag of organic dog food....

____________________________________

"Looking in the mirror is scarier with each year," he thought to himself, walking the narrowing path.


He covered his mouth, collecting the data as to what could happen.
Am I reaching too much?

          "You haven't reached in a while."

He relaxed, paused, fixed his gaze to the path beneath him. The green moss dwindled as it drew closer to the edge of the end, close to where his feet felt the most discomfort, as his body lurched forward and back. The comfort of green disappeared amid this balding rash of regret. 


I don't want to lose--

          "You already won."

Breath was unbearable now, and this was it: he clenched inside, shaking his younger self.

But it might be to high--

          "Then," he gasped at the inhalation of new birth, "...jump..."

Restless Soul Syndrome

Haven't been on here for a while now, mostly because what I had to say didn't amount to much--or what I had to say was surely going to get me kicked out of the Blogosphere.

I feel like I'm biding my time too much here. Enough. Okay, I'm gonna get right to it! Here goes...

I'm searching. I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm disappointed.

A few months back, a good friend from college killed himself by jumping from a prominent building here in Downtown Denver. His last post reminded me to have a great weekend, and "he'll see me soon", he hoped. His Facebook page is still creepily open. I had to de-friend him, as I felt a little voyeuristic and unwelcome. I mean, HE chose to leave the dinner party, right? So, who am I to suck up to the leftover emotions with his abandoned friends and family...

A few weeks later, a long-time business associate tried to kill himself with a massive overdose on Xanax. "Luckily", his wife discovered him lying on the floor and the paramedics performed their oft-overlooked job once again. After visiting with him a while recently, I still wonder when he'll try again. I really hope he does not before someone truly ministers to him.

Both men had the same empty smile, the same extreme succeses and failures in life, and me as a "friend". Here, I began to reflect on what I could have said or done, to quell their inner demons for a while longer, before they chose their methods of self-consolidations. I often look back and try to pinpoint the faulty living in my own battles, the missed opportunities in my associations, and I've discovered I have not been a good man. As I tumble into the midway point of my 40's, I presently know I don't have it all together. Let's get something clear, though: I have a reasonably successful career, I have a pretty good home with a loving son and dogs, and my spiritual walk is a consistent revelation of refreshment and joy.

I'm just not a good guy.

Just yesterday, I was texted by a lion-hearted guy at work who asked to have a few drinks with him. Earlier this week, the same guy called and asked me how my day was shaking out, as I didn't look happy at the time. All I did was tell him I was simply too busy to visit with him.

In business, I have people who want to work with me, and I forget to call them further.

I avoid eye contact in crowded places, I ignore neighbors, I despise my bosses, I avoid the mirror, and--most terribly of all--I friend and de-friend people on Facebook all the time, according to my misguided egotistical assumptions.

There are times where my wife and I try to work things out, and I put everything in the back of my mind, plowing into my work and aspirations.

Having noticed all these empirical truths from a purely pragmatic mechanism, I'm left, still with myself. Where does this discovery lead? What now? Do I really try to change? Do I re-schedule missed opportunities and appointments? Do I resolve to take different steps?

I took a quick look at my own writings--all counted on a single hand, with three chubby digits--and noticed the last entry was about a year ago. A lot has happened since, and I'm guilty.
Not that I'm some great prize among men, nor do I value my presence and information with a slight dramatic pause: I just don't share much.

It all probably goes back to Acting School, or even before. I liked being other people. I loved discovering everybody else's ticks, inner landscapes, and motives. Everyone else is more interesting, I think. To clarify, I'm not lashing myself, nor am I soliciting a response, but I have a firm grasp on my Inner-whatever. My life is lived almost entirely in my cranium. I love it in there. I'm selfish of my own perceptions, jokes, and criticisms.

One of the great joys in my life is among friends, where we can spar over opinions, thoughts and dreams. In those cases, I don't share as much as I should, because I might indulge my brain too much... you know how those people are at cocktail parties, speaking for hours, most notably about themselves. If I'm ever like the afore mentioned character, I've given orders to my friends to beat me with shovels, and whack me out in a field (that's the Chicago Way, after all!).

So, what I'm trying to get at is this: I want to be better. More outgoing... I don't think there was ever a time in my life where I DIDN'T try to hide. Being genuine should be a bigger priority for me.

I want to be a better friend...Goodness knows how you (and you know who you are, people) have lifted me up when I needed it, and I'm brutally contrite as a result. Thank you.

To the friends and family I have let down, forgive me. I will do what I can to be better.

To Jay--I want to be there for you, and you should let me know whatever it is that you need. Sorry for the poor writing, but I'm coming from the heart. I'd like to help or pray for you when I can.

And finally, to Kyle--I failed you. Fly away.