Tuesday, September 30, 2014
What about the drama from your momma?
I have officially been 30 years old for 2 weeks now, and while I don't feel physically different, I fear that I am becoming more aware of certain unpleasant aspects of relationships I have been a part of my whole life. I've developed a habit, immediately following any of my well formed plans crashing and burning at my feet, of saying "Well I had this vision, right?" This applies to my married life as well. That is not to say my marriage is crashing and burning, oh no far from it, but the reactions to me being married are whats getting to me. Two weeks from now I will celebrate my seventh wedding anniversary. In that time I have purchased two different houses, created a daughter and been promoted two times in my job. The second promotion actually takes effect on October 13th. With that picture, you could safely say I have done well for myself. If I wanted to be modest, my efforts are passable. I pray for and receive my daily bread. I have what I need, and know better than to try living beyond my means, that is irresponsible and, in my opinion, dumb. I cannot afford to be dumb when the life of two other people hang in the balance.
I have blogged before about my happiness being derived from helping others or making others happy. The easiest and most natural way for me to accomplish this is to feed people. Honestly, have you ever seen an unhappy person who's just finished a plate of chow? I cannot say that I have. With the exception of my wife and daughter there are two people I want to make happy more than anything, my parents, but they choose to make that task as difficult as possible. Since I have been married there have been highs and lows, and fights and apologies, as with any marriage. My wife and I have learned from our mistakes and, for the most part, become better people and a better team because of it. Well I had this vision, right? two people bringing together their families and forming one big family who share things and understand each other, and are there for each other in times of trouble. As I mentioned above, this vision crashed and burned. Our families have difficulty being in the same room with each other. My parents cite "they're just too different" as their excuse. My in laws try, I have seen them, but what is the point of putting forth effort that is never reciprocated? The result is a very complicated and overbooked holiday season.
I come from a generation that has a saying "Save the drama for your momma" because no one else cares. But how am I supposed to respond when the drama is coming from my momma? I don't want my wife and daughter exposed to it, because its not their fault, or problem to bear, but I am also unable to change two people who have been doing this for 55 years. This is where recognizing unpleasant aspects of lifelong relationships is coming into the equation. My parents have committed acts of irresponsible and disrespectful nature toward my wife and I. The very same things they taught me NOT TO DO when I lived under their roof. I'm not trying to be dramatic here, and my parents have not devolved into monsters. Its simple things, like not being able to give me a straight answer to a simple, closed ended question, not being somewhere when they said they would be, and worse, not having a cell phone to contact them. Any of those things would have gotten me in deep shit 10 years ago. That's irresponsible, I would have been told. We worry about you, and one day you'll understand. They were absolutely right! But what is my recourse now? To lecture my parents on what they already know? It is not the job of the apprentice to teach the master. Do I call them out for being hypocrites? Do I even have it in me to accept that I was raised in a "Do as I say not as I do" family environment?
I suppose the bottom line in all this is that I am having to grapple with my parents not being the great and infallible entities I always thought they were. They are clearly guilty of many of the shortcomings they drilled me never to do. With this information coming into focus, how do I proceed? I want to respect my parents, but as a man, husband and father myself, I expect theirs equally. If they cannot give me what I feel is earned, then what is my incentive to return in kind? I have long wanted to make my parents proud of me in my accomplishments and successes. I saw it as my way of thanking them for teaching me, and raising me to have work ethic, and determination to see a job through to the end. Another unfortunate aspect of my relationship with them seems to be apathy toward my hard work. Again, without incentive of someone else being happy (my wife, daughter, mom and dad topping that list) why should I push on? What is the point of giving my all if those I want to share my accomplishments with don't really care?
I do not want to accept that my parents are lonely and quietly angry people. That cannot be the truth of it. They taught me everything right, they showed me love, compassion and discipline. An apathetic person wouldn't value these things as traits, and yet I have them. Did my getting married cause some rift in my relationship with my parents? Its too late to repair that now. I am 7 years invested into my married life. I am not going to derail that train to appease my parents. At this point I wonder if they can be appeased by anything that I do. Being an adult seems to become more difficult with each passing year, even if you don't do anything to make it so.
Until we meet again...
Chase
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Wandering thoughts
I've been away for a while, but such is the way of things in the summer. Having a new house gives me no end of projects to direct my energy toward. I would rather be elbow deep in that, than staring blankly at this screen, but 40 hours a week depends on these screens so here I sit. My last update had to do with balancing everyone's happiness over my own. My own happiness being dependent on my ability to please everyone else. It feels like a lot has happened since then. The stress of home buying has settled down, and I can sleep through a night without dreams of the purchase falling through. I have resumed a normal routine: get up, go to work, come home, work a project, make dinner, shower, bed...and repeat. This is the rhythm that keeps me sane, and probably will for the next 40-50 years, God willing.
As a reward for surviving the stress of moving between March and May, the wife and I planned a trip to Myrtle Beach to get away and unwind. There are 2 things I have learned over the past 30 years when it comes to vacations: 1) You get a better insight into yourself when removed from the safety and familiarity of your daily routine, and 2) This applies to anyone who goes with you. We set out on the evening of May 27th and were gone until June 1st. All told, a good time was had and the stress of the past 10 weeks forgotten in short order. My daughter experienced land's end for the 1st time. We built sand castles, which she demolished shortly after. I watched her take on the Atlantic with no fear, squealing and laughing all the time. We ate our weight in seafood, enjoying all the Grand Strand had to offer every night. For some this could be considered paradise, perfection even, and by all accounts I should agree; as the vacation wore on, however, the shine wore off, and my mind wandered in the vacuum where day to day responsibilities and routine were put on hold
As of late, say the last 6 months, I have learned my two biggest weaknesses are fatigue and hunger. The heavier either of them weigh on me, the grumpier I become to those around me. Pair them together, and I feel down right ill. This was my situation the last 2 nights of our trip. Looking back on these episodes, I can say now that I interpreted the world around me differently as well. For example, a dinner table including my wife, daughter, and in laws did not appear to me as a group of people cutting up and having fun. What I saw was a working family unit, that didn't include me...Didn't NEED me. I was the odd shaped cog that didn't sit right with the group I was a part of. I felt like the scene would continue uninterrupted if I was erased from the picture. My daughter had her place, she fit...hell, she powered the machine with her smile, and laugh, but what did I contribute? My sister in law had half jokingly said, soon after my daughter was born, "You've done your job, you can go now." 17 months later, and joke or not, I remember that phrase clear as crystal. Sitting around the table the night of May 30th, it rang inside my skull loud as cathedral bells: YOU CAN GO NOW...YOU'RE NOT NEEDED.
The following day my mood was visibly impacted. While my thoughts and feelings were no longer affected by hunger or exhaustion, my skewed view of the prior evening had left its mark. My wife had seen this before in other vacations we had taken with her family. I'd reached a point where she seemed more like their daughter and less like my wife. She has told me on prior occasions I am choosing to feel that way, and it is not true. I hear her words, and I want to believe them, but the picture of the working family machine, and my being the odd piece out remains. Add my daughter to the equation and everything my in laws do seems like an attack on my ability to be a dad. So now I am not only a 2nd rate husband, I am a 2nd rate father as well. I isolate myself, I don't want to be included. I don't want to be a part of THEIR family. I want my wife, and my daughter...I want MY family, but that's not the point of taking a joint vacation, now is it?
The argument ensues that night as it has every time we have gone on vacation together. She is upset that I can't see how wrong my viewpoint is and that if I tried to include myself it would all work out. "Is this how it's going to be every time we take a family vacation?" she asks, half crying, half fed up with me, "because if so, I don't want to do it again." I can't tell her that trying to include myself won't work. I can't say that I want no part of her family, that I want her, and my daughter, and NO ONE ELSE. It's too selfish, too hurtful, and in that moment it would be spat from my mouth with malice and intention to cut deep. I retain control, I don't say it. I stare off, unable to meet my wife's eyes. I am mad, I am upset and there is no way for me to impress on her how this feels. She will never be unneeded, a child always needs their mother. I lie on the bed, my daughter asleep on my arm, and I think while my wife gets ready to lie down, herself.
In the dark and quiet of our 12th story resort room, my thoughts return to feelings of not being needed. Those are followed by anger at my in laws for being right there, leaving me no cause to engage my daughter because they already have whatever she may need well in hand. I am not needed, I am superfluous. 12 stories up... I am unneeded, but I remain. Life would continue without pause if I ceased to be a part of it. 12th story balcony... A wicked smile spreads across my face. What would stop me from sliding that plastic patio end table to the side of the balcony, stepping up so I could sit on the mottled brass rail, and then rolling back into the dark? My wife is in the bathroom. It would be so quick and quiet, no one would miss me. Would they even register I was gone at first? In my mind these thoughts formed a black tar that coated everything. I looked at my daughter, less than a foot away and didn't feel fear, or remorse for what I was considering. I saw it as an opportunity to remove an unneeded piece from the game. I had concluded it would keep playing out whether I took my turn or not, so what was the point? It would be so easy, 90 seconds at the most, and I would never have to feel unneeded again. Never feel again. It would be so easy...
I sat bolt upright in bed as if I'd been shocked, and just above a whisper I said, "These are not my thoughts. I don't think this way. These are not mine. JESUS CHRIST HELP ME. Lord rebuke you, Satan. Get behind me! The image of tar in my mind was cut through with a shaft of light, and I felt that I had recovered my senses. My breathing eased, I hadn't even noticed it was labored moments before. I prayed for forgiveness, and mercy for what I had just planned and was on the verge of executing. I felt worthless, but not for trivial reasons. I was ready to punch my own card, to give up. That is not an option, nothing is ever easy, not for me, but that is the road I walk. If it is easy, really truly easy, then it is not something I am meant to be a part of. My Father in heaven started my work day on a muggy September 17th. He gets to say when the day is done.
Until we meet again
-Chase
As a reward for surviving the stress of moving between March and May, the wife and I planned a trip to Myrtle Beach to get away and unwind. There are 2 things I have learned over the past 30 years when it comes to vacations: 1) You get a better insight into yourself when removed from the safety and familiarity of your daily routine, and 2) This applies to anyone who goes with you. We set out on the evening of May 27th and were gone until June 1st. All told, a good time was had and the stress of the past 10 weeks forgotten in short order. My daughter experienced land's end for the 1st time. We built sand castles, which she demolished shortly after. I watched her take on the Atlantic with no fear, squealing and laughing all the time. We ate our weight in seafood, enjoying all the Grand Strand had to offer every night. For some this could be considered paradise, perfection even, and by all accounts I should agree; as the vacation wore on, however, the shine wore off, and my mind wandered in the vacuum where day to day responsibilities and routine were put on hold
As of late, say the last 6 months, I have learned my two biggest weaknesses are fatigue and hunger. The heavier either of them weigh on me, the grumpier I become to those around me. Pair them together, and I feel down right ill. This was my situation the last 2 nights of our trip. Looking back on these episodes, I can say now that I interpreted the world around me differently as well. For example, a dinner table including my wife, daughter, and in laws did not appear to me as a group of people cutting up and having fun. What I saw was a working family unit, that didn't include me...Didn't NEED me. I was the odd shaped cog that didn't sit right with the group I was a part of. I felt like the scene would continue uninterrupted if I was erased from the picture. My daughter had her place, she fit...hell, she powered the machine with her smile, and laugh, but what did I contribute? My sister in law had half jokingly said, soon after my daughter was born, "You've done your job, you can go now." 17 months later, and joke or not, I remember that phrase clear as crystal. Sitting around the table the night of May 30th, it rang inside my skull loud as cathedral bells: YOU CAN GO NOW...YOU'RE NOT NEEDED.
The following day my mood was visibly impacted. While my thoughts and feelings were no longer affected by hunger or exhaustion, my skewed view of the prior evening had left its mark. My wife had seen this before in other vacations we had taken with her family. I'd reached a point where she seemed more like their daughter and less like my wife. She has told me on prior occasions I am choosing to feel that way, and it is not true. I hear her words, and I want to believe them, but the picture of the working family machine, and my being the odd piece out remains. Add my daughter to the equation and everything my in laws do seems like an attack on my ability to be a dad. So now I am not only a 2nd rate husband, I am a 2nd rate father as well. I isolate myself, I don't want to be included. I don't want to be a part of THEIR family. I want my wife, and my daughter...I want MY family, but that's not the point of taking a joint vacation, now is it?
The argument ensues that night as it has every time we have gone on vacation together. She is upset that I can't see how wrong my viewpoint is and that if I tried to include myself it would all work out. "Is this how it's going to be every time we take a family vacation?" she asks, half crying, half fed up with me, "because if so, I don't want to do it again." I can't tell her that trying to include myself won't work. I can't say that I want no part of her family, that I want her, and my daughter, and NO ONE ELSE. It's too selfish, too hurtful, and in that moment it would be spat from my mouth with malice and intention to cut deep. I retain control, I don't say it. I stare off, unable to meet my wife's eyes. I am mad, I am upset and there is no way for me to impress on her how this feels. She will never be unneeded, a child always needs their mother. I lie on the bed, my daughter asleep on my arm, and I think while my wife gets ready to lie down, herself.
In the dark and quiet of our 12th story resort room, my thoughts return to feelings of not being needed. Those are followed by anger at my in laws for being right there, leaving me no cause to engage my daughter because they already have whatever she may need well in hand. I am not needed, I am superfluous. 12 stories up... I am unneeded, but I remain. Life would continue without pause if I ceased to be a part of it. 12th story balcony... A wicked smile spreads across my face. What would stop me from sliding that plastic patio end table to the side of the balcony, stepping up so I could sit on the mottled brass rail, and then rolling back into the dark? My wife is in the bathroom. It would be so quick and quiet, no one would miss me. Would they even register I was gone at first? In my mind these thoughts formed a black tar that coated everything. I looked at my daughter, less than a foot away and didn't feel fear, or remorse for what I was considering. I saw it as an opportunity to remove an unneeded piece from the game. I had concluded it would keep playing out whether I took my turn or not, so what was the point? It would be so easy, 90 seconds at the most, and I would never have to feel unneeded again. Never feel again. It would be so easy...
I sat bolt upright in bed as if I'd been shocked, and just above a whisper I said, "These are not my thoughts. I don't think this way. These are not mine. JESUS CHRIST HELP ME. Lord rebuke you, Satan. Get behind me! The image of tar in my mind was cut through with a shaft of light, and I felt that I had recovered my senses. My breathing eased, I hadn't even noticed it was labored moments before. I prayed for forgiveness, and mercy for what I had just planned and was on the verge of executing. I felt worthless, but not for trivial reasons. I was ready to punch my own card, to give up. That is not an option, nothing is ever easy, not for me, but that is the road I walk. If it is easy, really truly easy, then it is not something I am meant to be a part of. My Father in heaven started my work day on a muggy September 17th. He gets to say when the day is done.
Until we meet again
-Chase
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Balancing act
Quick show of hands from all my married friends, are holidays ever easy? I feel like a juggler trying to keep 3 pins moving while off balance, with my eyes closed. I sit here looking at all the people going on about their mothers and the sparkly sign GIF's proclaiming HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY all over facebook. I debated posting a picture like everyone else, but then remembered I have very few. My mom has become adept at dodging cameras over the years, and with that in mind I concluded she wouldn't appreciate my posting one of the few I do have. It feels the same every holiday: Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Mothers/Fathers Day, Arbor Day, Armed Forces Day, it doesn't matter. I will be juggling 3 pins trying to keep my wife, my wife's family, and my parents happy. Placing the happiness of others before yourself makes it very difficult to find a genuine smile. Does prizing your own happiness over those around you not make you self centered? I'm not self centered, so I don't do that. The older I get, the more difficult real happiness is to find. Pouring my energy into everyone else's happiness becomes the norm.
I am not an asshole, nor am I callous and inconsiderate of others. Yet, by comparison, it seems to me those who choose this path of human interaction are happier than I allow myself to be. Have I gotten the equation wrong, should I be self centered and to hell with everyone else who isn't on the same page as I am? That looks like a volatile lifestyle, if you ask me. I derive happiness by making others happy. Feeding my friends is one of the primary avenues I employ to reach that end. If someone needs for something, or asks to do something, I take joy in being the one who makes it happen. Though I am usually not the one doing the asking. Does that make me wrong?
To any fans of Terry Goodkind, and the Sword of Truth series, wizard's 2nd rule applies to me. The best intentions can give rise to the most catastrophic outcomes. I can't see the future, I've never boasted that I could. I can't know how spending an afternoon with my mother will impact the rest of my family. My brain breaks it down to "you are doing something loving/good/ kind for someone you love. This is the right course" I find out later that in so doing I have offended, or irritated, or forgotten about someone else, and that causes mental and emotional conflict all over the map. I cannot rationalize how doing good is resulting in my being in trouble. I did nothing wrong, I made one person happy, that should not, in turn, make another person mad. Why am I wrong? How am I wrong? How is making someone happy wrong? This is a question that doesn't get answered, but boiled down to me not understanding. So ultimately I punish myself while the person I made mad remains mad at me. Making someone happy is then equated to my being in trouble, and getting punished. It isn't right, it isn't fair, it just is.
With that in mind, it could said that I have a perfectly good reason to be a callous dick. I was told earlier in my marriage that as an adult no one was there to punish me anymore. (barring breaking the law, of course) If I burn dinner, or forget to lock up, or leave the pantry light on all day, no one is there to berate me or impress upon me the importance of not doing that again. So I took on the responsibility myself. It isn't my wife's job, she told me. Though she has no qualms punishing me for when she feels wronged by something I did or said. Remember I am not yet a callous dick so these outcomes are born from my best intentions. (You see a cycle forming yet?) What prevents me from catching that initial onslaught of verbal/emotional punishment and firing back with, I made my decision, you need to deal with it however you need to deal with it?" or "This problem is your problem." 1st of all, because I love her and I care about her opinion foremost. If she hurts, I hurt. 2nd, she can always word her argument to somehow convince my brain that the thing I did/said that I thought was good, was actually bad. There is no way for me to undo, or unsay what has happened so I then have to live with the aftermath.
It seems to me that if I put myself 1st and said to hell with everyone else and their opinions, a good bit of this complication would cease to be; but I know acting that way would cause those I love to respond in kind and eventually either: a) we would all be dicks to one another, or b) I would be a very lonely individual. I do not look forward to either of those outcomes, but I am equally dissatisfied with my current situation. I refuse to accept that my acting to the happiness of one person should result, for any reason, in the angering of another. I have done right, so why is it so difficult to ignore the good that was done, and focus on how you were wronged by me? The result of which is trying to persuade me that my actions were wrong from the start. In my opinion they weren't and it isn't fair for anyone to try and convince me otherwise. I need to discover how to support my actions in such a way as to not be convinced of wrongdoing; I need to balance bringing myself happiness without it costing me compassion for others, and I got about 40 years to pull this off. Wish me luck.
I am not an asshole, nor am I callous and inconsiderate of others. Yet, by comparison, it seems to me those who choose this path of human interaction are happier than I allow myself to be. Have I gotten the equation wrong, should I be self centered and to hell with everyone else who isn't on the same page as I am? That looks like a volatile lifestyle, if you ask me. I derive happiness by making others happy. Feeding my friends is one of the primary avenues I employ to reach that end. If someone needs for something, or asks to do something, I take joy in being the one who makes it happen. Though I am usually not the one doing the asking. Does that make me wrong?
To any fans of Terry Goodkind, and the Sword of Truth series, wizard's 2nd rule applies to me. The best intentions can give rise to the most catastrophic outcomes. I can't see the future, I've never boasted that I could. I can't know how spending an afternoon with my mother will impact the rest of my family. My brain breaks it down to "you are doing something loving/good/ kind for someone you love. This is the right course" I find out later that in so doing I have offended, or irritated, or forgotten about someone else, and that causes mental and emotional conflict all over the map. I cannot rationalize how doing good is resulting in my being in trouble. I did nothing wrong, I made one person happy, that should not, in turn, make another person mad. Why am I wrong? How am I wrong? How is making someone happy wrong? This is a question that doesn't get answered, but boiled down to me not understanding. So ultimately I punish myself while the person I made mad remains mad at me. Making someone happy is then equated to my being in trouble, and getting punished. It isn't right, it isn't fair, it just is.
With that in mind, it could said that I have a perfectly good reason to be a callous dick. I was told earlier in my marriage that as an adult no one was there to punish me anymore. (barring breaking the law, of course) If I burn dinner, or forget to lock up, or leave the pantry light on all day, no one is there to berate me or impress upon me the importance of not doing that again. So I took on the responsibility myself. It isn't my wife's job, she told me. Though she has no qualms punishing me for when she feels wronged by something I did or said. Remember I am not yet a callous dick so these outcomes are born from my best intentions. (You see a cycle forming yet?) What prevents me from catching that initial onslaught of verbal/emotional punishment and firing back with, I made my decision, you need to deal with it however you need to deal with it?" or "This problem is your problem." 1st of all, because I love her and I care about her opinion foremost. If she hurts, I hurt. 2nd, she can always word her argument to somehow convince my brain that the thing I did/said that I thought was good, was actually bad. There is no way for me to undo, or unsay what has happened so I then have to live with the aftermath.
It seems to me that if I put myself 1st and said to hell with everyone else and their opinions, a good bit of this complication would cease to be; but I know acting that way would cause those I love to respond in kind and eventually either: a) we would all be dicks to one another, or b) I would be a very lonely individual. I do not look forward to either of those outcomes, but I am equally dissatisfied with my current situation. I refuse to accept that my acting to the happiness of one person should result, for any reason, in the angering of another. I have done right, so why is it so difficult to ignore the good that was done, and focus on how you were wronged by me? The result of which is trying to persuade me that my actions were wrong from the start. In my opinion they weren't and it isn't fair for anyone to try and convince me otherwise. I need to discover how to support my actions in such a way as to not be convinced of wrongdoing; I need to balance bringing myself happiness without it costing me compassion for others, and I got about 40 years to pull this off. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
I've had enough, but its not through yet
Wake up at 6:35a, go to work and maintain a persistent nagging mindset there there is more to do than you have time for. More important things to do than sit in this chair and be a tech therapist for the next 9 hours. You should be packing, 3 days left and you're no where near through yet. You begin noticing mistakes and oversights you've made. Your co-workers have to clean up one failure after another. They have to come behind you because you can't do it yourself. You're not a good tech, you're a mediocre tech who others have to help. You have to live this for 8 more hours, more Indians, and Romanians and Filipinos. More mistakes, more escalations to other people because you can't do it, and the few you actually get through, who cares? A glimpse of a lucky call before you trip and foul up again.
You have said "I'm sorry for the inconvenience" or "I'm sorry I don't know that" dozens of times and its not even lunch hour yet. You hate telling people that. It is your polite code for I failed you, and there's nothing I can do about it. So many times, so many people you can't help. Why the hell are you still wasting time in this chair? People need you and you fall short over and over again. What is the point?
You sit in traffic for 40 minutes to find your way home and you apologize to your wife, who pulls in just behind you. You should have been home before now, should have been packing already, but all you can say is "sorry I'm late, traffic was bad." You fill another box in the ever growing mountain of cardboard. Your house is a mess, a disgrace, and there is nothing you can do about it. You haven't dusted, vacuumed or swept in over 3 weeks and it's diving you crazy. Way to fail at one of the things that brings you happiness. You keep packing, and put dinner on. There are no plates or silver...of course not, they're PACKED. You were supposed to find the paper plates and plastic forks, but you didn't do that either. You failed again, and this time it breaks you. One job Chase, you had 1 fucking job and you couldn't do it.
There is no tier 2, there is no helpdesk for me to call with my troubles. No one should care about my troubles because they're mine. I made them, and I have to deal with them. I don't get to call an 800 # and have some voice magic my problems away. Why have I chosen to be that guy? Why have I chosen to be that voice? I am tired of people and their problems. I am so extremely tired. I don't want to play this game of repetition anymore, but I have no choice. I have to have money so I work. As I sit here my daughter calls "Da-da?" up the stairs until my wife comes to her and helps. "Your daughter is calling you." she says. I know, as I stare through watery, tear filled eyes at these words I'm typing, I KNOW THAT! I scream inside my head. She doesn't need to see me, or hear me like this. I have lost the fight. Too much stacked against me for one day and I have LOST.
Simple things like finding paper plates and plastic forks loom like towers over me. You can't do it. I know I can't. Comments from my wife and squeaks from my daughter for attention because she just wants a hug are blocked out. I don't want to hear them, why don't they understand I am a failure? Why don't they turn their backs and leave me alone? I don't deserve love, I haven't earned love. What I have done is shown just another thing that I can fall short at, and the 2 people I care most about were front row, center for the show. Despair and self loathing consume me.
Stop...Reboot...
Sorry, command not recognized...
I spend the evening this way. I hurt to my core. My throat and chest feel like a vice is wrapped around them. All I can do is wait for sleep to silence the despair. Tomorrow is a new day, and I can try again. I'll put on a happy face, and I'll sound cheerful. I'll convince people I am a good employee, but what I really am is a better actor. I have 2 options available to me: I can learn to deal with my failures, or I can not. People put far more faith and stock in me than I am worthy of. I am no one special, no one important and I have accomplished nothing worth mentioning in social studies class. If I can come to grips with this, and tailor the next 30 years of my life around it, what is preventing everyone else from doing the same?
Next time with happier tidings
Chase
You have said "I'm sorry for the inconvenience" or "I'm sorry I don't know that" dozens of times and its not even lunch hour yet. You hate telling people that. It is your polite code for I failed you, and there's nothing I can do about it. So many times, so many people you can't help. Why the hell are you still wasting time in this chair? People need you and you fall short over and over again. What is the point?
You sit in traffic for 40 minutes to find your way home and you apologize to your wife, who pulls in just behind you. You should have been home before now, should have been packing already, but all you can say is "sorry I'm late, traffic was bad." You fill another box in the ever growing mountain of cardboard. Your house is a mess, a disgrace, and there is nothing you can do about it. You haven't dusted, vacuumed or swept in over 3 weeks and it's diving you crazy. Way to fail at one of the things that brings you happiness. You keep packing, and put dinner on. There are no plates or silver...of course not, they're PACKED. You were supposed to find the paper plates and plastic forks, but you didn't do that either. You failed again, and this time it breaks you. One job Chase, you had 1 fucking job and you couldn't do it.
There is no tier 2, there is no helpdesk for me to call with my troubles. No one should care about my troubles because they're mine. I made them, and I have to deal with them. I don't get to call an 800 # and have some voice magic my problems away. Why have I chosen to be that guy? Why have I chosen to be that voice? I am tired of people and their problems. I am so extremely tired. I don't want to play this game of repetition anymore, but I have no choice. I have to have money so I work. As I sit here my daughter calls "Da-da?" up the stairs until my wife comes to her and helps. "Your daughter is calling you." she says. I know, as I stare through watery, tear filled eyes at these words I'm typing, I KNOW THAT! I scream inside my head. She doesn't need to see me, or hear me like this. I have lost the fight. Too much stacked against me for one day and I have LOST.
Simple things like finding paper plates and plastic forks loom like towers over me. You can't do it. I know I can't. Comments from my wife and squeaks from my daughter for attention because she just wants a hug are blocked out. I don't want to hear them, why don't they understand I am a failure? Why don't they turn their backs and leave me alone? I don't deserve love, I haven't earned love. What I have done is shown just another thing that I can fall short at, and the 2 people I care most about were front row, center for the show. Despair and self loathing consume me.
Stop...Reboot...
Sorry, command not recognized...
I spend the evening this way. I hurt to my core. My throat and chest feel like a vice is wrapped around them. All I can do is wait for sleep to silence the despair. Tomorrow is a new day, and I can try again. I'll put on a happy face, and I'll sound cheerful. I'll convince people I am a good employee, but what I really am is a better actor. I have 2 options available to me: I can learn to deal with my failures, or I can not. People put far more faith and stock in me than I am worthy of. I am no one special, no one important and I have accomplished nothing worth mentioning in social studies class. If I can come to grips with this, and tailor the next 30 years of my life around it, what is preventing everyone else from doing the same?
Next time with happier tidings
Chase
Friday, April 18, 2014
Easter week blog off - Finale
Today's topic is forgiveness, whether for yourself or someone else, because love was more important. I'm going to roll the clock back to last October again, are you starting to see a pattern here? All the important things that happen to me seem to revolve around that month. Committing 16 or more nights to our haunted farm means we need find someone to watch our daughter more often than usual. That means calling my parents into play. A misunderstanding as to who was watching her when, resulted in an argument that drove a wedge between me and my folks.
Everyone handles conflict differently, yelling, berating each other, guilt trips, wrestling, and sometimes all out slugfests. In my mother's case, the silent treatment is her weapon of choice. After a very heated exchange at their house, I was asked not to come back. I wasn't their son anymore, they told me. While that comment cut deeply, I relied on my wife and our plan. We had decided on who would watch our daughter and when well ahead of time. To our knowledge, we'd expressed this plan to both pairs of grandparents so they could schedule accordingly. Miscommunication at this point didn't make me wrong, in my mind the argument wasn't my fault. I had my daughter's best interests at heart and if anyone, even my parents, disagreed, that was on them. Period.
The holiday season passed with very little interaction between me and them. I was assailed by doubt on multiple occasions, but I fell back on my wife. I had done nothing wrong. I was living my life, making decisions with and for my family, and if my parents disagreed, it was still on them. That fact had not changed. If they wanted to isolate themselves from us, and from their granddaughter, that was their choice. There was nothing I could do about it. I concluded time was being wasted because of their decision to be prideful.
My dad reached out first, as he usually did. He doesn't hold the kind of iron grudge that my mom does. We spoke briefly in text messages through November, and discussed meeting at a local mall to get our daughter's picture with Santa. Sadly another Thanksgiving came and went without my parents at the table. I am becoming more accustomed to that tradition since I began my family. The next time we saw each other was for lunch outside the mall on the chosen day. My dad seemed genuinely happy to see me, while my mom was down right frigid. She would smile at my daughter with one side of her face and grimace at me with the other. This is over a month later, mind you. She has been holding this grudge for a month and a week. As the photo session came to a close, we asked my parents point blank if they would be attending our daughter's birthday the following weekend. As if they had practiced it, they both looked away from us and did not answer the question. We left, there was nothing more either party needed to say.
For our daughter's sake, my parents did make it to the party, and while a bit withdrawn, she wouldn't have known any better. As before, my dad seemed himself, but my mom still couldn't look my direction without seeming pained. I had seen this face many times in my youth, it meant I'd done something wrong and there was no repairing it. This time though, my shield came back up in the form of my wife. I was doing right by her, and at the end of the day when I closed my eyes, that's what mattered most. Pictures we took at the party will show, smiling faces, balloons and everyone having a good time. My daughter won't know how her grandmother was feeling toward her daddy that day.
The next opportunity we had to get together was our annual Christmas Eve sushi feast at a local hibachi house. For the 1st time in years, my parents were not at the table. This is verging on 3 months after our initial argument. 3 MONTHS! Who can let anger fester for that long? Clearly I know the answer now. While all this had been going on I was attending my weekly men's accountability group at church, and it seemed I had more bad news to deliver on this subject each time. My brothers always offered comfort or advice whenever they could, but ultimately time was the only thing to right the situation. Nothing I did or said would have an effect now
After New Years something changed, I gave up the fight. I stopped caring about right and wrong, and realized I just missed my parents. I prayed hard and forgave them their behavior over the past 3 1/2 months. I lifted up their names in group prayer each week, and asked God to show them their way back to my family. It took time, but my conversations with my dad became longer, and one day he came out and asked if mom and he could watch their granddaughter for a weekend. He asked my permission! I was shocked, but agreed. It seemed they missed her as much as I missed them. After that, we reached a new arrangement where our daughter spends the 3rd weekend of the month with them. My parents have resumed their role in our lives and last night, for the 1st time since October 3rd, 2013, my mom said she loved me.
Everyone handles conflict differently, yelling, berating each other, guilt trips, wrestling, and sometimes all out slugfests. In my mother's case, the silent treatment is her weapon of choice. After a very heated exchange at their house, I was asked not to come back. I wasn't their son anymore, they told me. While that comment cut deeply, I relied on my wife and our plan. We had decided on who would watch our daughter and when well ahead of time. To our knowledge, we'd expressed this plan to both pairs of grandparents so they could schedule accordingly. Miscommunication at this point didn't make me wrong, in my mind the argument wasn't my fault. I had my daughter's best interests at heart and if anyone, even my parents, disagreed, that was on them. Period.
The holiday season passed with very little interaction between me and them. I was assailed by doubt on multiple occasions, but I fell back on my wife. I had done nothing wrong. I was living my life, making decisions with and for my family, and if my parents disagreed, it was still on them. That fact had not changed. If they wanted to isolate themselves from us, and from their granddaughter, that was their choice. There was nothing I could do about it. I concluded time was being wasted because of their decision to be prideful.
My dad reached out first, as he usually did. He doesn't hold the kind of iron grudge that my mom does. We spoke briefly in text messages through November, and discussed meeting at a local mall to get our daughter's picture with Santa. Sadly another Thanksgiving came and went without my parents at the table. I am becoming more accustomed to that tradition since I began my family. The next time we saw each other was for lunch outside the mall on the chosen day. My dad seemed genuinely happy to see me, while my mom was down right frigid. She would smile at my daughter with one side of her face and grimace at me with the other. This is over a month later, mind you. She has been holding this grudge for a month and a week. As the photo session came to a close, we asked my parents point blank if they would be attending our daughter's birthday the following weekend. As if they had practiced it, they both looked away from us and did not answer the question. We left, there was nothing more either party needed to say.
For our daughter's sake, my parents did make it to the party, and while a bit withdrawn, she wouldn't have known any better. As before, my dad seemed himself, but my mom still couldn't look my direction without seeming pained. I had seen this face many times in my youth, it meant I'd done something wrong and there was no repairing it. This time though, my shield came back up in the form of my wife. I was doing right by her, and at the end of the day when I closed my eyes, that's what mattered most. Pictures we took at the party will show, smiling faces, balloons and everyone having a good time. My daughter won't know how her grandmother was feeling toward her daddy that day.
The next opportunity we had to get together was our annual Christmas Eve sushi feast at a local hibachi house. For the 1st time in years, my parents were not at the table. This is verging on 3 months after our initial argument. 3 MONTHS! Who can let anger fester for that long? Clearly I know the answer now. While all this had been going on I was attending my weekly men's accountability group at church, and it seemed I had more bad news to deliver on this subject each time. My brothers always offered comfort or advice whenever they could, but ultimately time was the only thing to right the situation. Nothing I did or said would have an effect now
After New Years something changed, I gave up the fight. I stopped caring about right and wrong, and realized I just missed my parents. I prayed hard and forgave them their behavior over the past 3 1/2 months. I lifted up their names in group prayer each week, and asked God to show them their way back to my family. It took time, but my conversations with my dad became longer, and one day he came out and asked if mom and he could watch their granddaughter for a weekend. He asked my permission! I was shocked, but agreed. It seemed they missed her as much as I missed them. After that, we reached a new arrangement where our daughter spends the 3rd weekend of the month with them. My parents have resumed their role in our lives and last night, for the 1st time since October 3rd, 2013, my mom said she loved me.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Once and for all
I mentioned that my family and I are moving a few entries back, but now I think I have enough to make a full blown post about it. We have only ever moved once before, and we had 6 years less crap to make the trip with. We moved from a rental townhouse to our current home. It was somewhat disorganized process, but luckily everything that was supposed to come along for the ride did. Moving from one private residence to another is a whole different animal by comparison.
We are fortunate in the fact that our real estate agents and loan officer are close personal friends. That has afforded us quite a bit more information and understanding of what is going on than if we had just chosen at random. This time around, we didn't serve up a notice to our landlord, instead we were held responsible for a list of repairs requested by the buyers. Now we were told we could flat refuse them, but that was amended with, if you do their loan could be refused, and you'll lose the sale. We negotiated for the less expensive items, but ultimately got saddled with the whole list, which carried a $3500 price tag.
We were told at the very beginning stages of this process that it is much like a circus and the real estate agent was directing all the acts at once to make sure his buyers got they paid for. That was never more apparent than this afternoon. Our contractor was in the midst of repairing our chimney; a job he has assured us was going to take until next week to complete, due to the materials delivery schedule he had to adhere to. The type of siding he was using is only delivered on Wednesday, so there was no way he could be back before Thursday of next week to complete the repair. The idea was to close on that day, and he was aware of our completion deadline before he ever accepted the job. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to have known the extent of the work that was needed until he was elbow deep in the mix.
I relayed this bad news to my agent who contacted all interested parties and had our closing shifted to next Friday so all the work could be complete and necessary supporting documentation prepared. My wife took on the task of contacting our utility companies and the movers. The 1st snag came in the way of the movers being booked solid next Friday, followed by the utility company advising us they do not do shut offs on Friday, it would have to be the following Monday. Bottom line was we would have to pay an overnight holding fee to keep our movers (or change movers altogether) and do without utilities for 3 days while paying to keep them running in the house we had just vacated. No thank you! As the day wore on, emotions and stress levels were redlining.
I took a walk outside at 4:30p and found almost all the siding hung, and 2 full slats sitting on the driveway. I looked to the GC's 2nd in command and said, "I'm thinking we're going to have enough siding to finish this thing today" He answered, "We have exactly enough!" These were just the words I needed to hear. With exception of a coat of paint, the repairs are complete. I called my agent back with some good news for a change, and by the grace of God all interested parties agreed to set closing back to next Thursday. It seems this is just meant to be the day, everything fits into place on Thursday.
The countdown is back on track, and 7 days from now we'll be sitting in our new, albeit hellishly disorganized, house. The stress from the last 7 weeks will be a memory and I can finally focus my energy on the next chapter of our lives. There are new rooms to arrange and a whole new yard and garden to tame. The age of New Guedryfell is fast approaching, and I am finally excited about it.
We are fortunate in the fact that our real estate agents and loan officer are close personal friends. That has afforded us quite a bit more information and understanding of what is going on than if we had just chosen at random. This time around, we didn't serve up a notice to our landlord, instead we were held responsible for a list of repairs requested by the buyers. Now we were told we could flat refuse them, but that was amended with, if you do their loan could be refused, and you'll lose the sale. We negotiated for the less expensive items, but ultimately got saddled with the whole list, which carried a $3500 price tag.
We were told at the very beginning stages of this process that it is much like a circus and the real estate agent was directing all the acts at once to make sure his buyers got they paid for. That was never more apparent than this afternoon. Our contractor was in the midst of repairing our chimney; a job he has assured us was going to take until next week to complete, due to the materials delivery schedule he had to adhere to. The type of siding he was using is only delivered on Wednesday, so there was no way he could be back before Thursday of next week to complete the repair. The idea was to close on that day, and he was aware of our completion deadline before he ever accepted the job. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to have known the extent of the work that was needed until he was elbow deep in the mix.
I relayed this bad news to my agent who contacted all interested parties and had our closing shifted to next Friday so all the work could be complete and necessary supporting documentation prepared. My wife took on the task of contacting our utility companies and the movers. The 1st snag came in the way of the movers being booked solid next Friday, followed by the utility company advising us they do not do shut offs on Friday, it would have to be the following Monday. Bottom line was we would have to pay an overnight holding fee to keep our movers (or change movers altogether) and do without utilities for 3 days while paying to keep them running in the house we had just vacated. No thank you! As the day wore on, emotions and stress levels were redlining.
I took a walk outside at 4:30p and found almost all the siding hung, and 2 full slats sitting on the driveway. I looked to the GC's 2nd in command and said, "I'm thinking we're going to have enough siding to finish this thing today" He answered, "We have exactly enough!" These were just the words I needed to hear. With exception of a coat of paint, the repairs are complete. I called my agent back with some good news for a change, and by the grace of God all interested parties agreed to set closing back to next Thursday. It seems this is just meant to be the day, everything fits into place on Thursday.
The countdown is back on track, and 7 days from now we'll be sitting in our new, albeit hellishly disorganized, house. The stress from the last 7 weeks will be a memory and I can finally focus my energy on the next chapter of our lives. There are new rooms to arrange and a whole new yard and garden to tame. The age of New Guedryfell is fast approaching, and I am finally excited about it.
Easter week blog off - Part 4
Today's topic, what burden did you turn over to God? What cross did you shoulder that God relieved you of? As human beings we are wired to give in to temptations, that's why they're called temptations. Everyone has their guilty pleasure, their vice, and in some cases their full blown sin.
Love of money = Greed
Love of food = Gluttony
Love of the flesh = Lust
Now when I use the word "love" I mean to the level of an idol. Putting money, food, or flesh before God is a sin. I wrestle with all 3 of these in some capacity and pray over at least 2 of them nightly. I won't say that I put money before God, but it makes up the majority of my daily stress and worry. Where is it going? Do we have enough of it? Will we have enough next week? Are we spending wisely? Are we saving enough, or at all? At any random time of the day one of these questions is always on my mind. Why? On 3 separate occasions in the past month, I have been on the verge of panic over our finances and all 3 times we came out with exactly what we needed, no more and no less. Right on the money, if you'll pardon the pun. Now you might say I lucked out, and maybe I did, but luck and grace hang out real close to each other in my experience.
I love food, as anyone who knows me will attest. I revel in the challenge of cooking every single day. You don't tip the scales at 220 lbs by relying on peanut butter sandwiches and Jello, let me tell you. I wouldn't say that I regard food more than God, though I know I eat too much. I recognize that what I have, "my daily bread" even, is from Him who loves me. I also know my skill and passion for cooking is from Him as well. I am thankful for both of these things daily, and have never viewed food as an idol.
Now for that 3rd one, lust of the eyes, and lust of the flesh. I have tripped into this bear trap countless times. This October I will be married to my wife for 7 years. I love her and would do anything and everything to make her happy until my last sunset. Society and media on the other hand, use scantily clad women to try to sell me everything from cars to double bacon cheeseburgers. Since middle school I have been hooked on porn. It was free, easily accessible, and doesn't hurt anyone. How is this a bad thing? It skewed my impression of what a woman is supposed to be, that's how! Real world women and porn star women are two roads that will never cross. I allowed myself to be brainwashed into thinking real women are willing and able to reenact "Debbie Does Dallas: 500" at a moments notice. This is wrong.
The longer I was married, the more the truth of the matter became apparent. Page 218 of the Kamasutra (you know, the position that calls for a rope swing and peach preserves) was not in my future. But why not? I had a wife now, that's the best part of being married, isn't it? This confused my brainwashed self, and led me back to porn. I rationalized that if marriage didn't equal my getting what I had seen in pictures for the past 10 years, the pictures were still there, they were still free, and my imagination could fill in the blanks. At the end of the day, I didn't love my wife any less, and I would still do anything to make her happy. As far as I was concerned everybody came out on top.
Remember that selfless gift that lives in my dresser drawer? There are dozens of references to the "reward" awaiting those with any hint of sexual immorality in their lives. I seem to recall something about being grouped with the murders, rapist and liars for judgement, followed by a leisurely dip in a lake of fire and endless torment. GET ME OFF THAT LIST! I came before God in evening prayer, and admitted in a loud proud voice (inside my head at least) I love boobs! You made billions of them and they are great, but you only made 2 of them for me. They belong to my wife, and I love her the most. WHAM! My cross dropped. I owned up to the most powerful and controlling, burden of my life and turned it over to God. He loves me, I trust Him, and nothing can control me if He doesn't give it permission. I'll bet a whole pile of money that porn doesn't ask permission.
Since then it has been a conscious effort to not allow myself into situations where temptation will be found. That is to say I stopped looking for it, but it still looks for me. What is different now, you wonder? How do I avoid my former favorite bear trap? I wake up every morning with the same two thoughts: 1) I will be tempted today 2) My armor is shining and I will keep it that way.
Love of money = Greed
Love of food = Gluttony
Love of the flesh = Lust
Now when I use the word "love" I mean to the level of an idol. Putting money, food, or flesh before God is a sin. I wrestle with all 3 of these in some capacity and pray over at least 2 of them nightly. I won't say that I put money before God, but it makes up the majority of my daily stress and worry. Where is it going? Do we have enough of it? Will we have enough next week? Are we spending wisely? Are we saving enough, or at all? At any random time of the day one of these questions is always on my mind. Why? On 3 separate occasions in the past month, I have been on the verge of panic over our finances and all 3 times we came out with exactly what we needed, no more and no less. Right on the money, if you'll pardon the pun. Now you might say I lucked out, and maybe I did, but luck and grace hang out real close to each other in my experience.
I love food, as anyone who knows me will attest. I revel in the challenge of cooking every single day. You don't tip the scales at 220 lbs by relying on peanut butter sandwiches and Jello, let me tell you. I wouldn't say that I regard food more than God, though I know I eat too much. I recognize that what I have, "my daily bread" even, is from Him who loves me. I also know my skill and passion for cooking is from Him as well. I am thankful for both of these things daily, and have never viewed food as an idol.
Now for that 3rd one, lust of the eyes, and lust of the flesh. I have tripped into this bear trap countless times. This October I will be married to my wife for 7 years. I love her and would do anything and everything to make her happy until my last sunset. Society and media on the other hand, use scantily clad women to try to sell me everything from cars to double bacon cheeseburgers. Since middle school I have been hooked on porn. It was free, easily accessible, and doesn't hurt anyone. How is this a bad thing? It skewed my impression of what a woman is supposed to be, that's how! Real world women and porn star women are two roads that will never cross. I allowed myself to be brainwashed into thinking real women are willing and able to reenact "Debbie Does Dallas: 500" at a moments notice. This is wrong.
The longer I was married, the more the truth of the matter became apparent. Page 218 of the Kamasutra (you know, the position that calls for a rope swing and peach preserves) was not in my future. But why not? I had a wife now, that's the best part of being married, isn't it? This confused my brainwashed self, and led me back to porn. I rationalized that if marriage didn't equal my getting what I had seen in pictures for the past 10 years, the pictures were still there, they were still free, and my imagination could fill in the blanks. At the end of the day, I didn't love my wife any less, and I would still do anything to make her happy. As far as I was concerned everybody came out on top.
Remember that selfless gift that lives in my dresser drawer? There are dozens of references to the "reward" awaiting those with any hint of sexual immorality in their lives. I seem to recall something about being grouped with the murders, rapist and liars for judgement, followed by a leisurely dip in a lake of fire and endless torment. GET ME OFF THAT LIST! I came before God in evening prayer, and admitted in a loud proud voice (inside my head at least) I love boobs! You made billions of them and they are great, but you only made 2 of them for me. They belong to my wife, and I love her the most. WHAM! My cross dropped. I owned up to the most powerful and controlling, burden of my life and turned it over to God. He loves me, I trust Him, and nothing can control me if He doesn't give it permission. I'll bet a whole pile of money that porn doesn't ask permission.
Since then it has been a conscious effort to not allow myself into situations where temptation will be found. That is to say I stopped looking for it, but it still looks for me. What is different now, you wonder? How do I avoid my former favorite bear trap? I wake up every morning with the same two thoughts: 1) I will be tempted today 2) My armor is shining and I will keep it that way.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Easter week blog off - Part 3
Today's topic, recall a time when a friend betrayed or denied you, as in Judas or Peter's case. I have been wracking my brain since Monday over this one. I cannot think of ever being denied by any of my friends. If I use Peter's example, there was never a point when I learned that someone I trusted renounced our friendship, or said they didn't know me when asked. As for betrayal, I have a few to choose from.
Lets go back to October 2012. Every October I take part in a month long haunted farm attraction with friends and family. It runs 3 to 4 nights a week, 4 to 6 hours a night. In that time, I immersed in a realm of drama fit for daytime television. Now this story happened after a night chocked full of haunting goodness. We always gather around what's left of our bonfires and swap stories of this group or that group that we scared superbly. Its a good way to unwind, because believe it or not, being scary can be stressful.
So there I was, sitting on my piece of log, when I heard what sounded like a joke from one of my best friends directed at my sister in law. Now to be clear, my sister in law is the target of a great many jokes. Is it right? No. Does she make it too darn easy? Yes. That said, I did a double take, because my brain didn't want to believe what my ears had just heard. The "joke" was more of a verbal cheap shot at my sister in law's disability. She has trouble with her hand due to a stroke she had as a baby, and one of my best friends had just made light of it. Thinking back, I'd liken it to handing a slice of cake to someone on a diet, or telling a blind person, "Oh, if you could have seen what I just did" To the speaker it might have been in jest, but anyone in earshot would disagree. I remember thinking "I did not just hear...He didn't say that. Yes, he did. Damn it" The wise man knows, there are some things you do not joke about and what I had just heard is on the list.
Its an unusual sensation, being betrayed by someone you would stop a bullet for. At the time all I could utter was "Dude, really?" I think I was in a state of shock that someone I consider family would verbally attack someone else I consider family. Jokingly or not this was bad form all the way around. I think I heard my sister in law's feeling of self worth break a little bit. How to respond to this? I'm still trying to disbelieve what has just transpired. I can't deck my best friend across the jaw, but how can I let my sister in law go undefended? A short while later, she, my wife and I were loaded up and heading home. We sat in silence, our feelings already aired before we even left the gravel lot. I had experienced betrayal and I had no idea what to do about it.
Lets go back to October 2012. Every October I take part in a month long haunted farm attraction with friends and family. It runs 3 to 4 nights a week, 4 to 6 hours a night. In that time, I immersed in a realm of drama fit for daytime television. Now this story happened after a night chocked full of haunting goodness. We always gather around what's left of our bonfires and swap stories of this group or that group that we scared superbly. Its a good way to unwind, because believe it or not, being scary can be stressful.
So there I was, sitting on my piece of log, when I heard what sounded like a joke from one of my best friends directed at my sister in law. Now to be clear, my sister in law is the target of a great many jokes. Is it right? No. Does she make it too darn easy? Yes. That said, I did a double take, because my brain didn't want to believe what my ears had just heard. The "joke" was more of a verbal cheap shot at my sister in law's disability. She has trouble with her hand due to a stroke she had as a baby, and one of my best friends had just made light of it. Thinking back, I'd liken it to handing a slice of cake to someone on a diet, or telling a blind person, "Oh, if you could have seen what I just did" To the speaker it might have been in jest, but anyone in earshot would disagree. I remember thinking "I did not just hear...He didn't say that. Yes, he did. Damn it" The wise man knows, there are some things you do not joke about and what I had just heard is on the list.
Its an unusual sensation, being betrayed by someone you would stop a bullet for. At the time all I could utter was "Dude, really?" I think I was in a state of shock that someone I consider family would verbally attack someone else I consider family. Jokingly or not this was bad form all the way around. I think I heard my sister in law's feeling of self worth break a little bit. How to respond to this? I'm still trying to disbelieve what has just transpired. I can't deck my best friend across the jaw, but how can I let my sister in law go undefended? A short while later, she, my wife and I were loaded up and heading home. We sat in silence, our feelings already aired before we even left the gravel lot. I had experienced betrayal and I had no idea what to do about it.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Easter week blog off - Part 2
Today's topic, a time where you were so lost that prayer was all you could manage, as when Jesus prayed in the garden before being betrayed by his disciples.
I suspect the stock answer to this question should involve the death of a loved one or other comparable personal tragedy, but in my case, all the death I have experienced in my lifetime came before I considered prayer a viable option. While I was taught to pray for those I loved as a child, the older I got the less of a habit it became until finally prayer left my routine altogether. It just didn't feel necessary to me. What do my thoughts matter in the grand scope of the world. A grain of sand on an endless beach, perhaps? I'd wager even less than that.
Fast forward to Christmas 2011 and a promise I made to my wife to give church and religion an honest, open minded shot. Fast forward again, a year later when I stood before my congregation, new friends and family and proclaimed myself a believer. Now prayers mattered to me. God mattered to me, and that assured me he was listening. Fast forward to now. I feel I can hold a wide open conversation with my Lord about anything that's on my heart; good, bad, weird, or embarrassing doesn't matter. He loves me, and as long as I honor him he's listening.
Now, when was I so far off the reservation that all I could draw on was prayer? The 1st week of August 2013. Days earlier I had been in a T- bone car accident. My Jeep Cherokee had been the hammer, and a pale blue Dodge Neon, the anvil. My 7 month old daughter was riding in the back seat, and while we had walked away without a scratch, both vehicles were bound for the compactor. Big deal you might think, at least you were safe. You can always replace things, right? Sure you can, but when you lose things, a bit of you goes with them. I had bought my Jeep just prior to high school graduation in May 2003. Do the math, and my ride was a decade under my command. How long have you had yours? I had repaired it, changed its oil, tires, O2 sensor, and headlights, with my bare hands. It carried scrapes, scratches, and dings from all the adventures it had taken me on across 5 states. I felt more comfortable in the driver's seat than I do in my bed. The interior smelled of mulch, flowers, stone and sweat, and I loved it. That Jeep was my transportation, my armor, and an extension of my own personality. I called her Mags, and on the last Thursday of July 2013, I stood by and watched her die at the entrance to a retirement village after saving mine and my baby's life. With that image in your mind, tell me again how you can always replace things. Mags was not a thing, she was a friend.
A week later I was driving home from Sunday night dinner in a borrowed Toyota Camry. Nothing felt right, nothing smelled right. I was a pilot without his ship, and I felt lost. I began crying freely as the weight of the week's events crashed down on me. I called to God for an explanation, for comfort, and for mercy. I thanked him for my life and my daughter's. I understood this was all part of His plan that I never get to see, and couldn't possibly comprehend. I asked for direction and opportunity to go forward with my life however he saw fit. I was prepared to give all control over to him. Free will be damned! It took 22 minutes to get from my in laws' driveway to my own, and I rose out of the uncomfortable and unfamiliar Camry feeling somehow different. The cathartic, ranting had left me exhausted in all sense of the word, but the stress and apprehension I'd been carrying were almost non existent. God was listening and he took my fear from me that night. I gave my control and trust to Him, and He answered with comfort and mercy. I slept better on August 4th than I had in days.
I suspect the stock answer to this question should involve the death of a loved one or other comparable personal tragedy, but in my case, all the death I have experienced in my lifetime came before I considered prayer a viable option. While I was taught to pray for those I loved as a child, the older I got the less of a habit it became until finally prayer left my routine altogether. It just didn't feel necessary to me. What do my thoughts matter in the grand scope of the world. A grain of sand on an endless beach, perhaps? I'd wager even less than that.
Fast forward to Christmas 2011 and a promise I made to my wife to give church and religion an honest, open minded shot. Fast forward again, a year later when I stood before my congregation, new friends and family and proclaimed myself a believer. Now prayers mattered to me. God mattered to me, and that assured me he was listening. Fast forward to now. I feel I can hold a wide open conversation with my Lord about anything that's on my heart; good, bad, weird, or embarrassing doesn't matter. He loves me, and as long as I honor him he's listening.
Now, when was I so far off the reservation that all I could draw on was prayer? The 1st week of August 2013. Days earlier I had been in a T- bone car accident. My Jeep Cherokee had been the hammer, and a pale blue Dodge Neon, the anvil. My 7 month old daughter was riding in the back seat, and while we had walked away without a scratch, both vehicles were bound for the compactor. Big deal you might think, at least you were safe. You can always replace things, right? Sure you can, but when you lose things, a bit of you goes with them. I had bought my Jeep just prior to high school graduation in May 2003. Do the math, and my ride was a decade under my command. How long have you had yours? I had repaired it, changed its oil, tires, O2 sensor, and headlights, with my bare hands. It carried scrapes, scratches, and dings from all the adventures it had taken me on across 5 states. I felt more comfortable in the driver's seat than I do in my bed. The interior smelled of mulch, flowers, stone and sweat, and I loved it. That Jeep was my transportation, my armor, and an extension of my own personality. I called her Mags, and on the last Thursday of July 2013, I stood by and watched her die at the entrance to a retirement village after saving mine and my baby's life. With that image in your mind, tell me again how you can always replace things. Mags was not a thing, she was a friend.
A week later I was driving home from Sunday night dinner in a borrowed Toyota Camry. Nothing felt right, nothing smelled right. I was a pilot without his ship, and I felt lost. I began crying freely as the weight of the week's events crashed down on me. I called to God for an explanation, for comfort, and for mercy. I thanked him for my life and my daughter's. I understood this was all part of His plan that I never get to see, and couldn't possibly comprehend. I asked for direction and opportunity to go forward with my life however he saw fit. I was prepared to give all control over to him. Free will be damned! It took 22 minutes to get from my in laws' driveway to my own, and I rose out of the uncomfortable and unfamiliar Camry feeling somehow different. The cathartic, ranting had left me exhausted in all sense of the word, but the stress and apprehension I'd been carrying were almost non existent. God was listening and he took my fear from me that night. I gave my control and trust to Him, and He answered with comfort and mercy. I slept better on August 4th than I had in days.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Easter week blog off
In honor of Easter I have accepted a challenge to post daily bible inspired anecdotes related to aspects of Jesus' last week. Today's topic, the selfless gift, as in when Mary anointed Jesus with perfume.
I once attended a Baptist summer retreat in middle school that turned me from God. I wanted nothing to do with Him or anyone who believed in Him because some of the conversations I had while I was there, I flat refused to believe. They were wrong, period, end of story, and close the book. For a length of time, when questioned about my faith and beliefs, I would say I was agnostic. I believed in a higher power, but I didn't know what to call it. During high school I experimented with various religions to try and find one that was the best fit for me. I didn't like being agnostic. It felt like I was a college kid with an undetermined major. I read up on Taoism, Buddhism, and Wicca. I said prayers to Zeus, and Odin. I even prayed in the woods to the Green Man one time. Go ahead, laugh if you like, this is kind of funny to recall. For the remainder of high school I never pinned down what religion I belonged to. Nothing ever had the right fit, and when it comes to faith "close enough" isn't.
During my sophomore year of high school I met a guy named Brian. We started talking video games before business principles class one day, and that was that. We've been good friends for the past 9 years. One afternoon, well along in our friendship, we were preparing to go to the gym, and out of nowhere Brian presented me with a rectangular box. "Here, I got you something," he said. I pulled off the lid to reveal a plain tan/red cover with the words Holy Bible in script across the front. I regarded my friend for a minute. We had talked religion before, he knew my story about the long ago summer camp that ruined God for me. He smiled, clapped me on the shoulder and said "I know this isn't your thing Chase, but maybe one day." A simple gift of a bible, but no long winded speech or attempts to bring me to the light. We went to the gym, our relationship unchanged...or was it?
For years, that bible lived in my top dresser drawer. I saw it regularly, and could clearly recall. "I know this isn't your thing" every single time. Life happened, as it does, and I found myself with a wife, sitting in church. I met a man there named Don and as a result of our 1st conversation, I was handed a challenge to read the whole Bible over the course of a year. I went to my dresser drawer with a purpose. A year passed and I turned page after page, reading verse after verse. Then just before New Year's I ran out of pages and was looking at the back cover. I picked up my cell phone and called Brian. We exchanged our usual banter for a minute, then I stopped him and said, "Hey Brian, guess what's my thing now?"
I once attended a Baptist summer retreat in middle school that turned me from God. I wanted nothing to do with Him or anyone who believed in Him because some of the conversations I had while I was there, I flat refused to believe. They were wrong, period, end of story, and close the book. For a length of time, when questioned about my faith and beliefs, I would say I was agnostic. I believed in a higher power, but I didn't know what to call it. During high school I experimented with various religions to try and find one that was the best fit for me. I didn't like being agnostic. It felt like I was a college kid with an undetermined major. I read up on Taoism, Buddhism, and Wicca. I said prayers to Zeus, and Odin. I even prayed in the woods to the Green Man one time. Go ahead, laugh if you like, this is kind of funny to recall. For the remainder of high school I never pinned down what religion I belonged to. Nothing ever had the right fit, and when it comes to faith "close enough" isn't.
During my sophomore year of high school I met a guy named Brian. We started talking video games before business principles class one day, and that was that. We've been good friends for the past 9 years. One afternoon, well along in our friendship, we were preparing to go to the gym, and out of nowhere Brian presented me with a rectangular box. "Here, I got you something," he said. I pulled off the lid to reveal a plain tan/red cover with the words Holy Bible in script across the front. I regarded my friend for a minute. We had talked religion before, he knew my story about the long ago summer camp that ruined God for me. He smiled, clapped me on the shoulder and said "I know this isn't your thing Chase, but maybe one day." A simple gift of a bible, but no long winded speech or attempts to bring me to the light. We went to the gym, our relationship unchanged...or was it?
For years, that bible lived in my top dresser drawer. I saw it regularly, and could clearly recall. "I know this isn't your thing" every single time. Life happened, as it does, and I found myself with a wife, sitting in church. I met a man there named Don and as a result of our 1st conversation, I was handed a challenge to read the whole Bible over the course of a year. I went to my dresser drawer with a purpose. A year passed and I turned page after page, reading verse after verse. Then just before New Year's I ran out of pages and was looking at the back cover. I picked up my cell phone and called Brian. We exchanged our usual banter for a minute, then I stopped him and said, "Hey Brian, guess what's my thing now?"
Opera, who me?
My wife and I were invited by 2 of our friends to the opera this weekend. Now I'm not a regular patron of theater unless Regal or Carmike is on the sign. I know that the opera usually calls for a modicum of class, but I have always felt that a suit and tie make me look like an ape, so I avoid them. For this little outing we found a compromise, and I wore my church clothes. My wife's take on the matter bolstered my confidence in our decision: "If its good enough for my lord and savior, it's good enough for the opera. I agreed. After a rousing morning in our church's nursery, we grabbed some lunch, dropped my daughter off with my parents, and got down to the business of culturing ourselves.
We arrived at the Tennessee Theater with the sun shining and the breeze blowing. A beautiful day all around, so it was no trouble when our friends (who were also carrying our tickets) said they were on the interstate about 10 minutes out. As we stood there it became more apparent that this was not my scene as I beheld what can only be referred to as the geriatric adventure filing into the theater before me. Lots of little old people, and just as many tall old people. I waded through the scents of Oil of Olay, Bengay, Old Spice and Aqua Velva all in the course of 20 feet. The caliber of dress was higher than I expected too. I saw little black dresses, high heels, and sequins to my right. Top hats, canes, suit jackets, and (I shit you not) monocles to my left. Some of the ladies could have been movies stars on a red carpet premier. I saw a dead ringer for Jurassic Park's John Hammond. And that monocle's owner could have doubled for Mr Peanut all the way down to the shape of his face. Yeah, I was out of my depth here in a pale blue button down that was 1 1/2 sizes too big, Duluth firehose pants, and my Panama Jack hat. But my wife had told me to own it, so I did.
The opera itself, Norma, had a solid and intriguing plot. A Druid priestess, while being held as a political prisoner, gets busy with Roman commanding officer and has 2 sons. She is released with the understanding that she is to stifle any attempts from her people to rise up against Roman occupation and continuing invasion. Her love interest makes his way to her temple years later and becomes infatuated with a newer, sportier druid. What follows is a high class love triangle, peppered with italian yell-singing that's suitable for Jerry Springer. Costumes, sets, and the fella who played the Druid King were all pretty dynamite. The fact that the lights were low, the theater was cool, and italian yell-singing is strangely relaxing to me all contributed to my dozing through the 2nd half of the 1st act.
I can appreciate the arts, and while I may always feel out of place in "polite theater," getting to spend time with friends was well worth it. Who knows, my wife and I may go see Carmen later this summer. I just have to find a top hat and monocle by then, and we'll be all set.
Until we meet again
-Chase
We arrived at the Tennessee Theater with the sun shining and the breeze blowing. A beautiful day all around, so it was no trouble when our friends (who were also carrying our tickets) said they were on the interstate about 10 minutes out. As we stood there it became more apparent that this was not my scene as I beheld what can only be referred to as the geriatric adventure filing into the theater before me. Lots of little old people, and just as many tall old people. I waded through the scents of Oil of Olay, Bengay, Old Spice and Aqua Velva all in the course of 20 feet. The caliber of dress was higher than I expected too. I saw little black dresses, high heels, and sequins to my right. Top hats, canes, suit jackets, and (I shit you not) monocles to my left. Some of the ladies could have been movies stars on a red carpet premier. I saw a dead ringer for Jurassic Park's John Hammond. And that monocle's owner could have doubled for Mr Peanut all the way down to the shape of his face. Yeah, I was out of my depth here in a pale blue button down that was 1 1/2 sizes too big, Duluth firehose pants, and my Panama Jack hat. But my wife had told me to own it, so I did.
The opera itself, Norma, had a solid and intriguing plot. A Druid priestess, while being held as a political prisoner, gets busy with Roman commanding officer and has 2 sons. She is released with the understanding that she is to stifle any attempts from her people to rise up against Roman occupation and continuing invasion. Her love interest makes his way to her temple years later and becomes infatuated with a newer, sportier druid. What follows is a high class love triangle, peppered with italian yell-singing that's suitable for Jerry Springer. Costumes, sets, and the fella who played the Druid King were all pretty dynamite. The fact that the lights were low, the theater was cool, and italian yell-singing is strangely relaxing to me all contributed to my dozing through the 2nd half of the 1st act.
I can appreciate the arts, and while I may always feel out of place in "polite theater," getting to spend time with friends was well worth it. Who knows, my wife and I may go see Carmen later this summer. I just have to find a top hat and monocle by then, and we'll be all set.
Until we meet again
-Chase
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Start with pumpkin pancakes, end with bubbles
Breakfast has a way of setting the tone of your whole day. As I have recently taken to planning all our meals around emptying the pantry, I decided on pumpkin pancakes, and a side of bacon. After defrosting the bacon and heating my oven up to 450, we were ready to get cooking. I believe cast iron is the key to a perfect breakfast and so I have an assortment of pans to choose from. Today called for my pancake pan and grill pan, so I got them up to temperature while grinding some coffee. With the exception of a little overcooking on one of my pancakes, I think we came out pretty well. My wife was happy, my daughter was happy, we were all full and we had 2 less boxes to worry about packing before we move at the end of the month. George Clooney was jamming Man of Constant Sorrow on TV and all was well with the universe. And here's where my problem came in.
You know that squealing I mentioned, coming from my lawn mower the other day? Turns out its caused by a loose or slipping belt on the drive pulley. Now that I was full of breakfast calories, it was time to start earning lunch by way of projects and chores. My plan was to service the lawnmower and put in an hour worth of packing, then we'd run our weekly errands. Piece of cake, I thought. Armed as I was with the knowledge from 2 YouTube videos, an exploded 3D diagram, and the Craftsman instruction manual, no way was this going to take me more than an hour. Not to mention progress pictures for a solid start to the Man vs. House 2014 season.
That hour came and went, and what I walked away with was a pulled shoulder muscle, throbbing fingers, and a half a dozen ways how not to remove a rear wheel drive pulley belt cover. I was bested, defeated, and shamed by a 1/16" thick molded piece of plastic no bigger than a phone book. The instructions had been straightforward:
1) Remove securing bolts
2) Slide debris cover off
3) Adjust, tighten, or replace belt as needed
4) Put everything back the way you found it.
Remember how I said that one of the skills I am thankful for is being able to build/fix things? Well I never said I was any good at it. Now I know what you're going to say "Chase, have you ever done anything like this before? No need to be hard on yourself if you had no experience." That's what instructions are for. I don't know everything, and don't pretend to. I rely heavily on Google and booklets full of expert advice to get me through projects daily. Sure, I'll agree that experience makes the all the difference, but any slack jawed, simpering primate can follow 4 clear instructions.
Sadly for me, that did not hold true this day. I changed my stance, grip, and used several combinations of tools, but to no avail. It's not like I'm disarming a tactical warhead here. There is 1 bolt and 3 plastic clips that held my objective in place, and I had negotiated them all for 60 minutes solid. Anger started to take the wheel, my eyes flashed green and I started making up words to express being beaten by an inanimate object. Maybe if I just threw some Hulk rage at it, I would get it loose. Twist it, bend it, I didn't care at this point. Hardware is my domain regardless of its shape, and I am not about to lose. This is when I felt my shoulder falter and was sure I'd pulled something. The cover remained unchanged. Well done, imbecile, I thought. Now your shoulder smarts, your back is screaming, and you've accomplished nothing. You could have been packing this whole time. You've wasted time. You've failed, quit and go inside.
My wife called me out as soon as she noted the tone of my voice, and as I have been practicing, I told her what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. Defuse from your emotions, they are what you feel, not who you are. Can I get a show of hands of how many people lose a competition then spend their day smiling over how good it felt to compete? Bullshit, you play to win, or don't play. For the remainder of the day I felt distant, and withdrawn. Try to imagine fallout from an anger powered bomb. I went through the motions, but shame was my constant companion. One of the few things I fancy myself good at, I couldn't do. I had run out of time and accomplished nothing. That same hour could have been spent doing something with 100% chance of being productive, but that's not what I did.
After we returned from our few errands, my wife and daughter relaxed on the couch while I isolated myself upstairs and scrolled mindlessly through Facebook. Some time later I was called downstairs because my daughter wanted to go outside and play. Heh, I thought, something I can't fail at. I slipped my daughter's little shoes on and giant stepped her down the garage stairs to the concrete, then out onto the driveway dappled with late afternoon sun. While she busied herself collecting various front yard treasures, I pulled a bottle of bubble soap from my wife's trunk and set to removing the safety foil with my pocket knife. With the soapy little wand pinched between my fingers, I sat down beside my daughter, whose hands were full of various weeds and pieces of mulch. She was elated to show me what she had found in the past 90 seconds. I genuinely smiled for the first time since I had turned my lawn mower over 5 hours earlier. I blew a bunch of bubbles and my daughter squealed and swatted them. Then I slowed my breath and blew a bigger one. Why am I mad, I thought? The day is beautiful, I'm with my family, and all is well with the universe.
Stop...
Reboot...
Why are you mad? Because I have to admit there is something I can't do
Why? Because I lack the strength/knowledge/tools
Why? Because I have never had to replace a drive belt before
Why? Because I have never owned a self propelled mower before.
Why does admitting this make you angry? I need to be able to service my tools
Why? I consider it something I am proficient at. Whether it be true or not
Why? Pride
WOAH
Pride of life is a sin. Wrath is a sin, and I suffered them both today. I need help. I need my Dad. I need Dan. I need another set of eyes or another set of hands. I cannot complete this project alone.
Until we meet again
-Chase
You know that squealing I mentioned, coming from my lawn mower the other day? Turns out its caused by a loose or slipping belt on the drive pulley. Now that I was full of breakfast calories, it was time to start earning lunch by way of projects and chores. My plan was to service the lawnmower and put in an hour worth of packing, then we'd run our weekly errands. Piece of cake, I thought. Armed as I was with the knowledge from 2 YouTube videos, an exploded 3D diagram, and the Craftsman instruction manual, no way was this going to take me more than an hour. Not to mention progress pictures for a solid start to the Man vs. House 2014 season.
That hour came and went, and what I walked away with was a pulled shoulder muscle, throbbing fingers, and a half a dozen ways how not to remove a rear wheel drive pulley belt cover. I was bested, defeated, and shamed by a 1/16" thick molded piece of plastic no bigger than a phone book. The instructions had been straightforward:
1) Remove securing bolts
2) Slide debris cover off
3) Adjust, tighten, or replace belt as needed
4) Put everything back the way you found it.
Remember how I said that one of the skills I am thankful for is being able to build/fix things? Well I never said I was any good at it. Now I know what you're going to say "Chase, have you ever done anything like this before? No need to be hard on yourself if you had no experience." That's what instructions are for. I don't know everything, and don't pretend to. I rely heavily on Google and booklets full of expert advice to get me through projects daily. Sure, I'll agree that experience makes the all the difference, but any slack jawed, simpering primate can follow 4 clear instructions.
Sadly for me, that did not hold true this day. I changed my stance, grip, and used several combinations of tools, but to no avail. It's not like I'm disarming a tactical warhead here. There is 1 bolt and 3 plastic clips that held my objective in place, and I had negotiated them all for 60 minutes solid. Anger started to take the wheel, my eyes flashed green and I started making up words to express being beaten by an inanimate object. Maybe if I just threw some Hulk rage at it, I would get it loose. Twist it, bend it, I didn't care at this point. Hardware is my domain regardless of its shape, and I am not about to lose. This is when I felt my shoulder falter and was sure I'd pulled something. The cover remained unchanged. Well done, imbecile, I thought. Now your shoulder smarts, your back is screaming, and you've accomplished nothing. You could have been packing this whole time. You've wasted time. You've failed, quit and go inside.
My wife called me out as soon as she noted the tone of my voice, and as I have been practicing, I told her what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. Defuse from your emotions, they are what you feel, not who you are. Can I get a show of hands of how many people lose a competition then spend their day smiling over how good it felt to compete? Bullshit, you play to win, or don't play. For the remainder of the day I felt distant, and withdrawn. Try to imagine fallout from an anger powered bomb. I went through the motions, but shame was my constant companion. One of the few things I fancy myself good at, I couldn't do. I had run out of time and accomplished nothing. That same hour could have been spent doing something with 100% chance of being productive, but that's not what I did.
After we returned from our few errands, my wife and daughter relaxed on the couch while I isolated myself upstairs and scrolled mindlessly through Facebook. Some time later I was called downstairs because my daughter wanted to go outside and play. Heh, I thought, something I can't fail at. I slipped my daughter's little shoes on and giant stepped her down the garage stairs to the concrete, then out onto the driveway dappled with late afternoon sun. While she busied herself collecting various front yard treasures, I pulled a bottle of bubble soap from my wife's trunk and set to removing the safety foil with my pocket knife. With the soapy little wand pinched between my fingers, I sat down beside my daughter, whose hands were full of various weeds and pieces of mulch. She was elated to show me what she had found in the past 90 seconds. I genuinely smiled for the first time since I had turned my lawn mower over 5 hours earlier. I blew a bunch of bubbles and my daughter squealed and swatted them. Then I slowed my breath and blew a bigger one. Why am I mad, I thought? The day is beautiful, I'm with my family, and all is well with the universe.
Stop...
Reboot...
Why are you mad? Because I have to admit there is something I can't do
Why? Because I lack the strength/knowledge/tools
Why? Because I have never had to replace a drive belt before
Why? Because I have never owned a self propelled mower before.
Why does admitting this make you angry? I need to be able to service my tools
Why? I consider it something I am proficient at. Whether it be true or not
Why? Pride
WOAH
Pride of life is a sin. Wrath is a sin, and I suffered them both today. I need help. I need my Dad. I need Dan. I need another set of eyes or another set of hands. I cannot complete this project alone.
Until we meet again
-Chase
Friday, April 11, 2014
That time of year again
Look up at the top of your browser where you see the address you're looking at. "Guardian of Guedryfell" bet you're wondering about that, huh? Now to any Game of Thrones fan, it's clear I have shamelessly ripped off the name of home of the Starks and twisted it to my own devices. Why would I do that? Some time ago, a friend of mine jokingly referred to my house as Guedryfell and the name stuck. Since buying this house nearly 6 years ago, I have been in a constant pursuit to make it better. I am not one of those people who buys a home because it has everything I want. I buy a home because it has most of the things I want with room for improvement. Building, landscaping, and now this blog are my ways to relax and unwind from the other aspects of my life.
Everybody has a favorite time of year. For some its the holidays. or summer time, or mid fall when the apples are harvested. For me it's the 1st day of yard mowing season. It's just warm enough, there's a light breeze, and there's work to be done, but my kit's not ready yet. I have often times envisioned myself as a blacksmith reborn, because every time I have a tool in my hand, I want it to be clean, sharp and in perfect working order. My lawnmower blade is no exception, so I strapped gloves on and set to business. I popped the starter cord from the spark plug, unscrewed it and ran a steel brush over the threading to remove the carbon buildup. Next, I rolled the mower on its side and loosened the bolt holding the blade in place. Once in hand, I stuck a piece of red gaffer's tape on the bottom so there was no chance I would fix it back on upside down. If you've never made this mistake, trust me when I tell you that no work gets done.
I looked the length of metal over and saw that it had its fair share of nicks from previous seasons. I clicked the switch on my grinder and it whirred to life. 4 passes on either side was enough to even out the battle damage from 2 years of mowing, so I stopped the grinder and flipped the blade over into my vice. This is the part where I get to feeling like I belong in a forge. 5 strokes on either side with my bastard file and the blade is looking shiny, and sharp as a butter knife. You can laugh, but believe it or not, that's what you want. If you go for a razor edge, it can weaken the blade. Once all the hardware was back under the mower where it belonged, I gave the whole deck a shower of WD-40 and we were ready to rock and roll.
For the next hour and a half I plodded over the green that is my lawn and listened for any sounds I wasn't used to hearing out of my hardware. With the exception of a high pitched squealing each time I engaged the self drive handle, all was well. There was no impact to performance despite this, but I still need to research causes, because its unnerving even with earplugs. As I walked, I remembered why this is my favorite time of year, it's the smell. Not any one smell in particular, but the smell of nature as a whole. This smell changes with the seasons, but its ever present, and its the reason I would rather be out there, then shackled to this computer.
Go get you some nature
-Chase
Everybody has a favorite time of year. For some its the holidays. or summer time, or mid fall when the apples are harvested. For me it's the 1st day of yard mowing season. It's just warm enough, there's a light breeze, and there's work to be done, but my kit's not ready yet. I have often times envisioned myself as a blacksmith reborn, because every time I have a tool in my hand, I want it to be clean, sharp and in perfect working order. My lawnmower blade is no exception, so I strapped gloves on and set to business. I popped the starter cord from the spark plug, unscrewed it and ran a steel brush over the threading to remove the carbon buildup. Next, I rolled the mower on its side and loosened the bolt holding the blade in place. Once in hand, I stuck a piece of red gaffer's tape on the bottom so there was no chance I would fix it back on upside down. If you've never made this mistake, trust me when I tell you that no work gets done.
I looked the length of metal over and saw that it had its fair share of nicks from previous seasons. I clicked the switch on my grinder and it whirred to life. 4 passes on either side was enough to even out the battle damage from 2 years of mowing, so I stopped the grinder and flipped the blade over into my vice. This is the part where I get to feeling like I belong in a forge. 5 strokes on either side with my bastard file and the blade is looking shiny, and sharp as a butter knife. You can laugh, but believe it or not, that's what you want. If you go for a razor edge, it can weaken the blade. Once all the hardware was back under the mower where it belonged, I gave the whole deck a shower of WD-40 and we were ready to rock and roll.
For the next hour and a half I plodded over the green that is my lawn and listened for any sounds I wasn't used to hearing out of my hardware. With the exception of a high pitched squealing each time I engaged the self drive handle, all was well. There was no impact to performance despite this, but I still need to research causes, because its unnerving even with earplugs. As I walked, I remembered why this is my favorite time of year, it's the smell. Not any one smell in particular, but the smell of nature as a whole. This smell changes with the seasons, but its ever present, and its the reason I would rather be out there, then shackled to this computer.
Go get you some nature
-Chase
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Thankful April
Stop what you're doing and think of 5 talents or skills that you are thankful for:
1) I will attempt conversation with anyone once
2) My ability to build and fix things
3) Cooking
4) My ability to see the flow in organization
5) Storytelling
Until we meet again,
-Chase
1) I will attempt conversation with anyone once
2) My ability to build and fix things
3) Cooking
4) My ability to see the flow in organization
5) Storytelling
Until we meet again,
-Chase
That validation bit
The Offspring did a song called "She's got issues" one of the lyrics
states: "She talks about closure and that validation bit. I don't mean
to be insensitive, but I really hate that shit." I asked my wife one
time what that meant, because apart from enjoying the song and
Offspring's body of work in general, I never thought to look it up. She
explained that it was validating your existence through the acceptance
of someone else. In the song's case, girl has broken up with old
boyfriend and wants to be accepted by new boyfriend with frequency. I
thought, why would anyone need to do that? Without realizing it, I'd
been passively doing it most of my life.
As a baby you are validated by your parents with praise for rolling over, pointing at da-da and finding your head with both hands. In school your teachers validate you with praise for a solid book report, or figuring out what the hell "x" is on the 1st try. I never was any good at that, myself. Parents continue validating you into adolescences as you show interest in hobbies like sports, music, or underwater basket weaving. As you enter into the workforce teachers' praise is replaced by manager's praise for a job well done, or putting in that overtime on a Saturday. Then there's spousal praise, and while it cannot take the place of your parents, after you move out and don't see them every day, it's harder to come by. I interact with mine 2-3 times a month. Here is where my problem arose.
For 23 out of the 29 years I've been drawing breath, somebody, somewhere at some time has given me an atta-boy for good work, or cuffed me across the neck for bad work. I was raised and trained to expect it and so tailored my efforts to get it. My current manager called me "achievement driven." in my last meeting. I'll agree with that, but I responded "Who isn't?" Why would you pass up the satisfaction of a job well done, or the rush you get from realizing you took whatever project was in front of you and kicked its ass. More to the point, your friends, or co-workers know about it. YOU DID IT. I feel like a motivation poster all of a sudden. I cannot fathom why anyone wouldn't want that, but remember everything I know is wrong. There are people in this world who do not know that sensation because they were never taught it. Their best, even their 110% was never good enough, so instead of pushing harder, they gave up. Lets file this with the facts I know are true.
I have learned that the older I get, the less spectacular I become. The list of things I accomplish for the 1st time dwindles and the praise of those around me becomes more difficult to garner. But I am driven by it, my boss said so. I have been trained to thrive on it, haven't I? You do something good, and get a high five, pat on the back, etc, right? No, not right! As that list of 1st time successes gets smaller, the checked off items become part of you. They amount to your skills and abilities. The fact that you can wash a household worth of clothes, change out the sink hardware, and mow the yard all in 1 day isn't worthy of celebration, its just part of your routine. For quite a while I have sought my validation through my projects. Housework, landscaping and cooking comprised the sum of Chase. I would ask my wife, or friends what they thought at every opportunity. I have been labeled a "people pleaser" more than once for this habit. What's worse, when an anime style, sparkly backdrop didn't erupt behind my wife or the company I had cooked dinner for to herald my obvious awesomeness and success, I would retreat and assume my accomplishment wasn't good enough. The reserved response of "That's nice" or "Good chow" seemed lackluster to what my 23 year trained mind was expecting. Surely my wife and friends were holding something back to spare me. They won't tell me I am chocked full of suck to spare my feelings...because they're my friends after all. From this I concluded that if I asked enough times, eventually I would get the fireworks and fanfare I felt were warranted.
STOP...
REBOOT...
What are you afraid of? Letting the people I care about down
Why? Because I should never let that happen
Why? Because I choose to be better than that
Why? Because the people I love deserve no less
Why? Because they would do the same for me
Why? Because they love me
WOAH
If the the people I'm working hard for love me already, then the fear is unsubstantiated. I'm not going to let them down, regardless what I do. Trying to validate my existence through others is a waste of time and adds to a neurosis I don't want or need. Asking if my efforts are good enough is defeatist. I am assuming they're not and need someone to tell me otherwise. Hang that nonsense because I know better. My landscaping is damn near pro, my cooking is top shelf. and I can get grass/blood stains out of anything! If that's not good enough for someone, their loss, and I can focus more energy on me. Sound selfish? Sure it does, but since my best wasn't good enough for you, I'm no longer obligated to care what you think of me.
Until we me again,
-Chase
As a baby you are validated by your parents with praise for rolling over, pointing at da-da and finding your head with both hands. In school your teachers validate you with praise for a solid book report, or figuring out what the hell "x" is on the 1st try. I never was any good at that, myself. Parents continue validating you into adolescences as you show interest in hobbies like sports, music, or underwater basket weaving. As you enter into the workforce teachers' praise is replaced by manager's praise for a job well done, or putting in that overtime on a Saturday. Then there's spousal praise, and while it cannot take the place of your parents, after you move out and don't see them every day, it's harder to come by. I interact with mine 2-3 times a month. Here is where my problem arose.
For 23 out of the 29 years I've been drawing breath, somebody, somewhere at some time has given me an atta-boy for good work, or cuffed me across the neck for bad work. I was raised and trained to expect it and so tailored my efforts to get it. My current manager called me "achievement driven." in my last meeting. I'll agree with that, but I responded "Who isn't?" Why would you pass up the satisfaction of a job well done, or the rush you get from realizing you took whatever project was in front of you and kicked its ass. More to the point, your friends, or co-workers know about it. YOU DID IT. I feel like a motivation poster all of a sudden. I cannot fathom why anyone wouldn't want that, but remember everything I know is wrong. There are people in this world who do not know that sensation because they were never taught it. Their best, even their 110% was never good enough, so instead of pushing harder, they gave up. Lets file this with the facts I know are true.
I have learned that the older I get, the less spectacular I become. The list of things I accomplish for the 1st time dwindles and the praise of those around me becomes more difficult to garner. But I am driven by it, my boss said so. I have been trained to thrive on it, haven't I? You do something good, and get a high five, pat on the back, etc, right? No, not right! As that list of 1st time successes gets smaller, the checked off items become part of you. They amount to your skills and abilities. The fact that you can wash a household worth of clothes, change out the sink hardware, and mow the yard all in 1 day isn't worthy of celebration, its just part of your routine. For quite a while I have sought my validation through my projects. Housework, landscaping and cooking comprised the sum of Chase. I would ask my wife, or friends what they thought at every opportunity. I have been labeled a "people pleaser" more than once for this habit. What's worse, when an anime style, sparkly backdrop didn't erupt behind my wife or the company I had cooked dinner for to herald my obvious awesomeness and success, I would retreat and assume my accomplishment wasn't good enough. The reserved response of "That's nice" or "Good chow" seemed lackluster to what my 23 year trained mind was expecting. Surely my wife and friends were holding something back to spare me. They won't tell me I am chocked full of suck to spare my feelings...because they're my friends after all. From this I concluded that if I asked enough times, eventually I would get the fireworks and fanfare I felt were warranted.
STOP...
REBOOT...
What are you afraid of? Letting the people I care about down
Why? Because I should never let that happen
Why? Because I choose to be better than that
Why? Because the people I love deserve no less
Why? Because they would do the same for me
Why? Because they love me
WOAH
If the the people I'm working hard for love me already, then the fear is unsubstantiated. I'm not going to let them down, regardless what I do. Trying to validate my existence through others is a waste of time and adds to a neurosis I don't want or need. Asking if my efforts are good enough is defeatist. I am assuming they're not and need someone to tell me otherwise. Hang that nonsense because I know better. My landscaping is damn near pro, my cooking is top shelf. and I can get grass/blood stains out of anything! If that's not good enough for someone, their loss, and I can focus more energy on me. Sound selfish? Sure it does, but since my best wasn't good enough for you, I'm no longer obligated to care what you think of me.
Until we me again,
-Chase
Welcome home
My name is Chase, welcome to my new blog.
Thanks to the help of a friend and my wife, I got a bit of blogging practice as a contributor, now I am going to set an address of my own. I'm 29, and am still trying to figure out who this meat sack I inhabit everyday really is. I think I know, but as you will quickly learn, most of what I know is wrong. What will follow in the days to come is an ongoing self assessment.
I will talk about my friends, my daughter, my wife, my hobbies and my beliefs. I will post my failings and call them what they are. I will post my triumphs, usually with pictures. I will diagram my neuroses whenever they try to take the wheel. The more I write about them, less power they get to have over me. You have only 1 responsibility as a reader of "Stop...Reboot..." and I take it seriously; I expect anyone who calls themselves a follower of mine to be prepared to call me on my bullshit. It's quite a lot of fun once you get the chance to do it so don't hold back. If my train of thought is off the rails, I'm speaking gibberish, or a post just makes you think WTF?!? Then say so. I don't offend easy.
The next post is my most recent addition to FlyingDoghouse, where I got started. It's a good sample of what this blog is going to be all about
Here's hoping you stick around for the ride,
-Chase
Thanks to the help of a friend and my wife, I got a bit of blogging practice as a contributor, now I am going to set an address of my own. I'm 29, and am still trying to figure out who this meat sack I inhabit everyday really is. I think I know, but as you will quickly learn, most of what I know is wrong. What will follow in the days to come is an ongoing self assessment.
I will talk about my friends, my daughter, my wife, my hobbies and my beliefs. I will post my failings and call them what they are. I will post my triumphs, usually with pictures. I will diagram my neuroses whenever they try to take the wheel. The more I write about them, less power they get to have over me. You have only 1 responsibility as a reader of "Stop...Reboot..." and I take it seriously; I expect anyone who calls themselves a follower of mine to be prepared to call me on my bullshit. It's quite a lot of fun once you get the chance to do it so don't hold back. If my train of thought is off the rails, I'm speaking gibberish, or a post just makes you think WTF?!? Then say so. I don't offend easy.
The next post is my most recent addition to FlyingDoghouse, where I got started. It's a good sample of what this blog is going to be all about
Here's hoping you stick around for the ride,
-Chase
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