If only life were like TiVo...

A very wise man said that to me not all that long ago, "Life Only Goes Forward," (Thank You, Mr. Hesson). Something that seems so, slap-me-in-the-face obvious often escapes me in my day to day life. It is easy for me to overlook because A) it's a truth that is a real buzz killer and B) It requires me to be accountable in the present. Personal accountability not associated with receiving compliments and major awards (think: scandalous leg lamp from "A Christmas Story") is always a bummer.

I've spent so much time looking for the fast-forward, rewind, pause and reset button on this life of mine that I neglect the precious moments that I'm currently living in, life is not a TiVo... I just need to let that dream die (I let the dream of having a Crocodile Tail die a while back, Life TiVo is a more resilient dream). Whenever I'm in a jam (when I think about being in "a jam" I always picture myself, neck deep, in raspberry preserves... it's a sticky situation *groan*) I spend way more time trying to avoid consequences by flapping my silver tongue than I do standing up and taking full responsibility for my actions. There is no way I can go back and change some of the incredibly unfortunate (See: stupid) decisions I've made and I can't say with a clear conscience that I would be smart enough to change them even if I could travel through time. I'm not a stupid man... but I do have a stupid little kid that lives inside me who always wants to be a troublemaker and wreak all sorts of havoc. He has a louder, more persuasive voice than you might think... and he's a real asshole.

I will always spend some time pining for past experiences or yearning for future glory. It is my goal to be vigilant in trying to limit the amount of time I choose to do these things. I am someone who always needs to be reminded that I am what I do, no more and no less. It is easy for me to get caught in fantasies about who I should be and completely disrespect who I am. "Less thought and more action" is a thought I need to have close to my consciousness all the time. Despite what I often think there is no more important single moment in my life than the one I am experiencing right now. It is the only one that I am promised... the moments passed are gone forever and the moments to come, might not.

Days can be long, but life advances, sometimes relentlessly, sometimes mercifully. How ever it advances one thing is certain, this life is the only one we are certain to have, and it is depressingly short. Much too short and valuable to spend it worrying about the things I've done that cannot be changed. I need to stop attempting to mend bridges that are damaged and work hard to build new ones. I don't mean to suggest that I should abandon the islands to which the damaged bridges lead, but sometimes the old bridge is crippled beyond repair, requiring a completely fresh build.

I have a fresh opportunity every morning to put together a string of hours in which I do right. Hours that I respect myself, hours that I can choose to spend smiling. The fact is that if I do my best to do the right things, or at the very least, not do the wrong things, in each moment then I won't need a Life TiVo. No matter how deep I dig there is always an opportunity to put the shovel down and start climbing.

Ma always told me... "There's only one way to eat an elephant, Ty." To be honest, I am really effing sick of eating all these elephants... but I am still hungry.

Mine is a Cactus.

I'm somebody who is perpetually maladaptive. My alcoholism excluded, I've always felt like a bit of an oddball. An oddball of the likable variety, not the kind that stacks his french fried in a pyramid prior to consumption. I've always had friends, a handful of which I'm sure I'll have for the entirety of my life. The others flow in and out like tides, I've always felt like someone would float in when necessary and fill the void that they left and for the most part, that has been the case. I'm sure someone floats into their lives and fills the gap that I had previously filled as well. Even in my most emotionally intimate relationships I've never really felt understood, I've always felt connected to the people in my life, but in my assessment no person has the capacity to fully take the position of the other. So, in that, I feel a bit alone, I'm not suggesting that I'm unique in this, just flopping it out there.

I don't feel horribly misunderstood. I've never had anyone hear my stories and look upon me like I was growing a second head or say something like, "You're certifiable, go directly to the nuthouse." I do somehow, always manage to convince myself that I can't be fully related to by anyone. My old counselor would call me an egomaniac for saying such a thing, claim that I was, "terminally unique" and subsequently laugh at me and shake her head a bit. She would be right, it is a bit egocentric to think that no one can relate to you. If they awarded badges in treatment like they do in the boy scouts the "Egocentric" badge (picture the silhouette of a guy wearing sunglasses with his fists up by his head, pointing his thumbs at himself, "this guy") would have been the first one I was awarded, the second would be, "Grandiosity," and the third, "Junior Counselor" (the staff sometimes called me "JC" just to piss me off and shut me up during group therapy... it worked like a charm). I'm not afraid to wear the egocentric badge on my lapel, (I do have a suit) I'm admittedly someone who thinks he's the star of the show. It's not so much that I really, cognitively, think that no one can relate to me... it's just a sense, it's just how I feel, and that, my friends, is an entirely different barrel of ducks.

When what I think and what I feel don't plug in it forces me to evaluate my beliefs... which is something I avoid like filing papers, putting the clean silverware away and changing the toilet paper. My beliefs serve as an extention cord with multiple adapters so that my thoughts and feeling can talk to each other... so they can exist in the same reality. When I can't build a proper circuit, my brain tries to divide by Zero and a fatal error occurs.

God helps here, I know it's a bit of a touchy subject, so I'll be brief. When I do a comprehensive inventory of my life, it is not hard to see that when my belief in God is thriving, my life is easier to live. When my faith is whithering, life is often satisfactory, but certainly less, predictable, for the lack of a better term.

Faith is like a long term emotional insurance policy, one that covers a multitude of things, desperation, fear, shame, rage and hoplessness just to name a few. When I haven't been paying my premiums God's Desperation Claim Service isn't able to cover the damages. Feel free to fill in the space I have filled with, "God," with whatever you choose. Based on my experiences, the little plant that lives inside me, that I choose to call a soul, needs to be maintained to remain healthy. If I don't regularly water and feed it, when I hit a low point in my life, whatever remains of the plant may not be strong enough to support me. I choose to pray, medidtate and write to incubate my plant. All of these things on their own during the course of one day don't seem like much of a big deal, but when they are added up over a long period of time they can keep a person like me alive and well, when the circumstances dictate that "alive and well" are things I should not be. They are all actions that feed my soul, the little piece of God that lives inside of me... My Plant.

A healthy plant can withstand ALL conditions. That is not to say that it can thrive, there can and will be some limbs down during the thunderstorms of life, but my plant never suffers more than it does from neglect.

With a solid plant I am emotionally and mentally self sufficient. When I have a green thumb for myself I have an internal sense of perpetual well being... I know that everything will always turn out OK. There is never a reason to panic when I have flourishing flora. I can stand alone, powerful and proud on the strength of my own spirit.

Cherry Poppin'

Life is not easy. It is not easy for anyone, it is a constant pursuit of things. I'll spare you a long essay on relativism and get to the meat, because everyone with a sense of real things, likes meat.

For me, I have been pursuing whole days without booze, with varied success. I have always had a hunch that alcoholism was going to be an issue for me, even prior my first drink. My mother used to talk about alcohol in a tone of real sincere caution... with a sprinkle of seething resentment. So from the time I was a boy I knew it was a bit of a forbidden fruit for me. (I recall some story or something about an apple and a garden and some whore that couldn't keep her hands off of it. There may have been a talking snake involved, but whether that was literally a talking snake or not isn't the most interesting part of that story... it's the nudity.) Anyway... my first drink came when I was 12 or 13, it was vodka that a buddy and I took out of my parents liquor cabinet, Popov was the brand, if I remember correctly. It was quite an exhilarating caper, we were like spies in some kind of after school special that was produced and directed by delinquent pre-teens. I remember setting up the TV downstairs so that there was just enough background noise so that it would drown out the socked feet on the floor but quiet enough so that I could hear someone coming. I had the buddy stationed to sound an alarm, it was a complicated plan and this is a portion I was sure he couldn't pull off, so thankfully (or perhaps, regrettably) it wasn't needed. I snuck into the kitchen, opened the cabinet door and locked my vision on the artifact. I had to reach over some bottles to get to it, I snaked my hand in and it found its grip on the neck of the tall glass bottle. As I delicately maneuvered the bottle out, with the intensity and concentration of a bomb diffuser, suddenly *clank*... I froze, the bottle had struck another. Panic is something I had felt in my life... but not here, steely I remained. I cleared the edge of the cabinet with the bottle and carefully handled my prize like a Faberge egg. I closed the door to the cabinet behind its escapee and we scurried off downstairs.

When we cracked it open and smelled it there was a justifiably objectionable recoil. Having been on a steady beverage diet of Mountain Dew and Surge (look it up), retrospectively, it makes sense that it would make us both shudder. We were not adults and for a litany of reasons, were not prepared for an adult beverage, let alone straight up at room temperature. Like most other kids determined to raise a ruckus of some sort we forged ahead. He took a swig and immediately spit it out... the flavor and bouquet did not meet our expectations of what we had assumed was the world's most coveted beverage. I drank from the bottle and felt its burn down my throat and in to my stomach. My lips were pleasantly numbed and my head started to whir in a way I had never experienced in my life. My face flushed slightly and there was a roar building in my ears, a lot like the one that is felt right before an orgasm. My whole awareness was dilated and somehow I just had a sense of well-being, like no matter what happens, I was going to be OK.

It was strange at the time that our reactions were so wildly different, but as I look back across my history of "drinking buddies" it has always been a different experience for me. I always felt at home when I put that bottle to my lips, to others it seemed to be a way to loosen up or get wild, for me it was a way to feel like I fit. I don't mean like, "fit in," in a social sense, more like fit, in this life. The world and all of its scary shit wasn't such a scary place, it was mine. I didn't feel helplessly outcast or strange, I felt like myself and that "myself" wasn't a bad thing anymore.

There was nothing negative about it... an overwhelming contrary was true. I had found something that nothing else could ever give me. I had found booze. I had found, My Home. Even knowing what I know now, I can't say with any measure of sincerity, that I wouldn't do the exact same thing again... except this time, those bottles wouldn't clank.