First Rule of River Club

An attractive, dare I say: beautiful, young woman crossed my path as I returned to my apartment this morning. I was smiling. She my way, our eyes met and then she smiled. Did I hold some sort of gravity as I strode home? Perhaps my positive demeanor caught her attention and she mused: Perhaps this is a man that I could chat to?

Reality: I was, and still am, wearing sweats that are all the same color. Top and bottom and beanie. Reality: I carried and have now consumed the contents of a Starbucks take-away bag. I was also drinking a double-shot in a to-go cup.  Reality: I was wearing sunglasses and Nike trainers while walking with a goofy swagger. Reality: I looked like a big douche-bag. Reality: She wasn't smiling with you, honey, she was giggling at you.

Still, I brought some people joy this morning. 

The following story has nothing to do with any of that.

Full Disclosure: I spent 15 minutes trying to find the perfect picture for the above photo. My favorite search was "wearing all grey sweatpants Starbucks douche." Kanye and Chris Brown showed up. I am satisfied. 

I had 4 great friends when I was a kid. I feel like everyone does. They were my band of brothers, the go anywhere/do anything crew. There was Andy, Joey, Dane and Ryan. I've known these boys since before kindergarten (Ryan) and at the latest fourth grade (Dane). This story is about Dane.

Every year my family and I would go on a fishing trip to the Metolius river, specifically to Lake Billy Chinook near Madras, Oregon. Usually it was just me and the folks and maybe a friend would tag along. One memorable year it was damn near the whole crew, me and my family and Ryan and Dane.

As young boys are genetically predisposed to being idiots: we did just that, and we did it well, by God. We were loud, we were insulting to every ear that would shelter our inane 16 year old banter, we were visually offensive by very accurately translating our dick and shit jokes into pantomime. As far as traditional adolescent dickery is concerned: We were tops. 

Now, I say that to say this: By the end of this trip, we were going to, actually going to murder Dane for crimes against his own. In a team of irritating testosterone and misguided energy, he simply came out as king. 

I'll skip to the good parts. Imagine that you've spent the past two days in the close quarters of a standard sedan and a one room hotel accommodation while in a record high for a desert town. Imagine you're clinically dehydrated, prone to heart attack and on your period. We'll go from there.

We typically rented one of two boats: a small silver fishing boat that cooked you not unlike the fish you were desperately trying to procure, or a platform pontoon boat (my personal choice). The pontoon boat not only allowed an awning for escape from the 105 degree sun sans cloud-cover, but provided a convenient escape from said heat and rays through a good ol' jump into the river. Provided you were able to get yourself back in the boat, of course...

Let me back up. 

My mother has a penchant for higher-ish end cosmetics. She is a woman of fine taste, even when it

comes to sun-screen. At some point we possessed, separately, a squirt-gun in the shape of a 44 magnum and a bottle of higher-ish end sun-screen. At some point, Dane had made combination of both of these items, creating something that Ryan and I found funny, though my parents were not as amused. At the time, a super-soaker that would quickly be recalled due to it's obvious sexual implications had been on the market. It was called the Ooze Blastin' Oozinator. Google it. The boys and I had talked about it a few times and thought it was high-comedy. We were right. So Dane took it upon himself to makeshift a version of it for our pleasure. I think the phrase: "I'm going to kill you," came out of my mother at some point. I'm 99% positive she would have, shuffling loose Dane from this our mortal coil, had the following retribution not been served via the universe and simple anatomy, physics and good old fashioned boyish insanity.

The boat threatened a great likeness to amateur porn thanks to Dane's liberal use of the squirt-gun. After a sound yelling, my father'd had enough and retired under the awning with my mother, the gun in hand. Most of the yelling came my way, as it should, as I was the one who was responsible as I was his son (fucking parental logic). Ryan and Dane had gotten more, but it was mostly my way. I was done with the whole trip at that point, eager to never suffer the likes of any form of irritation again. Dane continued to find things to press on to irk Ryan and me, as was our custom. And he did so brilliantly. He'd made songs we'd made up together become caustic. He was able to remove the joy, should he choose too, from any thing we shared and replace it with human shit. Years later he told me he did it on purpose to, and I quote: "Fuck with us." End quote. My temper was a bit more flared when I was young (I was an asshole), Ryan was the calmer one, but we were both done with Dane's shenanigans. It was at this time that Dane jumped into the river, and low we were presented with the afore-mentioned gift of petty retribution.

Dane now is a calm, beautiful man who takes his time to maintain his physical being through routine both cosmetic and functional. He is strong, hardworking and level-headed. Dane then was flabby, weak and loved to "act the fool." To play fair: we gave him far too much shit on the average, but times like this made it well deserved. 

With a low splash, Dane took to the river. He then attempted and failed to return to the flat of the boat via a rope that served as the only means of re-entrance. Which is a lie. There was also a removable step ladder and our basic assistance that could have served as means to return. They were unavailable. We laughed and taunted our friend about his lack of upper-body strength and inability to return to the dry side of things. He would attempt to hoist himself up, fail, and return to floating position. We would comment on carnivorous fish that in no way could live in our domestic environment. Dane feared such things and as such his irrational fear took over. Another attempt, another failure and another belt of ridicule, repeating this cycle for around fifteen minutes of PG Buffalo Bill-ing. My father was not pleased with our cruelty (or he was just sick of hearing us cackle and Dane bitch), so he forced us to help. We lowered the ladder and assisted our compatriot.

Splash.

No sooner had his feet touched the oddly comforting bristles of the deck did he dive back into the water. I look back fondly on this as his giving of the middle finger or restating intent to dominate the landscape of our friendship using his brand of ass-tactics. Then it repeated. We didn't want to hear my dad get irritated, so we helped him back in, saying: "If you go back in, we're not helping you," setting the new official rule: If you jump in, you have to get out under your own power. Ryan demonstrated this. I did not. I was a weak swimmer in my younger years and was irrationally afraid of drowning. I remained on the boat and acted as that guy does in a posse. You know the one. He stands beside and behind his more intimidating homies, ranting and raving about how the one who just offended his crew was about to get werked. That guy is a pussy. I was that guy. Back to Dane, who we had just finished lecturing about what I would come to think of as The First Rule of River Club. Ryan and I looked at one another, sharing a knowing glance and an unspoken: "It's gonna be okay from here on."

Splash. 

He was in again. A solid thirty minutes went by with Dane as another buoy banging against the hull. In no way did he learn anything, because lest we forget: teenage boys are actually insane. In that age, we do the same exact actions and expect alternate results. It's as if the rock will become sweet marzipan if we continue to bang our head against it. 

Eventually he did get in the boat, which impressed us. I'd like to think that it was that moment that lead to his clarified self in later years, that our darker intents had assisted in the tormenting and subsequent growth and change of an artist. It's not true and is, in fact, just boys being ripe anus's to one another, but it's a nice thought to have. It did, however, reinforce a simple rule that I hold true today: you are responsible for your own actions and consequences. The First Rule of River Club: If you're going to jump in, you damn sure need to be ready to accept the consequences. 

Fall in Love with Your Legend

I haven't written in a week beyond ideas and notation and the like. My head's been scrambled. It was then unscrambled when I hit the McIntosh family cabin up near Zigzag/Rhododendron. Open space, little to no pollution, the woods, a campfire and a little booze; I was right as rain in under three seconds.

*DISCLAIMER: I've had a beer or two. The opinions are still mine, though the writing might be shit.

Moving on.

I've been wondering, just wondering, how personal these blogs should be. Mostly it's rando-what-not that comes to mind and usually it's advice or my musings on life and so forth. I realized the other day that I don't get too personal when I put my philosophy. What I mean by this is the following: I heard about the newest shootings in Charleston and I tried to write something. I really tried. Each time I "penned" something I would hate it. I wouldn't see the value in it. I would think, "How is what I have to say any more interesting or valuable than anything anyone else has already said?" This isn't about the Charleston shooting, my train of thought, it's about my valuation of my opinion. I thought about my lack of enthusiasm for my words/work and I came to the conclusion that I have been as far away as someone could be to being a professional artist.

If you're going to do anything, especially the arts, you have to own yourself and opinions, and fall in love with your own legend. You have to be at one with the myriad of musings that pop into your dome. You have to be proud and truly believe the snake-oil that you're peddling. People are like any other animal: They smell fear. Folks know when you're not buying what you're hocking. Own who you are.

The easiest way to start Falling in Love With Your Own Legend is to know who you are in simple fact. So I'll sacrifice myself on the alter of privacy and dignity for the purpose of point.

My name is Andrew Christopher Slac. My middle name comes from my late unlce, Chris. I was told that I was named after him so he wouldn't pick on me. It didn't work. He was, to this day, the best live singer I have ever seen. I loved him. He died from a heroine overdose and I suspect it was suicide. I miss him. Sometimes I miss my uncle Craig too, though that's very rare. He wasn't a nice man.

My last name was changed by my grandfather from Slactovski (Slactalski?). I like both.

I am 29 years old and I've done more things that ten people do by the time they're dead. I'm a professional dancer specializing in hip hop, jazz, lyrical, lindy hop and west coast swing. I am good at what I do and I worked hard to be so.

I am 195 pounds, mostly muscle and I'm handsome. I'm not being an asshole or arrogant, I'm just stating a fact that I am attractive. I usually think that I'm strange looking or awkward, though. I have a negative self image but I'm working on it.

My trainer, Aaron Bronstein, is like family. I've known him my entire life. He was my late cousin's, Will's, best friend. Training at his gym (Black Rose Crossfit http://www.blackrosecrossfit.com/) makes me connect not only to him, but to Will as well. I feel at home there. Also: I'm lookin' good these days. Thanks, Aaron!

My eyes are blue. I love my eyes.

My greatest fear is death. I grew up learning and practicing many religions, showing many different possibilities of the afterlife. I fear that there is nothingness. Rephrase: I fear that there is no way yet to know exactly what happens. Sometimes I wake up very afraid thinking about that. I fear losing my parents and my friends but mostly my parents.

I am proud of my beliefs in all facets. I choose not to share them because I figure people will ask me about myself if they're curious. I've been told this is bad business for an artist. I agree.

My greatest love is people. I am fascinated by the human race but I am deeply in love with my friends and loved ones. I've been very lucky to know the people I do. They're all good at something that I suck at, and I'm proud that I can learn from them.

Freedom of speech should never protect those that hurt others because their beliefs are different. Freedom of speech is not freedom to harm. Fuck you if you don't like someone because of their religion, race and so on. You make our species weaker.

My favorite author is Patrick Rothfuss and his series The King-killer Chronicles are my three favorite (soon to be four) books. Read them. http://blog.patrickrothfuss.com/

I was told by two different doctors that if I didn't learn how to relax and destress that I would have a heart attack by 40. I listened. I quit a few jobs because of their advice. I'm already feeling better.

I am drawn to water first, earth second, find comfort in fire and occasionally fear the wind.

My craft, which I've only recently discovered, is blacksmithing. I'm pretty good at it and I look forward to training in it the rest of my life.

I think our penal system is a joke and we should be facilitating a domestic manufacturing market through our prisons while simultaneously training convicts in a skill useful to society.

I am a writer who has written 1 and a quarter books and I'm bitter as all hell that I haven't sold more copies of my first book. I think I can make it better and I know that it wasn't ready, but my impatience breeds self hatred and jealousy that I don't make money off my skills in this way yet.

Taxes are good for the country. Look at Denmark. DENMARK IS DOING IT RIGHT!!! Healthcare and college for everyone!!! You still have to contribute to society and you still can make as much money as you want AND you are taken care of by the government for your work. Win win win win wiNWINWINWINWINWINWINWINWINWINWINWINWIN!!!

This version of myself is the first that doesn't feel lonely. Granted, I do sometimes have those rough days where I think I'll never find that person. Then I get over myself. I have been a serial monogamist from the time I was 12. I'm now single and I'm finally confident in being single, which is to say: I am confident being who I am. It's the first time in my life that I've felt a sense of self worth and independence. My friends help with that, but mostly I'm just able to step back and look at myself with confidence. I have a ways to go to be the man I want to be, but I'm proud of who stares back at me from the mirror.

I'm an open book but I hate selling myself, as it were.

I think that's plenty for now.

You have to know yourself and be willing to talk about yourself. At the very least you need to be able to do so with yourself. You have to be able to take stock of who you are, the things you do for better or worse, the dreams you have and so on, if you ever hope to become greater than you are. You have to be vulnerable to critique so that you can improve who you are now into the person that you wish to become. You might get lucky. You might find everything you want without having to try. Chances are that's bullshit, but if you're so fortunate to have the perfect fate fall into your lap... fuck you and congratulations. Most of us will have to work to be greater.

What I am learning to appreciate is that work. The grind. I'm starting to love it. I'm starting to embrace the path instead of the end. Then again, I'm only now doing the things I truly want to do with my life. I'm moving forward according to what I want to gain. Granted, it took me some time to be at one with my good and bad, to take stock of the man that I was/am/wish to be, but I am on my way.

The key to starting the journey was easy. I got to know who I am, was and dreamed of who I will be. I made a list of who I am, was and wish to be and I picked what was important and what was nothing more than a simple interest. Do it. That's all. Do it. Make a list and learn about yourself. Look inward and then move forward. When you know who you are and the things you've done, the dreams you have, the good and the bad, you can know your story. You must fall in love with your legend if you are to create a tale as grand as you desire.

And now I will drink two more beers and go to Crossfit. Pray for Mojo.

Dancing Kryptonite

My head feels like it's going to explode. I have all this energy and for some reason it's decided to wad itself into what infinitesimal space might be between my skull and brain. (Insert frustrated, grunting yell here)

But I don't want to write about that for two reasons: It's whining and it's boring.

I don't really want to write about any one thing right now. I just like to write and it helps my brain calm down when I have an excess of anxiety going on. Again, don't want to write about that, so moving on.

Instead, I want to write about a shortcoming I have that actually makes me happy. I'm strangely self-conscious in front of a camera when I dance. Not anything else. When it's any other skill I'm comfortable. Dancing just so happens to be the most personal form of expression that I do. There's no hiding. Acting might be me, but it's another version (a whole thing on that some other time). Singing is probably the same as dancing, but I've never allowed anyone to tape me doing so via threat of castration and/or hysterectomy.

That being said, my brilliant friend, Kindell McIntosh, had a few of us get together on a beautiful day and dance for the camera. This was for a school project. We didn't once dance to the song that is behind our moves in the video. Kindell set everything to it thanks to some creative editing.

I love this video for two reasons: My friends are really talented and I'm rather embarrassed watching myself. Let me be clear: I don't hate what I am doing in this video. I just know that I am more talented than how I danced. The reason for my less than average performance is the camera.

Everyone has their kryptonite. The camera weakens me when I dance through no fault of the device. I grew up being told I wasn't good enough in the arts, but so did a lot of people. In every other facet I've placed my willpower, I've taken that ridicule and rendered it fuel. Call it creative alchemy bolstered by an inherent "Fuck You!" that every artists harbors for their negative piers/teachers/reviewers/public. I wonder why the camera makes me so self-conscious. There's no reason it should be any different than someone watching.

You could make the argument that it forces the forever effect, the concept that by recording something it becomes immortal, thus making any possibly humiliation unending. But I don't give a shit what people think about me beyond a passing annoyance. It's something I'm proud of. I get effected by barbs, good old chastising like anyone else, it just doesn't last long. Additionally, I'm lucky to have a support system that keeps me strong when I feel weak.

That's probably it, the forever of it, and the only person's opinion I'm concerned with is my own. So it doesn't make any sense for me to be swayed to the negative when a camera is present, does it?

Here's the easy of it: I don't care how I used to be beyond learning from what I did. Everything I've done has made me who I am. I happen to like who I am these days. Watching old clips of myself doing anything doesn't harm me, it informs me. It's a nice reference point and that's about it.

Writing this, I can see the flaw in my fear of being recorded. There's no need to fear a damn thing if mine is the only opinion I'm worried about. So I suppose I did have a point in writing this.

It's valuable to look at yourself, regardless of what you do. You need a reference point for when you surpass your previous skill level or state of being.

I don't really have anything else on the subject at the moment. I'll put some money in the meter, lay down and read Wise Man's Fear and drift off to much deserved sleep. I'm learning to relax (a whole thing on that later)

Sweet dreams.

Balance and the Understanding, Accepting Asshole

Sometimes I feel like an asshole. I wrote that line and made a face not unlike how you'd scrunch when an acrid scent invades your nose. This isn't meant to be negative, but sometimes I feel like an asshole. Sometimes people are assholes. I feel this is something we can all agree on.

Sometimes I get jealous when my friends would rather do things alone or simply without me. Usually I don't say anything but sometimes I choose a road most travelled by shit, ie. asshole. I act this way due to love and from the want to spend time with people who make my life better. My rational brain, whom I will be referring to as Carl, knows that their time is precious. Carl knows that their time and decisions are their own. Frank, my emotional/irrational side, only sees his friends being taken away from him, if only for a few hours or days. Frank sees rational decisions (the need for rest, spousal companionship, solitary activity) as bad decisions (I used the term "horse-shit" the first time I wrote that sentence).

On the other hand, when Carl sees someone choose the emotional route, he has a similar reaction. I often think that Carl is more judgmental than Frank, but it boils down to both being assholes.

The general state is that these reactions come from positive places, at least for me. I take a great deal of time and focus to study how I am whenever I have the wherewithal to do so. I typically find that I react the way I do out of concern.

Here's a thing I find interesting. Concern, in many cases and especially the one I'm referring to, equates to or leads to worry. Concern, while you could make the argument that it's positive because you're thinking of others or considering other scenarios, is usually not based in compassion. Concern vs compassion. They are different.

Concern contains judgment. Which is totally okay. Again, chances are that you're coming from a positive place. You give a damn about the person/thing/activity and so on that you're concerned about, but it's not compassion.

Compassion was once referred to by a friend of mine (Windom, you're so smart) as radical understanding and acceptance. Compassion, to me, is from the impartial. It doesn't have your interest in mind as the primary engine for decision. Your interests and those of someone else can always align, but it's not required to feel compassion for another person. My hippy side, Frank, likes to lump it in with love. Love is not a rational emotion. Love needs no reason. Love just exists and love accepts and understands, or at least wants to understand.

HOMEWORK: Watch the documentary Happy.

You can make the argument that both Frank and Carl are capable of compassion, but I find compassion to be an example of balance. As compassion is rooted in understanding and acceptance, there is no inherent emotional or rational judgment being made. You are accepting that something is the way that it is, and you are allowing yourself to understand that it is happening and it is most likely out of your control. And maybe that's why I think the way that I do. Anger, jealousy and so on, at least as much I experience them, are rooted in judgement based on a desire to control.

The universe strives for harmony, as far as I am concerned. I feel that things are quite balanced, though they may not seem like it all of the time. I also believe that the universe can be incredibly unbalanced for us as individuals at times (which still means it's balanced as a whole). It's not fair when a cavalcade of bad things happen to us. "When it rains it pours" and all that. It's also the same for when an abundance of good happens.

This bit talks about fairness in both the positive and negative sense. It's not fair to lose a loved one and your job in the same couple of months, but it's happened to many of us (me too). It's also not fair that you would find twenty bucks on the ground, overcome a great obstacle and get your dream job in the same week (not me, but several folks I know. Still haven't found a twenty in the dirt. It'll happen!).

I say these aren't fair because that twenty you just picked might have been some one's lunch cash. Your loved one who passed away might have contributed their organs to save another person's life, or maybe they dove in front of a kid about to be hit by a car and pushed them out of the way.
(disclaimer: I still say you take the money off the ground. There's a greater chance that someone else will pick it up who it didn't first belong to, or more likely that it will be whisked away and ripped up. Take the win)

Universal fairness would mean that everyone would experience the exact same level of good and bad at the exact same time. Balance is not fairness in the universal sense. Sometimes good things happen, sometimes bad. Sometimes you get everything good and another person gets all the bad. It's not fair, but it is balanced.

And there's the fickle nature of things. While something isn't fair for you, it might have lead to the best day ever for someone else. I'm not saying that you should make your life shit for someone else on the infinitesimal chance that it will better their existence. That's just silly. I'm saying that the universe is balanced in both the positive and negative. Through this concept you can begin to understand the people and occurrences around you. I'm not saying you'll like everything that happens in the world, but you can deal with it through compassion. I want to reiterate my stance on compassion (some words in bold face to show importance): You are accepting that something is the way that it is, and you are allowing yourself to understand that it is happening and is out of your control.

Aaaaaaand example time. You go to your favorite coffee shop, but on your way you're almost hit by someone because they're late for work, their rushing and they just didn't have enough fucks to give to drive safely. It happens. You get flustered, you get angry. You then order your coffee but the kid behind the counter doesn't hear you clearly. You're mumbling, still thinking about the dick that nearly hit you in his silverado. The barista asks for your order again and you snap at them. "I said that I wanted a double-venti-no-caff-half-pump-cock-mouth-double-bubble-single-syrup-hayley-joel-osmund-americano!" Little did you know that the barista had just been accepted into College University, his dream school! Asshole. You just ruined their mood because you bled your attitude, your problems on to them.

Another (me...sorry Jenny and Cambrie): You miss your friends when they're not around. I will now be speaking in first person. I miss my friends when they're not around. I'm like that. I train with them most days and then usually we all hang out. So we trained, and then they wanted to go home to be with their significant others and/or study and/or rest and relax before another day at the salt mines. It was a break in my much loved routine. It was hot, I was tired and I was looking forward to recharging with them, and that's all that I could see. I snapped, then playfully ridiculed (like we do), but was more aggressive about it than usual. I caught myself but not before I could see I was making my friends mad. I put my happiness before their well being. Asshole. I apologized. I fucked with their mood because it wasn't my desired outcome. It's out of my control.

Out of your control. That's important. Probably the most important piece of it. You can't control everything, so you have two choices on the raw: fight against an outcome and be an asshole, spending your time and energy trying to change what is happening, or accept it and understand that something is happening outside of your control. You don't have to like it, you just have to admit it's happening and accept it.

Don't get set into one form, adapt it and build your own, and let it grow, be like water. Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless — like water. Now you put water in a cup, it becomes the cup; You put water into a bottle it becomes the bottle; You put it in a teapot it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend. - Bruce Lee

Sense Memories and All That

It's raining outside, which means I hear Clair de Lune. It's the smell of rain in the trees and on the dirt that reminds me of this song,  but only in the morning/afternoon. I had a habit of listening to classical music on my morning drive to high school. As it is Oregon and I grew up in Sandy, there was plenty of rain. Like clockwork Clair de Lune would come on every morning. It smells and sounds like my morning commute in my childhood. Even when surrounded by noise, screaming even (I live downtown), I still breathe a little easier when it rains because of this.

When I read The White Rose, I hear Chopin. In large part because the stage direction calls for his music specifically. It's my favorite play. I can't read or hear the lines from it without hearing them backed by ballade number 1 in g. Hearing it fills me with pride for something I was a part of and something that can transport me to another place so effortlessly.







Whenever I eat bread and drink coffee I feel like I'm reading The King-killer Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss. http://www.patrickrothfuss.com/content/books.asp
I spent hours at my favorite diner, Jam on Hawthorne, reading the first book. I ordered the same meal, Brian's Hash add spinach and avocado w/ rye toast and jam, and always a cup of bottomless coffee. I always have the same waitress/bartender, Patty.

Reading any work by Rothfuss, his blog included: I can taste coffee and bread and smell a fresh plate of eggs and hash-browns.







When I play the game-series Ratchet and Clank, I hear the album The Carnival by Wyclef Jean. Usually Yele more than anything. I listened to that CD almost exclusively while I grinded for sewer gems in game two and three. I can't not hear it whenever I boot it up and it's especially loud during any remotely underground scene.


When I listen to the Alabama Shakes I think about my father and Molly for their first album, Boys and Girls. Molly suggested them and Pop and I jammed to them. I think of Kindell whenever I hear their second album, Sound and Color, especially the title track. I got her the vinyl of it. It's my absolute favorite CD. It just barely edges out Justin Timberlake's 20/20 experience 1 and 2, and that's saying something, lemme tell ya.

Maybe that's where I should go with this post? Sound and Color? There are so many things that fill us or take from us but always remind us of this and that, that at one point or another, has rooted itself into who we are. Sometimes it's mild and small, like remembering the smell of breakfast. Sometimes it's big, like making you feel like your closest people are behind you when there's only you in the room. Sometimes it's bigger, like remembering terrible things when you hear a happy song. I remember being fired from my childhood dream job while hearing Express Yourself and dancing to it after a great week working at a summer camp.

Side: I was called into the admin office just as the song ended and was then fired. The person implicating me wasn't even strong enough to show up to the firing (may you rot in Hell). That's a whole other post filled with much needed catharsis. Hearing that song reminds me of how I was bullied in that job, how unfairly I was treated, and how I was flat out told that I was... how did she put it? Useless. But again, that's another post.

Sometimes the things we experience via sense memory were once devastating, like when you hear your song with your big ex. Winter by Joshua Radin for me. The second is usually I Remember You by Nat King Cole. It reminds me of good things from college.

Sometimes the things that should wreck you, instead make you smile. Hearing Have You Seen Her by the Chi-Lights was playing when my Dad had his first heart attack and had to go to the hospital in the morning light. When I hear it I'm reminded of how strong he is, and kind.

When I hear Let it Be by the Beatles, I think about my late-cousin, Will. He recorded his 10 year old self singing that and made a cassette of it. I found it and made it digital. It's got all the good feels.

Sometimes it's the tiny things that fill you with the greatest memories. For me it's usually food.

"Artisanal pizza" will always remind me of being in Auze France and Herrang Sweden. It will always make me think of my friends Mike and Emily Lenneville. We travelled and trained there together. Some of my favorites stories and most powerful memories are with those two.

Any kind of soup reminds me of my childhood home. I feel like that's the case for a lot of people. It's a comfort food, it's simple, and for me I feel safe when I eat it. It quiets my mind and I'm taken back to my parents home and the wonderful silence that surrounds you. It's reassuring.

Pride - This Isn't Even My Final Form!

I saw a version of myself sitting across from me this morning. I didn't pay him any attention. I was reading, after-all, and enjoying a favorite breakfast and book. I couldn't ask me to leave either, as I was me and I am very attached to myself whether or not I want a particular me staring back at me.

I wasn't saying anything or prodding in any fashion, I was just watching me read, eat and sip. I wasn't being rude, quite the opposite, I was the perfect gentleman. I was making myself uneasy, though. It's not my fault, it's just unnerving when you have some-one staring at you, especially when it's you.

I didn't know what version of me it was at first. I thought it might be past me. Past Me is a good enough guy, a little afraid of a few things and very self-conscious. A pushover in certain things and rarely proud but always supportive. It couldn't have been him, because he would have tried to fix me.

I went through the other me(s) it could be and I could take the time to spell out how I was at various points in life or will be, but it's easier to say that it was current me. It was the me that woke up today and realized how many things I have done in my life, great and small, positive and negative but mostly positive. The me looking at me was proud of me.

Everyone has mild out of body experiences every now and again. It's hard to explain unless you've felt it, but I like to think of it as those times when you can see yourself in third person. I experience that frequently and I spend a large amount of time hovering above myself, taking note on my "this and that."

It felt good to be able take in that I was proud of myself.

Pride is typically a foreign concept to me when it is about me. By no means am I against myself or the things that I have done. I have fears and insecurities, sure, but I am still proud of the things I have done, the life I've lived. By the time I was 20, I had done more than most do in their entire lives. I have pride in that. But pride in simply myself is a recent development. I only became aware of this feeling this morning, Monday, June 1st, 2015 at roughly 10am.

Disclaimer: This isn't to say that I am not proud of what I have done. It's just new to live in the here and now and be proud of myself in the moment.

I find it both appropriate and emboldening that I would notice this on my father's birthday (Happy Birthday, Pop!). An added bonus.

I always found pride to be a positive. I'm talking about pride, not arrogance. There's a difference between the two that is a frequently blurred and often negotiated line. I'm talking about the ability to recognize that you are good at something on your own, and that your skill or achievement makes you happy or fulfilled or in some other way: powerful. It's not arrogance, where you feel power through thinking you're better than someone else.

Pride is confidence, arrogance is fear. But that's another soap-box.

My pride is usually found in my loved ones and mentors. I typically live vicariously through them to feel strong. That's dependence. Dependence can be positive, and can be associated with pride, but pride in one's self is obviously from the self, not another. Duh.

In nerd-culture, there is something called a "boss" and therein a "boss-battle." Still with me? In said
boss-battle, it's really common for said boss to go through several forms or modes during your tussling with them. The first is usually small, something manageable and humanoid. The second is typically a grandiose, often monstrous version of the previous. The third, if and when there is a third, is smaller form, though this form is even stronger than the monster that it previously appeared as. The third form, or "final form," is the strongest version of this boss. This form is trimmed down, streamlined, removed of the ornamental trappings that made it previously intimidating. It's new form is greater than it's previous version due to the focus and condensing of it's power. It doesn't need the wings and demon horns and massive god-killing cannon that it once possessed. It can pierce heaven with it's pinky if it wanted, so what use does it have for the Sword of Damocles as it's left leg?

I use this as an allegory for self. As you become stronger, more focused, you shed the pomp that you previously held on to. You no longer need to have six jobs or hold on to that thing you did once in high-school or hold a mental list of the people you've banged. The world becomes simpler as you simplify and you become greater because of that. Focus can allow you to become a master, to achieve a greater form than you woke up with that morning.

Argument: Yes, I know that not every boss battle follows that same progression. Sometimes it is the giant monster that is the final form. In that case, it is usually a team of heroes or one hero that is refined in a particular skill set to best benefit the team/situation who defeats this monster. It's usually thanks to skills obtained through focus and hard work and specialization (the healer, the warrior, the mage etc). Sometimes the hero becomes a monster to defeat a monster. That is focus as well. We learn from our challenges, taking on aspects of them and become greater than the things that challenge us. We are still ourselves, but we have gained strength through our focus to learn and overcome these trials.

"I fear not the man who has practice 10,000 kicks once. But I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times." - Bruce Lee

An open mind and enthusiasm will cause you to try everything. It will lead you to the things you truly love and will show you the path that best suits you. Confidence will allow you to try, succeed and fail and grow, which will build you stronger, time and again. It will allow you to find what it is that you are brilliant at or what makes you feel strong and good. From there, focus will refine you. It will help you become greater than you were. There is no sense in limiting yourself in the things you try, but there is less sense in never exploring the depths of your potential in the things that you experience passion.

When you get down to it, everyone has the potential to become brilliant. It is a matter of discovering what it is that you're good at and/or what it is that brings you joy. When you've found these, sink your time and effort into those things. It doesn't matter if it's an activity, a thing, a person, a philosophy, a religion, a version of  yourself and so on. If it brings you joy and allows you to feel pride, then it's worth your time. Take that time. You owe it to yourself and to those who are lucky enough to know you.