November 22, 2008 at 9:05 pm · Filed under Personal
My Father always taught me that there are things in life worth waiting for and working hard towards. For better or worse I took that lesson to heart and ingrained it upon my psyche as standard issue. In my whirlwind of my mind I have justified the sacrifices as the eventual beauty of what will come. So this letter is to my future, well my future whatever it is. Future wife, future child, future dog for all I know.
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26 Nov, 2020
To my loved ones,
I delivered this letter to you upon awakening for a new day. Surprising it must be to receive a letter from me despite me being here with you. It is important to know that I am writing this letter perched upon a ball chair (don’t ask) after making a big decision. The decision itself isn’t monumental as the ones we have in our lives now, but the ideal of what I am doing is.
The years of my life before your smile graced my mind were shared with a little dog. You may have seen pictures as he was a dear friend. States held little meaning as we traveled from zip code to zip code. I gave up much during these years. What spurred this letter was deciding to go to the desert. Packing up my bags and heading out west to make sure my team could be home for Thanksgiving. It is unfathomable to imagine the kind of joy you brought to my life and that idyllic quality is what put my clothes in the suitcase. This will be trip number 35 for the year and I wanted to let you know why I am home with you now…
I spent countless hours soaring above the clouds so that we could spend countless hours staring up at them now. My possessions were always second hand to make sure that your hands never begged for things you needed in life. The days I earned for vacation were saved so that I never missed your first goal on the soccer field. Every little decision was made with gratification and our delight in reason.
This Thanksgiving I am taking one for the team, taking one for you. One day this will all make sense and you will understand why I grin with such a lustrous smile. While you were asleep I was thinking back to the night I wrote this letter, alone with my little dog in the big Capitol, and I now realize. It was all worth it.
Nick, Dad, Husband, Father, Friend…whoever’s hands this eventually finds
November 14, 2008 at 7:51 pm · Filed under Personal
What is your passion? The collegiate response is that passion is an intense desire or enthusiasm for something. Passion is a word that posses a meaning that extends well above the simple context modern language employs. Love, passion, hate and pain. All these words share the deep meaning of emotional context greater than the letters and breath they are spoken with.
Asking someone what they are passionate about, is to me, tearing beyond menial life. Ask someone what they do in life and you get the response that they are married, have a kid, drive a nice car, and work for such-and-such. I yearn to know someone deeper than the exhibit you display for the world. What is it that makes you wake up in the morning?
To be equitable, the personal revelation is my answer is just as difficult to give. What am I passionate about? I am passionate about the words lackadaisically dancing on your screen. I am passionate about keeping my honor and integrity. Passionate about greater meaning to life itself. Passionate about experiencing life as to know just how great the greater is. There a multitude of things I enjoy to do, but I am not passionate about them. Running is one of my favorite actives as is carving the mountain ridges on my motorcycle. Yet, as wonderful as they are their overall value is diminished when contrasted to the joy another persons smile brings.
Often we equate the emotion aforementioned with the endorphins of glee. As a friend of mine mentioned recently, happiness is not happiness if it all you ever know. In order for there to be ups, there must be downs. Atomists, a philosophical idea of pre-Socratic days, theorized that there was only atoms and emptiness. Only one direction was accessible, down. This deterministic path conveyed that every action was predefined. The paradigm is important to portray that passion negates the entire idea. If there is only down and one direction to move, what drives man to greatness?
I am passionately angry, passionate lover, passionate friend, passionate human, and more than anything passionate about life. Posing the question back to myself the list is too long to respond to. I yearn for emotion and feeling to offset the deep analytic nature within myself. Passion is less of an emotion than a lifestyle for me. Here is to one more passionate blog post.
November 10, 2008 at 4:29 pm · Filed under Personal
From the wonderful bash.org:
DragonflyBlade21: A woman has a close male friend. This means that he is probably interested in her, which is why he hangs around so much. She sees him strictly as a friend. This always starts out with, you’re a great guy, but I don’t like you in that way. This is roughly the equivalent for the guy of going to a job interview and the company saying, You have a great resume, you have all the qualifications we are looking for, but we’re not going to hire you. We will, however, use your resume as the basis for comparison for all other applicants. But, we’re going to hire somebody who is far less qualified and is probably an alcoholic. And if he doesn’t work out, we’ll hire somebody else, but still not you. In fact, we will never hire you. But we will call you from time to time to complain about the person that we hired.
http://www.bash.org/?414593
November 9, 2008 at 7:01 pm · Filed under Personal
The cracks are too numerous to skip them as a child would. To attempt would be feeble and your poor mothers back would be broken in half a city block. Oscar and I mind less for the practice and walk along the city streets unhindered by superstition. Passing along the road, the world seems humored by the site of a fuzzy haired young man and his wiener dog going for an evening stroll. The hardest of faces are broken into a slighted smile as Oscar looks up to inspect them.
Rosy walk lights give way the passing of cars and the crowd that gather quickly focus on the little dog. My little pooch is the city example of a cactus, soaking up the monsoon rain of attention. In a town that neglects to share a smile and attention he soaks it in savoring what is surely a rare occurrence. There are times where small children and grown captains of industry forget their steady pace and the change of walk allowance as they pet behind his ears. There is such starvation of emotion that they expend it on the little hound.
My little ambassador, he spreads the glee of his owner that is hidden behind the 2 day old shave and iPod headphones. Like all good sheep, I meld into the exterior of this town and hide behind nothingness. It is easier to deny the existence of my smiles and laughter than to standout like the monuments speckled across the horizon of DC.
South of the Mason Dixon line doesn’t insinuate that friendless is prepackaged and delivered upon birth. There is the distinct possibility that in the small towns of Southern Culture there is a young man writing of his exterior. He forces the smiles and handshakes in order to fit in, for he lacks the ability to be what he truly is…a loner.
Associating location and proximity to personaility is a disservice to all those who fail to fit the mold. I can freely accept that not everyone is willing to shed their soul at the Wal-Mart in town and not everyone is a cold hearted robot. Joe Plumber may posses the same uncertaintiy in people as does Charlie Corporate. To distill human emotions to such buckets is a disgusting practice in what amounts to fallacy. The complexity of the human eye is nowhere near comperative to the complexity of the human emotion.
November 8, 2008 at 4:39 pm · Filed under Personal
The morning was clear as Oscar and I made our way down the elevator for the new morning routine. We walked past the water fountain on path to the doggie walk. On cue soon as his feet touch grass he is finding a spot to squat. Looking around I caught glimpse of Ferrari Red. It is a very difficult color to not catch in your eye if you are a male over the age of two. There is something about it that screams at a male’s insides and draws you in. In departure from our usual right turn and entrance back into the building I decided to go in closer. The machine was beautiful in a way only fine Italian automobiles can be. From the stitch of the leather to the rims’ shinny brilliance the automobile was amazing. In what would be an ultra rare observation in the state of Alabama, it is common to come across these type of cars. I live across the street from a Porsche dealer so my senses are becoming numb with each passing day.
What struck me on this occasion was the hour or so later as I drove past the parking spot on my way from work. Having spent the morning inspecting the Italian horses, I of course glanced again while zooming by. In what can only happen in DC, a 1980’s era Honda Civic was in its place. Rags to riches in reverse. Such is the condrum of this city, the poor and rich living on top of each other. The Porsche dealer just blocks away from the “place I shouldn’t roll my windows down” as my friends say.
Since I am an ever wandering mind, I thought to myself about the exchange in parking spots. Did the Honda driver spot the Ferrari leaving and quickly place his blinker on to nab the streetside parking? I just can’t imagine the exchange or looks on both drivers faces as they traded the spot. The sad realization came to me that this transfer in car storage was the only interaction these two people can hope to share. Despite us all living within meer yards of the other, we still find ways to seperate the haves and have nots. So I guess, here is to the parking. The one thing every DC resident can share.
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