Life in Front of a Green Screen

 

Rain. 

And lots of it. 

A Pluviophile's fantasy as of late. 

For the last month, rain has been a constant on the menu.  The daily special.  The weather du jour. 

Mind you, I really don't mind the rain.  There is nothing better than a midnight thunderstorm to dream during. 

The easiest time to be a Meteorologist.  Rain, rain, and more rain.  

And of course, Mother Nature will do what Mother Nature wants to.  There's nothing we can do to control it. 

Such is life.  The "no-control" list is long...

• What other people do. 
• How other people see you. 
• How other people treat you. 
• Whether other people like you. 
• What other people think, feel, or believe. 
• How other people internalize things you say and do. 
• What happens to other people. 
• Your thoughts and feelings. 
• The past. 
• The future.
• Aging. 
• The inevitability of getting hurt (emotionally or physically). 
• Suffering in the world. 

The more you accept and embrace what you can't control, the more control you have over your actions and responses driven by those events. By giving up control, you gain control. The paradigm of life. 

In other words, the more you learn to dance in the rain, the less wet you feel. 

No umbrellas needed. 

Red Oaks Remembered

Recently, I was introduced to the show, "Red Oaks."  A brilliant (albeit short-lived) creation set in the mid-80s following the trials and tribulations of David Meyers (Craig Roberts), a college-aged modern-day Benjamin Braddock who is trying to navigate that transitory stage of life going from kid to adult. Whether it be his dating life, career choices, or family drama, we watch David find his way (sometimes clumsily, sometimes accidentally, and sometimes expertly). 

The show hits home on so many different levels. 

    I worked at the Beloit Country Club from 1985-1987. 

    One of my best friends was Mark, the Tennis Pro.  

    My Mom and Dad were divorced and I lived primarily with my Dad. 

    We had "employee" days and parties at the Club. 

Many nights after hours were spent at the Club pool with Mark, my sister Kelly, and my girlfriend, Wendy (pictured above).  

These were Summers of fun. Summers of change.  Summers of growth.  

I look back fondly on that time.  It was the perfect place to experience the life transition we were all going through...from carefree kid to aspiring adult with the world in front of us. We were living life through a microscope as the rest of the world was telling us to look through the telescope.  

The show is labeled as a "coming of age" genre.  I've never explored that term in real life but it fits. 

Looking back, we all came of age...

...in the shadows of the manicured greens and sculpted courts. 

Epilogue; I eventually married that girlfriend and she sadly passed away at the age of 41.  My sister died at 56.  I lost track of Mark. But, I will always have those summers to remember. 

Randomness Rules

Recently, a coaching friend had a health scare.  Looks like he will pull through and heed his wake-up call.  Listen when your body tells you something and don't take it for granted. 

Finding your career after college is a fallacy.  Find a job you like and see where it takes you. 

Heartbreak sucks.  Young heartbreak sucks even more (pets make fantastic Sherpas helping to mend the break though). 

Don't let a fixer-upper be a downer. Embrace it. 

Repair and reconnect whenever you can. 

Embrace storms. Both meteorological and metaphorical. Haruki Murakami said it most eloquently and simply, "When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in." 

Great coaches reach players and other coaches alike. 

Paul Giamatti is brilliant.  One of the most underrated actors of our time. 

The simple beauty of Iceland is truly the pinnacle to strive for.

A good beard balm is a great elixir for the skin. 

PS;  The image is from the Geiri Smart Restaurant in Reykjavik. Every once in a while, you need to throw a good, old fashioned soiree. 

Beard balm and candles 

The Greatest Pain

It's a pain like no other. 

The deepest cut, the largest bruise, and the most damaging diagnosis can't match this trauma. 

It travels directly to the core of your very being. 

Seeing your child hurt is by far, the greatest pain of all. 

You go through your life as a parent doing everything in your power to protect them from this pain but you know deep down, you will inevitably fail. You try, and you try to protect them from danger, but alas, it is a futile attempt to shield them completely. The point pierces skin eventually. 

"If only..."

You mutter those infamous words of regret, thinking you could've prevented the hurt.  You swear you saw this coming and if only...if only...you would've done something differently, you could've deflected it with your shelter. 

There is no "if only." There is only "what is."  And you will eventually see your child hurt in the human world of "what is."

Provide the ethereal human Bactine of listening... hugs...and advice if you can and time will eventually heal. 

It is that pang you feel when they feel the pain. 

Be there. Really be there. It's the only antidote for them.  

And you. 

 

Get Stoked

 

Love a real wood-burning fireplace. 

Doesn't matter the season.  Doesn't need a reason.  A wood-burning fire can light up your moments. 

The first spark is crucial but the spread of the flame is the heart of the burn.  Seeing one log light up after another. 

But to maintain the glow, you need to stoke the fire. 

True with a fireplace.  True with life. 

Whether it be your family.  Your friends. Your passions.  Your work. To keep the spark alive, to keep it growing...you need to stoke it. 

Here's the thing. It takes much more work to start the flame than it does to grow it.  It's the simple things in life that keep it burning.  A small gesture, a kind word, a pat on the back, a hug. They all add fuel to the flame. 

And without these, the flame eventually dies. 

So, grow the spark, feel the warmth, get stoked, and keep your life logs burning. 

Burn, baby, burn. 

Stew On It

 

Legacy. 

A word that carries a weight with it.  A blessing and a burden. 

What are you leaving behind? 

Not, what THINGS are you leaving behind?  That's what wills are for.  But, what part of you will live on?  What part will people remember?  

Recently, I have witnessed two separate legacy-defining situations.  One, I am sure will leave fond thoughts and memories, and the other, I am certain, will leave scars. 

The former has a sense of the greater good.  The realization that his story is but a chapter in a much larger book. The latter feels they are the page, chapter, and book (possibly even the library). 

It's wonderful seeing the right legacy happen around us.  It's a nightmare watching the opposite. 

One doesn't create the right legacy consciously.  The unconscious legacy is the outcome of the conscious steps taken. 

Your legacy is akin to a stew or goulash.  Countless ingredients make up the final recipe. Sometimes, just a dash of salt makes all the difference. 

What's on your legacy menu? 

Dinner is served. 

Lost Horizon

 

In the last season of "Mad Men," Don Draper finds himself in a conference room full of ad execs for McCann Erickson talking about Miller Beer.  

"The best box lunch around.  Should have your name on it." 

As Bill Phillips from Conley Research starts to paint the picture of their new Miller Lite drinker, Don looks wistfully off into the horizon and sees a plane lazily flying by. 

"What is his brand?" 

Don ponders that question for a moment, stands up, and walks out of the meeting without a word spoken. 

He's lost his brand. Lost horizon. 

We've all been in Don's shoes.  We step outside of ourselves and wonder "Who are we." 

We've all lost our horizons.  Some never find them again.  Some regain their footing and keep climbing. 

I experienced this recently.  Took me a while but I found it again...back on track. 

Sometimes we do need to lose our way just so we can find ourselves again. 

Here's the thing...our horizon moves.  It's fluid.  It's malleable. We need to join the dance and move with it.  

Change your camera view. Build a new perspective. Perspective is a wonderful panacea for a lost horizon. 

It's okay to sometimes feel lost. It's normal. 

Don't look at your life horizon like a box lunch...a cookie-cutter creation...one with your name on it.  Look at it like a buffet with many things to choose from to please the palette. One that you create. 

Lost...now found.  Again.