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I realize now that what capitalist societies celebrate more than anything else is capitalism. That is what Black Friday is all about. I was out the door before 6 AM, in spite of the fact I really had nothing to buy. It was, for us, about the ritual. We are meant to do this thing because we have always done this thing and to continue to do it feels comfortable and good, and right and meaningful, and gives us a ritual to look forward to in the future. We are nothing as a culture without our rituals. So, we headed from store to store, searching aimlessly for what could bring us value and happiness in the moment. In the end I spent over $300 on feeding people and shoes I really do not need. I bought a lot, but I don’t feel remorse over the spending. I don’t feel any true joy either. I was going through the motions of the ritual because it matters to the people I care about. To quote a football favorite, “I’m just here so I don’t get fined.”

I don’t know what specific rituals matter to me anymore. I like watching the football teams I like, which I argue counts as a ritual in a larger sense. Other things are less about me and more about the opportunity to spend time with the people (and especially the woman) I love. Today it felt like that was a bad thing–like being out on Black Friday was a sideways jab saying I was out on my time with loved ones; out on my relationship. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I’d rather live in a world where I can be happy and truthful and feel like what I say is understood.

I don’t know if the people I love in life know how much they mean to me. I don’t know that I tell them enough. I don’t know that they understand it or see it, or measure the value of my words and actions to them against those to others. I say it. I show it. I mean it. Yet how I see the world repeatedly proves to be not the way the world is or efforts to be. I’m extremely grateful for the Lady Talis. She’s changed my life. She’s redefined it and become the center of it. I’m grateful for the three new children she’s brought into my life, even though and often especially because of how much we clash and how much we manage to continue some vestige of a relationship in spite of it. Not all family loves each other or respects each other. We, at the very least, respect the idea of the family to the point where it allows us to maintain a family where others would not necessarily be able to continue. Most of that is because of the Lady Talis, whom I give thanks to most of all.

Thanksgiving, for me, is about reflecting on these things and being able to recognize the fortune that has shown on your life.

I’m worried about Tarleton State.

The fact of the matter is these guys are a pretty good football team. They run Wake Forest’s slow mesh, or a pass-happy version thereof. That being said, the running backs are super shifty and gain a lot of yards on the ground when the pass is unavailable. Will it be? That is up to the coaching staff and who they choose to play out there. Biased as I am, I’m hoping to see my son cook. Why not? The seventeen year old freshman has proven time and again he can handle the best the opposition has. He rarely gets targeted because he plays tight coverage, and has only given up two catches this season through 7 games in man coverage. Sure, you can easily argue that the talent level he faced was less than that of Tarleton’s Texans, but you also have to acknowledge that his only interception on the year was against Butler, the second highest ranked team they faced all season. The Tarleton State Texans are ranked 14th, earning a 13 seed in the FCS Tourney. That puts them higher than Eastern Kentucky (who plays the 11 seed) who they lost to earlier this season. Now rankings and bracket placements are not everything but it is worth noting that Tarleton State did not beat a single ranked or tourney team this season. Their wins largely came at the expense of teams with losing records–teams that also lost to other good teams to be sure, but losing records nonetheless.

So, I’m saying there is a chance.

Everyone in the media is already writing Drake off and looking forward to the next round and Tarleton State battling with South Dakota. I’m not looking past Saturday morning. There are legends to be written in the grass this weekend. It is time the kid has a chance to make a name for himself.

Recently, one of my co-workers took a pilgrimage to Africa to teach people things. It stuck in my craw at the time though I didn’t allow it much attention. As the logjam of stuff that bugs begins to loosen it finds itself in the forefront of my thinking. Specifically, why are we still in that mindset? This idea of white males going to Africa to ‘fix’ things or ‘educate’ the people is older than the United States… heck it is older than the Americas (in our cultural understanding of settlers that is). Yet it persists. It persists to the point that we are still sending middle-aged white men over on their pilgrimages to civilize the savages. Let me begin by saying the continent of Africa is not by and large savage. It is not civil by North American standards either. I think a lot of what we see as savagery is merely a failure to accept a preponderance of non-white faces. Consider this: India is also viewed in this fashion. China to a certain extent but more as a threat because we, as “Americans” view Chinese as intelligent and organized and thus threatening. It really continues to boil down to a level of racism. I mean, what makes Russia less threatening?

I’ll let that comment stir in the ether for a while. We can come back to it in a year once we’ve decided where “we” stand with Putin. However, I was and am bothered by this simple pilgrimage because it highlights the aforementioned problems and simultaneously ignores the problems we have here at home. You don’t need to go to Africa. You need to go to Northern Arizona. Time and again I watch the people around me try to personally solve problems far from home and rely on their government to solve the problems right here or next door. It isn’t working. We aren’t fixing anything or anyone in this manner.

Some Thoughts:

1. Yeah, I was getting on a rant there. I needed to get it out, but ranting is also not the answer. I don’t have the answer… Perhaps acknowledging that is a step in the right direction.
2. Often stereotypes are based on outliers. I think this is true of most stereotypes. You take the worst of a type and make it seem as though it is the standard in order to key in the fight or flight response or, at the very least, teach others how to act around that type. It occurs to me that my ex wife is the living breathing stereotype of what we think of as the terrible ex wife…

I’m listening to singing bowls playing on a youtube video as I watch this. I do it often to blot out the noise of video game commentary blaring from the living room TV or the insistent banter of a TV show. I don’t get a lot of good noise. I get even less silence. All of that is amplified when I am feeling stressed out, and I am feeling very very very stressed out. While there is some truth to my stress being of a cyclical nature, it does little to solve the various issues that crop up in the cycle or, more importantly, to allow me to maintain a stretch of peace and tranquility in my existence. I am stressed. I expected to spend this blog talking to all of you and to myself about how to relieve intense stress. I even researched it. A lot.

I didn’t find much.

The bowls hope. Any calming ritual or frequency can help you center yourself and temporarily shed the external (and sometimes internal) stressors. I will say, however, don’t add more stressors if you can at all avoid it. There is a breaking point for each of us. I nearly met mine today. I was headed into full ‘murder and drink their blood’ mode when the Lady Talis pulled me from the brink. I cannot imagine the stress my own stress puts on her, and for that I am extremely sorry and extremely fortunate to have someone in my life to help carry that load. So, if this is still informative, I would suggest having someone in your life to carry that load. I would also suggest stepping back from anything you can, because if you’re at all like me, when you are on edge you are likely to be less forgiving to those around you. That rarely works in a professional environment.

When I was prepping for my ten minutes today, I listened to Tony Robbins talk about the three questions we ought to ask ourselves daily. I didn’t get to all three, but the first two are impactful. First and foremost, he argues, you need to ask yourself what am I going to focus on? He speaks of this in terms of the things we have and the things we want. More importantly he talked about a type of person who is an achiever. I’m that type of person. I am not always around those type of people–especially not high achievers. I’m around doers and thinkers and consumers. I tend to judge those who are not high achievers or do not ascribe to the type or definition of success I ascribe to. It is a stressor in my life that only gets worse the more I am home. However, if I focus on that–if I focus on what I want it to be vs. what it is, I fall into the trap I’ve talked and warned people about for years…

Nah… In my life it is the other way.

The thing I was trying to get out yesterday in the virtual space was that my kid is going to the FCS playoffs. We know now that he’s going to be playing against Tarleton State in Texas. They run the Wake Forest slow mesh, so you know what I’ll be dissecting this week and here on Wednesday. Today I want to talk about the pride I have in how far he’s come. The other day my brother was talking about the eldest. He said that the boy reminds him of a duck. You think he’s just still, letting the current drag him, but he’s making those moves below the surface. He’s right to be certain. The kids all express themselves in different fashions. Her three and my three are bound by is as parents but one could not be more different from the next.

My cfb player has worked his butt off to get to where he is, and he’s on a precipice even in this moment. He has big choices to make and this is a year where there is going to be a tidal level of movement in the sport because of rule and money changes. He needs this playoff game to show the world he can actually ball. He’s built to meet these challenges and always excited about the opportunity. He has the drive I never did. His younger bro is more like I was, and likely destined to fail if he stays along the path of meh he is on. He could be the best out of all of us if he worked as hard.

Hard work comes natural to the mid kid. That is not why I’m so proud. He doesn’t give up. That is why I am.

This is my first blog in VR Space. The first thing that leaps out at me is how bad of a typist I really am. Typing is about muscle memory–about being able to know where the letters on the keyboard are without looking down. The app does not map my keyboard in the meta space, so I wind up trying to blindly pec my way across the keys hoping to find the right letters. I am very very bad at this, at it has taken five full minutes to get this far.

Another thing I realize is just how bad my neck injuries are. I am slowly losing feeling in my right hand as I type from this position due to the weight of the VR headrig pressing down on my nerves. I don’t know how to fix that problem, but its been an issue for at least 15 years. So, based on the experience I need to fix my neck and my typing skills….

I also need to get faster because I never got to the football stuff…

Trying to swim through this project is like trying to swim through concrete. It isn’t really working out the way I wanted. I don’t feel confident in the work. I don’t feel terribly confident in much lately, and I cannot reason why. It could be me being burned out or overwhelmed, some combination of the two or what have you. I feel like my life has kicked me in the gut, threw a few haymakers to my face and I’m trying to crawl away from the fight with my soul intact. I’m not sure that is going to happen.

I’m spent. I’m detached from the work. I’m misaligned–I’m too far left on the keyboard and all the words are coming out funkt. I haven’t gotten around to how to break free of it. I think I am stuck in it still, firing through the morass of the thing; wading through the wet concrete. Yesterday I said I was done writing. Today I’m trying to write my way out of it. The Lady Talis says this happens every so often. She says I get right when I get scheduled; explaining the problem away with a Virgo’s sense of structure. I don’t know that she’s wrong. She rarely is on such things. That is why she’s the Lady Talis. Still, reality being what it is, I don’t have a schedule. I don’t have a plan. All I have is this knot of feelings moving through me, raising my blood pressure and threatening to shut me down.

I need to start at the beginning. I need to break it down into the components of what is driving me to pieces. It isn’t just the Dad stuff and the frustration of environment. It is the writing issues; the writing failures. It is rounding towards the end of a semester; shuffling towards the end of a career. I rediscovered the fact that I can retire as early as a few months from now. I’d get half of what I’d get if I just waited till 29. My last born graduates in 27 though. Two years here in the sauce longer than I planned. Right at the tip of the next presidency.

That is another thing going on. The Trump win was/is a waking nightmare. I’ve pushed myself away from the reality of what this country is trying to become. I don’t know how long I can do that. Just today Texas voted to make the bible part of their curriculum. So much for separation of Church and state. Other states will follow, and this myth of being a country that supports multiple faiths will shift unkindly to a country that tolerates a handful of additional faiths–the ones where there is enough lobbying power to continue them. How long before the Mormons officially turn Utah into a Mormon state? What about Judaism?

What about self? That is the thing lost in all of this–the center. It isn’t holding for me and that is burrowing through the layers of my soul and forcing me to realize that something has to change. Something has to be different. I don’t know where that is supposed to start.

Ever have one of those days where nothing works? I don’t even feel like I can type correctly. I have hit the delete key on seven words already and I’m not even past the first line of text. This is where I am at right now. I am not locked in. To be honest, I feel incapable of generating any halfway decent ideas. That sucks, because I went into the week feeling good about where I was at and catching up on required work. Now I recognize that I will likely skip the next writing opportunity and instead do nothing. Not work on other projects, not revise. Not plan. Nothing.

It is becoming harder and harder to be even remotely productive. I’m straight up worn out and unable to really focus on any real forward momentum. If I’m being honest with myself, I am about ready to cave and give up. I am closer than I’ve ever been to no longer being a writer and instead falling into the path of nothingness. I’m not living for myself right now. I’m living and doing for other people and there seems to be little me in any of it. As depressing as that sounds it is truth. Its a hard truth to see in yourself.

I might be done as a creator. Only time will tell.

I get mad (like really sad and mad) about my eldest stepson because he doesn’t do anything. I make excuses (maybe he’s in the wrong city–I know I am), I hope and dream, but every day is the same. He sits on the couch or stands in front of his playstation in his room. That’s it. What I am coming to accept is twofold: first, he doesn’t have a lot of options or properly modeled behaviours, and more importantly: It is his choice, not mine.

I don’t do a lot either. I watch shows and play upwords every single day. I write. I walk a mile. Those are the things. I’m rarely out at night taking in sights or clubs or adventures. Sure, we do go on adventures–quite a few to be honest– but the day to day is sedentary. There is nothing in my daily life so wildly different from his daily life as to promote a healthier and more active lifestyle. That is what makes me the angriest. I am not doing much more than he is. The difference is he’s accepted it as a way of life and I have decided that I am being held prisoner by circumstance, weather, and weariness.

All that being said: who cares? The role of a father is to model and encourage and prepare. I am meant to get him to a point where he is self sufficient and can design for himself a life he is satisfied with. My satisfaction or dissatisfaction was never ever the point. Oddly enough, I came to this realization while listening to Numb by Linkin Park (the original recording–not the Emily Armstrong version)…

I don’t know what you’re expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes

Every step that I take is another mistake to you

~Chester Bennington

Yeah.. If I want to call myself a good father, I need to embrace and support the choices he makes–they all make–in life even while arguing that there are better choices to be made. They are not me. They aren’t supposed to be.