I screwed up. It's not something that I've done very often in my early life, but when I do, I generally go all out. This time most definitely tops the list.
It wouldn't be so bad if it was just me that had to suffer, but I feel as though I've brought shame and disappointment to everyone--my friends, my community, and most importantly, my family.
I know that everyone makes mistakes, and trust me, I've heard it more recently than normal--but that's no excuse for doing things that bring negativity to everyone around you. We live and we learn, but what about those around us? I've always felt that there's at the very least a lesson in every mistake that we make, but I've never thought so hard about what possible good can come out of bad situations for those people affected by someone else's mistakes. It just isn't fair.
And isn't that the way it goes?
I know what good has come out of the situation for me--I see it every day, and it is constantly becoming clearer and more defined. For this, I am beyond grateful. Think of this as a sort of sequel to my last post about whether or not everything happens for a reason; I stand by what I said before. I believe we are given things to deal with, either out of our own doing or someone else's, and we must make of them whatever we can. Sometimes, these things just so happen to come at a time that may seem at onset to be the absolute worst; however, these same times may, and hopefully do, end up to be at the best times. Perhaps we were struggling with some sort of doubt internally, or a big question that we just couldn't find a concrete answer for. These answers may come to us in a time that is the most inconvenient; however, I've come to learn that what is convenient is rearely the best in the long run. Life ain't meant to be easy, and thankfully, it rarely is.
On another note, I've discovered after re-reading Mark Twain, that I love dialects, and am going to try my damndest to embrace my own--whatever sort of hodge podge makeshift mess that may be. Mostly, my practice with typing in dialect has been by way of text message. Ahh, the joy of technology, and a full QWERTY keyboard on cell phones to give me the freedom to express myself however improperly I wish to do so.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Maybe in another life, when we are both cats
I was asked today if I believed that "everything happens for a reason." Good question.
The answer, in short, is "no." I do not believe that everything happens for a reason in the sense that we're always where we're supposed to be and it's all predestined and each of us is meant for a particular path. What I believe is this: each and every thing that happens in our respective lives, each variable that occurs along the way, each choice, each breath, affects us. All of these things add up to the sum of who we are at any given moment. No one is ever exactly the same as they were the moment before. Who we may be is up to the things that happen to us and the things we do. Life, in essence, is the substance of people.
I believe we have a certain amount of control, but there exist a certain amount of factors out of our control at the same time. Not necessarily equal and opposite, but different, and certainly opposing. I, in this realm, remain much the same as I am in any other--straddling a fence somewhere in the middle of two extremes.
I like it that way.
I was then asked in this same conversation, if, because I didn't believe that everything happened for a reason and that we all had a preset path or destination, that there was no hope for someone who was facing tough times. The answer to this is a resounding "no."
Here, I quoted one of my favorite movies:
Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around.
That's one of the most beautiful things about life. It's all about opportunity. With every breath, there is hope--the promise of another. Even in our last breath, we have the hope of what comes next. No matter a person's belief system, there's got to be at least a glimmer of curiosity. No one, regardless of what they say, is absolutely sure that they know what happens when we pass from this world. There is hope in that uncertainty.
I like to think of my life as a book. Each day, each action, is another page, another word, another paragraph. When I'm finished, I just hope to have a story that people would want to read. I don't know where it's going. I think often times when authors sit down to write, they don't know where the story is going to take them. The characters and settings and events take on lives of their own, each affecting one another as well as the outcome of the story as a whole. That's what makes literature so amazing--that's life. The two things in life that I really love, I love for the same reason: they reflect life.
And, what's even more encouraging, when I think of my favorite books, it's not grand and fantastic tales of extraordinary adventure and intrigue that really gets me going--it's an author's or narrator's way of amplifying small, seemingly meaningless events into a story, into something that people are interested in, into, essentially, everything.
We can't all be rockstars or presidents or even millionaires. What we can do, though, is take whatever we've got and make it into something special. Make our lives into a book worth reading, whatever the subject. Adding all the things that make a book enjoyable: the ups and downs; the joy and heartbreak; the uncertainty of what comes next; a few exciting twists every now and then; conflict and resolution (sometimes); love; character development; etc., etc.
One day--perhaps when I am old, perhaps not--when my life flashes before my eyes in that final moment, I will intently watch as the life I've had the pleasure of living is unfolded in my mind's eye. As the events slowly start to overlap my recent memories and my organs fail one by one, I will have but two things left to do--smile and turn the page.
The answer, in short, is "no." I do not believe that everything happens for a reason in the sense that we're always where we're supposed to be and it's all predestined and each of us is meant for a particular path. What I believe is this: each and every thing that happens in our respective lives, each variable that occurs along the way, each choice, each breath, affects us. All of these things add up to the sum of who we are at any given moment. No one is ever exactly the same as they were the moment before. Who we may be is up to the things that happen to us and the things we do. Life, in essence, is the substance of people.
I believe we have a certain amount of control, but there exist a certain amount of factors out of our control at the same time. Not necessarily equal and opposite, but different, and certainly opposing. I, in this realm, remain much the same as I am in any other--straddling a fence somewhere in the middle of two extremes.
I like it that way.
I was then asked in this same conversation, if, because I didn't believe that everything happened for a reason and that we all had a preset path or destination, that there was no hope for someone who was facing tough times. The answer to this is a resounding "no."
Here, I quoted one of my favorite movies:
Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around.
That's one of the most beautiful things about life. It's all about opportunity. With every breath, there is hope--the promise of another. Even in our last breath, we have the hope of what comes next. No matter a person's belief system, there's got to be at least a glimmer of curiosity. No one, regardless of what they say, is absolutely sure that they know what happens when we pass from this world. There is hope in that uncertainty.
I like to think of my life as a book. Each day, each action, is another page, another word, another paragraph. When I'm finished, I just hope to have a story that people would want to read. I don't know where it's going. I think often times when authors sit down to write, they don't know where the story is going to take them. The characters and settings and events take on lives of their own, each affecting one another as well as the outcome of the story as a whole. That's what makes literature so amazing--that's life. The two things in life that I really love, I love for the same reason: they reflect life.
And, what's even more encouraging, when I think of my favorite books, it's not grand and fantastic tales of extraordinary adventure and intrigue that really gets me going--it's an author's or narrator's way of amplifying small, seemingly meaningless events into a story, into something that people are interested in, into, essentially, everything.
We can't all be rockstars or presidents or even millionaires. What we can do, though, is take whatever we've got and make it into something special. Make our lives into a book worth reading, whatever the subject. Adding all the things that make a book enjoyable: the ups and downs; the joy and heartbreak; the uncertainty of what comes next; a few exciting twists every now and then; conflict and resolution (sometimes); love; character development; etc., etc.
One day--perhaps when I am old, perhaps not--when my life flashes before my eyes in that final moment, I will intently watch as the life I've had the pleasure of living is unfolded in my mind's eye. As the events slowly start to overlap my recent memories and my organs fail one by one, I will have but two things left to do--smile and turn the page.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Sonny's Pub
School starts Monday. Very exciting. I am filled with the promsie of learning, of interacting with new and possibly exciting people, and most importantly, with finally being busy again. It's been a while.
I've been feeling a bit melancholy for the past few days thanks to a stupid beer commercial I saw on t.v. A bunch of people were having fun outside in jeans and t-shirts, drinking beer out of coolers and sitting on lawn chairs. What a cruel joke to play in the dead of winter! Since I saw that, I have ached for summer--or at least spring. It's pretty bad when cabin fever has set in to this extent when it's only January 7th. We've got a long row to hoe.
I've been hungry for Mexican food for a few days as well. This, paired with my pining for summer have had me missing Tennessee. I honestly don't think there exists a more perfect Mexican restaurant than Amigo's in Elizabethton. Two dollar 32 oz. drafts, 59 cent tacos on Mondays, great salsa, great people, smoking in-doors--it's Heaven on Earth.
At least Youngstown's Casa Fiesta has dollar bottles of Bud. Now I just have to find someone to go with...
This Friday is the Pennsylvania High School Baseball Coaches' Clinic in Monroeville. Should be fun--there's beer on tap.
Fuck it, Dude. Let's go bowling.
I need a bar. I was talking about this at work the other day. You watch t.v. shows where the main characters all have a certain place where they hang out all the time. "Cooper's". My Boys, King of Queens, How I Met Your Mother, etc. etc. I want that. It's not fictitious. People who live in places with bars have certain ones that they call home. I work with a guy from Lisbon--he's got a bar. Columbiana has no bars. That's lame. I want a place where everybody knows my name. Really. Cheers got it right. That's an important thing in life--to have a place, to have people. I need to find this. Badly. Just a small place where I can get food and a few beers a few nights a week with my closest friends around me.
A dream of mine is to open a place like that. God, I would love it. Sonny's. We'd have beer, drinks, sandwiches, other bar-type food. Nothing fancy, just good, hard-working people eating and drinking together. That is one of my top goals in life. I've had the dream for some time. I'm 100 percent sincere about it. Just gots to get some dough.
I've been feeling a bit melancholy for the past few days thanks to a stupid beer commercial I saw on t.v. A bunch of people were having fun outside in jeans and t-shirts, drinking beer out of coolers and sitting on lawn chairs. What a cruel joke to play in the dead of winter! Since I saw that, I have ached for summer--or at least spring. It's pretty bad when cabin fever has set in to this extent when it's only January 7th. We've got a long row to hoe.
I've been hungry for Mexican food for a few days as well. This, paired with my pining for summer have had me missing Tennessee. I honestly don't think there exists a more perfect Mexican restaurant than Amigo's in Elizabethton. Two dollar 32 oz. drafts, 59 cent tacos on Mondays, great salsa, great people, smoking in-doors--it's Heaven on Earth.
At least Youngstown's Casa Fiesta has dollar bottles of Bud. Now I just have to find someone to go with...
This Friday is the Pennsylvania High School Baseball Coaches' Clinic in Monroeville. Should be fun--there's beer on tap.
Fuck it, Dude. Let's go bowling.
I need a bar. I was talking about this at work the other day. You watch t.v. shows where the main characters all have a certain place where they hang out all the time. "Cooper's". My Boys, King of Queens, How I Met Your Mother, etc. etc. I want that. It's not fictitious. People who live in places with bars have certain ones that they call home. I work with a guy from Lisbon--he's got a bar. Columbiana has no bars. That's lame. I want a place where everybody knows my name. Really. Cheers got it right. That's an important thing in life--to have a place, to have people. I need to find this. Badly. Just a small place where I can get food and a few beers a few nights a week with my closest friends around me.
A dream of mine is to open a place like that. God, I would love it. Sonny's. We'd have beer, drinks, sandwiches, other bar-type food. Nothing fancy, just good, hard-working people eating and drinking together. That is one of my top goals in life. I've had the dream for some time. I'm 100 percent sincere about it. Just gots to get some dough.
Monday, January 5, 2009
The infinite wisdom of Craig Wilson
Alright. I know baseball analogies are overdone (especially within my one-track mind), but I've just got to make another one. I got to thinking about resolutions, and why I never make them, and that maybe I should make one (or a few), and how I probably need to make about a million.
I was thinking all of this on the way home from Cleveland after my second New Year's celebration in a week--on a gray and wintry Ohio morning after I called off work and while I was attempting to recuperate from my second hangover of 2009.
And I did all of this with the looming knowledge that the world just might come to an end on Dec. 21, 2012, a date that is now less than four years away. The Mayan prediction that may or may not be a glaring misinterpretation of ancient celestial calendars was the backdrop for my thoughts on how to improve myself. I think New Year's resolutions are supposed to be things you can achieve in a year, and in that case, 2012 should seemingly have little effect on how I think about improving myself. But as I thought about it, I realized that knowing what could possibly happen on that date less than four years from now should and does actually have an enormous amount to do with my goals for the coming year. Then, of course, I thought that even if the world doesn't come to an end in 2012, even if I'd never heard of that date, even if I'd never watched that National Geographic special on the Mayans in my grandma's living room ten years or so ago, that I should live like that anyway. But, alas, I know I won't. It's just not in me to throw caution to the wind and ignore consequences--as much as I wish it was.
So, knowing this about myself, and knowing the world could possibly come to an end in 2012, and feeling down on myself for calling off work again, and feeling crumby from a hangover, and driving into the gray and dreary sky of Northeast Ohio in January, I got to thinking about my resolution. I could only come up with one word: commit.
This is not a new topic for me, either in writing or in thinking. I've explored it earlier in the blog about the goatstrap (which I promptly shaved off about 20 minutes after writing), and have mulled it over countless times in my head of late. It may have had something to do with watching the Charlie Brown holiday specials--I'm tired of being wishy-washy.
And so, as my mind does, I related it to baseball. I can't turn it off. I got to thinking about some of the players that I've watched over the years and their respective approaches at the plate. Two that immediately came to mind were Jason Bay and Craig Wilson, because of their (now past) association with the Pirates and their contrasting styles.
Jason Bay is a patient almost timid hitter, and except for the times when he's in the midst of a hot streak, misses a lot of good pitches. Sure, he's a really good hitter, but those bouts with timidity have always and likely will always hold him back from being as great as he could be.
You can see it in interviews. IN the way he plays the field. And especially when he's in a slump at the plate. He just can't make up his mind. It's like there's a little seed of doubt in the back of his mind somewhere that he doesn't belong. The thing is, he does belong. It's just something in his makeup that will probably always be there.
Craig Wilson is the opposite. He probably doesn't belong. (As of now, I don't think he's on a major league roster.) He probably never did. He's just a guy who's up there swinging with everything he's got and drinking a case of Pepsi every day. He didn't have a whole lot of talent. He was terrible in the field and he had a mullet. But in 2004, he hit 29 homers. That's a lot.
Craig Wilson had this career year not by patience and talent the Jason Bay consistently achieves All-Star type seasons better than Wilson's best year, but by committing himself to something he knew he could do: hit a fastball.
He was a guess hitter. He always was. His hands weren't quick enough to wait for the pitch to come his way. He had to prepare for a fastball every pitch, and hope that he got what he was looking for. Sometimes, that's all you can do. We don't know what pitch we're going to get.
So, I guess in 2009, I want to live like Craig Wilson and swing from the heels with everything I've got at every pitch that comes my way. I'm sure to look like a fool most of the time (Craig struck out 169 times in 2004), but on those glorious occasions when I do get the pitch I'm looking for, when the pitcher grooves me a fastball trying to get ahead or work back in the count, I'll be ready. What's worse? Missing the perfect pitch because you're practicing patience and good discipline, or getting pie in the face from time to time?
If you ask me, there's no greater mistake we can make with our short time in life than missing a cock-high fastball over the middle of the plate. So, in 2009, like Craig Wilson, I'm going to be ready.
I was thinking all of this on the way home from Cleveland after my second New Year's celebration in a week--on a gray and wintry Ohio morning after I called off work and while I was attempting to recuperate from my second hangover of 2009.
And I did all of this with the looming knowledge that the world just might come to an end on Dec. 21, 2012, a date that is now less than four years away. The Mayan prediction that may or may not be a glaring misinterpretation of ancient celestial calendars was the backdrop for my thoughts on how to improve myself. I think New Year's resolutions are supposed to be things you can achieve in a year, and in that case, 2012 should seemingly have little effect on how I think about improving myself. But as I thought about it, I realized that knowing what could possibly happen on that date less than four years from now should and does actually have an enormous amount to do with my goals for the coming year. Then, of course, I thought that even if the world doesn't come to an end in 2012, even if I'd never heard of that date, even if I'd never watched that National Geographic special on the Mayans in my grandma's living room ten years or so ago, that I should live like that anyway. But, alas, I know I won't. It's just not in me to throw caution to the wind and ignore consequences--as much as I wish it was.
So, knowing this about myself, and knowing the world could possibly come to an end in 2012, and feeling down on myself for calling off work again, and feeling crumby from a hangover, and driving into the gray and dreary sky of Northeast Ohio in January, I got to thinking about my resolution. I could only come up with one word: commit.
This is not a new topic for me, either in writing or in thinking. I've explored it earlier in the blog about the goatstrap (which I promptly shaved off about 20 minutes after writing), and have mulled it over countless times in my head of late. It may have had something to do with watching the Charlie Brown holiday specials--I'm tired of being wishy-washy.
And so, as my mind does, I related it to baseball. I can't turn it off. I got to thinking about some of the players that I've watched over the years and their respective approaches at the plate. Two that immediately came to mind were Jason Bay and Craig Wilson, because of their (now past) association with the Pirates and their contrasting styles.
Jason Bay is a patient almost timid hitter, and except for the times when he's in the midst of a hot streak, misses a lot of good pitches. Sure, he's a really good hitter, but those bouts with timidity have always and likely will always hold him back from being as great as he could be.
You can see it in interviews. IN the way he plays the field. And especially when he's in a slump at the plate. He just can't make up his mind. It's like there's a little seed of doubt in the back of his mind somewhere that he doesn't belong. The thing is, he does belong. It's just something in his makeup that will probably always be there.
Craig Wilson is the opposite. He probably doesn't belong. (As of now, I don't think he's on a major league roster.) He probably never did. He's just a guy who's up there swinging with everything he's got and drinking a case of Pepsi every day. He didn't have a whole lot of talent. He was terrible in the field and he had a mullet. But in 2004, he hit 29 homers. That's a lot.
Craig Wilson had this career year not by patience and talent the Jason Bay consistently achieves All-Star type seasons better than Wilson's best year, but by committing himself to something he knew he could do: hit a fastball.
He was a guess hitter. He always was. His hands weren't quick enough to wait for the pitch to come his way. He had to prepare for a fastball every pitch, and hope that he got what he was looking for. Sometimes, that's all you can do. We don't know what pitch we're going to get.
So, I guess in 2009, I want to live like Craig Wilson and swing from the heels with everything I've got at every pitch that comes my way. I'm sure to look like a fool most of the time (Craig struck out 169 times in 2004), but on those glorious occasions when I do get the pitch I'm looking for, when the pitcher grooves me a fastball trying to get ahead or work back in the count, I'll be ready. What's worse? Missing the perfect pitch because you're practicing patience and good discipline, or getting pie in the face from time to time?
If you ask me, there's no greater mistake we can make with our short time in life than missing a cock-high fastball over the middle of the plate. So, in 2009, like Craig Wilson, I'm going to be ready.
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