Fridayness …

Cripes … been too long since I’ve blogged.

Work, where I normally steal a few moments here and there to blog, has been really busy as of late, which is good. Makes the days go fast, ensures I have a job and all that other fun stuff.

Wanted to say hello to at least one new reader that I’m aware of. I’m thinking of you pal, and wishing you the best in all things.

How the heck is it October already? It’s insane to think that we’re just a couple of months away from Christmas, New Year’s, etc. Of course, this means a few things for me.

One, it’s time to get vigilant about S.A.D. Two, it’s time to get my shit together if I’m going to do NaNo this year. Three … hmm, I can’t remember what three was at the moment.

First off … it’s Seasonal Affective Disorder time! Woo hoo!

Yeah, I’m kidding, being sarcastic, of course. My SAD and depression sucks. No doubt about it, but this year I’ve got a plan for it. First, meditation. I’ve been off meditation all summer, and thankfully, I’ve had no problems with relapse or anything like that.

But with winter coming, and depression coming, it’s time to get back into meditation and the good mindset it fosters.

Second, counseling. I’ve not been to therapy since this spring, when my doctor and I looked at each other and said, “there’s really not much to talk about.” Granted, there may not be much to talk about now either, but, I’d rather be proactive and get ahead of things, than be reactive and have to pull myself out of another winter funk.

Third, my shrink wants me to consider upping my meds starting in January. I’m on the fence about it, but am not ruling it out. I’m just not sure I want to be more medicated than I am already. And I’m hoping I can avoid it with step number four. I also plan on using one of those special lamps … for folks with SAD.

Fourth, exercise … planning a combination of indoor bike training and possibly yoga again. I know my mind is “better” when I’m active, so I know that will help. In addition, I’ve got a weight loss goal too. The truth of the matter is, I’ve gotten heavy again. Fat. Or as Trace’s friend Becky put it, “You look like you guys have gotten ‘comfortable.’”

But I’m not … at all. It’s time for the “big jiggly belly,” as the kids put it, to shrink a bit. Which will certainly help my mental state by not being down on myself about being fat.

As far as NaNo goes … I’m stumped.

I had an idea for a thriller, and I thought it was a good one, but I’ve never written a thriller, have no idea how to write a thriller and doubt I’d be able to pull it off.

Yeah, I know, NaNo is supposed to be about doing, but seriously, I want to be an author, so I’d like to write something that has a half-decent shot at being published, and a half-baked, half-crap “thriller” isn’t going to cut it.

Which brings me to mainstream fiction … stuff like Tropper and Perrotta, but I want it to be my own, not a facsimile of their works. I’ve also kicked around the notion of “desperation” … and tying together several stories from “suburbia” around that theme, but I’m not sure I can pull that off for 50,000 words either.

So basically … I’ve got 21 days to come up with an idea.

Wish me luck …

The wisdom of Enzo …

So I just wrapped up another book, “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein.

Highly recommended. Particularly to people who love dogs, and are interested in car racing. While the racing isn’t a huge part of the story, there is a lot of racing “talk” in the story, but it’s important and doesn’t take away from the overarching story.

Toward the end there were a couple of paragraphs that really spoke to me.

I know this much about racing in the rain. I know it is about balance. It is about anticipation and patience. I know all of the driving skills that are necessary for one to be successful in the rain. But racing in the rain is also about the mind! It is about owning one’s own body. About believing that one’s car is merely an extension of one’s body. About believing that the track is an extension of the car, and the rain is an extension of the track, and the sky is an extension of the rain. It is about believing that you are not you; you are everything. And everything is you.

Racers are often called selfish and egotistical. I myself have called race car drivers selfish; I was wrong. To be a champion, you must have no ego at all. You must not exist as a separate entity. You must give yourself over to the race. You are nothing if not for your team, your car, your shoes, your tires. Do not mistake confidence and self-awareness for egotism.

Sure, it’s a metaphor for life. I think you’d have to be out of your mind not to notice that.

But for me, it reminded me about my own recovery.

Racing in the rain is the perfect metaphor for my own recovery.

The track is slick, but it IS navigable. It’s not impossible to not only cross the finish line but to win.

But it takes effort, concentration, a willingness to accept help from others (your team). You have to own your body, and your choices. You have to find your balance (which I did through meditation).

And in a sense, you must be confident and supremely self-aware, probably to the point where people will think that you’re an arrogant jerk because of your success in recovery.

You see, when I’m down on myself. When I question myself. When I lack the confidence that I can do this. That’s PRECISELY when my addiction has the best opportunity to get the better of me.

But if I can look at myself and see that I’m more than just the sum of my parts … when I can see that I’m everything, and everything is me, I can shrug off the rain, put my foot to the floor and drive it deep into the corner and know… KNOW, that my tires will stick.

Not sure where to begin …

Last Friday was a significant day for me.

I’ve been “sober” for 180 days. Six months. It’s a long damn time and I’m pretty proud of it. Seems like a lifetime ago really.

As Friday wore on my mood continued to improve. Work was light. We were going home for the weekend, to visit my family, and we had a big weekend planned. I don’t really know how else to describe it other than to say it was a reunion of sorts … a true homecoming.

Trace and I had been home once before, since we go back together, and my parents had visited us, but this time was different. Not only were we seeing my parents, and my sis and her family, we were visiting with extended “family” and family.

We’ve been putting our life back together all summer. It hasn’t been the easiest thing in the world to do. On a personal level, we’re doing well. Really well. It’s better than ever before and back to the people we were before. We’ve had financial struggles but we’re finally at a point where we’ve made it back to fairly solid footing.

The kids are great. Work’s good and busy for both of us. We’ve had a wonderful summer of family time, couch time, book time, together time.

And it’s not that I wasn’t aware of it, but it struck me once again, that through it all, despite everything that had happened, life was amazing.

The weekend was great.

Saturday my folks’ house was filled with the noise of nearly 20 happy people, loving life, loving each others’ company, sharing happy memories and talking about future plans. It was one of those days you don’t want to end, but are thrilled to have been a part of.

Sunday was similar, but with fewer people.

Throughout the weekend I heard people telling Trace they had missed her and that they were glad I “came to my senses” and that she was part of the family again.

And I got my share of gentle, good-natured ribbing. Jokes about my “temporary insanity” and the “stature” of the people I had been involved with were made, and I was able to not only laugh politely, but genuinely laugh and enjoy the humor of the situation. Heck, I even made a few jokes at my own expense.

They weren’t making fun of me to be malicious.

They were teasing me about what I’d done, and gently reminding me of what it nearly cost me.

There were other reminders, particularly a moment on Sunday, when my aunt mentioned to me that she’d like an updated picture of the three kids, and told me about the last one she had. It had been taken almost two years ago.

The kids have changed so much since then. But I was too busy being an addict to do the kinds of things that parents need to do, including something as simple as setting up a time to get the kids’ portrait done.

It reminded me that the cost of my addiction wasn’t just bore by Trace, the kids, my parents and hers. The cost of it was stretched far beyond my immediate space. The cost was shared by others, whether they wanted to do so or not. They saw me slip away. They saw the avalanche that my downfall created even as I was blind to it.

I know the pain that my addiction caused me.

I never realized what it caused others, beyond Trace and our immediate family.

That hurts, a little, to think about now.

But it hurts more to realize that I could have never fixed it. I could have chosen to remain an addict and lose everything.

And it hurts me beyond belief to think that there are people in this world who wanted me to remain in my addiction, and some of those same people are “punishing” me to this day for it.

But you know what?

My life, my world and my self, are pretty fucking amazing.

And no one, and nothing, can take that away from me.

Except for myself.

And I’ll be damned if I ever do that again.

***

On my way home on Friday I was listening to the newest Anberlin CD on the Zune.

This is one of my new favorite songs. It speaks volumes to me.

Breathe

This is surrender
To a war-torn life I’ve lived.
Scars and stripes forever
In need of change I can’t resist.

No need to hide anything anymore.
Can’t return to who I was before.

I can finally breathe.
Suddenly alive.
I can finally move.
The world feels revived.

This long of a struggle
Finally opened up my eyes.
Revolution’s not easy
With a Civil War on the inside.

No need to hide anything anymore.
Can’t return to who I was before.

I can finally breathe.
Suddenly alive.
I can finally move.
‘Cause I realize.

I can finally breathe.
Suddenly alive.
I can finally move.
The world feels revived.

I can finally breathe.
Suddenly alive.
I can finally move.
‘Cause I realize.

I can finally breathe.
Suddenly alive.
I can finally move.
The world feels revived.

I can finally breathe.
Suddenly alive.
I can finally move.
The world feels revived.

Miscellany …

Busy again at work, busy again at home where back-to-school mode is in place and my nights have been spent either with the kids, relaxing in front of the tube or reading, so I’ve not blogged much.

 Apologies of course.

 A few thoughts are roaming around in my noggin today …

 Sobriety and Ebert

 Roger Ebert, in today’s Sun Times online edition, wrote about his 30 years of sobriety. It was an interesting read, and of course, the last couple of years have been aided by him basically not having a lower jaw so he can’t really drink much, but that said, he did manage to conquer his alcoholism, and for that I saw congrats.

 I think it’s fantastic for him.

 He also writes about A.A. and how it helped him. But he does so with an extremely light hand, which I very much appreciate. In fact, he notes,

 “The last thing I want to do is start an argument about A.A.. Don’t go if you don’t want to. It’s there if you need it. In most cities, there’s a meeting starting in an hour fairly close to you. It works for me. That’s all I know. I don’t want to argue with you about it.”

 Arguing about it is pointless and I appreciate what he said here. It works for him.

 But he understands it doesn’t work for everyone.

 My experience in a 12-step program was vastly different. Pretty much the antithesis of Roger’s. So when my 30 years comes and goes, I won’t write about how A.A. saved me, I won’t wax rhapsodic about the meetings and the fellowship and the sense of community and how a higher power saved me.

 But I’m glad for Roger that it worked for him.

 For me … I’m at 172 days today. Five months. Longest ever period of sobriety for me. I feel good. No real temptations lately. Gearing up to make my plan of attack for the winter months this fall.

 When tweets/blogs go too far …

 I don’t usually slag people I don’t know in this blog. But for the last 24 hours I’ve watched as dooce has taken to tweeting about her difficulties with Maytag in regards to a brand new washing machine her and Jon have.

 The internet is rife with people telling unhappy tales of products and customer service experiences. Most retail sites give people the chance to opine about the item without verifying that the account or even the person is real.

 But what dooce has done in the last 24 hours strikes me as a bit unsavory. Maybe a bit juvenile. Maybe a bit manipulative.

 When I was a reporter, I always joked about using the paper as a means to make sure I didn’t have any customer service issues like this. But I never wielded that power, because it wouldn’t be right. It would compromise what I did for a living.

 It was an ethical thing.

 In fact, in college, large chunks of study were devoted to the ethics of journalism. It was something I took very seriously.

 But there’s no B-school, like there is a J-school. You don’t major in blogging, you major in journalism (not if you’re smart you don’t though!). The blagosphere is pretty much like the wild west. There are few rules, if any.

 There is, however, a push to bring order, in a small amount, to the blagoverse.

 The Federal Trade Commission now requires that bloggers note when they receive something for consideration. Small potatoes? Not really. Read around … particularly the more popular blogs, and you’ll find mention of all sorts of swag that these folks are receiving. Sure, some of it’s small stuff, but I’ve also read about bloggers getting cameras, computers, etc.

 On the face of it, I think I like what the FTC is doing.

 Mommy bloggers and their readers, in fact, are a POWERFUL marketing draw. Why do you think there are mommy blog conventions? Daddy bloggers are now finding their own traction, and a few of them are getting more established, but it goes beyond that … there are photography blogs, there are tech blogs … you name it, there’s a blog about it and when someone writes about it, there are PR and marketing flaks in companies around the country taking note.

 What better way to curry favor with a sought after demographic than to give a blogger with the targeted demographics following him or her a hot piece of merchandise, and have that blogger turn around and write glowingly about it?

 Now, I’m not saying that all bloggers are greedy or are willing to turn shill for the right price. Nor am I whining because, with my pittance of readership, I’ll never get swag. I really don’t envy the ethical conundrums they’re facing.

 But if the blogs and twitter are going to be the way we “get” information, there has to be some sort of means to know that that information is legitimate.

 Maybe, in time, it will settle itself out and the blogtopia will learn to police itself. I was going to suggest that maybe, in time, blogs will really turn out to be a fad.

 But I’m not that naïve. Dooce has over a million followers on twitter alone. I can only imagine the number of readers she has at her blog (and I’m one. For the record, I really do enjoy her blog.).

 That kind of readership comes with TREMENDOUS power.

 It needs to be used judiciously.

 Dooce’s husband is now casting this as a call to action of sorts … to rally people across the country/universe/twitterverse/blogoverse to demand better customer service and products.

 Admirable.

 But I have a hard time believe their now philanthropic crusade began as anything more than a means to use the power they wield to get a fucking washing machine fixed in an expedited manner.

The summer of words …

Last night, while we were reading in bed and I finished another book, Trace looked over at me and said, “We’ve really read a lot of books this summer.”

And she’s right. It’s been one of those summers for me, where I get lost in book after book after book. With the exception of one book, which I stopped reading and gave up on, they’ve all been fantastic.

Reading has always been important to me, even as a kid. It’s something I’m trying to instill in the kids too, to varying degrees of success. Jake likes to read, but he does it in fits and starts. When he does read, however, he plows through books, just like I do, so that’s encouraging to me. I’m hoping the twins pick up on the importance of it too. We try to provide them with as many books as our finances allow, but we’re falling woefully short, so we spend time at the library often.

In fact, without the library, Trace and I would have spent a literal fortune reading this summer. Here’s what I’ve read so far, and some thoughts on each:

Jonathan Tropper

The Book of Joe – my introduction to Tropper and I can’t recommend this book enough. It reminds me so much of the town I grew up in and the attitudes that were prevalent back then. It’s a fantastic book. One of those books that I truly never wanted to end. Tropper is one of my new literary heroes.

Plan B – the second Tropper book I read, and I really liked this one too. It wasn’t as humorous and poignant as The Book of Joe, but it resonated as well. When Plan A doesn’t work, you always turn to Plan B. The theme permeates the book and I can’t help but nod understandingly when it came to some of the characters.

Everything Changes – I think I enjoyed this one almost as much as The Book of Joe. It’s farcical and humorous but also quite poignant. Read this during our vacation.

How to Talk to a Widower – I really liked this one because of the chances Tropper takes in the telling of the story. I won’t say much more about it, other than to say I like it when authors step out of the traditional novel structure and try something new. In this case, it works, very well.

Tom Perotta

Little Children – After reading all of Tropper’s available books at the library, I went to Amazon to see if I could find something in the same vein. Perotta popped up as a suggestion so I started with this book. This is another book I can’t recommend enough. When I envision myself as a writer, no matter how silly it seems at times, these are the kinds of books that I want to write. This is a simmering tale about suburbia, and the plot and subplot are masterful. This was a book that I hated to end (I could say more, but it might ruin it for those who might read it).

The Abstinence Teacher – I just finished this one last night, and again, it’s fantastic. This one resonated deeply with me on several levels. The addict in recovery, a conservative group trying to push its values on an entire town, a mother’s struggles with her views on faith and how her daughters are at odds with it. Another highly recommended book.

Harlan Coben

The Woods – I really enjoyed this one. Pretty twisty and turny, but all in all a very good read.

Tell No One – Another one I enjoyed. Not great, but the plot kept me happy and turning the pages.

Just One Look – This one I just finished, and I liked it a lot. A nice tense, taut thriller.

MISC

Rock Island Line, by David Rhodes – Originally published in 1975, I picked this one up in the new fiction section of the library, and was kind of miffed when I learned it was a reprint. But the description on the back of the book intrigued me, so I read it. It’s not, at first, an easy read. It’s slow, plodding, and takes awhile for the main story to take root. But the “preamble” is needed, to set the stage for the remainder of the work. I loved it. It was one of those books I wasn’t sold on, even when I was two-thirds of the way through it, but I was happy I finished it. Rhodes has written a sequel to this, Driftless, which was published in 2008. It’s his first work since he was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident in 1977. I look forward to reading it.

American Psycho, by Bret Easton Ellis – AWFUL book. Absolutely horrible. I tried to finish it, but didn’t. I know what the author was trying to do, but he failed at it miserably.

I also re-read the Great Gatsby at one point this summer, on the Kindle, when I didn’t have any books and no time to get to the library. Still a very good read.

I think that’s all. It’s been quite a whirlwind of words, and I’m sure I’ve overlooked something.

Hopefully I’ll be starting Tropper’s latest, “This is Where I Leave You” tonight or tomorrow. I also started Jeffrey Deaver’s “The Bodies Left Behind” today on my way to work.

I’m going to take a stab at writing a thriller this year, for NaNo, and I wanted to read some of Deaver’s stuff because I think he’s a master at it.

What’s filling your mind with words this summer?

Advice …

For divorced dads everywhere.

Don’t be nice.

Wait … that sounds wrong. Be nice. Just don’t be too nice.

Live TO THE LETTER of your divorce decree. Don’t be too nice about it. Be vigilant, protect yourself, and if you feel like being generous to your ex with the notion of it being a good thing in the courts’ eyes, don’t bother. The court is dispassionate, as it should be of course, but there is NO grey area.

Black. White. Never the two shall meet.

Yes, this relates to the ongoing child support overpayment issue and my refusal to pay childcare expenses in light of the overpayment.

I let the overpayment continue for many reasons. I figured it would be considered a wash in the grand scheme of things. I figured it would be easier than going to court to deal with it (turns out, getting my support amount adjusted was easier than I thought, but how was I to know that?). I figured my ex wouldn’t still be consumed by her greed.

But I was wrong on all accounts.

We go back to court next month … but the way things look, I not only overpayed her to the tune of nearly $7,000, but I’m also going to be responsible for the child care costs I didn’t pay, around $5,000.

In the court’s eyes, that $7,000 doesn’t exist, and it doesn’t appear that I have any recourse whatsoever.

Father’s rights?

That’s a fucking myth.

The system is absolutely broken. It punishes good fathers, like me, like my buddy Kurt, because it lumps us in with the assholes that don’t man up, that don’t pay their support, that don’t give a shit about their kids.

In this regard, ironically, the system is absolutely blinded by greyness. There is no black and white, it seems, when divorced dads are concerned. There’s only this grey miasma of “deadbeats” that seems to be prevalent.

Want proof? Go sit in family court for a day, for even half a day.

Unfortunately for guys like me and Kurt, the system is rife with guys that DON’T do what they’re supposed to. And it screws guys like us.

So be good to your kids, divorced dads. I’m convinced that down the road, they’ll see that despite the circumstances, you did everything you could to do right by them, to take care of their needs, to put them first. I have to believe that. I have to believe that down the road they’ll see things for what they are. It’s about the only hope I have when it comes to the kids.

But when it comes to your ex, be good but not too good. Forget being generous.

After all, it’s a black and white world, and justice, at times, is TOO blind.

No time …

for my usual long-winded post today.

I’m busy playing catch up from being on holiday last week.

As expected, it was a fantastic and amazing week. There’s so much to say about it, but it also seems like my words wouldn’t even begin to scratch the surface of it all.

This, however, tells a great deal of the story.

And then there’s this, written in the sand by Jake.

Speaks volumes, doesn’t it?

And one more.

Sure, it wasn’t perfect. Sure, there were bumps (literally) along the way.

But look at those smiles … a perfect family vacation?

You bet it was.

Peace on a Post-It …

from SoulPancake.

T-minus …

Started working on a blog post on Friday when work sort of imploded and I got swept up in the aftermath. Next thing I knew it was 5 and I had to rush to make the shuttle.

Kids are back! Had a great weekend with them.

Took Jake to a local fishing derby on Saturday morning, and the twins joined us a couple of hours later. Jake got skunked, but we had a lot of fun, got a lot of sun and Jake got a bunch of free fishing stuff, which he immediately took home and put into his “new” tackle box, which happens to be my old tackle box that I used when I was in high school and college.

There’s something magical about inheriting a tackle box. And he loves it, even though he wants me to find a way to put his name on it, where mine is now. LOL. He’ll be taking it with us to Michigan next week. Hopefully it’ll come back with a few more fish tales than it has now.

We also went to the splash park, even though the mild weather kept our visit short.

Sunday we didn’t do much, though we did make a trip to Bass Pro Shops to look at and pick out a new fishing pole for Jake. A long time ago I bought him a Zebco 33, like my dad did for me when I was a boy, but it’s been either lost or who knows, and rather than take the pole he uses while at his mom’s house, it’s time he has a new pole for our house, so we picked out a very nice Zebco 404 in red, which was his favorite color, although this weekend he informed us that green was his new favorite color. Who knows? LOL

The twins are great … just so much fun to be with and hang out with. They’ve become expressive and effusive and just such cool little people.

Short week ahead of me this week, though it will include yet another trip to the courthouse. I just hope a judge sees what’s going on here.

Friday and this weekend will be busy with getting ready for our trip.

I can’t wait … this is a much needed family vacation.

And the best part is that for most of the time we’re completely inaccessible, cut off from cell phones and internet and TV. We’ll be bringing one of our laptops along, so we can watch DVDs if/when there’s a rainy day, or we decide on having movie night.

Fishing, beach time, hiking, maybe some caching … it’s going to be a great trip. Let’s light this candle!

What if …

So over the weekend, based on the recommendation of Rude Cactus, I picked up Jonathan Tropper’s “The Book of Joe.”

I can’t put it down.

It’s a terrific book, and I can’t wait to see how it all shakes out. It also gives me hope that the kind of writing that I enjoy doing, which I see as in the same vein as Tropper, is legitimate. (As an aside, my “novel” follows much the same story arc, though without much comedy.) I’m nowhere near as good as Tropper, but he gives me something to aspire to. Reading this book as been an epiphany along the lines of when I first read Greasy Lake.

Anyway, in the book, one of the characters is dying. I don’t want to give too much of the book away (because you should read it!), but he has a conversation with the main character. He offers this observation.

“You remember the old Roadrunner cartoons, where the coyote would run off a cliff and keep going, until he looked down and happened to notice that he was running on nothing more than air?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he says, “I always used to wonder what would have happened if he’d never looked down. Would the air have stayed solid under his feet until he reached the other side? I think it would have, and I think we’re all like that. We start heading out across this canyon, looking straight ahead at the thing that matters, but something, some fear or insecurity, makes us look down. And we see we’re walking on air, and we panic, and turn around and scramble like hell to get back to solid ground. And if we just wouldn’t look down, we could make it to the other side. The place where things matter.”

As an unabashed Looney Tunes fanatic, I appreciate the reference. But I appreciate the deeper intimation here.

What would happen if we stopped looking down and just chased our dreams?

What would happen if we stopped listening to our critics, stopped giving them power, and trusted ourselves?

Why are we afraid of falling when we’d be ok if we would just keep moving toward the place where things matter?

I have several places where things matter. One of which is home, and I ventured out “onto the air” in March when I came back home. Another is sobriety. Talk about venturing onto the air. Giving up your addictive crutch is never easy, but I’m still on the air, 130+ days now. Another is writing.

That’s the one where I’m always looking down though.

Maybe it’s time to just run and not look down, and forget I’m running on air.

What’s your place where things matter? Will you take off running for it too?