Busy People Suck

You know that guy that's portrayed in movies? The guy who wouldn't remember your name even if it was written on your forehead. The guy who can't get his shit together. Apparently that guy is me.

Lately I've become too wrapped up in my work. The other week my assistant had to remind me that my nephew was turning 1 and I should send a present. I never wanted to be that guy. The guy that needs reminders from his assistant to take care of the personal life he has neglected. I hate that guy!

I refuse to ever be the guy that has someone else send gifts or flowers on his behalf. The guy that can't remember special dates, like birthdays and anniversaries, all on his own.

I love giving gifts, writing a nice note, or picking out the perfect flowers. I've never been the guy who grabs the first card he sees in the store or just sends standard roses to get it over with.

I've always taken pride in the fact that I put a lot of time and thought in what gift I select and what words I choose to accompany it. That there is personal meaning behind it all. That it ties together. And most importantly, that there's no denying it's from me because it reflects me. And that there's no denying it's for you because it reflects you.

So what happens when you forget to remind yourself not to forget? What excuse do you use? The standard, "I was busy?"

I've never thought of myself as a forgetful person because forgetful people are usually unorganized, uncaring, or simply selfish. I am none of those things. Or am I? Or maybe I really am just busy.

Busy is an ugly word too. Say it outloud - busy. It's short. It's cold. Busy.

It implies I don't have time for you.

It's become standard dialog in our lives...

"Hey, how've you been?"
"Good. I've been busy."

But you know what? Busy isn't always good. Busy isn't always commendable. Busy sometimes sucks. And if you've been "busy" a lot, chances are you kinda suck too.

When You Feel The Urge To Vomit, You're Living Right

Last night I started writing the first post for my new blog (no, it hasn't launched yet). A post that is deeply personal and will easily be the most terrifying post I'll ever push publish on. Then I stopped writing it because it made me want to throw-up. Seriously, the urge began to overwhelm me. And I'll tell you why that's a good thing.

Because it forces me to be uncomfortable.

I'm not referring to the type of discomfort brought on by bad underwear that keep riding up or dress shoes that pinch your toes. Those are external discomforts.

I'm referring to internal discomforts. The kind of terror that keeps you up at night, tossing and turning. The kind of terror that makes your palms sweaty and your knees weak. The kind of terror that makes you want to vomit all over yourself at the sheer thought of proceeding forward.

Perfect example, being stuck in a loveless marriage. Why doesn't the person leave? Because they're comfortable. Comfortable will keep you stuck. Stuck in a dead marriage. Stuck in a dead job. Stuck in a dead town. Stuck "living" a dead life!

Simply put, comfortable is bad.

The urge to vomit all over yourself is good!

Some people would go as far to say that you should always be uncomfortable. I don't know if I would go that far because one may lose their sanity living in a state of constant uncertainty. But living with a little fear never hurt anyone. In fact, I think it's quite healthy!

I like to think people get airsick on planes not because of the motion or altitude, but because they are taking flight! That they are about to embark on new territory. To journey unfamiliar grounds. And that's both scary and thrilling.

So I urge you to break out of your comfort zone. Whether that involves writing with complete transparency and vulnerability or taking some giant leap in your life that has caused your stomach to flip-flop for days, weeks, months or even years - DO IT!

And when you feel the urge to vomit, you'll know you're living right.

Socially Retarded

My face is a blessing and a cursing. Blessed that I appear friendly and open enough that pretty much anyone will talk to me. Cursed that I appear friendly and open enough that everyone does talk to me. I realize that makes me sound like a total dick! I swear I'm not a dick. I just play one on the Internet.

The best thing about the Internet is the people. It's also the worst thing about the Internet. I believe the same is true about life in general.

I don't know what it is, but people don't seem to have any social boundaries when it comes to me. Part of me enjoys their candidness and another part of me is terrified by it! My sister shares this same problem. She shares my face.

People want to engage in conversation at inappropriate times, like when I'm running with headphones in. And people want to engage in conversation that is just inappropriate at any time, like the woman in the Target checkout line telling me about her pending divorce. All I wanted to do was buy a bottle of Tide, a pack of light bulbs, and be on my way. Instead I was trapped in an impromptu marital counseling session with a total stranger that was teetering between tears and murder. On a scale from 1-10, the level awkward I felt was a 97.

My Mother says I should take this all as a compliment. That I give off kind energy. That I'm a sympathetic and understanding soul. That people can sense I'm caring. I tried not to laugh. She tried not to hit me.

They say 80% of communication is non-verbal. If that is true, which I believe it is, then maybe it's not these people that are socially retarded. Maybe it's me that's socially retarded! That somehow my body language is inviting these bizarre conversations in.

I tried not to make eye contact. I tried to look busy, as busy as one can look at a dog park. But when she said hello I couldn't be rude and not at least smile back. That is when I knew it was all downhill from there. This particular woman is notorious for talking my ear off! She physically traps me in a corner between a shady tree and a picnic table where there is no escape other than climbing the tree or leaping over the table (both options I've taken into serious consideration). She's one of those people where the conversation is all about her and she never takes a breath between sentences. It's so draining!

For the most part, I've learned to tune her out without appearing rude. I throw out the occasional "yeah, uh huh, ok, mmm hmm, really." But yesterday she said something out of left field that I just couldn't ignore. Something I've been having nightmares about! She said...

"My cockatoo's uterus pops out of it's body when aroused."

T.M.F.I. (Too Much Fucking Information)! I've never been so horrified and turned off in my entire life! I wish someone was there to photograph the look on my face, to capture my non-verbal communication. I had no reply. I literally ran away. My Bulldog followed.

What I've Learned From This Experience:
There is still a lot I don't know about the female anatomy. I know my way around a vagina, but clearly I need a Uterus 101 course. Can a uterus pop out of a woman's body? Wouldn't that hurt? Is it common? Could you die? It is an organ after all! I'm still amazed at how women can bleed for 5 days straight every month and live. I would Google the answer to these uterus questions, but I'm too frightened at the images I may find.

What You Can Learn From My Experience:
When you don't know what to say with your mouth, say it with your body. And the best non-verbal communication is to run. Run far. Run fast. Run Forrest. Run!

Homophobia Is Contagious, Gay Isn't

"You know what's fucked up? Everybody gets so homophobic. People, we need to cut that shit out 'cause everybody in this room got at least a gay cousin. Every last one of you got a gay cousin! You knew he was gay when y'all was kids. You was playing ball. He was jumping rope. He didn't turn gay. He was gay then. He just didn't have nobody to be gay with." - Chris Rock

That bit always makes me laugh because it's so true! I'm convinced that everyone has at least one person close to them that is gay. If you disagree with that statement either someone in your life is in denial about being gay or you yourself are denying that they are. I come from a pretty small family and even I have a gay cousin!

Look, I get it. A lot of people are scared of gay. They think it's an evil, disgusting, rebellious decision some weirdo made. They refuse to accept that being gay isn't a choice, but rather how they were born. It's a part of them - like their arms, that little bump on their nose, or their dry sense of humor. And personally, I'm ok with it. Gay doesn't bother me. Never has. Never will. So you're gay. So what? Someone telling me they are gay is like telling me they like sugar in their coffee. I don't care. It doesn't affect my life, nor our relationship. You're not my gay cousin Erik. You're just my cousin Erik. And we can hang. Why couldn't we hang? Because you're gay and I'm straight and people will talk? Fuck 'em.

My cousin was set to fly from New Zealand to NYC over the 4th of July weekend to visit me. I was excited to see him, especially given the fact that he lives on the other side of the planet and we're rarely able to get together. He was going to be in town for 4 days and I made plenty of plans to keep us entertained. While at the airport, I even scored us dates for that night - a girl with a gay bestie! Things couldn't be going more perfect, until I got the text message...

"Dude, aren't you worried people will think you're a fag?"

The text message came from a homophobic friend of mine. It instantly pissed me off. I wanted to reply with something equally as rude, but just sent a simple "no" to him. His homophobic issues weren't worth getting angry over and spoiling the holiday weekend. It's said that racism is taught and I feel homophobia is too. In fact, homophobia is contagious! And unlike gay, you can catch it.

What I wanted to tell him is that gay doesn't rub off on you just because you hangout with someone who is gay. I can't catch his gay like I could catch his head cold. And I like to think that the vast majority of society isn't ignorant enough to think that just because a straight person is friends with, or blood relatives with, a gay person that it doesn't automatically mean I have homosexual tendencies. Ignorance is contagious. Homophobia is contagious. Gay isn't.

Those are the things I wanted to say. But I know that unless or until someone close to him admits they are gay and he realizes they are the same person they've always been, he simply won't understand.



***NOTE***
Related post of interest: 2/12/08 - Coming Out Of The Closet

Just Say It!

There are a lot of idiots/geniuses out there that shoot their mouth off (me being one of them). And I wish there was more of them.

Why? Because for every idiot/genius there are 1,000 other people that are terrified to say what they really want to say and should say! They're so scared of what other's will think and how they will be perceived for not conforming to popular opinion. They are worried they will be embarrassed, ridiculed, or shunned for speaking up.

And if they call you a jerk, so what?

Take it from someone who has never held back when it comes to sharing what's on his mind. There are far more people that admire my ability to speak my mind than those that loathe me for it.

I see this after I write a strongly opinionated post here on my blog. I will always get a half dozen e-mails or so from people that may have been too scared to leave a public comment saying they agree with me, but feel comfortable doing so privately. Although, maybe those that think I'm a jerk are just too scared to speak their mind (publicly or privately) and tell me? That could be the case too.

I'm not condoning being offensive. I'm condoning being real and honest. Of course sometimes being real and honest doesn't always sit well with others. But if you want transparency in your relationships (from business to love), that's the price you have to be willing to pay. Genuine, open communication is quite rare and that's very sad.

So to people like Kanye West who has stuck his foot in his mouth on numerous occasions, I applaud you.

I don't applaud you for saying moronic things, but rather for having the balls to actually say how you truly feel! Moronic or not.

Sure you may regret the words the minute they part from your lips. But don't ever regret the fact that you have the courage to speak your mind, something few have.

Fuck biting your tongue. It may lead to controversy and some may hate you for it, but at least what you have to say will be interesting. Interesting is hard to ignore.

Say what you think. Say what you feel. Say it clearly. Say it now. And say it without fear. Just say it!

How To Cope With Ideas That Never Materialize

Today was supposed to be a big day! I was going to unveil a project I have been quietly working on for the past 6 months. But today is an awful, no good, very bad day. Late last night I discovered the project (THE ENTIRE IDEA) I had been working on had been stolen 2 months ago! And just like that, in that single moment, all my excitement, all my hope, all my creativity, all my hard work, all my heart was crushed. Now I'm left feeling completely unmotivated. Just blah.

Ideas are relatively worthless without need, passion, opportunity, execution, team work, and follow-through. That is exactly why I'm feeling relatively worthless right now.

I know what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to pick myself up, brush that dirt off my shoulder like a pimp and push forward. But instead I keep lying here, face down in the dirt. And I keep grinding that dirt between my teeth unable to decide if I'm more pissed off or sad about the whole thing. Self-pity is a waste of time and energy. So I refuse to waste anymore time or energy than the 6 months I already have.

While it's not possible they actually "stole" the idea because I hadn't told a single soul about my project, sometimes great minds just think alike and they beat you to the finish line. At this point, me competing would look unoriginal. I would be seen as the copycat. That's not sexy.

I always refer to any of my entrepreneurial endeavors as "my baby" and this feels like my baby was ripped from my arms! So today on Launch Day, June 1st, I'm left with a completely blank slate. I have to start all over again and I'm not sure I really want to anymore. Because birth is long and painful.

How do you reignite passion? How do you deal when you've invested so much of yourself and see zero return? How do you cope with ideas that never materialize?

And how do I even begin to accept the fact that lack of perseverance wasn't ever my problem. That simply a roadblock went up preventing me to persevere further. To me, a roadblock isn't an acceptable excuse for failing.

In A Good Place

I'm writing this post in the dark. Well, by candlelight to be exact. Also, by the white glare of my MacBook Air. It sounds kind of romantic. And a little geeky. Mostly, it sounds like me.

A big rig hit a transformer and knocked the power out to over 42,000 homes in my area. (Those who can't drive have no business being on the road, let alone behind the wheel of a giant truck! But I digress.) My world has been silent for exactly 3 hours now. By the time I publish this post, it will be morning. And with it, light. But for now I sit here in the absence of light and reflect. Ironic isn't it? The entire definition of reflection is to cast light on something, to show or mirror oneself. However, it's only in the dark, the physical dark, that I am able to see myself.

I feel indifferent. Or rather, I'm different. I'm back to being me again.

I'm no longer emotionally attached to any girl.
I'm no longer trying to impress any clients.
I'm no longer doing stupid/crazy shit strictly to get a cheap laugh from any of my friends.
And I'm no longer longing for either of my parents to validate me.

I'm ok with where I am. Who I am. What I'm willing to offer. And of how much I'm willing to take.

Actually, I'm more than ok. I'm in a good place. A simple place. An effortless place. A free place. A light place.

Sometimes you have to spend time in the dark before you can fully appreciate being in the light...and to recognize how good it feels to finally be back in it.

I'm in a good place. And I hope you are too.

Do Something. Do Anything.

It's said the more you read, the better you'll write.

But lately, the more I read, the more inadequate I feel about my writing.

So the less I write.

And the less I write, the more unhappy and anxious I feel.

And the longer I go without writing, the greater the pressure is to write something amazing!

And when I place pressure on myself to write something amazing, writer's block arrives.

So to pass the mental barrier, I read some more.

And the entire cycle repeats itself.



I'm going to do some bad work. That's what this post is - bad work. But it's something. It's a start.

Do something. Do anything.

Write.

Understanding Anger

I boarded the crowded L Train and grabbed one of the few reaming seats. An NYU student sat down next to me. He started venting to his buddy about how he suspected his girlfriend of 2 years was cheating on him. He confronted her. She denied it. And promptly dumped him. I watched his jaw line protrude as he grinded his teeth and his knuckles turning white as he clinched his fists in anger. He dropped F bombs in every sentence, called her the B word and even the C word. Clearly he was angry.

An older couple takes their seat across from me. With their foldout maps, fanny packs and confused faces, it was easy to see they were first time tourists. The wife looked particularly uncomfortable and lost. A Muslim man sat down beside her. He was casually dressed - sported a full beard, a turban and a backpack. Most likely a native New Yorker and not a "terrorist" as the accusing eyes of the couple seemed to have labeled him. Their pupils darted at him and then back at one another in horror, as if they assumed he had a bomb stashed in his backpack and was planning to blow us all up. The Muslim man sat there peacefully and quietly reading the sports section of the newspaper. While the woman began to fidget nervously, sliding further from the man and closer to her husband. Disgusted. Lips tightly pursed. Clearly she was angry.

I decide now is a good time to shoot a couple quick e-mails off from my phone, weed through my voicemail and double check my schedule for the remaining half of the day. Of course this is the moment when my Droid decides it's going to lockup on me. This is the moment when it erases all my information and resets itself back to factory settings like the lemon it is. This is also the moment I realize too much of my life resides in and relies on a 4-inch device. And I want to throw it! Clearly I was angry.

In an attempt to deal with the anger bubbling up inside of me and all around me, I turn my iPod on to drown out the cursing NYU student. I close my eyes so I no longer have to bear witness to the racial profiling. And I tilt my head back and breathe deeply to relieve the tension headache I've instantly given myself. That's when it hits me. Anger isn't the problem here.

Anger is just a mask. It's a symptom of something deeper. It is never the problem. The real problem is hurt, fear, and/or frustration. And we wear anger to hide these emotions. Because somewhere in life we have been taught that draping ourselves in an ugly cloak of anger is somehow more attractive than showing hurt, fear or frustration. Apparently hurt, fear and frustration are hideous! Yes, these emotions must be concealed at all costs. That's where anger steps in.

The key to understanding anger is recognizing what the true underlying issue is.

The NYU student wasn't angry. He felt hurt. For not trusting.
The tourist wasn't angry. She felt fear. For not knowing if she could trust.
And I wasn't angry either. I felt frustrated. For trusting too much.

Not only is anger an ugly emotion, it's one of the hardest emotions to overcome. Because to get to the root of our anger we must dig deeper. And digging emotionally deeper into oneself is never a pretty or pleasant task. That alone makes me angry! Or is that really fear talking? Or maybe sadness speaking? After all, it's always easier to be mad than sad.

Think about it.

Fight Or Flight

It is estimated that nearly 200 people jumped to their death from the WTC on 9/11. Many people have difficulty understanding how they could do that and why. I am not one of those people.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post titled "Preparing For The Moment To Come." It was about Aron Ralston, a mountaineer who was forced to choose between his limb and his life when his hand became trapped by a boulder weighing over 800 pounds. Long story short, Aron chooses life when he makes the difficult decision to cut off his own hand with a dull pocket knife in order to free himself. Although when I wrote that post, I left out part of the story - the personal side. I watched the movie with my sister and as time dwindled down and Aron's character needed to make the "limb of life" decision, I blurted out what I would do if I were in his shoes.

"I would use that pocket knife to stab myself in the heart."

I said it with certainty and without hesitation. She looked at me like I was stark raving mad! To me it seemed like a genius solution. But the minute it passed my lips, I knew that was a thought I should have kept to myself. It shocked and sadden her to know. She couldn't understand how such an outrageously violent and permeant act could even enter my head! For whatever reason, cutting off my hand just wouldn't occur to me, but killing myself would. And the way I saw it, I could either stand there and die the inevitable death, or I could take control of my fate. Cutting off your hand most likely would cause you to bleed a slow death. So why not just get it over with by taking the blade straight to the heart? But the more interesting question is...

For someone who has always been a fighter in life, why would I choose to flee?

The fight-or-flight response states that an acute threat to survival is marked by physical changes, including nervous and endocrine changes, that prepare a human or an animal to react or to retreat. The decision making process isn't based on careful analysis, but rather on pure instinct - an immediate reaction to the current situation. So I wonder...

What makes one person accept the inevitable? Another person to refuse acceptance of the inevitable? And yet another person to accept the inevitable, but control the pace and manner in which it arrives?

Preparing For The Moment To Come

I believe everything in life happens for a reason, even if the lesson is unclear, it's still taught. I believe the more difficult and painful the lesson is, the more you learn from it. I believe the best lessons have the power to completely change our lives and move us entirely in a new direction. I believe Aron Ralston shares my beliefs.

Aron Ralston gained fame in 2003 after he became pinned by a half-ton boulder in a Utah canyoneering accident. Having told no one where he was going and no one around to hear his cries for help, he remains trapped alone in the canyon for nearly a week! With very limited food and water and no one coming to rescue him, Ralston struggles to keep his sanity and even documents a final goodbye to his family on a digital video camera he had been carrying. Realizing the inevitable, Ralston is forced to choose between his limb or his life!

Ralston choses life, surviving by amputating his own hand with a dull pocket knife! Without the luxury of pain meds, he breaks both bones in his arm and then saws away for over an hour at his hand - cutting through tendons, ligaments and muscle. Once freed, he then rappels 65 feet and hikes 7 miles to rescue.

Carnegie Mellon University alumnus Aron Ralston's incredible story has been, and continues to be, an inspiration to millions around the world. And because his tale is so remarkable, he's been asked to be the speaker at CMU's Commencement this May. His heroic story is also the subject of the film "127 Hours," starring James Franco. And of course the movie is based on Ralston's 2004 New York Times bestselling autobiography (appropriately titled), "Between A Rock and A Hard Place."

Just 27-years-old at the time, Aron Ralston's life would forever change in those 127 hours. And his reflection in those 127 hours would forever change the way I look at mine...

"You know, I’ve been thinking. Everything it...just comes together. It’s me. I chose this. I chose all this! This rock. This rock has been waiting for me my entire life. It’s entire life, ever since it was a bit of meteorite a million, billion years ago. In space. It’s been waiting, to come here. Right, right here. I’ve been moving towards it my entire life. The minute I was born, every breath that I’ve taken, every action has been leading me to this crack on the out surface."

Every person you've ever encountered.
Every decision you've ever made.
Every wince of pain you've ever felt.
Every struggle you've ever overcome.
Every tear you've ever shed.

It's all leading up to something. Something bigger than you can fathom. Something you currently may not feel prepared for and may fear. Perhaps something good. Perhaps something awful. Either way, something you've been moving towards your entire life. Something that will change you forever. Something that will make you believe you are here for a reason. That you serve a purpose on this Earth and you have a story to tell.

Every single thing that has ever happened in your life is preparing you for the moment that is to come. For a story that has yet to be written.

Life Lists - Motivating Or A Catalyst For Anxiety?

"Confront your fears. List them. Get to know them. And only then will you be able to put them aside and move ahead." - Jerry Gillies

I'm a man of lists. To-Do lists, shopping lists, idea lists, lists of lists to be made (not a joke). Lists are good. They keep us organized and focused by prioritizing tasks and breaking down work loads into small manageable chunks. They help us set goals and push us to accomplish those goals. They're simply handy and effective. Although for some, they're simply a catalyst for anxiety - a daunting reminder of all that we have yet to do in a small window of time that is constantly shrinking by the minute! (Just writing that sentence caused my chest to tighten.)

If you're like most people, you have have two lists going on any given day - a To-Do List for work and a To-Do List for home. And if you're like most bloggers, you have two more lists - a 101 Things You Didn't Know About Me list and a Life List. Notice there is no link for my Life List. Why? Because writing one somewhat terrifies me! Ok, that's not entirely true. The actual writing part is rather fun, but it's that nagging "what if" question in the back of my mind while writing it that paralyzes the pen in my hand. That "what if" I fail to check off item #24, #31 or #86? "What if" I fall short of meeting all of my life goals? Will my life have been a failure? I realize that sounds overly dramatic and I realize that one can lead a full life even if they never climbed Mount Everest. Still, I'm left wondering if my time would be better spent writing down a list of fears that I need to overcome rather than a list of big life goals I want to complete?

When I read other people's Life Lists, again I wonder. And I can't help but think that some are for entertainment purposes only. Something to give the appearance that they are more motivated than they truly are. Or an attempt to paint an image of their future so it appears more glamourous and exciting than they really plan on making it. The whole idea of creating a Life List is to inspire and motivate you to do great things! But you have to question if these Life Lists are being taken seriously or if they're just another blogging fad.

Shortly after the movie The Bucket List came out, I've wanted to write my own Bucket List/Life List. I made mental notes of a few items such a list would entail, but never put pen to paper. Writing things down makes it feel concrete, cementing me to my words. Like ink etchings in skin, it's a permeant reminder and nearly impossible to erase. So those written words become a part of me, forever bound to me. And in this case, that scares me. Terrifies is more like it! Life Lists may be helpful, but they are also bittersweet. Checking off an item comes with a sense of pride and a welcomed sigh of relief, but failing to complete an item is often met with disappointment and a touch of despair.

I've always joked that the #1 item on my List List is...#1 Write a Life List. Of course that's not entirely true. Actually the #1 item on my list is "Say I love you first." As for the rest of the list, well right now that's being stored privately in my head, or at least for the time being.

I subscribe to the belief that you should do something everyday that scares you. So perhaps writing down a list of my biggest fears and confronting them is step #1, list item #1. With that said, take this post as a introduction to my Life List, an introduction to my fears.

What is the #1 item on your Life List? What is your #1 fear?

Come Prepared...And When The Worst Happens, Adapt

I never liked the phrase "prepare for the worst" because anyone who has ever faced the worst knows that there is no preparing for it. That's why it's called "the worst!" And the worst always arrives with it's cousin - the element of surprise. Together they are a deadly combo, but a combo you don't need to fear. Instead you just need to adapt. That's why my motto is "Come Prepared...And When The Worst Happens, Adapt."

I work in an industry (run a Network Security Consulting company) where I calm a client's biggest fears by safeguarding them from an attack. I do my best to prepare them. But as you know, bad shit often happens to good people. And when the worst happens, as it sometimes will, I show them how to adapt.

Now comes the metaphors...


I recently took my company (all whopping 6 employees) on a team building/bonding session. We went snowboarding. Initially the idea was just to get everyone out of the office, unplugged and relaxed. The only objective was to have some fun. But as the day went on, obstacles presented themselves and tiny tragedies occurred. It turned into a giant learning experience with metaphors popping up everywhere! Lessons that could be applied on the slopes, in the workplace, in love and in life.

Metaphor #1 - If You Find Yourself Spinning Out Of Control, Dig In
The snow report said 40 degrees with packed powder. They lied. It was more like 40mph winds with packed ice! Mother Nature was calling the shots which meant you had virtually no control over your body or your board. The strong wind gusts and the sheets of ice slid you onto trails you didn't intend on taking and over mountains you didn't intend on toppling down. Although as any snowboarder knows, to regain control you must dig your edge in harder. And isn't that the best way to regain control over any situation when the Universe has you spinning? You have to dig in, claw away at a problem until you find your sure footing and can stand on your own again. On the slopes, in the workplaces, in love and in life.

Metaphor #2 - Things Will Fall Apart, Make Due With The Pieces
Just 5 minutes into the trip and the toe strap on my bindings snapped. While upsetting, I wasn't going to let it ruin everything and dictate how the rest of the day went. As I looked at the plastic and rubber coated 6 inch strap lying in the snow, I realized how symbolic it was. You just never know when something will fall apart - a professional relationship, a personal relationship, a toe strap. And sometimes you can't mend things. You just have to make due with the remaining pieces. On the slopes, in the workplace, in love and in life.

Metaphor #3 - When Someone Crashes, Extend A Hand
Even experienced snowboarders fall in these types of conditions. You would think extending your hand to someone lying flat on their face would be a no-brainer. But most of us wiz on by because we know they are capable of getting up on their own, or at least assume the injury isn't great enough to prevent them from recovering solo. In other words, the best of us fall. And when we do, while we may not always need a hand or feel embarrassed to take a hand, it sure is nice if one is offered. To know that at least one person cares, especially when the rest of the world doesn't seem to. On the slopes, in the workplaces, in love and in life.

It's inevitable, you're going to hit icy patches in life. Things are going to fall apart and you are going to crash every now and then. But you can make it over those mountains. Just come prepared...and when the worst happens, adapt.

Elephant In The Room

Spoiler Alert #1 - This post is deeply personal.
Spoiler Alert #2 - It's about Cancer.
Spoiler Alert #3 - If you read it, you'll walk away finally knowing the true meaning of life! Ok, not really. But you'll walk away with a new zest for your life.



Webster tells me Cancer isn't capitalized. But if you ask me, every letter in it should be capitalized.

CANCER.

That is how I see it. Big. Bold. Blaring. Black.

Not with uncertainly, question mark. And not with panic, exclamation mark. But stated as a fact, period. Or at least that is how I see Stage 4 Cancer.


Like an elephant in the room, it demands attention. CANCER. Its demand for attention is rather ironic considering the fact that a late stage cancer diagnosis usually results from one's lack of attention. Whether you ignored family history, physical symptoms, or simply that feeling in your gut that says something doesn't seem right and you should go get checked out just to be safe…hearing the word Cancer is an ugly slap full fist punch in the face reminder that time is of the essence. What's even more ironic is that I got the news just minutes after I pushed publish on a post titled For Every Minute. In it I give examples of how much time we waste and how that time could be better spent. For example: "For every minute you are angry, you lose 60 seconds of happiness."

Time is beyond precious and poorly distributed. What we do with our time truly defines the life we live, not to mention our level of satisfaction and happiness. Of course whenever anyone makes a blanket statement like that people immediately feel guilty like they should be doing more with their time and begin cramming even more crap into their life. So we set more goals, take on more projects, make more hollow connections and spread ourselves thinner than ever! Life is about quality, not quantity. Life is not a race to see how much shit one can accumulate, how many titles one can obtain, or how many people know your name.

Now this is the part where I'm supposed to get really deep and tell you the true meaning of life. And this is also the part where I stare at the blinking cursor on my screen because I can't find the right words. Or more honestly, I don't know the answer. Because you see, I'm just like everyone else. I too am figuring it out as I go along.

When there's an elephant in the room, introduce him.

For those that don't know, Stage 4 Cancer is basically a death sentence - bluntly stated. A friend of mine (someone I used to date in high school) has just been diagnosed with Stage 4 Breast Cancer. It has spread throughout her body. She has a husband and a new baby. And she is not opting for treatment. Instead of having half her body dissected and undergoing heavy chemo, she has chose to spend her remaining time doing the things she loves with the people she loves. She's choosing to live her life to the fullest. The way she says she should have been living all along. The way we all should be living, elephant or not. Everyday. Always. And Forever.

If the doctor gave you 3 months to live, what would you do with the time? Why aren’t you doing that now, that thing that makes you ridiculously happy? What’s the first thing you worry about when you wake up in the morning? Why don't you eliminate it? What have you left unsaid? Why don't you say it? What haven't you done? DO IT!

"The key question to keep asking is, are you spending your time on the right things? Because time is all you have." - Randy Pausch (The Last Lecture)

What Are You Proud Of?

What are you proud of?

Can you spit out an answer right off the top of your head? Or do you need more time to think about it?

I recently was asked this question in an e-mail and drew a complete blank! So much so that I closed my laptop and stepped away for a few hours, racking my brain to come up with an answer, all the while realizing this was a problem. No one should have this much difficulty feeling proud of themselves. I even Googled "things people are proud of" in hopes I would find a connection. Something that triggered by brain and made me say, "Hey, I'm proud of that too!"

A few hours later I sat down and opened the laptop back up. I started to form my reply, but deleted what I wrote when I realized I was talking about stupid things, like being proud of my Bulldog for knowing how to skateboard. Or about other people I am proud of and not myself. Again, I realize this is a problem. I don't hesitate when it comes to supporting and praising other people (or dogs), but when it comes to myself, I'm silent. That needs to change. And so the internal dialog began...


So what am I proud of? While part of me is sadden that I struggle answering, another part of me is happy that I do struggle because that means I remain humble. Neither of my parents have ever told me they were proud of me for anything. As a kid, and even as an adult, you look for that approval. And as a son, you need to hear it mostly from your Dad.

I may never hear the words "I am proud of you." I accept that. In fact, I embrace that because it has led me to be fiercely competitive in everything I do from sports to business. Seeking that approval has caused me to push myself far beyond my expectations and has opened up a world of limitlessness to me that I don't think I could have seen had I not ached for their approval. I've come to realize that the opinions of others doesn't make you or break you. It is only the opinion of myself, making myself proud that matters. That is what I'm proud of - that realization.

What are you proud of?

Decrypting The Universe

I used to look for "signs from above" to decide the right choice for me to make. I used to wait for "perfect moments" to magically appear before I made my move. I used to wish on a star, a birthday candle, and on a greasy turkey bone break to make my wildest dreams come true. I used to find a penny and pick it up for good luck. I used to believe a fortune cookie could foresee the life ahead of me. I thought a daily horoscope already had the mood for my day set and there was nothing I could do to change it. I trusted the weatherman to accurately predict sun or rain. I had faith that a Magic 8 Ball held all the answers to my toughest questions.

And finally, I believed praying to a God I didn’t quite believe in would steer me in the right direction when I read the signs from above wrong. When I let the perfect moment pass. When I lost the turkey bone break. When the penny was stuck to the sidewalk with gum. When the fortune cookie crumbled. When the daily horoscope section was missing from the paper. When the weather man had his signals crossed. And when the Magic 8 Ball just wasn’t up to the task.

Ok, so maybe I wasn’t THAT naive or superstitious, but close. I still catch myself doing stupid shit though. Like hitting shuffle on my iPod, then convincing myself that the next song that randomly plays will be the song that describes EXACTLY how some girl truly feels about me or how I SHOULD feel about them. (Yes, I'm secretly a 12-year-old girl trapped in a grown man's body.) Last time I did this, "Edge Of Desire" by John Mayer began to play. Out of 3,000 songs it picked that! Seriously? I nearly threw my iPod out the car window in a fit of hurt and anger! Then I decided that would be an expensive hissy fit to take and hit "next" instead. Jay-Z’s "On To The Next One" began to play. Fitting.

Fitting in the sense that the song isn’t about moving on in terms of women or love. The song is about Cristal, Rovers, and pricey sneakers. And that’s precisely my point! It’s fitting because it didn’t fit - at all! Get ready for the reality check. There are no magical answers in life or hidden meanings in song lyrics that need decoding. There are no signs to follow. No signals that flash. And there’s no bellowing voice from the sky...at least none that I have ever heard. There’s just you. You’re in control. I know, I know. It’s a hard concept to grasp. I struggled with it too. But it’s true!

Of course old habits die hard. So purely for shits and giggles, I signed up for a daily e-mail that many of my friends were already subscribed to. It’s called "Notes From The Universe" from TUT - Totally Unique Thoughts. The notes are designed to remind you that you have, indeed, been given dominion over all things. It's like The Universe is whispering in your ear hole, give or take the spine tingle that can accompany it. A little virtual voice that gives you a gut check by punching you in the stomach, then lovingly holds your hair back while you vomit and offers a hug after you wipe your disgusting self clean. It’s exactly the kind of self-love and mental cleansing I need!

Day 1 - Notes From The Universe

Tell me, David, if you were to walk out of your home tomorrow morning, gaze upward into the heavens and see me there, in all my splendor, pacing, pining, and worrying; hoping, wishing, and yearning; and questioning whether or not my boldest dreams would ever come true, would you or would you not, wonder if I had gone stark raving mad?

Well then...?

Thoughts become things... choose the good ones!

Training your mind is what it all boils down to. All of it. All things. Everything.

Hearty punch to the stomach. Little bit of vomit. Big hug.

One Word

"Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?" - www.reverb10.com

My initial response to that question is, "how girly!" It’s so Eat Pray Love. Choosing one word to define a place, or a person, or a year. Then I sat with it for a minute. And you know what? I kind of like it. It doesn't matter if it’s girly or not. It doesn't matter if whatshername already mentally stole the longer version of my word because we still share the same brain. And it doeesn't matter if I'm 3 days tardy on posting this. None of it matters. Because summing anything up in just one word gives clarity. As this year comes to a close and a new year is almost upon us, having clarity is a beautiful thing. It’s cleansing and renewing. I can’t think of a better way to end one chapter and start the next then with a single word on a stark white page. So without further adieu, here is my 2010 word and my 2011 word...

My word for 2010 - Unexpected.

If it’s ok with all of you, I’m not going to explain why I chose "unexpected" as my 2010 word. (And Mom if you’re reading this, no I didn’t get anyone pregnant!)

My word for 2011 - Free.

Just writing that word causes me to let out a giant sigh of relief! Ahhh. Free. Free my mind. Free my heart. Free up some more me time - free time! Free to travel a lot more. Free to work a bit less. Free to start my second company located all the way on the back bottom belly of the globe. And free to do as I please. Just free.

What's your word?



***NOTE***
This post is my submission for Reverb 10, an annual event and online initiative to reflect on this year and manifest what’s next. Learn more at www.reverb10.com

Want more? I’ve set up a Tumblr account strictly for my Reverb 10 project. Although I can’t promise I’ll keep up with it regularly. Remember, my word is "free" and not "commitment."

Learn Some Fucking Manners

New York is a city filled with busy, successful people. It’s home to the "I can do it myself" attitude. So of course that means there is no shortage of Miss Indpenedents - my favorite breed of woman! But when it comes to dating, Miss Independent better be ok with the old fashion role of me treating her to dinner. Why? Because I want to feel like a man on a date. And she should want me to act like a man. So even if she has two capable hands and makes more than me, I'm still opening the door and paying on the date. Chivalry is not dead, or at least to me it isn’t. And is that necessarily a bad thing? Afterall, what's wrong with taking care of a woman if she takes care of you? (And I don't mean that in a sexual way.)

I understand it’s almost 2011 and there is this thing called feminism which seems to have done our society both some good and some harm. It’s done good in the sense that it’s leveling out the playing field for women in so many areas that were once heavily dominated and controlled only by men. But feminism is bad in the sense that it’s seems to have made the process of dating not only painful, but highly confusing! Nice gestures that I once thought would be viewed as sweet and showed I’m capable of being a gentleman either go completely unappreciated or are somehow perceived as offensive.

Flowers go unacknowledged. Holding a door doesn’t receive a thank you. And picking up the bill causes many women to assume payment is expected in the form of a blowjob. (If I was looking solely to get laid, I would place you in the booty call rotation and wouldn't take the time trying to get to know you.) Whatever happened to recognizing that maybe he’s a nice guy and simply likes you? And whatever happened to letting nice things be done for you and accepting them graciously with a smile? When did sincerity and genuine kindness go out of style? Why is bitch the new black?

Women go on and on about how they love random acts of kindness. But if you actually perform such an act, the gears start turning in their head wondering what his ulterior motives are. Apparently, "my father taught me some fucking manners as a child" is an answer they have trouble accepting. The teachings started when I was young. One Thanksgiving I sat down at the dinner table with a baseball hat on. My father cleared his throat and glared over at me. Then without saying a single word, he smacked the cap right off my head. I knew right then and there that I needed to learn some fucking manners. No hats at the table.

While at dinner, you should be interested in what your date has to say (or at least pretend you are) by putting your cell phone away. When leaving dinner, you should help her with her coat or offer your coat if she's cold. And if one day you see a beautiful stranger fumbling her shopping bags in the cold November rain while trying to hail a cab between 5th and 6th, you should step in and offer a hand and a whistle. Just don’t expect her to appreciate the fact that you went out of your way to show a little love. That you’re standing there in a three-piece suit soaked to the bone trying to make the life of a perfect stranger a bit easier. Don’t expect her to acknowledge that random act of kindness with a thank you, a half smile, or even a nod. No, that would constitute as manners and that would simply be asking too much.

So if you’re going to be rude, then I’m going to rude. I really don’t care anymore. I’m sick of caring. I do believe good karma exists, for other people, just not for me. For whatever reason, it never comes around. I put it out and it dissolves. Now before you label me or other guys like me a dick, take this into consideration...

Perhaps he doesn’t have a black hole for a heart. Perhaps he’s just been dumped on a lot lately and the cold and uncaring way he acts isn’t a defensive mechanism for his heart, but rather the result of a callused heart. One that is numb and ceases to feel much of anything anymore. Think of it this way...if you break a bone, the pain is so severe that the body actually numbs that limb in order for you to carry on. It’s the body’s natural way of coping. So if one endures enough emotional pain, it’s easy to see how you can become numb after awhile. It’s the body’s natural way of coping.

Oh, and if you think this post is about something much deeper than just some stuck up chick and a wet tie, then you’re absolutely right.

Also, I’m wearing a hat to Thanksgiving.

Kaleidoscope Soul

Transparent - (adjective) having the property of transmitting rays of light through its substance so that bodies situated beyond or behind can be distinctly seen.

I had peered inside the side window when it was still surrounded by rusty scaffolding and rubbery orange construction cones. The floor was blanketed in a layer of thick dust and debris, but you could see its potential. One day those wooden floors would shine under bare feet and reflect the shadows of the bendy bodies that gracefully contorted themselves behind 15ft high panes of glass. I stood there imagining what it would look like, the room flooded with so much natural light and all that peaceful energy radiating from every warm body that filled it. Backs sitting up nice and straight. Legs crossed. Arms relaxed. Minds cleared. Hearts open. I could see them there now. I just couldn’t see myself among them.

Ever since my sister introduced me to yoga a few years ago, I’ve wanted to give it another try. Friends had been encouraging me to take an official class, but I was afraid of being the token straight guy in the class, the guy that’s viewed as a creeper. I know me. And I know I’m highly distracted by cute 20-something girls in form fitting yoga pants bending over infront of me. I didn’t want my eyes bouncing from mat to mat and my head filling with impure thoughts. I didn’t want my head filling with ANY thoughts! I didn’t want to feel anything. I was so sick of all my fucking feelings! Repressing my feelings. Exhausting my feelings. Too many emotions can turn a sane man crazy! I wanted to just be. To allow nothing else to exist in my head space for 60 solid minutes.

I decided that Ashtanga (Power Yoga) would be a good choice. It’s light on meditation, but heavy on developing strength and stamina - absolutely perfect for someone like me who would find long meditation periods both frustrating and boring. And surely Ashtanga would be beneficial in conjunction with my MMA training. So I signed up and waited for construction to finish and the doors to open.

I wander in nonchalantly like a stray off the streets and grab a spot towards the back of the class, hoping to fly under the radar unnoticed. I’m a lost soul that’s woefully out of place, but is looking to blend (should have worn camo). We are instructed to clear our head. Only 30 seconds into class and I’m already failing! I’m unable to still my mind. And like an untrained puppy, it starts wondering off. Of course I fully expected that to happen. While I may be physically strong, I’m mentally weak. My inquisitiveness is what brought me here. But that same inquisitiveness has caused a noisy conversation to sprout between my lobes.

I can’t keep focus. I start to question this Yogi standing before the class. A woman whose body is fueled by tofu and mineral water. She is a shapely figure modestly concealed under layers of earth toned colored hemp with only naked toes exposed. Cleaned faced and locks of strawberry blonde hair falling at freewill across high porcelain cheekbones. Although beautiful in her own right, she is not the kind of woman that I’m normally attracted to. Her happy, peaceful energy has drawn me in though. Not in a sexual way, she's more like a kindred spirit. I feel calm and comforted just in her presence. An aura surrounds her, if I can be so Zen-like in saying.

Then I notice she’s staring at me, or rather through me! She’s making a lot of eye-contact, almost as if she’s reading all the thoughts currently in my head and mentally scolding me for not clearing my mind as I was instructed to do earlier. That calm and comforting feeling I had quickly vanishes leaving me insecure and somewhat defensive. It’s the same uneasy feeling I had the day of my sister’s wedding when the priest directed nearly his entire sermon at me! Staring at me the whole time like I was some type of heathen child in need of spiritual guidance. This is exactly why I no longer go to church and this is exactly why I felt like packing up my yoga mat and leaving. Apparently I was transparent. And how dare they judge me!

I’m not one to quit and run from anything that makes me uncomfortable or feels too difficult to endure. I pride myself on being able to push through – mentally, physically, emotionally. Because I know that muscling through such adversity will only make me stronger and I will be a better person for it. So even if it hurts, it’s a good hurt. While the rest of the class was chanting some Sanskrit mantra, Radiohead’s song "Creep" was blasting on continuous repeat in my head, attempting to drown out the noise of all the other thoughts that were consuming me. But instead the lyrics only reinforced the internal dialog I was desperately fighting to silence...

"I don't care if it hurts. I wanna have control. I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul... But I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here."

Still, I stuck the 60 minutes out. I didn’t find the poses as challenging as the mental aspect of it was. Although for someone who normally has great balancing skills, I webbled and wobbled more than an egg! While standing on one leg, I nearly tumbled into the girl beside me! She caught me, but was unable to catch her giggle from escaping. "Head up and fix your eyes on one spot," she whispered tips to me and helped me re-root myself as a strong Maple as opposed to the Weeping Willow I had become. She seemed more sympathetic rather than judging. She seemed to understand. She put my mind back at ease. And my body shortly followed.

While I may never experience that brilliant blue light that supposedly shoots through your body during periods of deep meditation, I experience something nearly as odd. When I’m told to close my eyes, I see a kaleidoscope of images, similar to when you think you’re about to die. But instead of scenes from my life flashing before my eyes, I am presented with a highlight reel of emotions I’ve experienced over the years. They present themselves to me as tiny snapshots. Joy, sadness, rage, etc. Strong and sometimes graphic still images from periods in my life I either willingly forgot or never want to forget. Perhaps this is what the Yoga teacher saw when she stared into my eyes. Perhaps this is what that Priest saw as well.

And that’s what transparency is. It’s exposing every beautiful, ugly and misunderstood part of yourself. It’s nailing your soul to a wall without the wooden frame that boxes you in. A canvas painting for all to see. And judge. There’s always judging. But I’m learning to be ok with that.

Perhaps today, on my birthday, this is the best gift I can give myself.

Life Just Got Funner

"The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind. The kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday." - Baz Luhrmann

I knew the situation had the potential of turning very serious, very fast. And even though it was a short 2 hour flight, it seemed excruciatingly long! Unable to comfort myself, I fidgeted restlessly in my seat. My baby blue dress shirt made an effort to sooth me with a hug, but it squeezed too tightly, causing beads of perspiration to emerge on my forehead. Gasping for air, I popped open the top three buttons, realizing I misread the strangulation attempt as a loving embrace. With each passing minute, my anxiety and frustration only continued to intensify. The knots in my neck spread across my shoulders and rippled down my back like contagious stress cancer plaguing the body of a grief sickened widow. During one particularly fidgety fit, my knees pierced into the soft spine of passenger 22B. That’s when it became clear, I was infecting everyone around me. I was diseased. And my mind was the vessel responsible for pumping out the rotten poison.

My mind began running away from me, as if often does. Picking up momentum with each depressing thought that cascaded into the next. I lassoed it just before it wondered too far off. Into those dark isolated valleys where grim "what if" questions are whispered in the gulps of icy cold babbling brooks and echoed behind shadowy damp willow trees. I refused to chase it into those menacing woods again. So I began pounding good thoughts into my head and carefully guarded grave scenarios from entering my overactive brain that was already saturated with sadness. But there is no way I would allow this story to play out like a bad, overly dramatic Lifetime movie premier. Well, with one exception. It had to have a happy ending. It just had to.

The call actually did come on an idle Tuesday, but it was a little past 4pm. It’s the kind of call you never expect and the kind of call you never wish to receive. The kind of call that had me leaving a business trip in DC to catch the first flight back home. My sister had been admitted to the emergency room for a ruptured appendix. Having your appendix rupture is not uncommon...and neither is dying from it. I had my own scare with it back in June. But nothing scared me more then when my 4-year-old nephew asked me point blank, "If Mommy has surgery, is she going to die?"

I was in the midst of trying to answer that frightening question and tripping over my tongue when my 6-year-old niece came running towards me when I entered the waiting room. "Uncle D!," she always screams it like I’m an A-list celebrity walking the red carpet for the very first time. Then she hugs my knees. And with a big smile on both of our faces, I scoop her up.

Me: "Hey Peanut! You look pretty in your pink butterfly tee. How are you doing?"
Her: "I’m good. Mamma’s sick."

She wastes no time in informing me of the obvious. And I waste no time in telling her I heard and that’s why I flew home. We pass the time by turning the backs of my business cards into miniature "Get Well Soon" cards. We pass more time drawing mustaches on supermodels in last year’s copy of Vogue magazine and doodling flowery skirts on pro athletes in this month’s copy of Sports Illustrated. We play Eye-Spy in the hospital halls, tease her about what doctor she is one day going to marry and practice our super secret hand shake. None of these activities would normally rank very high on a kid’s fun factor scale. But despite the limited resources and the gray situation at hand, my parents point out that somehow I always manage to make her face light up. My niece confirms this observation when she turns to me and says...

"I’m happy you’re here. You make everything funner."

And sometimes that’s all we need. A little giggle and an entertaining distraction to help us temporarily forget the real troubles of life, the kind that blindside you on some idle Tuesday.

Who makes your life funner?



***NOTE***
Related post of interest by Nicole Antoinette from More Is Better
5 days in denver, 5 days in a hospital, and the things that actually matter