I just spent almost two hours on the road thinking about how to write this post. I was traveling back from Lincoln where I competed in a poetry slam. The winner represents the state of Nebraska at the Blackberry/ Peach national slam this summer.
I got last.
That means the judges scored my poem and my performance the lowest out of all the competitors.
Last.
I’ve been working on my delivery, my pauses, my speed and pronunciation of words, especially throughout the whole poem. To speak clearly at the end as I do at the beginning.
I got last.
And right now, when adding other poetic endeavors, I quit.
I have been writing poetry since junior high. I have self published six books of poetry, participated in the April Poem a Day for five years. I have been sharing my works during The Jam, a weekly poetry / spoken word / music space on X for at least 80 some episodes. I have notebooks, post-it notes, and other scrap paper with rough drafts of poems.
Right now, I don’t care.
The frustration and heartache of trying to be a poet is too much. My confidence is shaken. My chest hurts. This feeling sucks. It seems that I deal with more negative aspects of chasing this dream than positive moments. My tank is empty.
I usually use Spotify on my walks. Not 100 percent of the time, but mostly. By now you may have seen the AI DJ option. I’m sure you know that the “shuffle” option is not actually random for a playlist. Heck it is not random if you shuffle an artist. Even if you are a true fan, you usually just get the top songs…
AI is telling me what my own musical taste is… and it’s wrong.
Let’s stay with the music first. Jake Peterson in his article “The Reason Spotify Shuffles Aren’t Really Random (and How to Fix It)” says it best, “But most of us use the shuffle feature because we want random songs to play. Intentionally picking only songs that match each other means there are plenty of tracks that never see the light of day, and other songs that play much more frequently.”
I have over a 1000 CDs, hundreds of cassettes, and my “Just Some Good Songs” playlist on Spotify is 49 hours long.
Do I remember every song I ever heard? No.
Do I own CDs I haven’t listened to for awhile? Yes. But I have listened to every one of them at least once.
My musical taste is mine. So, when I hit shuffle on a playlist, or an artist, like Prince. I am expecting to hear songs I haven’t heard in awhile. I want to be taken back in time, to remember moments I hadn’t thought of in awhile. I want to be reminded of how great a song is, or to appreciate a song now that I have experienced more in life and the song hits differently.
By default the algorithm is designed to play songs that match together. Joe Fedewa explains how this works in his article, “Why Spotify Shuffle is Not Truly Random”. Basically, Spotify curates the songs in a playlist, trying to keep songs by the same artist spread out and to have songs flow together. So, as Jake Peterson said, you may never hear a song you put on a playlist. A song you like.
The beauty of life is the randomness that happens.
Seeing a bird take flight on my walk.
Trying a new drink at the coffee shop, or the crazy new chip flavor Lay’s comes up with.
Or having a DMX song play after Phil Collins on my walk. That’s who I am, at least musically. AI will never understand that.
My last music based post was last November (2023). If you are a regular reader you know that my best friend and I are counting down our top 100 songs of all time. Today was number 39. Each day we share a little about why the song is part of the top 100. The coolest part is appreciating the memories that go with the songs. The first concert for my second son, singing in the hallways of high school, playing Nintendo Ice Hockey.
No, I am not going to share all the songs or memories. But it is a Saturday night and it feels like a good time to share a few of the songs from my list, but only the ones that have been shared. (I might do a post about the top 10 when we are done.)
The first song is “The Men Who Drive Me Places” by Ben Rector. (Number 96)
What I love most about this song is the reminder that we all have stories. We all have dreams. Sometimes they come true. Other times, the dreams are partially realized. But we chase them, and along the way we live life with the people we love.
The second song is “Who’s Behind the Door” by Zebra. (Number 82)
Yes, a trip back to the 80s when you would go to a friend’s house to lounge around and listen to music. Zebra was a band we both loved. We would go to the mall to buy their cassettes. And listen to it in his car on the way home. (I did not have a car in high school… that is another story.) I love the idea of what is beyond our world in the song, and the memories of a friendship that has lasted for decades. Side note: if you like live albums, Zebra’s live album is fantastic.
The final song is “I Can See It in Your Eyes” by Men at Work. (Number 47)
Business as Usual by Men at Work was the first cassette I ever bought, and with my own money. I would listen to this album while I played Atari 2600 after school. Centipede was one of my favorite games. Next was Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark. The only game I ever finished. I kept dying on the last level of Frogger. Back to the music, this is one of those rare cases that I like the album songs more than the radio hits. This song is a unique look at the end of a relationship and the passing of time. Their music has always been original and I have been a fan for a long time.
The bittersweet aspect of listening to the soundtrack of my life is knowing that all I have now is the memories. After all the events over the past year, I can’t lie that I wish I could somehow go back and relive some of the best moments of my life. I know the future has joyful moments to come, but still…
My best friend and I have been sharing our top 100 favorite songs of all-time in countdown style since January 1st. We share one song each day with a quick insight on why the song was chosen. Usually we send the song info each morning. Today was no different. (Today was number 59, “A Different Corner” by George Michael for me. For my best friend it was Jane’s Addiction, “Summertime Rolls”)
I sent my text as I was waiting for the oven to preheat. The muffin pan was filled with the paper muffin cups. Coffee was about halfway done. A regular Sunday morning vibe. I smiled as I sent my song because I remembered the music video we made for my song. We filmed my reflection in a closet mirror as I sat backwards on a kitchen chair… where was TikTok when I was a teen?
Over the last month it has been a musical journey sharing my list with my best friend. Yes, many of the songs are connected to our friendship, but others are soundtracks to other times in our lives. My best friend has songs from obscure artists that he has seen in concert. I have songs that I sing along to with my daughters. It is fun to continue to learn more about my best friend. It has also been good to remember the better moments in my life.
Good moments like blueberry muffins on Sunday morning.
Last school year I poured a total of 19,536 ice cubes into water bottles every morning. It is part of our family routine. My wife and I get up about an hour before we wake the kids. I make lunches and fill water bottles with ice and water (if it is a reading camp day, then Gatorade or something like that).
As a dad I have poured 214,896 ice cubes into water bottles for my kids. This is a very conservative number because it does not include any sporting events, and is based on last year when I filled only three water bottles. There were years when I had four, even five water bottles to fill in the morning. (If you’re wondering, yes I counted the ice cubes on Monday as I poured them into a water bottle… whatever it takes for a blog post.)
Why am I writing about this?
Let me see if I can connect the dots. First, our lives are actually filled with small things that add up to some big numbers… I don’t think I can even calculate how many times I have heard a basketball hit a gym floor… Just this week we watched seven basketball games. And we have another game tonight. Add all the games my son’s played during their school days and the number is unbelievable.
How many pieces of toast have I eaten in my lifetime?
How many M&M’s or pieces of popcorn have you eaten in your lifetime?
How many brush strokes have you used to clean your teeth?
Crazy to think about. There are so many parts of our daily life that seem insignificant, yet add up.
We live about 2.5 billion seconds (based on average life expectancy).
Crazy to think about.
Our lives have important moments: state basketball games, first day of school, a wedding. But what we spend most of our time doing is living with small elements in this world that add up to determine the quality of our life.
Tomorrow morning I don’t have to pour about a hundred ice cubes into three water bottles. But I will, and I will do it again next week. Each week adds up to over 500 ice cubes.
Why? Because I want to spend a few seconds doing something that shows my children I love them.
I probably will have some popcorn tonight while watching one of my daughters play basketball. My ears will be filled with the dribbling of basketballs but my heart will beat with the joy of being a dad.
I’ll brush my teeth tonight, then kiss my wife goodnight. In those last moments before sleep, I will be happy with the way I spent 86,400 seconds.
Would I be able to say or write anything if I knew it was the end?
I think I would want to see the stars one last time, that’s for sure.
But I’m 99.9% sure this is not the end. That I will get up tomorrow morning, get ready for work, fill my daughters’ water bottles, maybe make lunch (at the time of writing this they are going to eat hot lunch tomorrow). On the way to work my wife will get her Mocha Sea Salt Caramelicious blender. I will teach, eat lunch, teach some more, then head home. Depending on the night we might head to an activity, make dinner, or take one of the kids to a practice. I might wash dishes, or sit down to write with a cup of coffee (which I have next to me as I write). To finish off the day, I will read (reading Fairy Tale by Stephen King right now), brush my teeth, take my blood pressure pill and head off to bed.
Then repeat…
…unless…
…unless, this is the end.
I would like you, reader, to know that it has been a blessing to share my writing with you. To share my joys and heartbreaks.
I would want my family and friends to know I love them and that this life is beautiful underneath all the hate, trouble, and selfishness it seems to wrap itself in.
I would like people to remember my writing and the depth I tried to live my life. This life is the closet thing to heaven I’ve ever found.
But it is not the end… but I’m going to do a little stargazing after posting this blog.
I’m also going to make sure to tell people I love them before I go to bed. You never know.
I have been in survival mode for some time now. I know it. I know why. I’m tired of feeling hurt. And not just the big moments, the everyday, small nicks are just as bad because they are never ending. Put the moments together and I am tired of having my heart feel raw and bruised.
Survival mode allows me to get up each morning. Allows me to put on a small smile, make my daughter’s lunch, and even enjoy a walk. I can function pretty well in survival mode. I have written some good poetry, played basketball with my daughters last night. I have been happy.
But see survival mode is a hollow chocolate bunny. You know the kind. Candy eyes, big ears, maybe even holding a candy carrot. You know it is going to taste good. Thinking about biting into solid chocolate. But instead the ears crumble between your teeth. There is a soft echo as bits of chocolate fall into the body, landing in the space where the feet are.
The chocolate is still good. But there is a sense of sadness, of disappointment, finding out that there is more air than chocolate to the bunny. The experience is shallow. Over quickly, too, because you are hungry for the full experience of eating chocolate. But wanting the joy in knowing there would be more later. But there isn’t when it is hollow.
Survival mode is a hollow chocolate bunny. Yes, it works. But it can not compete with the delight of taking a full bite of life.
We finally got out of the house today. It was late morning, we had our traditional Sunday morning breakfast, but we were running low on milk and other supplies because we stayed home for two and a half days as another snow storm hit our area.
During the last three days, I adventured out a handful of times to clear a path on the driveway. I battled new drifts each time. And of course had to deal with the pile of snow the plows leave at the end of the driveway every time they clear our cul-de-sac.
It was cold! No, we do not own a snow blower, so I cleared the driveway (four times) with a shovel. Besides taking a lot of time, it was peaceful work. Scoop, fling, repeat. I watched the drifts fall and found my way to the street. Of course I had to repeat the process because of the storm, but it was good work.
After muffins this morning, I had to tackle a new drift. The wind had died down during the night and this drift was a piece of cake compared to the first round. I had our driveway cleared in less than 20 minutes.
But what struck me this morning was how fast a new routine was developed. Of course the storm lasted for two days, but in fact I have the routine of clearing the driveway whenever there is a storm. And I scoop, fling and repeat.
Routines get a bad rap sometimes. I understand that, especially when a routine feels never ending. I was tired of seeing new drifts form on the driveway, yet as I cleared the snow I saw the street get closer. Some routines are never ending… washing dishes, laundry, just life in general can feel mundane.
But, if we hold to that thought, the routine will feel heavy and joyless. I enjoyed shoveling the snow. I enjoy making muffins every Sunday, and tonight I washed dishes while listening to music. I stopped to dance to one of my favorite songs, “Remind Me” by Tom Grennan. My daughters laughed, my wife gave me ‘the look’ but I was enjoying the moment. (Of course I was wearing headphones and I can’t sing very well!)
Because without the routines, what would happen to our everyday life? If I don’t shovel the driveway, we are running out of food. Let alone the dishes or laundry. Routines are small moments that help make life run smoothly, but more importantly, opportunities to feel everyday joy.
In 2021 Kevin Garnett wrote a cool book, KG: A to Z: An Uncensored Encyclopedia of Life, Basketball, and Everything in Between. Instead of a traditional narrative structure, KG told his story by creating a personalized encyclopedia. The reader could look up a topic or word to read his insight or his story connected to that word like an encyclopedia. It was a cool book to read.
The past 10 months have been challenging. My perspective has been challenged on many different levels. Certain words or ideas have been the focus of some of those challenges. I thought it would be useful to use the same organization KG did for his book for this blog post. So, here is my Life Encyclopedia.
Art: The expression of the heart. See also, music, poetry, writing.
Blogging: See writing.
Death: The natural end of our time here. Everybody knows that death awaits for us all. Yet, we do not actually live like we know this truth. We waste time on petty issues, or involved with our screens in some mindless activity. We tend to live like tomorrow will always be there, so we feel like we can let today slide. I wonder what life would look like if we actually lived like we knew our time here ends.
Dreams: I debated on whether to use ‘dreams’ or ‘goals’ for this section. I decided on ‘dreams’ for two reasons. First, it sounds more poetic. Second, I feel that a dream can be accomplished, but even then a dream can still pull at your heart. And chasing our dreams should be part of our everyday existence. The pursuit of making our dreams a reality is what fills our spirit. Makes the hard days easier to endure. Our dreams are our purpose for being here. Some dreams change, some become reality, while we chase others our whole life. That is the beauty of having a dream.
Family: This is the most complex life topic I’ve been dealing with over the last year. Family has been a central issue all of my life. From living separately with both biological parents, to walking away from most of my bloodline, that allowed me to start my own family.
There is the crutch of the idea of family. As a dad I have a saying (OK, I have a handful of sayings), “Family gets your best behavior.” The heart of this is to remind everyone that the most important people should not be treated better than strangers. Yes, there are disagreements and challenges to work through, but they are handled with love. Our home is the safest place in this world for everyone.
I never felt safe or truly loved growing up. I knew that, at different times, that alcohol and other people mattered more than me. Even as I’ve learned more about who my biological father was after his passing, I still wonder why I didn’t matter. Why their son was not worth their time or love.
Blood doesn’t define family. I mattered to Wayne and Janine (for new readers, Janine is my mom that passed away last summer). I found a home that was filled with love that showed me what a family could be like. No, it wasn’t perfect. This household isn’t perfect, but the foundation is love and acceptance. That is how a family is built.
Friends: Yes, a friend can be seen as family, but I think real friendship is its own unique relationship that allows it to be a separate component of life. I don’t have a lot of real friends. Oh, I have many friends and acquaintances, but honestly, I have one best friend. We have been friends since junior high. Yes, we have had some rough spots, and yes, it was over a girl, but what makes our friendship strong is knowing that we have each other’s back. We share our dreams and hardships. Even though we are miles apart, we do fun things, like right now we are sharing our top 100 songs of all time, but doing it one day at a time. We have been there for the big moments; we both were each other’s best man for our weddings. A friend is part of your foundation that brings a different kind of joy and support.
Learn: The act of becoming who you are through different means; such as reading, living, questioning and other experiences.
Life: This moment right now, which is a mix of the past, dreams for the future, and the current emotion to create a unique experience for all of us.
Love: The center of life.
Music: One of the many artistic elements that build bridges between people. For me it is a sanctuary. I always had the radio to accompany me when I changed houses, changed parents, changed my life. There is nothing like sharing a song with someone, finding common ground in lyrics and music.
Poetry: The way I understand this life. The artist way I can make sense of my emotions while processing the questions I have about how life unfolds. By writing poetry I understand myself more. By studying the art form I become better at writing, but also thinking, which allows me to come to terms with both the joys and sorrows of this life. Poetry also allows me to build connections with other people, other artists, other poets. I do not trust many people, but I trust poetry.
Real: My word for this year. This might be the hardest word for me because I do not show the real me to too many people besides in my poetry and other writings. The reason for this blog post is me trying to live by my word. At the moment I am skeptical that I can live up to it in this world that is quick to destroy anyone that tries to be real.
Writing: Poetry is my first love, but I wrote my first short story in fifth grade. I have been blogging for decades now. Writing, in all forms, gives me a sense of being. In a way it allows me to be the real me. Writing is like praying for me, even at this moment I have my “Writing” playlist going, I am pondering questions of the past, considering a few future opportunities I have and feeling some strong emotions that encompass a broad range – I am living.
If you are a faithful reader of my blog you know I write a lot about being a father, but this blog post will be written as a son. And I have no idea where it will go. All I know is that I need to write something to help deal with finding out today that my biological father has passed away.
There are so many emotional elements that I am processing right now.
The first is dealing with the third death in less than a year. The harsh reality that our time here is limited and unknown. But I’m going to leave this topic for another day.
This post is about me as a son. Of spending most of my life dealing with the question of why I was never important enough for either of my parents to love me, to raise me, to guide me in this life. And now I won’t have the chance to ask my father… or as any son deeply desires, to know if he was proud of me.
A blog post is not enough space to tell my whole story. To bring forth the pain his absence created in my life and does still to this day. And I am scared of the feelings I will have tomorrow.
He never saw me play football in high school or in college. He has never seen his six grandchildren. I never had my father to ask advice from. He lived his life as if I wasn’t here.
And yes, I know that some of you are asking why I didn’t reach out to repair the relationship. First, a single blog post can not cover the craziness of my younger years. The alcohol and drug use my parents partook in, living with them with their new wife or husbands, moving from city to city. As I grew older, I understood how I was seen as a burden at times or other times simply forgotten by both of my parents.
And as I started a family, worked at being a good dad, I became even more angry at both of my parents because I did a good job of being a dad. Yes, it was hard at times, I have sacrificed for them, but I am proud of my kids. And that deep rooted question grew even more in my heart.
Why couldn’t my parents love me? Why wasn’t I worth their time?
There was a moment when my father and I reconnected for a brief second. We saw each other in person (a crazy story) and a few letters were sent back and forth but in the end it was clear that nothing had changed. I wasn’t a son he wanted to be a father to (he had another family). So I went on living my life, never having the question answered.
But I am his son. And it hurts to even think about what could have been, maybe what should have been.
I believe all children, but especially sons, just want to know that their father is proud of them. Sadly, now, I will never know. I am left believing he didn’t care… and that hurts the most.
It is all Connected 