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.
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.
Not to rush forward through my days. But yes I’m ready to go through the ritual of counting down the last seconds of 2023 and celebrating the idea of a new year, a new beginning.
This is not a post about living each day to its fullest, or some other motivational cliché that sometimes leads people to a false sense of reality.
This post is acknowledging the fact that the seasons of our lives can be filled with highs and lows… making for a gray year.
I started to tear up Christmas shopping last week. We were looking for gifts from my dad, and out of habit I said, “This can be from Grandma and Grandpa Hudson,” as I held up a book for one of my daughters. My throat locked up as I looked at my wife, suddenly holding back tears that wanted to run. (For any new readers, I lost my mom this summer… my wife lost her mom in September.)
There have been other low points, competing at poetry slams, rejection emails and other small nicks at my confidence as a poet and writer that add up.
There have been some cool moments, too. Published my book, While Death Waits, in October. I completed every challenge I set for myself this year. I’ve laughed with students and family. Read some great books. I have shared ideas with you, reader, through this blog. Been a guest on two podcasts this year. Plus, Dante and I have faithfully produced our podcast all year.
There were some good days.
But as a year, 2023 was gray.
Life is like that. And I think we hinder ourselves by trying to cover up or ignore the low points. When we don’t recognize the dark days, or try to fill them with color, we miss the opportunity to grow, to feel a depth of our lives that can strengthen us in so many different ways. We gain strength when we deal with heartbreak. We understand ourselves and life better by embracing the hurt. That understanding allows us to live that moment, but also the happy moments with more depth, more understanding, more appreciation.
It is not easy though. There were a lot of gray days.
The house is quiet. I have just finished grading essays. I have my headphones on and my ‘Just Some Good Songs’ playlist on random. The Christmas tree is glowing, it is the only light in the house (besides the glow of my computer screen).
And I am at a loss for words but feel the need to write. So, not sure where this post will go but I’m enjoying the way the keys feel as they rebound against my finger tips. I am awake because my mind is running trying to figure out how to express the depth of my emotions lately. How to share the anger and disappointment I feel. How it feels like the world is out to prove that Hate wins, that people don’t really care about anyone but themselves, and that anything I do is kindle for the bonfire of apathy I see in the hallways.
And then there are the Christmas lights. Red, Green, Blue and White points of joy that seem to sing a Christmas carol that I can’t quite recognize, yet soothes my soul.
I make it through each day because my family needs me. But there are moments when I feel like all my joints are held together with masking tape and the next step will cause me to fall apart like a Lego tower. But I take the step anyway, and the tape holds.
And the Christmas lights continue to shine. And I will fall asleep soon with a hint of a Christmas carol playing in the background of my dreams.
But for now, I’m writing. For now I am hoping these words matter to someone besides me…
I needed something to change my mood today. So I decided to write a music based blog post. Two of my favorite things. Plus it has been about six months since my last music based post. It was time to share some music with you.
First song up is “Never be a Right Time” by Tom Grennan. Right now, my second daughter and I jam out to this song in the car. This is one of the wonderful aspects of life, sharing a song with someone. A song that both of you light up to when those first notes start. Right now, this is ours.
Second song is a personal classic. My best friend and I are creating our top 100 songs of all time. We are having a hard time deciding on what format the final list should be presented in because we both have songs that are not available on streaming services. We have the cassettes or CDs copies of the songs, but to burn CDs for the final 100 songs would take some time. Now, YouTube does have some of the songs… but not all of them… but it does have one of the songs I want on my list… from 1987 Saga, “Only Time Will Tell”!
The third track is a song my daughter introduced me to, and it just makes me feel good when I hear it. And that’s what this post is about. Lily Mae Harrington, “TGTBT”.
And the last track for this post is not as ‘happy’ but that is OK. My mom and I would share music with each other over the years. One artist we both love is Teitur. When I visited my dad this summer, he was playing music in the living room. As we got settled he asked if I remembered how mom and I loved Teitur. He then switched the music to his first album (which I had given my mom as a Christmas gift).
I could tell he had been listening to music to help with the pain of losing his wife, his best friend. Music is one way we build connections with people. Music takes us back to moments in our lives. Music helps us in so many ways… Here is “Rough Around the Edges” by Teitur. (Yes, in my top 100 of all time!)
I wrote almost 300 poems in the time between the books. While Death Waits has only 62 of those poems. I have written about 100 blog posts in that time. Produced 7 seasons of my podcast For Love of Lyrics (season 8 in the works). And my son and I have done 40 episodes of The Creative Moment podcast. Been a guest on Dr. Michael Ingram’s Quintessential Listening: Poetry Online Radio podcast twice. I have also been on Josh Grant’s Diabolic Shrimp show, twice!
I also taught poetic lessons for Move Me Poetry for their Teach Me Tuesday event. I have competed in two slam contests. Attended a handful of open mics in town (they have suspended the open mic nights for now).
And nothing has really changed.
Why am I sharing this info with you? Two reasons.
The first is I am honored to have done so many cool things. To meet people like Dr. Michael Ingram and Josh Grant. To build community with the poets at Move Me Poetry.
I have strengthened my poetry by stepping out of my comfort zone by competing in poetry slams and designing lessons.
I have been able to have deep conversations with my son and share my love of lyrics with people through podcasting.
I have written some cool poetry (yes, this is a plug for my book).
But I wouldn’t have done these things if I wasn’t chasing a dream. My life is richer because of my pursuit of being an author, being a poet people recognize.
But that is also the second reason I am writing this blog post. Nothing has really changed. I am still basically an unknown poet, unknown writer. Chasing dreams is hard. It challenges your convictions. Calls forth doubt like a sudden winter storm that draws out tears like slivers from your heart. The weight of fear and frustration wears me down, so I write about it…
which spurs me forward in chasing my dream of making a difference in this world with my words and leads to opportunities that I would never have if I didn’t chase this dream.
I’m excited to see what will be next… of course, I’ll write about it, so stay tuned.
I am not going to talk about all the dots life has been sharing with me about this idea. There have been many, some very deep and challenging. Instead I’m going to jump right to the point of this post, and that means we are jumping into deep waters right away.
Our lives are our homes.
A house is just one of the facets of building a home. It is a central spot where we build our homes. But it is just one of the elements to a strong home, a strong life.
Our routines are central to the quality of our homes. This doesn’t mean our lives are just a series of repeated actions, far from it. Routines that build a sense of safety and love allow us to do wonderful things.
A major routine I have is to wake every child with Care Bear or unicorn energy. Even if they have the morning blues, I make sure they know a new day has begun, and I am happy to wake them. (My boys still talk about how much they hated my energy in the morning… but with smiles now.)
Another routine we have, as many of you readers know, is Sunday morning blueberry muffins. We also try to have dinner together every night, even with practices, musical concerts, and games.
Even the simplest routines influence the sense of home during the day. For example, I fill everyone’s water bottle in the morning and make lunches when they don’t like the option at school. Every day.
I could go on, but these routines would happen anywhere, any house, under any circumstance, and they have. They happened when I was jobless. When we lived with the in-laws for six months. We were home.
Another aspect of home is the people we let in the front door. The people we let into our lives. Now, this is a tough element to delve into. If someone came into your home and started breaking your dishes, throwing them on the floor, and ransacking the cupboards…Would you just sit there and let them? Or if they started screaming at your children or taking a hammer to the walls? Would you just sit and smile while you watched them? I don’t think so.
Yet… yet, we allow people to emotionally do this to us. To walk into our lives and destroy us in the name of family or friendship. Our home becomes filled with fear, angst, doubt and negativity. We would defend our dishes, but not our hearts? Our home is influenced by the people we ask into our lives.
I understand the complexity of relationships, especially when the family is used to justify accepting someone’s actions. But I will protect my home, protect my heart from being thrown on the floor to break.
The final aspect of a home is the decorations, the pictures, the figurines, and the books on the end tables. The stories and memories we create are hung on the walls of our lives. A beautiful home is created by living fully with the people we cherish.
Yes, big moments, like family vacations. But also the small moments of breakfast at McDs or taking snack walks. The walls of our lives should be filled with stories. Our lives are our homes… and a home is where we should feel free to live.
I have had a small phrase tumbling in my head for a few weeks. I’ve wanted to write about it the day I heard it, but life has been pretty busy, and I think it wanted me to experience some dots connected to the phrase before I wrote about it.
This post will center more on the phrase and the thoughts I have about it in our lives. The moments I experienced (the dots) may be mentioned, but sometimes the lessons are for me, not the blog.
At church, a couple of weeks ago, during the sermon, Father said a simple sentence that just woke me up. It was one of those moments when a truth hits hard because you hear it in a new way or from someone different. If you are a constant reader of my blog you might be surprised why this phrase hit me so hard because you’ve read posts that align with what Father said…
He said, “We are free to love.”
I’m not even sure what the homily was about, my mind and heart just took off with understanding and agreement. Then questions on why we don’t live this…
Let that sit for a moment. Feel the liberating sense of joy bubbling deep inside your chest. Knowing that you can smile, tell someone to have a good day. You can dance to your favorite song. Hug your kids. Hug your parents. Write a poem (or a blog post). Walk under the stars and let the knowledge that you are standing under a million stars. That you were given this moment to love… to love life, to love others, to love yourself.
Why don’t we live this way?
In answering this question let me share just a little bit about one of the dots life gave me, my mother’s memorial. It was a graveside ceremony that my dad presided over. I read two poems at different times during the ceremony. When my dad brought up the moment I became part of the family, I broke down a little. See, my parents did not have to include me. My siblings did not have to include me. It’s a long story, but they chose to love me as a son, as a brother, as family.
The first part of why we don’t live with the ‘freedom to love’ is choice. Now I’ve written about this in a number of past posts. But there is something different about the mindset to the idea of ‘the freedom to love.’ The choice to love is more of a gift of ourselves than a responsibility we check off of our to do list. And I love giving gifts!
But giving a gift has its risks, which is also why we don’t live such joyful lives. REJECTION and all the complicated emotions and pain that come from someone rejecting our gift, in this case our love.
Not going to sugar coat this. It hurts. It can break us when we love someone with every space available in our hearts, and they walk away.
I don’t have a magical potion that will take that pain away. I’ve been there, I still deal with the effects of some devastating moments. What I know is that giving my love to people that accept my gift is one way to heal. I also know love may be the only thing that grows the more you give it away. we are free to love as much as we want.
We are free.
We are free to love.
To love others, to love life, to love ourselves.
I hope you accept this blog as my gift to you, with love.
This morning I spent a few minutes cleaning out my wallet. Below is a concert ticket from 1997.
It was the only time I saw Prince in concert. Of course he was The Artist at that time. You can’t see that on the ticket… I can’t see that any more. I have been carrying that ticket in my wallet for almost 30 years.
I have pictures of my kids in my wallet, plus almost 10 fortunes I’ve liked so I’ve kept them. I have 6 dollars. A number of punch cards and a few credit cards.
But what got me was a goal I wrote down, folded up, and placed in between some pictures. I wanted to be a keynote speaker by 2017.
At that time in my life I was presenting at educational conferences. Working with schools on different projects, like becoming a 1-to-1 computer or iPad school. I was trained to be a Quality Matters Peer Reviewer to help build robust online learning classes.
I wanted to be a positive force in education. I made some great connections at the conferences. At each conference there was a keynote speaker. I wanted to do that, to be a motivational voice for fellow educators.
I didn’t accomplish that.
Through life and career choices, the keynote dream faded away. Until I found it written on a folded up piece of paper in my wallet.
Sadly, there are so many big dreams I had that now are no longer a real possibility. I will never be a head football coach. I may never even be a head track coach again. I’m not going to be a keynote speaker. And it seems that I’m not going to be a best selling author. I have not accomplished any of my big goals…
I’ve written about this topic before, about how chasing a dream leads to new opportunities. And that is true.
But today, finding a tattered folded dream in my wallet just reminded me of all the goals I have not accomplished.
It is all Connected 