A Long Walk Off A Short Pier

A long walk off a short pier doesn't seem very appealing. It has always felt like a brush off from someone you wish would like you. Being cursed to the deep is a pretty lonely stretch of plank. It signifies the final thrust into the unknown. It combines being up the creek without a paddle and being sold down the river into a translucent jelly-like state of non-existence. So why is this scene so peaceful?

It is a near exact replica of a place I used to go in the not too distant past. I would go there to find solace amidst pain or to 'ground myself,' as I always said. The mornings were always misty with the veil of a wispy fog until the sun rose high enough to burn it off. Then you could see clear across the lake. I always thought it strange what hides behind the fog.

I'd sit for hours sometimes waiting for that first peek of a ray. The sky would lighten from darker to lighter and with the coming sun I felt my hopes rise. Whatever the problem, it was always easier to deal with in the light of day. The sharp edges of the night cut like a knife and the shadows are the hiding places of bogeymen and goblins. But that one ray - that gave me a renewed vigor.

And so today... far removed from this peaceful sight, I sit cyberly staring out over the water trying to pierce the fog with my myopia. There's not a ripple on the water and the birds have not yet taken their heads out from under their wings. The dragonflies are revving up their wings for flight while I hear the faint sound of traffic in the background as the town beings to come to life.

My big toe touches the water and the ripple begins...........................

As it radiates out in concentric circles, I realize why I have come. Each circle is like the next. Each one entrapped inside another. All from one tiny push in the center, layer upon layer they spiral outward. Suddenly I don't feel so all alone. Suddenly I know what the circles mean.

I am reminded of a day long ago in 1989 when I had heard that my father had passed on. We had changed our differences into a special bond. The song you're listening to is one I heard just after he died. "The Living Years," that was a new concept to me at the time. All I know is I was glad once I heard it that we had mended our fences.

We are all connected, however briefly, however remotely, with each other. There are those who believe we are no more than six degrees of separation from any other being on this earth. I come here today because I hurt... again.

My brother died the day after Christmas. I cried as I read it in the paper. I cried more because no one thought I deserved to know. I cried more for me than I did for him. Isn't that the way of grief?

But I wouldn't have called it grief until two days ago. We had had our differences. What siblings don't? But our rift was like that fog, nothing really tangible, but placing each one of us in a line of vision that neither of us was able to see clearly. Sad, I know. And now with him gone, any hope of reconciliation is gone with him. I think that hurts more than anything.

But all too soon the fog will burn off and I will be left in the stark reality of the blazing sun. It isn't even here yet and I can feel the guilt and regret that comes with its scorching touch. Oh, how I despise the 'if onlys.' Perhaps he is wiser now wherever he is. I hope so.

In the meantime, I will just sit here a little while longer and drink in the start of a new day with all its hopes and dreams. I'll tap the water with my toe a few times to remind me of the inter-connectedness in this world. And I will set out to live this day so that, in any tomorrow I am fortunate to live, it will not become one of regret. And then perhaps when I revisit this place, it will once again be a place of solace and comfort.

Tap, tap, tap... Even though.....

"The" List

OK, OK... Enough already with the semi-idolatrous, borderline adulterous revelry of the weekend. Throw those paper hats away. Keep one of those stupid little horns though so you can announce your arrival at some distant party in June. Just think, you'll be the only one with a horn. My God, won't that be special?

And now for the other matter - the list. What list, say you? Come on!!! You know the one. Every sentence on it begins with I wish or I want to or I'm going to... Or maybe you are one who has the stark impersonal list filled with just nouns and verbs. It merely says diet, smoking cessation, less drinking. And it's typed. No harm done there in case it's seen by prying eyes. Ah yes, it's the New Year's Resolution List. You sit there doing your very best Bambi in the headlights impersonation. (You're not very good at it, by the way.)

Well, I outsmarted myself this year. It was the first time in a very long time I didn't even bother to make a list. I decided to revert to an old plan I have for lists, except I was never so bold as to use it for the New Year's List before. No, no. That New Year's List is no everyday, mediocre, run-of-the-mill list. No, Sir! It's unique, nearly sacred, the Lists of Lists, and is to be treated as such...

Until this year, that is. I am reducing it to child's play. I am taking the bogeyman out of it. I am exposing it, once and for all, for what it really is - just one more curve that life throws you that helps you to feel bad about yourself.

I RESOLVE TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT ME THIS YEAR... 2010... PERIOD!!!

So here's the plan...

My last post was about having a clean slate... each day, each week, each month... you pick the increment. (Personally, I like month. It gives me a good time span to really forget about the list - and that's a good thing, you'll see why.)

What I do is send myself an email from the calendar in my email to remind me to check the list... on the fifteenth of every month. I avoid the first of the month so that it isn't lost in the bill paying fiasco. By the time the middle of the month comes around, I'm looking for a lift.

Now you can go out and get yourself a slate, (the symbolism won't be lost on it), but, quite frankly, I find that paper works the best for me. (I have this new thing now. I'm obsessed with index cards for some reason... hoo hoo... there's my list!)

You can give it any caption you want. You can state what it actually is - The New Year's Resolution List, or you can have fun with it and name it George for all it matters. Just give it a name that suits YOU. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about it. Mine simply says "Accomplishments." (You'll see why in a bit.)

Don't number it. In fact, don't write anything on it at all because here comes the tricky part. Let's say your goal is to lose 25 pounds. In your first week (if that is your increment) you have lost two pounds. On your list you would write... 'Lose two pounds.' If you have other ideas about what you would like to accomplish this year, then every time you accomplish one segment of it, whether it's losing a pound or being smoke-free for one day, write it on the list.

When you consult the list at the ordained time chosen by you, you will see a list of accomplishments rather than failures. In fact, if you write the list correctly, you can honestly say that you have done everything on your list and that you are succeeding in whatever your goals are.

It's an uplifting and encouraging exercise, a kind expression of love to yourself. Now who couldn't use a little of that in the coming year? Happy Listing!!!

p.s. everything on my list is done so far... except for that one thing... dammit!