A Worthy Sacrifice

"A man's biography is written in terms not so much of what he causes to happen, but rather what happens to him and in him. The difference between men is not in the adversity which comes to them, but rather how they meet the adversity." - Archbishop Fulton Sheen.

I came across that on my Facebook feed and immediately my brain crack receptors went off.

Brain crack? Rather than try to explain it, just watch this video from the Great Ze Frank, who came up with the term.

That particular quote couldn't be more perfectly timed, as I sit here and contemplate my life's story.

Google search defines adversity as "difficulties, misfortunes". I'm not going to sit here and pretend to be the person most affected by adversity. But I will say that adversity takes many forms, wears many different hats and disguises if you will. Many of mine in recent years have been monetarily in form. I've learned lessons, slightly slipped back, but found more gripping as the days progress, however I can look back on where I was two years ago and state with confidence that even though it feels the same, it really is not. It's better.

And it will get better.

I've done my fair share of running, when faced with adversity. But I've also trudged through like a blinding blizzard because I've had no other choice. I've taken easy roads and hard roads, though admittedly my inherent impatience does get the better of me when the latter is involved. It's easy to let happen. You want results, and you want them now. A misfortune befalls you, and you immediately try to think of ways to solve it. Sometimes that solution lies just outside your realm of control, and it irks you to no end. And then it becomes an obsession (or maybe that's just me?).

But it gets better. It doesn't feel like it at times. It feels more like you are stuck in a rut and it's never going to get better. But it will.

Choices are and must be made every day. One often looks back on those choices and wonders how things would be different if they just took that other path. But what one doesn't take into account sometimes is that everything would be different. You go back and alter one choice and you end up in a totally different situation. And then, realizing that, one comes to the conclusion that you were meant to choose that path for a reason. What you might now deem as a mistake, ultimately leads to a great joy. A joy which sometimes is overlooked for the simple fact of the desired result of making that other choice.

It's easy to look back on past choices, but a whole other mountain with present choices that need to be made, along with all the possible future outcomes. And it becomes dizzying.

There's something to be said about a worthy sacrifice. For some reason this phrase has been bouncing around my head this week, which is a sure sign that this is brain crack and must get released from my fingertips. It's choosing to forgo going out so you can spend time with your family. It's briefly taking a second job so you can provide better for your family. It could be forgoing, or at least temporarily, your big city dreams in favor of a smaller town life because that's what your family has become accustomed to.

In the past few entries I've talked about my desire to move. I can never fully shake that feeling, especially when I pull up Google Maps and look at all the places I could go. But then I see my sons playing with their cousins. And then I know, that at least for now, rather than think of it being "my fate sealed", that I made the right choice. That regardless of any other feelings of being an outsider looking in, being a stranger in a group that once was so closely knit, effectively being shunned to a point...regardless of all that, I've made the choice for awesome. Or at least it would seem that way, for my kids. And wasn't that what I'd wanted all along?

A worthy sacrifice.

An outsider looking in?

Perceived or otherwise, feeling like an outsider doesn't feel good at all. To belong to a group where everybody seems to be connected to each other, and know, or at least perceive, that you are not included, sucks so bad. It feels like you're living in the shadows of that group. Like you're trying too hard to fit in, and why doesn't he just get the hint that he's not welcome do we have to come out and say it? It may or may not be the case, and in most cases it's not. But sometimes, perception is everything. People will never forget how you made them feel.

Then you shake all that out of your head. Concentrate on the choice, concentrate on the here and now, and forget everything else. Deal with the conflicting feelings as they come in waves, like high tide. Build a levee to control them. Consider your worthy sacrifice.

The trouble is determining whether or not said sacrifice is, in fact, a worthy sacrifice.

The Laugh Track is Extra

Life isn't just a sequence of waiting for things to be done." - Ze Frank

Do you ever get the feeling that you are living in a circus and all of a sudden you are thrust into the role of unwanted ringmaster?

Hi, I'm Eric, and this is my circus. 

My car won't start. And when it does...it acts as if it has elected a new pope. And last I checked Pope Francis is still the pontiff.

**For those who do not get that, this is my punneriffic way to say something is majorly wrong with my vehicle. You see, when the pope does and the College of Cardinals convenes to elect a new pope, They indicate said election by releasing white smoke from the Vatican. If they've not, black smoke is produced. Side note over.**

Now then, it doesn't stop there. Yesterday my father's guardian angel made itself known by guarding him from being hit by a semi truck while in his car. 

My days have converged into a series of get up, work, work overtime, log off, cook dinner and go to bed, in a series I'd like to see cancelled by Fox. (don't mistake that for suicidal ideation, it's a metaphor, duh guys.)

My life is a sitcom; all that's missing is the laugh track. Or maybe the live studio audience. But I guess, in my case, everyone I interact with is my live studio audience. They're just not gathered collectively as my life situations play out. Going off of my previous post, the phrase from Beauty and the Beast (modified for context) "There must be more than this provisional life" seems to be uttered by my inner voice a few times a day.

Provisional Life. What the F does that mean, I asked myself. A quick Google search defined it as follows: people whose lives are stuck on a dysfunctional merry-go-round of self-inflicted crisis, that everything they don’t like about their lives will change just as soon as something else happens

Hmm. 

And now I'm drawn back to the previous post, thinking about Puer Aeternus. My fascination (or borderline obsession, if you will) that moving from this town will magically make everything better. We have a winner. This sounds oddly familiar, the resemblance is striking.

And now I've just had an epiphany. I was writing that during my lunch. Back story, the past few months we'll say, I've been taking stock of what my true passion in life is. I've done some research, as I've briefly referenced in previous posts, and one of the things I've stumbled upon are the following questions:

1 - What makes you lose track of time?
2 - What do you spend money to do?
3 - Where do you fear judgment?
4 - What makes your heart race?

I've discovered one thing that can answer all four of these questions. WRITING. I almost forgot to come back from lunch and punch back in after my half hour, time just flew while I was writing, and the words just keep coming off my fingertips. I may not be able to do it at present but I've been toying around with the idea of self-hosting my blog/writings. I do fear judgment on my writings, because I don't really take criticism well. And when I write what I feel is a really good post, my heart does race as I wait to see how many people it will reach. 

Side Note - I'm thinking of drawing up a character I'll use in a forthcoming story. All I will say is he has a man-bun. And people call him Man Bun because his name isn't worth remembering, mainly because I haven't thought of his name yet. But I do wonder if I can pull off a man bun myself...but then I remember I'm balding. Moreover, I have a growing bald spot on the back of my head from where I used to (don't judge me) consciously pull my hair out as a kid. Side Side Note, The diagnosis of childhood psychosis is starting to make more sense...

So, as if it never existed before and I'm just discovering it now, the world is not flat. No, no, that's not it. I've found (at least one of) my true passion(s): writing. It was there all along, I haven't sat down to actually write anything in a while, but rather than feel guilty about it (as I read in another Google Search of "how to start writing again after a long break"), I will resolve (wait is this New Years?) to start writing again.

You'll notice that I've allowed my inner voice some commentary throughout this post. That actually gives me a rush too in thinking of when I will post this. My inner voice has a dad-jokes sense of humor, which is why I feel like I will be (or, am...) that classic dad jokes guy.

Asphalt Bars

I will be the first person to say I don't know the inner workings of depression, how it operates or what brings about episodes. I will also say that I would love to be privy to such information.

I'm not saying that I believe I am going through an episode at present. I'm not even saying that right now I am currently depressed. The term I think is most applicable in my case at immediate present, I would say, is restless.

It amazes me that a little over a month ago I could make a post called The Choice For Awesome and now find myself saying I feel restless. And not in a good way, either.

Okay let me back up a bit. The aforementioned post, admittedly, was a little overzealous. I did do a vlog, on September 12. Due to circumstances beyond my control, including but not limited to an eardrum-rupturing ear infection, I was unable to continue. Don't get me wrong, I still have that taste for awesome as I so vividly displayed back then. I may just need a little redirection of sorts.

Let me back up a bit further. Ever since I moved to this city from suburban Milwaukee exactly 21 years ago this month (October 1st to be exact), I've hated it. Speaking in the hyperbolic sense, there's nothing more I'd love than to move, to a bigger city, to a different state, maybe even to another country altogether. Just. Out. Of. Here.

Several factors are preventing such a move, even in the slightest degree of moving to a neighboring biggish city, as I discovered last year. Some are inside my control, but most are out of my control. In addition, one of the biggest things that is in my control, even when I accomplish it, might not have a huge difference in the municipality of which I reside.

Yes, this city is a prison of sorts, especially taking into account that it is "walled off", if you will, by a freeway and a freeway-wannabe, the access control points of which are becoming decreasingly hard to cross. But then I stop and think how much different things would have been, say had I done what I wanted to do post-high school. Differently, not in a good way either. As much as I felt (and sometimes still feel) like George Bailey, it needed to happen this way. And sometimes I forget that.

And that's when it hit me.

Save for one paragraph above, everything I wrote in this post was written about a week ago, before I had an epiphany of sorts, this morning. I wasn't ready to post this post yet, partially due to the fact that my routine has not permitted...no, but this restlessness I am feeling, has an origin.

Enter puer aeternus.

I've just become privy to information about this, and would not even describe myself as marginally knowledgeable about it, but what I did glean from it has gotten me thinking.

I think there's a difference between "being a kid at heart" and "never wanting to grow up", as the puer aeternus would state. It might be a fine line, but there's a difference. I think my biggest problem is as of late, I have fallen into the trap of "waiting for my ship to come in", so to speak. I've lost a certain amount of joy, but yet I am not per se depressed. Not that the loss of a certain fraction of joy doesn't bother me, but it is nowhere near the episode I experienced before.

I googled something to the effect of "finding joy again", and one of the things I found that was rather noteworthy instructed me to think back to the Halcyon Days of when I was 7-8, and what I enjoyed doing back then. It took some coaxing, and didn't come to me right away.

I derive joy in puzzles. Sudoku, crosswords, piecing together the puzzles of family history. I derive joy in just looking at maps. The new year's edition of Rand McNally's Road Atlas was always on my must-have list. As a result and with the help of Google Maps at times, I consider myself a person with a great sense of direction, something I generally take for granted until I come across someone who does not have said quality and asks directions to get somewhere (Mom and Alex, I'm looking at you). I derived joy in playing pretend. I derived joy in creating, even if it was just making Lego Towers in Lego Cities, or buildings and train stations out of empty cigarette packs while my dad was building the real deal in the basement. (In retrospect, admittedly a 7 year old should not be trusted with a soldering iron, as much as I wanted to build things myself)

I derive joy in writing, in using big words correctly (but not often enough to be considered pretentious). I derive joy in research, as I've already mentioned genealogy. But other things, too. Looking at Google Maps, seeing the borders of any given city, the population trends of said city...but then just when I start to think that that city would be a great place to live in, the pangs of being stuck here come back.

It's stupid, I know. But as I say, these are the things that thrust themselves into my mind every day.

I want change, yet am scared of it sometimes. When I want things to stay the same, they change, and when I want them to change, they stay the same.

I must learn to create my joy in the restlessness, in the "puer aeternus" if you will. I cannot keep standing on the dock waiting for my ship to come in. I've got to get to the shipyard and build a dinghy myself.

Yes, I chose dinghy because I like the sound of that word, not because I never want to grow up. I'm not asking for a luxury cruise liner here, a freakin' raft will do.

I don't know if my grandpa ever felt "stuck" in Milwaukee, but I do know if he did, it took north of 70 years for him to get out. And here I am just north of 20 complaining. The problem I have here, is that there's just so much to be seen and experienced beyond the asphalt walls of this town. So many other places that may be a better fit for me and my family. And maybe that opportunity will open up, but I have to let it open up when it's ready. I can't create it myself. I might as well be waiting in New York City in 1912 for the Titanic to dock.

But what I can do, is create joy in the here and now. And that is my assignment.

Trains on a Butterfly Wing

You get to a point in your life when you finally grow up. You realize the things you made such a big deal about when you were a teenager aren't as big of a deal as they were, and you even question your motives as to why you let it upset you to the extent that you did. And then you feel embarrassed by the way you acted/reacted.

I can't say I've had the same childhood as Anthony Kiedis, lead singer of my favorite band, the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Nor can I say I've had the same father/son relationship he had with his father. But I can relate to this song, on a different level. The Red Hot Chili Peppers song "Savior" until very recently just struck me as another track off of the Californication album, something I usually would skip over unless I was in that mood. That is, until I found out what the song was about, thanks to both Kiedis and his father Blackie Dammett via a YouTube video.

(side note, the RHCP are notorious for having hidden meanings in their songs, and me having the delightful inability to read between the lines has to make it a point to seek out the meanings as I can't read them myself)

The line "he's just a man and any damage done will be all right" resonates with me, especially now that I know the song is about his father. Growing up, I didn't exactly have a normal father/son relationship with my father. As this isn't a tell-all autobiography and just merely a blog post, I won't get into details. As I've grown and (in terms of this subject) matured, I've come to the realization that I was quite - you'll forgive my blunt phrasing here - a drama whore, in my teenage years. Going back and reading the things I wrote, hoping they'd become future bestsellers at the time and thinking I'd written gold, I have confirmed this notion. Now I just roll my eyes.

No one was a victim, and no one was an instigator, although 15 years ago I was telling the story quite differently. When you get two people together that are under the same mindset of "This is logical to me, and anything different is illogical and therefore wrong", and one of those person's logic goes against the other person's logic, there are bound to be problems.

As for the aforementioned writings, after much debate I've decided that they belong in what I have cleverly dubbed "The Turd Archive". I could take the time to polish them up and tweak the drama out of them but I think that time would be better spent adopting my new and improved (and still improving) writing style, and starting fresh. This decade long creativity dry spell has to end,

I didn't become addicted to drugs because my father fed them to me along with a passion for womanizing and what not, so in that way I differ from the song. But in many ways I can relate. There was a time when I wanted nothing to do with him, even thought about changing last name (see? drama whore), and then my perspective changed. It wasn't overnight; in fact it took many years for me to adopt this new perspective, but I'm glad I finally did.

He did what my grandfather did before him, and what I'm sure his father did, and so on. He made the best of what he had  Which is what I find myself doing today. Don't get me wrong it's very difficult at times. But things always have a way of working themselves out. Time does heal wounds.

The Choice For Awesome

I may have made potentially a stupid decision. A stupidly awesome decision. I'm going to do a daily vlog. Ish. I know I'm about 8-10 years too late, and no I don't think I lead that interesting of a life but the fact of the matter is I enjoy making videos. Yes, my earlier videos have basically for the most part, for lack of better terms, sucked. But that doesn't necessarily mean stop making them, and in light of recent events it's almost necessary.

I'm not going to wait until I have the perfect job or even my dream job to be awesome. In a major DUH turn of events it has occurred to me that I can be awesome while still hating what I do to put food on the table. If I am awesome to just a handful of people then it is a success. If only 30 people read my blog and 7 people watch my videos, whatever. I will have a showcase for my children that I don't have with my relatives. A chance to see them as they were. In some cases even before I knew they existed.

I have felt a little less than awesome as of late. Well I shouldn't say that. I've had intermittent spurts of awesome, but I feel like I need to be gushing with awesome and doing my part to decrease even the tiniest amount of world suck. Maybe I sort of lost it trying to figure all this true passion stuff out, that perhaps what is necessary is to keep doing what I love to do, create my own awesome as it were. Something tells me, if history proves anything, is that when the time is right, things will fall into place the way they always seem to do. I'm not saying I will just sit back and wait for these things to effect themselves, but I can't stop doing what I love just because an existential crisis is at hand.

Oh and I think I might just try my hand at NaNoWriMo in November.

Finding the St. Francis Within

This past Friday, I listened to a fascinating documentary on St. Francis of Assisi. It was very jarring in a most positive way, to the point that he may give St. Philip Neri a run for his money in terms of being my patron saint. You can have more than one, right? I hope so.

It is my understanding that Francis of Assisi was much like me, much like all of us really, through his teens and 20s. Then he found himself in an old dilapidated church and call it what you want - he had a vision upon gazing at the crucifix. The Lord told him to rebuild his church. So he did. He cleaned up and repaired that church. Obviously there was a deeper meaning to it, but from what I understand, he left that experience a changed person. He wanted to do something bigger with his life.

I'm going to stop there, lest I ruin the documentary for you. But that is where I find myself today. I'm a 31-year-old Claims Adjuster, having gone through 3 different jobs since I started working on "the edge of twenty", to borrow but not quote a phrase from Stevie Nicks. As a side note, I've recently found out that my quoting of songs in past blog posts amounted to what I am calling an accidental infringement, and thus all quotes (to the best of my ability) have been removed, sadly. I am very much a musical person, and one of those people that if we can't talk in song lyrics we can't be friends. I enjoyed making that a part of my blogs but I also don't like infringing on copyright, so it had to be done.

Doing what I do for a job, I hardly feel like the force of nature I've made it my life's goal to become. Have I discovered what my true passion is yet? I can't say that I really have, but I'm working on it. I'm not asking to become a bestselling author, celebrity chef or professional vlogger/blogger, but I do enjoy all those things. I'm trying to figure out which of my passions I could capitalize on and do for a living. Many people say cooking is my strong suit. Humbly, I say that I'm not that good. And it's true, I have a lot to learn. Everybody does. But I can't in good conscience continue to do what I'm doing, expecting to be that force of nature I'm always striving to be.

My old religion teacher always used the phrase "the workaday world", and I now get what that means. I used to write for hours every day. Now, I'm lucky to be able to sit down and pen thoughts that are swimming in my head. Ten hours of work, plus a family, does not equal much free time. It's a struggle trying to ensure everything gets done, both wants and needs.

But does it have to be?

Say my true passion does involve cooking. At present, I don't feel like me taking on any kind of cooking job would be able to pay enough to sustain my family. I know money isn't everything but hey, a Claims Adjuster salary is doable with some creative financing, and as I've said I'm no celebrity chef. Not to mention I'm sure if I wanted to do something like that, I should have thought of that after high school and not as I enter my 30s.

Thinking about it, what do I really love? Writing. Writing, Photography, and making videos. And I love watching vlogs on YouTube, specifically vlogbrothers and Wheezy Waiter. I don't necessarily feel like I live an interesting enough life to vlog about, but the time factor comes into play again.

I refuse to be relegated to mediocrity. If there's one thing I learned from the Vlogbrothers, it is not to forget to be awesome. And that's what I want to do with my life. Something awesome. Maybe only awesome for few, maybe awesome for many, but something awesome nonetheless.

And now is the part where I open it up to you, the readers, taking suggestions on how to best find my true passion.

Evolution of Family - Thoughts From Arab, AL

Over the last 6 years, one thing I have learned is that blood isn't the only thing that makes you family. I have been fortunate to have more than tripled the size of my family over that time under that logic. Merriam-Webster even has varying definitions of family, ranging from the usual sharing of a common ancestor to sharing common convictions or affiliations.

The point is, you don't have to be related to someone to call them your family. Whoever you associate with, who when they're in pain or suffering you share in their pain and suffering, and when they are joyful you share in their joy, that is your family. Sometimes non-blood relations are closer than blood relations. Sad to say, but this can be true.

Everyone needs family of any kind; going through this death sentence called life alone is a special kind of torture one must never subject themselves to. If we aren't going to make it out of this adventure alive, we might as well enjoy the ride in he company of others.

Yesterday marked the second year since my Grandma left to go dance with Jesus. I was blessed to have her in my life for 30 years, even if at times I didn't make the most of those 30 years. I think we are still in that "lost" phase, where the loved one is taken and we're still trying to figure out how we're going to move on with our lives. The phase where nothing seems right and the realization that nothing will be the same again is still prevalent.

The thing about family is it's always evolving. Marriages, births, deaths, meeting new people...like the weather in Wisconsin, it is constantly changing. And we are all family with God as our Father.

Just up the road from where we are staying in Alabama there is a pond in a city park. I'm not sure if it's teeming with fish or not, but suppose it is. They will forever be relegated to that pond, that will be all they know of existence. They won't know that there is so much more water to explore. And anthropomorphically speaking they'd probably be fine with that. Some people are like that too. They stay within the confines of their city or state, and they are perfectly fine with that. I'm very thankful I was blessed with the ability to travel and venture outside my city walls (if you knew my city you'd know the Department of Transportation built a bypass that is effectively a modern day "Great Wall" of sorts) and see more of the beautiful world God created. I was afforded the opportunity to immerse myself in Southern culture, even developed my own accent that'll likely stick with me for about a week. It was the first time in 6 years I have been able to travel out of state; incidentally enough to the same place, this time with a wife and kids.

Side note: a twelve hour road trip with an almost 3 year old is basically signing away a percentage of your sanity.