the long road

I sit here at Sky Harbor about to board a flight that will take me through Denver and, thusly, onward to the place I call home once more, Atlanta. In this moment, it seems so odd how I've ended up here. It feels as if life has been a constant blur of passing trains and departing flights. There are no regrets felt for the decisions that I have made over the last year, just a wonder over what is to come.

This morning as I packed my bags, my friend's daughter, Madeleine, stealthy crept into the room and started to dig into her piggy bank of chocolates. Curious, I allowed her to continue her little spy mission and waited to see what she was planning. She finished rifling through her bank of treats and turned to me and held out her hand. "Here," she whispered. "I want you to have these to remember me by. You'll need a snack on the plane and these are for you."

Needless to say, I feel blessed to have such love in my life. I have great friends all over this country that I would do anything for. Madeleine's sacrifice is very telling of how gracious these friends have been and continue to be. I suppose this long overdue post is for all of you who I hold dear to me. All I can offer are words. I appreciate every one of you. Thank you for being who you are. Whether you give up sleeping in to drive me all over the place, or made a little extra dinner to take care of me, or send well-wishes as I try to figure out where I belong, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It is truly good to know that friendship can be the family and the hope that you need.

So, before I ramble on too long, I just want you all to know that I appreciate you. The road of life is long, I'm glad to share it with you. We will laugh together again soon.

taking the stage

This past Saturday night, I had the distinct privilege of being a guest monologist at The Torch Theatre. If you missed it for some reason, you definitely missed out. I had a great time, as I always do whenever I attend a Torch event. These are some of the best people in the Valley.

See, The Torch Theatre consists of some people who honestly care about this community. They are involved in helping this city grow to it's greatest potential. Phoenix, you are blessed to have them.

So, make sure that you don't take them lightly or forget about them. Support them. Go to a show regularly. Perhaps give them a hug. You have the opportunity to enrich your city by supporting people who care, and also people who can make you laugh so you forget that it is a million degrees outside.

Thanks to Jose Gonzalez, Nina Miller, Bill Binder, Mack Duncan and everyone else involved in The Torch Theatre. You guys make living in this valley an honor.

Here is the video of my 15 minutes in the limelight.

The Neighborhood August 6th, 2011 from The Torch Theatre on Vimeo.

The PHX bucket list

I suppose it is time that I "let the cat out of the bag." I am moving to Atlanta this fall for a job.

I have had a rough time the past year and a half, as the recession has taken its toll on all of us. The most troubling thing has been trying to find my purpose. Some people search for jobs, some for fame, and others for purpose. I am the latter. I can't be happy on this planet doing something menial. It must have substance and value. Money is acceptable, but money without purpose is meaningless to me.

So, I say all that to say, I believe I have found my calling. I am taking a job working in the film industry. I know that sounds like a fame-seeking role, and perhaps it does serve that, but I truly believe it is a calling. I would one day love to join the ranks of J.J. Abrams, Christopher Nolan and Peter Jackson, and be a visual storyteller for generations. That is my dream.

I feel the most responsible way to pursue this is to work my way up from the bottom, write scripts, and learn every angle of the industry. If they need an amazing lighting guy, then I will become that. If a great coffee maker is required, i'll learn to brew it the best. Whatever is needed, I want to be the best at it. For the first time in a decade, I feel completely motivated to succeed.

This job does change some things that I had intended to do future-wise: move to Portland in the spring, camp at the base of the Grand Canyon, etc. So, I feel it prudent to post a list of things that I would like to do before my time is up in the Valley. I welcome your help.

So, before I leave for ATL in October, here are some things (some more grandiose than others) that I would love to do before I go:

1) hike the Grand Canyon rim to rim again
2) visit Tombstone like a gawking tourist should
3) gorge myself at Liberty Market for dinner (perhaps multiple times)
4) spend a night in Hotel Congress
5) record a song with a great PHX music guru (Bob Hoag, Jim Adkins, etc.)
6) climb Squaw Peak and Camelback in the same day
7) take a boat ride on Tempe Town Lake
8) play a show at The Rhythm Room
9) spend a day working at Gangplank and at CoHoots
10) get my first tattoo to remind me of the change this place has made in me
11) grab a beer with Zack
12) watch all Harry Potter movies with Ms. Herr

I am so grateful to have lived in Phoenix while I have. I have made some of the best friends that I have ever had in my life here. Despite the hard times, I have been more blessed than I ever could have imagined. For me, life is measured in great moments, and by that measure, Phoenix has given me a full glass.

So, thank you to all of you who have shared my journey into the desert. I'm sure there will be more posts about this, but I wanted to share a list that is growing of what must be done before I leave. Feel free to add to it.

products of disarray

All to often it seems, we get so caught up in our own little worlds, that we barely notice others are existing around us. We are all guilty of it - myself included.

Recently, I had my eyes opened when I shared a conversation with an acquaintance. See, after you share those dark moments of the past with someone, you cease to be acquaintances. Once you let down your defenses, you are visible for what you really are. The problem that this creates is that we are so guarded of our fragile hearts, we run at the slightest offering of someone who wants to know us.

I remember sitting on my best friend's porch in high school and talking until it was well past time for me to be home. Despite the mild lashing I received for being out past curfew, those conversations were where we became friends. You tend to be more honest in one-on-one conversation with someone who is aiding you in getting into trouble.

The conversation with a former acquaintance was eye-opening as we shared the details of our respective upbringings. While they were different, each tale seemed to have a way of helping us see how our childhoods had shaped us. And for the good that the pain brought. For it truly seems that what we call disarray has a funny way of preparing us for the future. The past is an inadvertent teacher.

I've had some moments in life (which I will share in some later posts) that have ripped my heart from my chest, but years later that painful memory prepared me for the onslaught that is growing up. Also, I've had some strenuous friendships and relationships that I would not take back for the life of me.

I suppose the purpose of this post is to encourage communication and experience. Don't hide from sharing parts of your heart. This life is too short to hide from who we really are. After all, when you let your guard down, you really are quite beautiful. Don't ever forget that.

words

Sometimes, they are the hardest things to find. Whether my brain is reeling ever-so slowly during the day or I am the one that is over-thinking each one, words have a way of escaping me all too frequently. In fact, most of the silence influenced on this blog is because I over-filter/obsess that someone might not like what I have to say.

"If you have no critics, you'll likely have no success." - Malcolm X

That about sums it up better than anything rattling around in this old gourd. So brace yourself for more narratives. Hopefully, you can find something in there that might help you out. I know that just reliving these tales of my life and such has been therapeutic. It is almost better than a walk in the rain. Notice I say almost. Given my current location, rain walks are unadulterated gold.

beauty in the simple

In my senior English class, I remember my teacher, Mrs. Smith, reciting a passage from a book in fluent Middle English. The words were twisted and brash and simple and beautiful. Each syllable that escaped housed a mystery of literary beauty that its creator had intended to reach an eager audience. Even though I didn't know what she was saying, I could sense the purity that the phrases were meant to relay.

It seems today, with our influx of technology and information, we are so caught up in getting all of our messages parsed down into thesis statements or lists, we fail to see the mysterious allure that art and words should hold. Before the world bathed itself in instantaneous media, the theater and readings carried weight. Our hearts could be captured by a poem or by the brush strokes of an artist. When you take the art and beauty out of message, then it becomes cold and calculating, and no one can embrace that.

I guess what I'm going for with this is that we need to see the beauty in the simple things. If you don't find your beliefs or ideals beautiful, then have you callously made a formula of your passion? Have you condensed that which used to drive you into a system?

I imagine the audience that originally heard the story my teacher read, must have celebrated or sat in quiet contemplation. Someone conveyed their passion, and others eagerly and openly waited to hear what they had to say. If we honestly found beauty in passion, we might take each others words to heart as well.

Frequently, I will go to the movies by myself. I'm not doing it to be pathetic or creepy, I go so that I can allow a story to reach me. When you sit with others at a movie, it is easier to get distracted. I know Hollywood might not be serving up unbridled passion these days, but sometimes, beneath all the 3D and CGI, there exists a story or imagery that someone sweated over and put themselves into.

As a writer and an artist, you have to share yourself, insecurities and all, to paint the truest picture of your soul. And all of our souls have a beautiful message to relay, it just takes someone who will look past the cobwebs and flash to see what we really mean.

In all honesty, beauty is as simple as the next breath you take.

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i belong

Growing up, I was little bit awkward. Alright, so I was very awkward. Okay, okay, so I am still awkward, but aren't we all?

I lived and died on the approval of others. Frequently, I would skip events because I was worried I would have no one to talk to, or I wouldn't fit in. Maybe this is standard wiring for your early teenage years, but I felt like everyone else was a part of something that I wasn't quite sure I was cool enough to be a part of.

My family moved to the next county over the summer before my eighth grade year. I remember my anxiety kicking up a notch. Even though I had left a larger school that was easier to get lost in, I was now going to be in a school where most of the kids had known each other since finger-painting was on the lesson plans. This freaked me out. Realistically, I had just found some friends back home that I felt at ease with, and now I was going to be uprooted and planted into foreign soil. My faulty self-image was completely unprepared for this.

The family mini-van pulled out of the home I had grown up in and wheeled its way into unfamiliar territory. We passed my friend Derrick's house, where I had spent many afternoons attempting to play soccer and lofting pinecones at each other's heads. Then, we passed the only two schools that I had ever known. When you are young, familiarity is the spice of life. It always felt like the worlds far away were far away for a reason. Maybe they held something dangerous and unwanted for your life, or you just chemically wouldn't match up with the species habitating there. I remember having a dream about moving. I dreamt that once we arrived at our new home, the new neighbors came over to meet us. The crazy thing was they were fish people, with gills on their necks, wearing odd bubble masks just so they could breathe. I'm fairly certain my anxiety, and fear my parents might have my head examined, kept me from warning anyone about our impending date with our fish neighbors. As the van wheeled us closer to our new home, I just hoped that they were friendly and that they had a fish son my age I could learn aquatic arts from.

The first few weeks at the new place were not bad. We actually lived in a neighborhood where I could ride my bike in the streets without becoming a hood ornament or windshield fodder. School was even tolerable. After a week or so, I did get tired of eating lunch by myself. I'm sure I only made it worse for myself by choosing to sit alone. Who wants to eat with the loner, new kid who speaks to no one but himself? Not me. So, in gym class one morning, I did something I had never done before, I struck up a conversation with a someone I had never spoken to in my life. Weird concept, huh?

Turns out this dude, Chris, who shared my homeroom class, amongst other classes, was in the same boat as me. He was new to the neighborhood and shared the same social anxiety I did. I think we shocked each other that we held a conversation. I remember feeling relieved for the first time in months. I had proven, in spite of my self-loathing, I could make new friends in a new place. In fact, we proved over the next few weeks to be somewhat inseparable. We could make fun of our sweaty gym teacher, who we were sure had come straight from a sitcom, and talk about our respective homelands as if they were mystical lands of lore.

A few weeks later, Chris didn't show up to school. Now, if you understand anything about social anxiety, you know that those suffering from it are like nocturnal creatures - we get comfortable being in our place and if you shine the light on our solitude, we scatter. So I coped the only way I knew how, become even more invisible. Missing a day or two of school is no big deal, but after a week and a half, I needed some answers. Mrs. Rohacek, my homeroom teacher, was one of the sweetest ladies on the planet. She seemed to understand my awkward nature and let her motherly instincts take over. She would laugh at my stupid side jokes and was there for support. So, I asked her where my buddy Chris had been. I still vividly remember the look that crossed her face. The jovial smile on her face slowly slipped back, and her eyes looked up as if she was trying to carefully navigate through a room of priceless crystals. She waited until the room emptied with her hand on my shoulder. I just stood there motionless, waiting for one of her silly science jokes to wipe away the uneasiness. The truth was that Chris had a rare disease, the name of which I can not remember, which was taking its toll on him. She had been sending him his homework for the last week, because he wasn't able to really be outside for long periods of time. Plus, his immune system was too weak to be around others. Needless to say, I was devastated. Granted, I had only been friends with him for a few short weeks, but we were far too young to be worrying about death walking into the room and ruining the party.

I went home in a daze and kind of hid in my room to avoid the questions that loving parents normally ask. 'How was your day?' was one of the last things I wanted to hear. The weeks passed slower and my loner status grew with the passing days. I even juggled the awful and misplaced thought that my friendship might be toxic.

Mrs. Rohacek asked me to stay after class a few weeks later. I chose to hinge my hopes on naivety and pretend I had no clue what she was going to say to me. Even my eighth grade mind had connected the dots before she could speak. Her kind eyes told more than could be said. With her hand on my shoulder, I learned that my friend had fought the good fight, but, in the end, he had to wave the white flag. She waited with me in silence until her next class started to file in. "He was lucky to have a good friend like you", she whispered as she slowly slipped from my side, and helped guide me out of the classroom. Just like that, I was transparent again. The world spinning rhythmically didn't seem to matter to me. The truth about good friendships is that they help us find our place. We need people in our lives to help quell our riot-inducing selves. Without friends and family to quiet the insecurities rolling around in our heads, we are apt to pummel ourselves with fists of self-loathing and self-pity. It is a fight that no one wins.

I remember my parents telling me a story about my uncle. He had just gotten divorced from a lady that he had loved. It hit him like a ton of bricks, so much so, that he got rid of everything else in his life and moved up to a farm in North Carolina and grew a beard. Not normally a big deal, in fact, I happen to approve of beards. But, in this case, all of these radical changes were evidence that he lost his self-worth in the divorce and had relegated himself to isolation for the remainder of his years. My dad was very concerned and went on several occasions to try and pry his brother out of his depressed state. It took a while, but my uncle recovered and moved back to civilization. I suppose he just needed time, and love, to realize his worth.

This was where I was now. After Chris' passing, I dealt with my sorrow through isolation and drawing. I would sit for hours drawing or just trying to distract myself from reality. I suppose it would have been a harder trance to break had we had the time to become closer friends, but, that young in life, it was still a hard pill to swallow.

I woke up one morning and realized that I had a lot of things in life to be thankful for. And even though Chris would not get to see this morning, I would make the best of it. I would talk to people and try to make friends. I would stop just existing and make the best of each and every breath. I'm confident the ones that we have lost don't hate us for living in the days we are gifted. I found through all of this that, I belong on this earth. Even with all of my insecurities and hang-ups, I have worth. I am blessed to have friends and family that reaffirm this with their presence.

Think about this, the sunrises and sunsets are not created just as a backdrop for the birds to sing against. The radiant rays of sunshine that breach the horizon are meant for our eyes to see, for our faces to feel the warmth. Know this: you belong here. You are beautifully and wonderfully made. Sometimes we just need a friendly reminder. Sometimes we just need to remember to live the sunrises and sunsets, and everywhere in between, to their fullest.