hurt

I was high above the street, flanked by Wilshire to the right and Santa Monica to the left, as the sun was about to set over the city.

Lost somewhere inside myself, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the day felt heavier than the previous, as the clock on the wall ticked incessantly reminding me another year had passed.

To be honest, it scared me.

“Our childhood is disappearing,” I told an old friend as I relayed the news of the passing of a classmate from our youth. In disbelief, the only response I could muster up was “he was far too young.”

It made me think of a quote I read recently that said “evidence of the past has begun,” which I find all around me. There are times I wish I could start again, a million miles away, but it would hurt to much to leave those I love.

As I awoke from my inner slumber, I looked over the Hollywood Hills, sitting in the feeling of the moment that allowed me this view, alongside my family, celebrating another year that has been given to me.

I locked the memory away for safe keeping so I could come back to it often. So I can be reminded there is still time.

There is still time…

but a dream

A new year generates reflection on all that has transpired in the previous one.

Our rights. Our wrongs. Expectations met while others sat idle.

Sometimes I feel writing in such a way is nothing more than fool’s words strung together to sound more than they are–as if they have some sort of currency.

Such is an artists plight–playing with Monopoly money while dreaming of a world that is nothing more than that.

Merrily, merrily, merrily…

Be it as it may, it is a wonderful life. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. It’s the only one you got.

take the a train

I haven’t been in the mind space to write. The kind where I’m stuck knee deep in my thoughts that somehow get all over me.

The kind that allows me to escape the world for a while as I sit on top of a perch surveying life and what it all means in my little cubby of existence.

I’m not saying I have writers block more like an aversion to push a moment that is not presently available.

Please hang up and try again.

I have just enjoyed being in the moment. Enjoying the ride from the A line to the E, watching the city pass outside my window anticipating each stop.

Walking down Sunset ready to capture the decisive moment but putting no expectation on myself if I don’t. There will always be another.

Sitting in a cafe, that feels like my own private Blade Runner scene, while I enjoy a Mexican Coke and a rib eye taco, all the while, trying desperately not to get up and dance as “Oh, Honey,” marinates the space.

I just want to be in the sandbox sometimes. Get it in my shoes. Throw it around, perhaps. And, then laugh when I get it all over the place when I get home and question, “How did it get there?”

Knowing the words will eventually come.

Just not today.

the one

It’s not about the run but is not not about the run.

It’s the moment when I press start on my watch as I cross the line. “I’m actually doing this,” I think as a wave of emotion washes over me.

It’s about doing what I say and saying what I do. It’s about hard work, perseverance and knowing there are little eyes watching me and learning with every move I make.

How do I handle adversity? How do I handle success? How do I handle life?

One day they will be on their own. It’s my responsibility to set the foundation now. One step at a time. One mile at a time.

“I ran this for the both of us,” I said to my son as I gave him my medal. He smiled.

Little did he know he was my motivation the whole time.

down south

I was recently driving around the area near Portuguese Bend chasing the memory of one of my favorite writers, Joan Didion.

I was keen on retracing the steps of where she once lived. Where her and John wrote. Where her daughter Quintana was brought after she was born.

I wanted to know if the coastal air brought in inspiration during the early morning. If the unstable land beneath gave a sense of urgency and if the vastness of the Pacific put everything into perspective.

Though I read all of her books but one (Run, River), I wanted to find what was felt in between each word, sentence and paragraph–the elusive transition from good to great that she achieved.

As the sun was about to set, I made my way down the winding road, to the land of Bukowski where I found myself none the wiser but inspired nonetheless.

the gift

I knew a man who once said, “the older I get the slower my music gets.” Come to think of it, he may have said, “the slower my music becomes.” Either way, I know what he meant or rather I know how he feels now that I am in my older state.

These days I find myself in a Malibu state of mind as I make the turn off Sunset onto the highway running alongside the edge of the frontier.

There I allow life to unfold naturally, as if I had any control in the first place, as it helps  me lean into the quiet days. A place where memories are made that will be held onto long after I’m gone.

It’s the slow life. The life of not chasing tomorrows but relishing in all the day has to offer. Where the mornings creep slowly as the first cup of coffee turns into two while I dog-ear the page of that book that I may get to later.

With the vastness of the great Pacific just beyond my tent, I become aware of how small I am, like a speck of sand beneath my feet, understanding life will go on with or without me.

It humbles me. Puts everything in perspective and gives me a feeling of surrender—allowing me to be present.

For that is really all we have.

A gift as they say.

rocket man

It was a night of doomscrolling that I stumbled across a post. Its content wasn’t something I was familiar with but the choice of song piqued my interest.

I’ve heard Rocket Man many times over the years but for some reason it hit a little different that night particularly when Elton sang, “it’s lonely out in space.”

Though firmly grounded in my reality and responsibility, there are times that the space I live in is the expectation I conceived in my head for my life.

Just one more shot. One more mile. One more client. Thinking that if I just go one more it will get me “there,” wherever that may be.

“I think it’s gonna be a long, long time,” played in my ear like a mantra or prophecy, conditioning me for the potential outcome of my journey.

And as I looked at the moon from my bed, I came to the conclusion I am nothing more than a rocket man often on a solo flight to my desired destination albeit a lonely one.

Seeing the promised land from afar but ultimately realizing it will be fulfilled by another.

everything changes

We sat in our chairs, as our now oldest slept. We refer to them as our therapy chairs, bought in lieu of a television. For years we sat with a glass of wine and talked about life. Our struggles. Our defeats. We talked and talked. And talked some more—probably enough to the solve the worlds problems if we cared to do so. We were being intentional with our love for one another one heart-to-heart at a time.

It was in our chairs, we decided that two is more than one. Companionship is what he needed and that our desired outcome would be long and winding with potholes to fill.

Then one morning you arose with a feeling of life inside. A promise made and a promise kept. And though we were older, we felt our renewed hope would fuel us for what was to come.

After the passing of the season, you called one night.  Our communication was few and far between that day, “You should come home. I think it’s time,” you said. Our “only” fast asleep only to wake hours later as our oldest.

We sat in our chairs, as our now oldest slept navigating the change. Living in the promise. Living in the results of decisions made months ago—understanding two is more than one and four is more than three. Love and pain. Both can be true.

Understanding it may take time to get used to. We take it day by day.

Everything changes. Everything changed.

la

Did I tell you I miss you? I’m sure you know. I have found myself in a new situation that may come between you and I. Don’t worry, it wasn’t something you have done. It was more of something I did—but let me tell you it was a decision that even you would have made.

It was about fulfilling a dream not just for me but for someone I love. Yes, I love you too but you should know a thing or two about following dreams, right?

Let me tell you, she shines as bright as your lights as I hold her. She beams with joy like you do on a sunny day off the coast. Actually a part of you is part of her, in spirit anyways.

I am sure you will meet her some day soon. Perhaps off Sunset, say 12:30 in the courtyard?

I just know you’ll love her, like I do. And soon enough, she’ll fall in love with you too.

if only

I was late to the game. Missed it in the moment and only became aware long after the fact. It’s possible if I would have seen Sofia Coppola’s movies early I could have diverted the stints of therapy I experienced in my teens and early adulthood.

The connection to the characters exposed me to our collective flaws, insecurities and feelings of loneliness in an otherwise crowded room. The topics raised, taboo to some, to me normalized the idea of conversation that led to discernment of how to approach the fragility of self.

If only.

It’s never too late though just arrive before you leave.