Haywire Radar

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Strange evening.

A last-minute business trip is on the horizon for tomorrow, so I took advantage of some same-day dry cleaning to be able to look presentable.

When I swung into the strip mall tonight to pick up my clothing, I immediately noticed two things: a shady-looking character loitering by the dry cleaners’ doors, and a young boy with a large, lean dog he had tied to a sign pole. The way my heart and brain are wired, I immediately cared more about the animal.

As I pulled into my parking spot, right in front of the cleaners, the tanned, shifty, leathery character eyed me. He didn’t look OK; I assumed he would ask for money, so I was grateful I’d pre-paid earlier this morning. I got out of my car with only my keys, and glanced at the boy and the dog a few feet away as I moved past the loiterer.

My clothes were at the ready, and I left seconds later. The man was still staring at me as I made a beeline to the boy. I had to investigate the dog situation further.

“Hi, is this your doggie?” I asked the child.

“It’s a friend’s dog. We’re taking care of him.”

“Oh, may I pet him?” I asked. The boy nodded, and it was clear the dog was the largest puppy I’d ever seen versus a malnourished dog. I was relieved.

I gathered the puppy’s name was Bruno (fitting) and headed back to my car. This time, the loiterer wasted no time in approaching.

He mumbled something that I couldn’t make out.

“What?” I asked.

Mumble, mumble. He inched closer.

“Huh?” I said.

More mumbling. Closer still.

“Am I what?” I asked. I almost had it.

“Are you dating anyone?” he said quietly. His eyes freaked me out. They were dead, but intent — if that makes any sense.

“Yes. I am,” I replied.

“Oh, OK. I’m sorry,” he said. He stared at me as I got in my car and drove off.

It’s not like the guy knew who I was, so I found myself wondering how many women he has approached in that manner. I wondered what he’d have done had I said no. I wondered if something different would’ve happened if I had ignored him entirely.

Would he have been there after hours? Would he have behaved more aggressively if the little boy and employees weren’t close by? Thinking about these things gave me chills. Not good ones, naturally.

It felt a little like my brain wanted to explode. My radar went haywire when I pulled into the strip mall and finally short-circuited when I left. I knew I was thankful the dog was fine, but with the weirdness in my rear view mirror, I was thankful that I was, too.

Believe Your Eyes

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They say you won’t believe them.

They say they’re the window to the soul.

They say some hold a twinkle.

They say they’re all on you.

The eyes are often the subject of phrases and sayings, but we’ve also been known to say that we can’t believe them.

Why? They seem to otherwise be so intuitive.

Sometimes we let our heart or mind talk our us into something other than what they actually saw.

We see a hurtful person, but we excuse them and tell ourselves we see good.

We see a deceptive person and we tell ourselves that they might’ve just been having a hard day and that they really mean well.

We see someone who plays with our feelings or who uses information against us, and we still wonder if we should be friends with them.

What’s to wonder? The answer is no. Our eyes see truth, but sometimes we try to undo it. Will we ever learn?

If the twinkle if valid, hold it close. If it’s fiction, be done — with something: the person, the closeness or the situations that bring out the bad.

I’m not thankful for the trying times that come up, but I am thankful that we can usually always believe our eyes and see the truth for what it is. May we never question them, and may we give them more credit.

Twofer

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Truth be told, I’ve wondered now and again how long it would take me to miss a day of Thanky writing.

Going into this weekend, I didn’t see it coming. Last night was that night, however. Woops.

I went to bed early-ish, but woke up at some point and only then realized my flub. Unsure of what time it was, I grabbed my watch and hoped it was 11:45 — that would’ve given me 15 minutes to get my post for the day completed by midnight. Alas, it was 4am.

Fail. I went back to sleep.

When I woke up this morning. I still couldn’t believe my error. My streak of one year and seven months of daily blogging was over. All I could do was vow to find two things for which I’m thankful, versus my usual one. Seems clear enough to me.

One: we sometimes build relatively small things up to be so big in our minds that we think we just might die if it gets away from us. The reality is that we don’t die, the world doesn’t stop turning and clouds don’t gather overhead. As a result, I am thankful for perspective and the peace that it can bring.

Two: missing a goal can be a great motivator. Missing last night’s writing session made me wonder what I’d do moving forward. Would I just resume my daily blogging routine? Sure. But that’s too easy. What next? What else can I layer on top?

I have a few ideas. But they’re not ones that will be seen immediately. They’re more undercover, more behind the scenes. Hopefully they’ll be completed in a year, and I can look back on last night’s blunder as the catalyst that I know it can be. I think I can.

So tonight, for perspectives and catalysts — not to mention (in a weird, unexpected way) my forgetfulness — I am thankful.

The Sweet Life

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Tonight is one of those nights when I feel like I have nothing to say. And yet, don’t we always have something tumbling around in our heads?

There’s a lot tumbling around in mine. Money, diet, future, exercise, travel, errands, pets, work, chores, bills…the fact that I need to generate a blog post. By midnight.

Maybe my brain is simply tired. It’s been a long week, after all — a long week topped off by a peanut butter Pop Tart and wine. It’s a lovely combo.

As I write, stomach-down on the sofa, my newly healthy kit, Tucker, is curled up between my legs at the other end of the couch. It reminds me that nothing should ever be so important in life that we forget about the comfort our friends and family can provide. Not the bills, not the stress, not life. At the end of the day, someplace where we can find peace and quiet is essential.

Tonight I am thankful for this post’s inspiration that came unexpectedly, and just in the nick of time. To have life is grand in itself, but to have a collection of people who rally around you when the going gets tough makes it that much sweeter.

Live and Learn

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With the exception of two medications he’s finishing up and a couple more follow-up visits to the vet, my formerly über sick feline, Tucker, is healthy, home and back to normal. What a ride his illness was.

One of his medications is a small pill, while the other is a liquid administered via dropper. When we first started the routine, he’d let me hold him, open his mouth and I’d make sure the required doses went down without a hitch. As he regained his strength, the struggle began to wear on me…but the fact that he was no longer weak and could put up a fight made me happy.

The other day, I decided to place the minuscule pill in his food to see if he’d eat it. Sure enough, he did.

A few days later, the small vial of liquid medication accidentally spilled while I was trying to fill the dropper. To my surprise, Tucker scurried over, lapped up the spill and wanted more.

Sheesh.

Sometimes we anticipate a fight when in reality things end up going far more smoothly than we imagined. We go to the trouble of strong-arming something only to find out that such force was unnecessary.

Was the struggle imagined? Real? Based on past experiences? Amplified because of our own fears and feelings?

The answer is yes, to at least one of those. Live and learn, I suppose, but hopefully we learn through the years that the fight is not always worth it. Flexibility and open-mindedness, however, can often go a long way — and for knowing that, I am thankful.

Back in the Day

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Once upon a time, I was shopping my student portfolio around a few agencies. I went to college in the Midwest at a school that isn’t known as being a hothouse of creativity. My copywriting “skills” were self-taught, and anyone who looked at my book could see that.

I could see that.

I reached out to a connection I’d made at an agency, requested an informational interview of sorts and met with an art director/copywriter team. The art director seemed nice enough, but didn’t have much to say. The copywriter began reviewing my book, hastily flipping through the pages then emphatically shutting it closed.

“This is absolute crap,” she said.

I knew it wasn’t amazing, but her reaction seemed out of place to the point where I suspected she was joking.

“Really, this is shit,” she continued.

Nope, she wasn’t joking.

“How do you expect to get a job with this?”

Well, I didn’t, frankly. I merely expected feedback, plain and simple. Leaving that meeting, I suppose I got what I was looking for.

Perhaps I should’ve specified that I was looking for constructive feedback. Oh well. Next time.

I ended up interning in a different department within that same agency, and I stayed put over the years — possibly because nobody told me ever again that my work was shit, possibly because I really liked it.

I’ve never been someone who needed another person’s validation or praise to be OK with myself or to maintain a positive outlook, and I suppose that’s a good thing. If we look back on our lives, we’ll see plenty of people who not only let the world get them down, but who also felt compelled to drag us down with them. I know that my life has had more than a few of those people.

But to let one of those people burrow under your skin and cause just enough self doubt to not only not try again, but to stick with an easier, safer path in general is sad.

The copywriting incident was 16 years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday.

I remember the copywriter’s sourness like it was yesterday.

I remember telling myself that being in a different department was where I was supposed to be, as though someone crapping on me would be a blessing in disguise. In truth, it’s where I resigned myself to be, and the person wasn’t a blessing in disguise at all. This person was just miserable and negative — nothing more.

But I let that person chart the course for my career.

Do I regret my career? Not for a moment. It’s just that most of us probably have those times in life when we look back and wonder what might’ve been if we’d fought a little harder, pushed more, sought a second, third, fourth or fifth opinion, or given the proverbial finger back to someone who gave it to us.

The portfolio situation is one of mine.

I hit a point in my life sometime around 30 where I realized that I didn’t want to look back on my years and have a pathetic collection of statements that talked about what I wanted to do.

Back in the day, I wanted to be a writer.

Back in the day, I wanted to record my own CD of solo piano music.

Back in the day, I really wanted to travel.

Collections are wonderful things. But when they’re statements about what you’d rather have done with your life or tried harder to make happen, that collection can be a catalyst — which is what it is for me, finally.

Finally.

Tonight — for catalysts, dreams, hopes and for the wide open oceans we’d like to set sail on — I am thankful.

What are your druthers? How big is your statement collection? Is it looking backwards out your rearview mirror, or is it focused on the future?

Handle with care.

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You know that line that’s often printed on a box or tape? It signals to others that there’s fragile, sometimes highly valuable cargo inside.

Handle with care.

We heed its warning and treat the items accordingly. We protect them, guard them and can’t wait to show them off or display them with pride.

Breakable.

We imagine that it will be with us for years, that we’ll cherish it to the point of possibly handing it down to someone.

Glass.

We may consider housing it in its own display case, keeping it under lock and key or — perhaps — insuring it.

We love our things. Sadly, it seems we often love them more than people.

When was the last time you treated someone with the same care as a valuable purchase or a new, long-awaited possession? I try to do right by others, but know that I probably fall short more often than I realize — especially when I consider how much care I take elsewhere. With things.

Things.

Tonight I am thankful for the reminder gleaned from packaging materials. We may encounter some damage along the way, but with careful, deliberate handling and a gentle touch, the truly valuable things in our life will be around far longer than if we had our priorities backwards.

Chaos abounds.

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Fourteen floors above the streets of Huntington Beach, I walked over to the window around 4:45 to check on the traffic below. It was immediately apparent that something was wrong.

Across the street, a woman was yelling at a man who was walking away. There was no shortage of F-bombs from her, and the tirade inspired more than a few birds from him. He’d flip them without turning around, and her screaming continued.

Before long, police were on the scene. Moments later, both cars were gone and looking for the man I saw. I could see him from my perch, but they couldn’t.

Then there were helicopters overhead and news vans heading toward the ocean. What gives? Oh, right — they’re heading to the pier to report live from the scene! following yesterday’s surfing competition mayhem.

Seconds later, a firetruck raced past the building, on its way to God knows where.

It’s like I walked to the window and all hell broke loose.

Note to self: refrain from gazing out at rush hour in the future.

I knew I’d be driving home with extra caution, that I’d be looking both ways four times as the lights turned green and that I’d be counting my blessings when I got home.

And I did.

There’s a lot of chaos out there at all times, and while a lot of it is troubling, disheartening or worrisome, it’s also a good reminder that we need to slow down when we can, use extra caution whenever we can muster it and proceed slowly so that we don’t get caught up in it. And for that, I am thankful.

Here, Ye.

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You know that feeling you get when you’re aware of what you need to do, but taking that first step seems impossible?

Come here.

It’s somewhat of a paralyzing sensation. Your path is clear as day. You know what the outcome will be if you do it, but something keeps you in idle.

You know what to do. Why aren’t you doing it?

Is it fear? A case of the nerves?

You tell yourself that you’ll do it tomorrow, next week, next month, or when you’ve saved up a little more money.

Come here. Now.

You realize that path will be freeing, but without action it’s nothing more than a painting on a wall. It will forever be something you admire and think, “I’d like to go there someday.”

In order to get out of gear, I sometimes picture someone off in the distance beckoning to me. They’re telling me to head in their direction.

“Come this way,” the person implores; they’re reassuring me that everything will be OK. And, really, what’s the worst that can happen? We sustain relatively superficial injuries each day, and one of those is usually the worst it would be.

“Here, Ye” is a play on the other correct phrase in which we’re instructed to listen. Only in mine, I’m being instructed to head in the direction I already know I need to take.

Sometimes it just takes imagining that someone’s already there, waiting for us and telling us that, yes, the water is nice and we should hop in.

Are you stuck? Have you been idling?

Tonight I am thankful for knowing that the path we’re aware of is the path that will do right by each of us. It may not be the easiest at first, but in the long run its wisdom and lessons will become clear.

Live Humans

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I find it interesting that a species which invented the telephone is seemingly so opposed to using it these days.

There’s no shortage of people who prefer to text, email or chat — the latter in a digital sense, of course. Some may call these three things signs of progress, and while they are, companies these days have begun to use “live humans” (as I heard on the radio earlier) as a selling point.

See? Interesting. It speaks to something I’ve personally felt building inside of me the past few years: tech burnout (says the blogger, natch).

I don’t know whether Mr. Bell would be amused by this or not. If I was him, I suppose I’d feel glad the phone might be making a wee comeback, although I might also wonder what new, shiny communication device may be lurking just around the corner.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the same way in which data entry skills, a particular degree, design skills or having x-years of experience appear repeatedly on job descriptions, soon too will “Can hold a conversation on the telephone” or “Prefers voice to voice communication above other forms.”

Everything comes full circle.

The funny thing about some types of progress is that it can stunt our growth in the meantime. Texting has made speaking in person or on the phone difficult for some, while the helpfulness of GPS has made others less aware of their surroundings instead of enhancing their understanding of it.

While there are pros and cons to everything — technology or otherwise — striking a balance and possibly also finding a compromise will usually be necessary. Fortunately, as “live humans” we have the ability to realize what these things are.

So tonight, for our ability to reason unlike a machine and to communicate with nuances or expressions that the digital dimension struggles to crack, I am thankful.