Standing Back Up

I want to talk about learning from your errors and the letting them go, and how ridiculously hard it is to learn to do so.

First off, I'm terrible at this. I'm better at it than I was at, say, 18, but I feel like a 33 year old hairless ape should be a bit more advanced than I am. And there was your first example. I couldn't make it through two paragraphs without disparaging myself. I'm telling you, this whole acceptance of self thing takes work. I have friends that this skill seems to come to naturally, and I envy them. For the rest of us, letting go of past failures is like cutting off a tumor without the benefit of anesthetic. I don't know about you, my dear readers, but for me there is almost a fear involved, like I'm accidentally letting go of some mysterious part of me that I'll desperately need later. This is all bullshit, of course. If we don't let the bad go, how can we have room for the awesomeness in our lives? Of course, this is significantly easier said than done. 

I wish there were some magic advice I could share that would allow all of you to be able to instantly unload all of your bullshit and we could come together as one hive mind, free of all negativity and strife, to explore the universe together in eternal bliss. Unfortunately this skill, like any other skill, takes effort and perseverance and all those words that a thesaurus will tell you basically mean work. There's no escaping it. And, if I'm really honest with myself, the reason I'm only as far along the path as I am is due directly to the amount of work I've put in. Because it's way easier to just fuck off and party and forget about all of your troubles and just slack through life. Now, I'm not saying anything against partying, slacking off, or general fuckery. These things are important to a balanced life. All I'm saying is that you need to put in some work now and then on yourself. Your life is a direct (sometimes painful) reflection of what you've put into it, so be careful what you put into it. 

I don't have answers. All I can do is pick apart my short existence here on Earth as an example. An example of what, I'll never be sure. Maybe it's an example of a trajectory of one specific piece of stardust, hurling through beyond, without the slightest notion of a destination. Yeah, I like that.

The Birthday Blog.

33 trips around the sun. What a concept. I don't know about you all, but I love the fact that we are all living on an organic spaceship orbiting a nuclear reactor, amongst a bunch of other organic spaceships orbiting their own nuclear reactors, orbiting some other interstellar gravity event that will eventually hit the reset button, only to start the process all over again in a few billion years. The only constant in any world is change, and to embrace it is to embrace the closest thing to reality that we can all objectively experience.

Now, on a more terrestrial level, that last year has been change incarnate. Somewhere between the spectacular highs and cataclysmic lows, I've learned some incredibly valuable life lessons. Although there are too many to list here, I'll give you the top 5 (in no particular order):

1- No matter what you've done, or where you've been, or how you were brought up, everyone has something to teach you. And I mean EVERYONE. Most of the time, the lessons are subtle, nuanced, and almost invisible. But, with the right kind of eyes, there is wisdom in it all. It might not be the wisdom you're looking for at the time, but it's there. Pay attention.

2- You get out what you put in. Think of it like a car. If you ignore the basic maintenance (changing the oil, keeping air in the tires, praising it when it does a good job, etc.), it will eventually give up on you. Now apply this to your relationships. Yes, really.

3- You never know how much time you have here, so try to make it a positive experience. I don't just mean for you, but for everyone. That being said, you don't have to sacrifice your well being for everyone around you. Find a balance that works for you, and learn to enjoy the act of giving. You'll feel better, I promise.

4- Get a hobby. I'm not saying stamp collecting or baseball cards should be in your future. I'm saying you should find something in your life that brings you a few minutes of calm and allows you to regroup and get centered. It can be anything (as long as it's not terribly detrimental to your physical or mental health), as long as it provides some kind of solace. Me, I like writing sarcasm. 

5- Become your own advocate. This one is incredibly hard for me. I've never had the best self-esteem, but I'm learning that it is more of a learned process, as opposed to an innate skill. Some of us are lucky enough to be born with bad-assery built in, but the rest of us have to learn it over a period of time. It's a long, hard road, but well worth it. Once you can accept your own awesomeness, you can do anything, deal with anything, love anything. True story.

This is by no means a complete or definitive list. This is just what I've gleaned from this last lap around the sun. That being said, let's start a conversation. Comment on important life lessons you've learned, and maybe we can all help each other become better adjusted humans. Word.

Five Year Plan

"Life moves by pretty fast. If you don't stop and take a look around sometimes, you might miss something."

I take comfort in these words. 

I've been traveling for a month. I've been on planes, trains, and automobiles. It's been stupidly fun and and just irritating enough to balance everything out.

My life has changed dramatically in the last month. I'm finally starting to see the fruits of the last five year's labor. I'm finally actualizing all of these hair brained, skin of my teeth plans I've been rambling about for years. And I bought a new fly rod.

I'd love to delve deeper, but I'm on my way out the door to see Old Crow Medicine Show at Red Rocks. It's a tough life, but someone has to hold down the fort. I'll write more this weekend when I get back to the Great White North.

Ramblings Of A Snow Addict

I keep trying to write about how something profound and engaging, but if I'm truly honest with myself, all I can think about right now is next winter. I've realized that the seasonal snow isn't something I simply enjoy, but an integral part of my existence. I could no more separate myself from winter than I could separate myself from one of my arms. It's only June 11th, and all that I can think about is snow. I have a whole season of fishing in front of me (which is awesome), but my mind is on a mountain, peering into the white abyss of a steep entrance and a sketchy exit.  Addiction doesn't even begin to cover it.

Until then, I will have to subsist on sick video parts that approximate my wildest snow fantasies. Things like this. Watch it. 

For Doug

I don't know how to start this one. Everything floating in my head seems either preachy, or hackneyed, or just plain sad. But, the show must go on.

I guess I can start with this: Doug was a hero to me. He was the kind of man I wanted to be. He was confident. He knew music. He worked at the coolest bar on the planet. And he smiled readily. The fact that he also managed to start what is quite possibly one of the cutest families in the history of families is also not lost on me. He was a Burque Renaissance man.

I met Doug when I was 13. Back then, he was a lowly barrista at the coolest coffee house in town (seeing the theme here?). Even then, he exuded "cool motherfucker" as easily as spent air. He kept everyone around him smiling. He still does.

I'm still at a loss for words. The vacuum of grief is powerful. When we lose one of God's own prototypes, it's like losing the last black rhino. There will most likely never be a genetic configuration like that ever again. And we were lucky to have been a part of it while it lasted.

Godspeed Doug. And if God won't take you, come on back. There's plenty of room on my side of the bar.

When when is when.

I just had to do the hardest thing I've had to do since being out of the hospital: I canceled my month and a half long road trip to the lower 48. Why? Because I'm just not feeling 100% about it anymore. I'm getting the same feeling I get when I'm out skiing and find myself out of my league. And then, as it is now, is time to pull out. 

I suppose this isn't really the hardest thing ever. I was really looking forward to 4 days on ferry coming down. I was looking forward to seeing my friends in Seattle and other places I  now won't be going to this summer. I'll still be heading home for a few weeks, but I'll be flying instead of driving and be more limited without a vehicle, but I'll be making the right choice for my health. I think this is the first time I've ever really done that.

Maybe this is what wisdom is. Maybe I'm beginning to touch on that often sought state of "enlightenment." Or maybe I'm just not being stupid and listening to what my body is telling me. Either way, this may be the most adult decision I've ever made, when distilled down to it's very core. It's almost as if I'm learning.

What a concept.

Summer In The North

I've been trying to get my thoughts together and do a blog on self-determination, but with the amazing weather we've had since I got out of the hospital, I haven't quite found the time. Camping on beaches whilst shooting guns really eats up your time. Luckily, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone today and wore shorts for the first time in a decade, so I now have a subject to write about.

I'll start off with this: I'm terribly self conscious of my legs since I've broken my back. Most of the time I look down and see these shriveled, knotted sticks where these powerful limbs used to be. But today, that all changed. How? I forced myself to go out in public and present my matchstick legs, for better or worse. And you know what? I feel better about myself. Now, when I look down, I don't see broken, unusable parts. I see me. And it feels great.

As I write this, listening to Bad Brains at high volume, marveling at how much my attitude towards my body has changed over the last 4 years. I used to see this frail, broken reflection in any surface with half a shine. I used to cry myself to sleep because I thought no one could ever love this body, including myself. Now, I just see me. I see my body for what it is, and for the first time, I really accept it. I love it. I love it because it is mine, and no one else's is like it. I am not broken. I am a unique specimen, amongst a sea of unique specimens. And I will swim on.

So, I have a project for you all. Do something that scares you this week. Put yourself out of your comfort zone, even if it's just a little and for a moment. You might be surprised with the results. Word.

Thoughts On The L.A. Riots

I just watched a documentary called Uprising: Hip Hop And The L.A. Riots. It is narrated by Snoop Lion (formerly Snoop Dog for the hip hop illiterate) and tells a pretty objective account of what happened during the end of that history making month of August in 1992. It did a very good job of showing the oxymoronic aspects of the events during and after the riots, such as showing the unifying of the African American community (to destroy their own neighborhoods and raid Korean shops).

I remember watching the riots on T.V. I was 10 and a naive pseudo social anarchist and wanted so much to go to L.A. and see what was  going on for myself (again, naive). I've always been a rebel, and I was fascinated . There was fire and looting and fighting back against the police and everything else that goes along with a city when, as The Roots album that would come out seven years later would put it, "things fall apart." At the time I thought that it was a perfectly logical reaction to the injustice that sparked the largest riots in U.S. since the 1960s. But, being 10 years old, I had no real idea about how truly insane and self destructive the events of the spring of 1992 were. But in the years to come, two events in my life gave me an intimate perspective on violence and rioting.

Almost a year and a half after the L.A. riots, I was living in Sheridan, Wyoming when a man walked onto the football field during 2nd period gym class and began shooting in random directions before taking his own life. I remember hearing the shots, the screams, the teachers melting down in front of their students. Then, during my freshman year at Albuquerque High School in Albuquerque, New Mexico we had a full scale riot at my school when the power went out during a storm and when the backup generator failed (unfortunately I can't find any articles online about this event. If anyone out there has any information about it, or if you were there, please post in the comments section.) These two events changed my opinion on "civil unrest" forever. 

After experiencing these two events, my naivete thoroughly destroyed, they just make me wish we, as a species, could figure out how to treat each other with at least some modicum of respect. Sure, my two examples pale in comparison to what transpired in L.A. in 1992 (or the Watts riots in 1965, for that matter), but they served, in my life, as examples of what not to do. Riots solve nothing. Attempted murder followed by suicide doesn't fix anything. Running wild in your school setting trash cans on fire and fighting anything that moves doesn't solve anything. The only thing these events do is scar our minds and destroy our communities. Rioting and looting may look cool on TV, but in the real world, all they do is perpetuate the division of our species and make it nigh impossible for us to begin the process of making our society better and safer, for everyone.

The Homestretch, and swimming.

I just deleted almost a page of what is quite possibly the worst thing I have written. It came off as contrived and forced, and as I read it back to myself, I had a vision of my future, and if what I had written was some kind of indicator, and I think a piece of me died. One must be careful of what one publishes. Proofread, proofread, proofread. 

Now that we're past that bit of unpleasantness, on with story.

Today is the first day in almost a decade that I've been wound free. 

I'm just going to let that sink in. I haven't been in a pool in a decade. I haven't been hot tubbing since the Motorola Razr was the coolest flip phone anyone had ever seen. 

I've actually forgotten what swimming feels like. But, I've bought a pair of fashionably black board shorts and am quite looking forward to the experience. Given the vast changes my body has gone through since my last time it was in anything larger than a bathtub, I feel like I get to re-experience something for the first time. How cool is that?

And now, I must muster the last reserves of my sanity focus to get through the next two weeks of physical therapy, and then watch out, for I will be in your midst again.

Boredom (de dum de dum)

It's hard to come up with content for this blog when I'm stuck in a hospital room 24/7. There are only so many pictures you can take of the same setting before you start to go slightly mad. This is the tough part of healing. For me, boredom is a surefire path to depression and self destruction and all that jazz. I have to focus on not losing my shit when I'm stuck in one bed for a couple of months. Though, this time around has been different. It's amazing on what having goals and things to look forward to can do for your psyche. When I get out of here, I can go fishing and for the first time, I won't have to worry about bandages getting wet or wounds getting infected. I can crash on some one's couch without worrying about my wounds staining it. I finally go swimming. I honestly don't remember what swimming feels like. 

I also really have to stay focused on my health when I get out of here. I have to do pressure reliefs every 15 minutes for the rest of my life, although this is a bit of a blessing in disguise for me, because it allowed me to buy a really nice outdoor watch on the auspices of it having a resettable timer. I'm such a good salesman. I can convince myself to buy anything.

If all goes well, I'll be back in my chair in my chair for the sitting protocol portion of my stay in 12 days. Then 14 days of sitting in my chair for 15 minutes at first, and increasing it a little each day until I'm back in fighting shape, as the phrase goes. And then, as long as I pay attention to my body and don't ignore the small indicators of my skin health, I should be able to avoid these damnable hospitals for a decade or 2. 

I keep dreaming about what swimming feels like. 

Musings On Life And Fear

Tomorrow I go in for what basically has to be the last flap surgery I ever get. If I screw up again, I could lose a leg. Or worse. And now, I can't screw up. I have so much I need to accomplish in this life. And no, I don't mean want. I mean need. I've finally put myself in a position to fulfill my wildest dreams, a position very few people get to, and even less seize and follow through with. I've had 10 years to put myself in this position, and the last thing I'm going to do is let all of this slip through my fingers. 

I hear from a lot of people that they go with the flow and it takes them where they need to be. And that is awesome for them, but I've found, in my life, especially since I've been a paraplegic, that I have to fight for every single atom of what I have, where I am, and most importantly, who I've become. And I'm damn proud of it. As the saying goes, you either make shit happen, watch shit happen, or wonder what the fuck happened. I think you know which one I want to be associated with. 

One common misconception people get about me is that I'm fearless. This is one thing I am not. I'm scared shitless about 50% of the time, and it comes in many forms. Sometimes It's the fear of becoming the person I was, sometimes it's fear of who I am now, sometimes it's fear of the future me, and sometimes it's fear from being at the top of some peak with a blind roll over in less than prime snow conditions. Right now it's the fear of dying on the operating table of some one in a million mistake. And I wouldn't have it any other way. For me fear is the greatest motivator. I channel my fear into determination and motivation. I love fear. I feed on it. 

So, for all of you out there who haven't done something (positive, I don't mean go out and try heroin because it scares you or something like that) because it scares you, I suggest giving whatever it is a shot. The worst thing that could happen is failure, and if that failure doesn't kill you, it will teach you something about yourself, and the more you can learn about yourself, the better prepared you'll be to deal with this whole life thing. So go scare yourselves shitless once in a while. I'll be there on the other side with a pint and a ride to the ER.

Fear And Loathing In The Land Of Entrapment

As I lay here, 3,000 plus miles away, my home town is being torn apart by fear, ignorance, and a lust for revenge. I’m watching newscasts that look more like Tel Aviv than The Land Of Enchantment. There is hate being spewed at both ends. Those that are supposed to protect us are running loose, an antithesis of “To Serve And Protect.” There are people being tear gassed in the street. There are casualties on both sides. And for what?

I understand that policemen need to protect themselves in the process of protecting us. That being said, I don’t believe that quasi-military police officers should be able to shoot a homeless man in the back because he is an “eminent threat.” I’m not absolutely sure about this, but last time I checked, homeless campers don’t tend to wield firearms at police officers. They tend to pack up and leave. What was different here? What went so tragically wrong that now we’re warring on the streets of Albuquerque, like packs of wild dogs being chased by ranchers with blood lust and tear gas?

I remember the first protest I participated in when we first began “The War On Terror.” I remember the policemen lining the streets in riot gear and standing in stoic silence, so perfectly still you’d think it was card board cutout, placed there as a scarecrow of sorts to keep the masses in fear. And for that first day, that’s all there was. We stood eye to eye, chanted slogans, held signs, and, in a semi-organized fashion, made our voices heard. I was proud of both sides that day. It was the closest thing to civil discourse between the two sides I’ve seen, and I fear will never see again. And not a week later, the dynamic had changed on both sides. You could see the foam on the edges of the mouths of everyone. And then the tear gas and rubber bullets came into play, and that brief few days of relative peace were gone forever. I don’t know who through the first punch, but as in all fights, your sense of restraint becomes a distant second to the natural instinct to fight like a crazed animal after you've been hit, and then our reptilian brains kick in and the only objective is to win at all costs. And then we all lose.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say with this rambling diatribe. Maybe this is just my way of processing injustice met with disorganized hooliganism. The only thing I know for sure is that, from a distance, this bit of social disruption is becoming so commonplace throughout the world, I fear we won’t survive long enough for the dust to settle, for the wounds to heal, and have what little humanity we have left take its course bring us back to some kind of common ground, where we won’t have to live in fear of our fellow inhabitants on this organic spaceship, hurling through the cosmos on its trip toward oblivion.

    

     

Super Adventure Girl stopped by today, and we discussed some VERY important world problems.

Some days, you just have to kick back with a friend and eat gummy things, spin some yarns, and simply enjoy the company of a like-minded human. I cherish these days. 

LP, you rule for stopping by today. And I'm super excited to see my hands free beer cozy! 

Square Pegs And Round Holes

This is a picture of Clare's head. I got Clare at a not-to-be-named chain music store right by Fenway Park in Boston, Massachusetts about a month ago. She is the first guitar I've ever owned that I feel like I have a real relationship with. I've been playing guitar off and on since I was 12, and I've always known that I will never be famous musician. This fact used to bother me to the point that I quit playing entirely for years solely because I knew I would never be the next ground-breaking guitarist, touring the world with my band, being chased everywhere I went by adoring fans and doing interviews with Rolling Stone about my troubled personal life. You know, the whole rock star thing. And because of this, I would critique every single note I ever played to the point that I stopped seeing why I picked up the guitar in the first place, all those years ago. I just didn't see the point in putting effort into something that wouldn't ever get me anywhere.

About six years ago or so, which happened to be about four years after I broke my back, I bought a guitar again. For those four years since I had broken my back, I had been searching for something to make me complete again. A friend of mine at the time had an old acoustic guitar that he played a fair amount, and it sparked the need in me to create music again. I ended up with a thin bodied acoustic electric that seemed to suit my style and musical influences at the time. After I started playing again, I immediately began to have dreams of getting a band together and becoming some kind of musical, I don't know, guru or something? Anyway, I threw myself back into music with pipe dreams of fame, or at least recognition, and played loud and hard and fast for a few months, the whole time telling myself that this guitar was going to fill the piece of the puzzle I had lost when I stopped being able to walk. The music had nothing to do with music and everything to do with making me whole again, in my eyes and everyone else's. Needless to say, that didn't last, and I put away that guitar for a couple of years while I searched for the miracle cure that I knew was right around the corner and would fix all of these demons and dark feelings that had taken up residence in my heart. 

A few years ago, while I was moving into a new house, I pulled my guitar out and started to play a little. Not too much, just when the mood struck me. I even took a couple of lessons from a friend of mine who is a guitar god, and learned some basic scales and such. But I never took it seriously. It was a hobby, a thing to do when I had a few extra minutes. A year later, I was still at it, playing some riffs I made up when I felt like it, learning some songs to cover when I was at a party and people were passing around a guitar (amongst other things) to whoever felt like entertaining he group. And I had discovered something: I had finally figured out how to enjoy playing guitar purely for the act of making music and let go of all of the childish dreams that were holding me back from making the music that's been rattling around my brain all these years. I also discovered that if you're halfway decent at it, you can add some joy to someone else's life as well. And that always feels good.

This story/lesson can be applied to every facet of your life. If you stop trying to force the square peg into the round hole and just relax a little bit, you'll be amazed at how much further you can go, no matter which direction you're headed.

Paperwork, or How To Ask Unfathomably Hard Favors Of Those You Love

At first glance, it's just another form to fill out. One more packet of paper to be buried away with the rest of your records, possibly in some dusty basement somewhere, only to be resurrected in a time of crisis.

Choosing someone to make literal life and death decisions for you is quite an experience. What is the appropriate criteria one uses to select someone to be your benevolent executioner? It can't be someone who is so close that their emotions will trump the necessary objectivity it takes to make the decision to gently extinguish the once bright flame of life that has become, at first glance, so dim and unrecognisable that it might as well be a prison without windows or phones, where the communication is through one way glass, and all you can do is watch them watching nothing, thinking nothing, not knowing if they know that you know they are already gone. 

It must be someone who loves you enough to let you go, because it's the right thing to do.

Spy VS. Spy, or The Brain And It's Bipolar Ways

Ah, Photoshop. What would we do without you? The answer to that, incidentally, is that we would be forced to learn again to physically manipulate paper and dangerous chemicals to manifest the mad visions tucked away in our minds, all in the name of art and self expression. We would have to physically get our hands dirty with 100 year old tools used by the long forgotten heroes and pioneers of of a dead art form. I miss those days. Picasso is quoted as saying, "Good artists copy, great artists steal." Today, in a world where stringing together sequences of ones and zeros makes you a "good" artist, what is there to steal to become great?

I bring this up as an example of the places your mind can wander when you're medically confined to a bed with too much time on your hands. I've been in this position before. I've been a paraplegic for almost 10 years now, and I've spent a good amount of that time laid up in a bed or on a couch or in a hospital, trying to will my body to heal it's sick self while attempting not to listen to the insane ramblings embedded in my subconscious mind. You would be amazed at the things the human brain can dream up when it doesn't have to focus on the everyday distractions like cleaning your house, paying your bills, feeding your dog/kids/ego/etc. It becomes like a bad knock off of a sensory deprivation tank experience, only you don't know when it's going to start or end, or what outside influences are going to steer your train of thought. For me, it is akin to a lucid dream you can't wake up from or control. You're just along for the ride, and whoever is driving doesn't know any more about the destination than you do. 

During this hospital stay, I've begun to learn how to let go of the wheel and let my brain wander freely down this strange road of ridiculousness, making stops at cabin fever and insanity and all sorts of other roadside attractions. I'm starting to take time to look around at what's happening now, instead of what could happen later or what has happened yesterday. And as long as I can keep up with this attitude, I'm pretty sure I will come out of this medical experience stronger and wiser, as opposed to broken and weak, which was the normal outcome before I decided to start Taking my health seriously. Your brain can be your strongest ally, or your worst enemy. It's up to you to decide which direction it will take you.

Modifying Your Attitude, or Learning To Fake Being An Adult

I was going to write some long, rambling diatribe about how sleeping in hospitals sucks, and the food sucks, and how everything sucks in general, but after taking a step back for a moment and taking stock of the environment I'm in, I think instead I want to write about the things I'm thankful for, even though I'm stuck in a hospital bed right now. 

First and foremost, I want to thank science for making my life possible. If I had been born 100 years ago and broken my back then, I probably would have been killed off by a pressure ulcer within a few years of injuring myself. They didn't have things like pneumatic wheelchair cushions, flap surgeries, and advanced antibiotics that are basically nuclear warfare in the fight against infection back then. On top of that, rehabilitation is actually a thing now, whereas I imagine it wasn't exactly a high medical priority back in the days of mustard gas and trench warfare. I have absolutely no facts to back up this assumption, but in my head, I'm spot on. Being in a wheelchair in WW1 anywhere (besides Hawaii, because Hawaii!) seems like kind of a bum deal when compared to the technology of today. 

Second, I want to thank each and every person, good or bad, who has come into my life over the last 10 years and taught me something. I've learned positive and intellectual skills like programing micro controllers to seamlessly dim a high output LED chip array. I've also learned that you're never going to win in a fight against security at a club/bar/funeral/intervention/etc. from a wheelchair, no matter how much macho juice (tequila) you've consumed. Seriously, you're going to lose that one 10 times out of 9. Yes, I meant to say 10 times out of 9.I've learned that flirting with girls has nothing to do with your clothes, bank account, or that lame story about the time you saved an albino flying squirrel with duct tap and Q tips. I've learned that when you need help, ask for it. Most people are substantially more giving than we give them credit. And never loan money to friends. Just give it to them so you don't have to have that awkward "So, when you gonna pay me, dude?"  conversation while they drink your last beer (and no, this isn't about my current roommate). Nothing kills a great relationship faster than money (with the exception of small pieces of metal travelling at supersonic speeds. I believe they're called bullets). I've also learned that it truly is all about the little courtesies and heart felt gifts we humans tend to bestow upon each other. It's these small acts of kindness that will save us all in the end.

And on that note, I'm going to try to take a quick nap before I destroy a bunch of animal protein-based breakfast items with my mouth and stomach. You all take it easy out there, and try to do something nice for someone today. They'll feel better, you'll feel better, and the world will be a slightly place, all because you decided to make it that way.

Late night thoughts

This was a good friend of mine. She lived down the street from me what seems like a lifetime ago, although it was just 3 years.

She died last month, relegated to the past tense. Gone.

I knew it was coming. I knew about the cancer slowly killing her from the inside out. I knew there was a finite time to say goodbye, and I never made the time.

I know that death is as natural as life, and if you live long enough, you're going to lose a lot of friends. There is not a lot of choice in the matter. But we do have a choice about how we handle the deaths and last days/weeks of our friends and family. The only regret I have about my friend passing is that I never made that final phone call. I never reached out one more time just to tell them I love them and they will always be a part of me. That a cold PBR and Hot Tub Time Machine will always make me smile and think of them. And this is the lesson: no matter how hard it is, if you have the chance to say goodbye, do.

Just sayin'.

Back home for a second or so.

This picture is (was) happening right now. I love it when I can capture motion. I love it when I can make something look alive.

Today I turn myself over to the competent hands of Anchorage's hospital system. I suffer from pressure ulcers (bed sores) due to the fact that I'm incredibly skinny from the waist down, and I didn't take my health seriously until very recently. I have an ulcer now that requires professional help, and so professional help it will have. I can't stress this enough kids: skin health is a HUGE deal when you're a para/quad. It can make or break you. Pressure ulcers have been trying to break me almost every second since I broke my back almost 10 years ago. It's a fight. Every day. And it's a fight that I wasn't ready to take on seriously until very recently.

When I first broke my back, I shut down. I didn't believe that I could ever do anything worth doing again. I partied and I raged, and I didn't give a damn about my health. I didn't expect to make it to 30.

I basically planned to die at 30.

So when I started getting pressure ulcers, I never took taking care of them seriously. Now, I've been through many surgeries, countless rounds of antibiotics, and years of my life wasted on a couch or in bed.

This bout of ulcers has been different. This time I'm motivated. This time, I want to live. I'm 32, dammit, and there's a lot of this world and life that I still want to see. So I'm going to beat this debilitating evil I've been dragging along with me all these years. It's going to be hard, and I'm going to have to work for it, and it's going to be intense and emotional. And it will all be worth it. 

So, without further adieu, I'm going to get in my truck and make the drive around the inlet, and into the depravity and fray of the city. 

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The sun is coming over Boston Logan International Airport, and I have my back to the windows and my face buried in this computer to avoid the exhaustion that my body is telling me I have. I just won't give in. Yeah, that'll work.

I don't know what to say about this trip. It's been beautiful and painful and confusing and affirming and, well, just about every other emotion I can come up with. I need to refuel the tanks. I need solace. I need space. I need to be home with my dog. Especially the dog part. And to all of the other things that go unmentioned at such an ungodly hour, when the devil wants to take hold of your fingers and dance out the sins in your head, please stay at bay just a little longer. Let me lay down in my own bed and silently scream my sins to myself, find absolution, and get some damn sleep.

My last afternoon.

This is India. I like this one. I took it today as I stood watch while her dad went to run errands. She was being very playful, and kept making a picture of her friend kiss things, most notably, her stuffed puppy. 

Tomorrow I head back to Alaska. Three weeks in Boston is plenty.

"You can only make your first album once..."

Usually, these first posts are supposed to introduce you to your dear narrator, or something. But I don't have the time or will to do such a tedious task right now. You see, I'm sitting in a hotel room in Boston, Mass. hanging out with a close friend while his daughter who has severe CP (cerebral palsy, for the uninitiated) and has just undergone a massive double hip replacement surgery. She's 15. She's also one of the coolest kids I know. She has a smile that would make a hardcore feminist worship Burt Reynolds. 

I've been here for three weeks and I'm emotionally and physically exhausted, and I haven't done a damn thing compared to her dad. That man deserves a goddamn medal. He also talked me into starting this blog. Evidently my life has been deemed interesting enough for public consumption, so here we go.

This is an adventure.

So, in the next days and weeks, I'll get around to the normal "getting to know you" tap dance of death that is making an introduction interesting, but for now, I need to settle my affairs on the east coast and get back home to the moose-infested wilds currently known as Alaska. Should be leaving by Thursday. Wish me luck.

-A