Bruce's Place

HATE is an intrinsically powerful word...

and yet I can't help but use the word "hate" when it comes to the Miami Heat and the "big" (cough-cough) three. I've had to exercise enormous restraint form posting my vitriolic disdain on FB. No, really. I've not yet decided whether or not to set up a separate FB page for business purposes, and I'm constantly worried about that my true persona will alienate potential clients and customers. And yet....I HATE what the heat have become. I HATE lebron james's public persona. I HATE that the nba encourages his "holier than thou" attitude. I HATE that dwayne wade has sunk to Punk. On the other hand, I feel sorry for Bosh not being man enough to distance himself from the altar of "me-ville". Once upon a time, Pat Riley knew the nuances and realities of the game. Now? He's lost in appearances and attitude, sacrificing Spoelstra until it no longer serves his didactic stance. Mark my words, Spoelstra will be sacrifice no matter what the season of "all about the individual" reaps for the heat. Where am I going with my rant? Likely nowhwere, simply venting my hatred for grandstanding, hatred for cowards, hatred for ass-kissing yes-men, hatred for "me first at the price of you" ness. Hatred at the degredation of Humanity  under the guise of "sportsmanship". Hatred for the brown-nosing sportscasters who change their stance quicker than a summer storm-turned tornado.

Take your "skills, take your punk-ass self and all your toys, and go home. Then cry to the world in 5 or 10 years when you're broke and have been deserted by your posse, and plead for mercy from the world that watched you punk everyone around you. Turn to the nba refs that allowed your ass-tastic treatment of fellow players. Plead for mercy from the same common trash that placed you upon the altar of gladiator. And when you slip not so quietly away down the waste sluice of has-been trash, I'll not feel an ounce of sorrow, for I'll still be filled with hatred for who you CHOSE to be, and who you could have been. Where are your yes men now? 

Start Where You Are

In my last post, I talked about beginning anew, and the very day next day, I chanced upon Chris Gardner's second book entitled "Start Where You Are". Just last summer, I had the wonderful opportunity to hear Chris speak about his first book "The Pursuit of Happyness" and then to meet him briefly afterwords. So between that bit of history and the title practically screaming my name, I checkid it out. Although I'm only a couple chapters in, I'm enjoying his "tellin' it like it is" style. It's a good read, relevant to where I'm at right now, and I'm looking forward to absorbing the rest of the book.

Coming across the book so randomly ( I hadn't set out to even peruse the section I found it in, I just love to read and couldn't resist doing a fly-bt through the aisles) made me wonder: was it coincidence that I found such a relevant book by an author I'd met? Or was it that I had an open mind, and no "target", which enabled me to see everything? Either way, I take it as further affirmation that God works wonders, and I promised my self to work harder at keeping an open mind at all times. Let's see how far that gets me!:-)

Begin anew

After a year of silence, I'm giving this another shot, if nothing else, as a place and a means to "clear my head" and perhaps gain a better understanding of who I am and how I can be a better me. Sweeping start or silly synopsis, or yes and yes:-) I'm a goof, I know. And if you're reading this, you should know that about me. I can be dead serious, but more often than not, I am given to serious thoughts interspersed with random silly interjections. It's the boy in me that refuses to grow up or grow old. I've accepted this aspect of the person that I am, and I'm happy about it - it makes me me.

Which brings me full circle to the title of this post: Begin anew. I've (ahem) once again, made a career change. (Yes, that's what spawned blog - round 1) The crazy part (see prior paragraph) is that I'm not only returning to blogging, I'm returning to a career I first pursued twenty some years ago (Real Estate ), and I'm staying with the same company and the same office that I was a Team Leader for. So, much like a bride - something old, something new, something borrowed, something...well, you get the point. 

 

As I venture forth I'd love advice/commentary on if/how to separate work blogging from personal blogging, how best to be myself without scaring people away:-)

Thanks in advance. 

Sensitivity

Two incidents occured this morning that have me stopping to consider how I perceive and react to the world around me.

My thirteen year old son is in the midst of a transitional period in life, and it is evident (sometimes painfully so)  that he doesn't fully comprehend what's happening to and around him. As he goes through his growth spurts, he's  swung from wanting to be cradled by his mom to being annoyed that we actually require him to say goodnight to us.

This morning, I made a real breakfast for the kids, something normally reserved for weekends. With approximately thirty days of school left, I wanted to take advantage of a late day and make it special for them. The warm fuzzies disappeared the minute Conner joined the others at the table. Rather than speaking to Grace, he moved her chair while she was in it, prompting frustration on her part. When I reminded him that she was old enough to respond to polite requests (hint hint), he slunk down in his chair and moped with his chin in his hand. I in turn told him not to start the day like that, which only served to exacerbate his moodiness. Wow. It took everything I had to bite my tongue, and the rest of the morning routine was gloomy.

When I got home after drop-offs, my neighbor came over to discuss a problem he and his wife were having. It turns out that they've reached a   point where they can't cope with the relentless daily sound of two happy boys dribbling basketballs in our backyard. I agreed that we would not let the boys start plaing until after 5 PM...It will be interesting and revealing to have this dicssuion with the boys. I'm hoping that they can comprehend displaying respect for the elderly and putting others needs before their wants. Sounds good on paper, we'll see how it goes.

Where's the faith when you're locked out?

I've had an issue that's  been bothering me for  a couple years now, and  I've finally had enough that I just have to vent about it.

For most Catholics, a church is the place to go to not just for mass, but also for personal prayer, solace, and quiet reflection. The church we attend is in a neighborhood where home values start in the high $500,000s, and most are valued at a million plus. The homeowners are, to quote from Nielsen's Zip code demographic website www.claritas.com,  " a wealthy suburban world of dual-income couples who are highly educated, typically between the ages of 35 and 54"...you get the idea. Though we don't live there, we joined the parish eight years ago because we wanted our kids to attend the Catholic Elementary school in the neighborhood. The church and the school were and are the motivation. Since joining, we've met a lot of wonderful families, and our kids have made many friends that they keep up with even though they now attend other schools. The church remains a central part of our lives.

Several years ago, I stopped by early one evening because I wanted to pray in the presence of God, and much to my surprise, I found the church locked. Locked! In a community that prides itself on their sense of community, where neighbors wave to one another as they walk their kids to the school playground, where they keep a vibrant grapevine alive with community gossip. I was stunned. Why in the world would you lock a church tucked away in a vibrant, wealthy community? Who needed to be locked out?

As an "outsider", I was reluctant to ask our pastor what the reason was. Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that the church has been locked down (outside of scheduled masses) to deter the small number of neighborhood kids who are left unsupervised and have vandalized the school and the surrounding grounds in some form or fashion. (Past incidents have almost always been traced back to students of/from the school.)  While I appreciate the desire to protect the sanctity of the church, I just have to wonder - where's the faith? Where's the faith that's being taught in the school? Where's the faith in the parents? Where's the faith in your neighbors?

This was an issue that I left internalized, chalked up to my expectations being too high, based on my personal experience growing up on an island where the church doors were never used to lock out the faithful.

I've learned to seek out other churches when I'd like to be in the presence of God within a church, outside of scheduled masses. And fortunately for me, there's a church that welcomes early risers, and I stop in from time to time after dropping my daughter off at school. And it was there that I recently discovered another modern day issue. I wanted to light a candle in honor of deceased relatives, so I went up to the appropriate area, put money in the collection slot to pay for the candle, and went to light one. Except that there were no matches, and no vessel of sand to put out the matches in. There were no matches because they were electronic candles! I stood there absolutely dumbfounded, stunned all the more when after repeated attempts at pushing buttons to "light" a candle, I realized that the candle display was "out of order".  Yes, I said my prayers, though certainly not with the same calm emotions I had walked in with.

So I have to close by asking again "Where's the Faith" in our world, where church doors lock out the faithful, and  candles are lit by pushing buttons? Is our world that cruel and cold, or am I that old? And if it's because I'm that old, then I have some hell to raise, because this just ain't  right.

It really makes a difference

So I'm sitting there going through my not-so-new daily routine. After dropping off the kids, I settle into the basement office and focus on homework for classes, follow up on emails, and checking job boards. Homework alternates between rote and challenging, but is always time-consuming. Emails are a crapshoot, you just never know what's necessary to open, and what to jettison. I usually start by checking off all the the ads, investment solicitations  (if they knew my situation, they wouldn't bother, and since they obviouslydon't know, I don't care to even open them) and the rest of the time-wasters, and then hit the delete button.

Interestingly, I've come to realize that because I'm at times desperate, I tend to open some trash because the title provides a spark of hope that there might be a career opportunity, or a pearl of wisdom that will change my fortunes. You know where they wind up right? Yes, in the delete pile they should have gone into the first phase.

And as the search unfolds, the self-doubt kicks the door in, and gloom creeps in. It's a curious sequence, because it always seems to envelope me for an hour or so before I recognize the headspace I'm in. Honestly, there are times that the hour becomes two as I vascillate between drowning in the self-pity and the fight to believe that I am worth more than the situation I'm in. Sometimes all I need is to read Lolly Daskall's blog or daily emails, and I'm back in the sunshine again. Other times, I've let myself get deeper than that lifeline, and that's when "it" matters most.

I've got a friend that calls me every week or so just to say hello and see what's up. Rarely do we dwell on the job scene, other than to agree it's a process and to keep the faith. More often, we trade silly jokes about our days, chat about our wives and our kids. Nothing prophetic or earth-shattering, nothing necessarily new. But that call is "it" for me. It's an affirmation that people in the real world do remember I'm here. It's this lifeline that flys into the screenshot from out of nowhere to save the day. And he doesn't call to be the lifeline; he calls just to say hello. And it matters. Sometimes more than he can imagine, most times, more than I can let on.

I did choke up on a call last week, and he immediately picked up on it. Without skipping a beat, he spoke words of reassurance that I can't recall because I was so busy hearing the hope, the belief, and the promise of a better future. No promises made, no promises to be kept, just words that fostered hope. And it mattered most at a time when he couldn't have imagined the outcome of his call. I thanked him as calmly as possible.  It can be awkward for one man to know another cried, and so later, we both followed up with emails just to stay on track, ackowledge what transpired without "going there" again.

You know those calls we frequently put off because of  (fill in the excuse/reason here)? Those calls matter, and it's never a bad time to make one. Or two. It matters.

Not Enough Time

We will make time stop
For the two of us
Make time stop
And listen for our sighs

I'm referencing the lyrics from an INXS song from the 1992 album Welcome to Wherever You Are. As Tony Kornheiser would say, I'm skewing old. yikes.

Jen and I ran away last week; on Saturday we flew to Las Vegas, then drove straight to Zion National Park in Utah for two glorious days. We went back to Vegas Monday night, and flew home on Thursday evening, literally just in time to drive straight to school and pick up Ashleigh from basketball practice.

Zion was the highlight. The natural beauty, the snow (yes, snow, and yes, I loved it) coupled with daytime highs in the upper 50's, all made for a beautiful getaway. We made time stop for the two of us, even if only for those few days. And when we returned to reality, we immediately were back in overdrive, with practices, basketball games, birthday parties...and time flew.

An unintended quirkiness of this trip had to do with the shifting sands of time (sorry, couldn't resist:-) In flying to Vegas, we gained 3 hours; then when we drove into Utah, we lost 1 of those hours. That night was the daylight savings time change. Needless to say, we weren't sure what time it was when we woke up Sunday morning, and yet the best part was that it really didn't matter. We were in one of God's wonders of the world, and the only schedule we had to keep was the one we made up as we explored the beauty of the Park. Over the course of of a day, we went from hiking through the canyon in shorts and t-shirts in the morning, to driving through a snow squall that came over the top of the mountain as we were driving around enjoying the terrain. Such fun!

Vegas was a different time shift all it's own. (It was Jen's first time there, my third.) It was all so very surreal walking out of the daylight and into The Venetian, where the sunshine was replaced by the tromp l'oiel barrel-vaulted ceiling;  powder blue skies with clouds that seemed to move as we walked along the canal. Paris presented the same scenario with a purposely eternal dusky sky/ceiling.If you took off your watch and never made it to an exit door, it would be impossible to telltime. And so, throughout that already seemingly-long-ago trip, time was ever-changing.

We had planned this trip in early November, when I was still employed. Back then this trip for two seemed a distant reward, well after the holidays and the New Year. Then when I was fired, I was determined to pull the plug on the trip and take the financial hit from cancelling the flights and hotels. Thankfully Jen insisted that we go, and I'm so glad that we did. For all of the time we had together last week, there was so much time spent just getting to that point. Emotionally, financially, frantically.

And now we're back to standard time. Time  spent writing this instead of a paper due tonight. Time to drop the kids off, time to pick the kids up, time to worry and wonder if/when I'll work again. And so the song plays over and over in my mind's jukebox...not enough time. At least I can take great joy in the memories that Jen and I created in our escape, and rely on those memories to help me make the most of my time, now.

This time, like all times, is a good time, if we but know what to do with it.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Reflective (FB) perspective

Sat in a small pub one night this past week and spent a couple hours catching up with two friends I hadn't seen in forever. Truth be told, it was Facebook that sparked the reunion. I was/am a reluctant FB member. I joined initially so that I would have an accurate understanding of the craze that my (at the time) pre-teenage daughter  was begging to become a part of. Seemed innocent enough, and there were lots of invitations from friends of long ago and from far away (Hafa Adai!), and it was enjoyable to read up and catch up. Then came the next wave of invites, the friend-of-a-friend sort that made me uncomfortable. Then the random shared-a-class acquaintance who I barely knew. At that point, I knew enough to have a long conversation with my daughter about the rules for her involvement on FB. I've been on for almost two years now, and I'm finally at the point where I can ignore a "friend request" without good old Catholic guilt kicking in:-)

So back to the other night. The three of us sat there exchanging life stories and bringing each other up to speed. Conversation that spanned work, family, friends, and "remember when"s brought us each a comfortable glow as we regained familiarity. Between us, our children's ages span from seventeen to two - that's an incredible stat in and of itself! I can't speak for my friends, but I was both elated and humbled by our short evening together. They knew I am unemployed, and they held no animosity or indifference towards me. They gave me the feeling that it was my friendship and not my job that was important to them, and they never even knew the emotions they evoked in me. I had been so hesitant to get together, ashamed and embarrased about my situation. And yet after two hours flew by, I had to reluctantly race off and pick up my son from practice. I left with a smile on my face and in my heart, because thanks to FB and my two old friends, I now have two new friends. They don't care that I don't have a job. They care about my family, they care about me, and they want to get together again soon.

I guess my point in it all is simply this: make time; take time to catch up with old friends. They have so much to offer, and the only string attached is friendship.

How's it going?

An innocuos question that we ask virtually everyone we interact with...and yet, a question that can be ripe with implied (or perceived) meaning, replete with double-entendres for those of us on the unemployed side of the equation.

Wow, that's a lot to contemplate for such an innocent, frequently heartfelt question, isn't it? And yet ( at least from my fragile perspective) the query elicits a myriad of possible responses.

If it's asked by someone I trust, I receive it as a genuine inquiry into my well-being, and by extent, that of my family.

If it's asked by someone I am merely acquainted with, it's a general inquiry that I will respond to in kind: "It's great, thanks. And you?"

And if it's asked by someone who merely feigns interest and purports to care, well, the response varies depending upon my state of mind at the time.

So, in this phantom world that we call the internet, I ask you: "Why do you ask? Why do you care?" Because if you do care, then you would have a better sense of how it's going for me and my family, and you would be asking me a very different question. And if you don't care, spare me the bullshit. If you want to know my state of mind, my financial status, or how close I am to the edge, just ask the direct question.I've already been fired; I'm already there, and you have nothing sincere to offer - so do us both a favor and don't ask. I'm ready to respond honestly if you do ask, and I'm fairly certain you'll be justifiably offended by my response.

This is the frame of mind from which I respond to the majority of recruiters, aka "headhunters" (with good reason.)  They call with a smile in their voice and concern dripping from their tone - right up until your answer to a question falls outside of their "formula".

 As humans, we've all been privy to this pattern of response: the potential date who realizes that you're not as hot for them as they are hot for you (and therefore they shut down their pursuit of you - the quarry). The admissions officer who realizes there are other schools in pursuit of you, and, based on your response to their criteria, deem you on the fringe and not worthy of pursuing harder.  The best friend who's no longer a best friend when they realize you are onto their "me or her" games. Their interest is shallow and self-serving; you are merely a statistic.

Sounds so petty and juvenile, yes? Guess what! Those same petty, trivial types of individuals possess the exact talents necessary to weed out the "unqualified". So when you take that call from a person who "cares" and wants to know how they can help you, be direct. To be honest would be to paint them into a corner, and they'll do that all on their own. To be direct means that you'll get the runaround, and you'll know exactly what you're dealing with. They'll promise to call back; they'll hint that they "might" have an opportunity ideally suited for you. And just like that (insert your own curse word here) from your formative years, you'll never hear from them again. Until their black book runs dry, and they start their cycle again.

 And that's when it's your turn to do unto others as they've done to you. Please, pick up the phone and tempt me. I'm  a graduate of the school of hard knocks, and I'd like to show you the skills I've learned, thank you very much.

Eye of the Beholder

I absolutely love waking up to the hushed splendor of a new snow. From my perspective, Mother Nature's frosting lends a calming perspective on the lay of the land, revealing  softened edges, glittering frosting caps on anything above ground level, and a smooth, seamless continuity as far as the eye can see. I stare out the window, quietly drinking it all in, wishing I could capture on camera that which my mind's eye appreciates.

And then there's the kids.  The snow affords a blank canvas for their creative minds; snow angels, snowball fights, and hurling bodies across the powdered land.Whoops of gleeful laughter permeate the air as they don multiple layers in preparation of the ultimate fun. Hours of laughter and shouts, rosy red cheeks and sopping wet clothing are the reward for venturing forth into the cold.

As they change into warm dry clothes and huddle in the kitchen waiting for mom's hot chocolate, the view out the window has been drastically altered. Gone are the gentle undulations, replaced by a staccatto of frozen frenzy in the form of stampeded snow. Patches of brown grass disrupt the once pristine landscape, evidence of snow forts and ammunition alike. And as I look over what once was seamless but now is scattered, I can't help but smile at the evidence of healthy happy children.