the final notice of a grand gesture

Final notice. I provided my final notice. Handed it over in a bold print with big letters at the top. FINAL NOTICE it read. I sent it via email. I faxed it. I texted it. How many times can you give a final notice to someone before they get it? See we live in this world where people eat romantic gestures in their cornflakes, they scoop in the possibility for a grand gesture in their spoons, they chew on the images of what a relationship will be like that by the time its done really done they are in the in a dazed belief in what love and relationships mean. Its the monet of love. It looks great from afar but close up you realize not what you expected. It takes many pieces to make the whole. In worshipping the wrong things. Paying homage to the salaries, kneeling before the engaged, praising the ring has indeed complicated it all.

Final notice to some means. Try harder. Chase me. It means. Pay the final respect of this last image in this movie and come after me. Run after me. But they never do show the next scene. What really happens. Final notice. To me. Means donzo. Finished. Moldy. Garbage. Because to get to a final notice with me means you had to have a lot of notices in between. I don't jump to the final notice without proof. Without some warning. Its hard enough for me to type the letters and commit to them. I know I might not mean them in the way I should. So I don't write them until I have to. Until I really mean it.

Final notice. It reads at the top of the paper. But ignored in text messages, come meet me, I want a drink and nothing else. And I am without my wife. From an old boyfriend. Who when you dated wasn't attached. Or showing up where I will be just to see me. And then leaving early. Or that last email. Or that call will come. Again. Around the holidays. More calls will come. A rash of texts. The writing of the final notice. Deciding it is done. Its more than breaking up. Its more than ending. Its admitting the moving on. And how to move. On. Really. And how to keep going. When those you paid a final notice try to renegotiate the terms. Of friendship. Of love. Of the connection to you.

my drug of choice is success, at least it used to be

The first time she saw it this way was after a lifetime of conversations and pondering and wondering and putting herself under the microscope of why do I do the things I do. Some people never do that. Reach your hands and arms and other limbs under the glass to be held there and reviewed and examined. Oh I see here what we have. It was when she sat there wondering. After a conversation, a conversation she has had many times. Almost always the same. The undertone of it. Facing a different face. Similar words. And other than the task of being present. She couldn't help but wonder. What was her drug? Drug of choice. What was her way to escape?

And as she sat there in the others culmination of running away and being sent away and experimentation at a youngish age. It was the first time she actually understood as she examined the cells and movement of herself as the scientist and the sociologist and psychologist. Her own personal. Research. It is somehow easier to understand others than ourselves. So as the light shone down on her own white irish skin of “winter” of san francisco. It was there- success was her drug.

Success was her drug. Not in a way that she pushed small children and dogs to get on the top. But the addiction to success being successful and smart and capable were her escape were her drug. Her own success was so paramount she would give up sleep and drink buckets of coffee and run hard and fast from jobs to school to research projects maybe grabbing a drink of relaxation on the way. See as she, as I stood on the path on that crossroads of life in a childhood that made a lot more nonsense than sense, her body, my body moved to the side of running hard and fast towards success in school. In life. In jobs. No one could tell me no.

I didn't frolic with the drugs or the sex or the not going to school. The typical rebellion of teenagers multiplied by responsiblities and missing parents and new step parent which complicated it all. It is hard to find yourself amongst others for everyone. I don't know, know, when I sat at the crossroads or how I made my decision. But praise was mine breakfast, lunch, and dinner in assignments with student body this with captain that with church youth group leader on top of the heap of successes. Then college acceptances and scholarships rolled down the belt. I stopped looking at them and barely soaking them in and just discarded them in the pile next to me. Look at me. Look at all my success. How important I must be.

The drug of success inspired me to do much and to do it well. But without my own protection of anxiety and empathy and finding the new gift of failure I don't know who I might have become. Today. Although grateful for not having to release in the typical escapades. I did escape in a way. A way that did make me successful. But also made me move too fast and too hard and make being the best a price too high.

My drug and my desire for it is still with me as I breathe in and out and walk around this street, in this city, in my school, in my grad school, in this coffee shop. My need for it exists. Another hit of it would satisfy that little girl at the crossroads of life. It would make her happy. I still look for it. But in finding failure, I found what real success could be and it isn't the cookie cutter life I thought I had wanted all along.

falling rain walking in redemption

thanks for stopping by as always. written from the prompt faith after a hard day at school. and so happy for a break in the clouds. i need the sun now.

Faith. As the cross between rain and mist saturate my skin with a spa touch I know I have to have faith. Faith in my work. Faith in my students. Faith in redemption and the possibility of it. As I open those doors from my public to private life to walk home-the drizzle brings a great relief that I don't find myself covering up or protecting myself from it. The dampness of the spray brings a relief from a hard day. Relief from what just happened and relief in the possibility of my faith as I step one foot in front of another. The wet sprays my face relieving and allowing for my own wetness to fall. I move slowly as I walk home. With sadness in my eyes, with contemplation across my lips, with disappointment living on my nose, faith finds a place in the lines between my eyes and loosens my face. It is strange when you have this look how many people mostly men will look at you. And try to speak to you. As if your sadness might be a sign of weakness a biological need to be saved. No one to save me. But this water washing over me to begin again. But this put the foot in front of the other. But the faith I found in believing. In believing in the possibility of change.

Yesterday at school my student got caught for a serious offense. An offense that included the dean and the authorities and his family members. A kind of offense that gets you kicked out of school. A kind of offense that gets you a record. At first as I heard the news, I sat down and it slipped off me. There was a pause and disappointment. But it wasn't until I saw his face. His face before he made the walk down the hall and the stairs to a future he was uncertain of. A conversation I knew was about to happen. He walked not knowing what was to come. I stood in that hallway watching him walk away and I froze. Do I go after him to say anything? Do I let him walk along side this security guard to his destiny? I let him face it alone. Part of this job is letting go. Letting them fly alone. But knew and hoped that I might be able to talk to him. For this moment. But to let him know we were still here. Here for him. For I might not see him again. And a relationship built in writing during a volunteer project became me giving him cliff bars and taking walks and discussions about life and future and choices. There was a gift in that.

As I walked in to the room. I didn't know what I was to say. He looked up into my face. And the first thing he did was cry. Wetness fell down his face. He had held it together until he saw me. Someone who believed in him, someone who he had disappointed. Someone who he trusted and shared more than with many. And in that moment. I know the only thing I can do is sit there. Be there. Help him get through this moment. And let him know. He is more than this. More than a dealer. For he is. As he wipes away the tears, we all are heavy in the sorrow of mistakes made and what would happen next. Consequences are important to make us stop. Stop in our tracks. And the choice we have to decide whats next. Choose right or left. I didn't leave his side until I had to. I knew that being there and caring was more important than the yelling and lecturing and legal troubles that would come.

Faith in myself to do the right thing or what I think it is. Faith in this student to be who he dreams. Faith that as I walk, walk home that we all get chances again. I have to believe in redemption. I have to. But now it is something he must face alone. Not with me by his side. But I have faith. That I still might sit there. For him. And as I become more wet from the sky donation above, it washes over me. As I start again too.

almost ending up in an unexpected place: a white rappers music video shot

The unexpected. The unexpected sometimes happens. You plan for something and end up somewhere else. And there you are requested the pull down to stop the train. Next stop please you find yourself yelling down the crowded car of strangers. The destination is not where you want to go. You need to get off and fast. But the distance between the stops grow. And the triage becomes faster and faster in your brain.

I found myself in the unexpected recently. I found myself on a way to a music video shot. A music video shot for a white rapper group. I am pausing to let that one soak in. How does someone end up on the way to such a place? Someone who by day counsels kids and helps raise kids by night be going to music video shots. Good question. The quick answer is alcohol and maybe hanging out with someone who pushes the limits of who you should spend time with. Some people need to stay in the dark of the night and never should transfer over to the day. It might have consequences. Like this.

The long answer is I started the day off hoping for some day drinking, eating, followed by some sex. And then meeting up with my friends for another beer night event. I felt my expectations were low. Little did I know I should have dreamt bigger. So as I pick up the gentlemen for the afternoon. I had never seen him in daylight except in the light of the day in the morning. As I pull over and wait. He comes into the car and kisses me on my lips. Alcohol breaths into my clean mouth. Its 3 in the afternoon and he still stinks from the night before. Nice. He is cloaked in clothes from the night before but he doesn't want to change. Just want to keep going. To the next place to start again. I was thinking late brunch and then back to one of our places. He was thinking of relieving his hangover and another bender. This might be why talking might be good.

As we travel in my car from my home into an unknown territory. I realize there might be a problem when sober conversation makes me want to drink immediately. The rain beats against the car when two people relative strangers talk about life and leaving and roaming and illegitimate children and things he admitted when drunk and not having feelings. The windshield wipers clean so I can see but the wetness comes again and blurry vision is all I have. But then the translucent eye to the world and I can see again. Again and again. See he says I am numb to everything. I don't have feelings. This type of dialogue means one thing he has more feelings than he would like to admit. But instead of pushing it. And pulling it out of him. To make this arrangement anything but what it is. I think that is interesting you would be attracted to someone like me who has more feelings than I know what to deal with.

See I can say it was unexpected that I almost ended a back up dancer in a rap video. But it wasn't. Not with this man. Too much alcohol fueled me to be in a place with someone I probably shouldn't. Not for a night. Not at all. As I sit on the bar stool hearing of the plans of the next stop. I wonder what the fuck I am doing. And how did I get here. But I thought the same thing as we drove here sober.

Loneliness is a strange hunter. It is hard to follow the rules all the time. Its hard not to find yourself in these place at night. By day being someone else. But although funny. My time is not. And I excuse myself. From the club. The club in the middle of a bad neighborhood. And watch the two self proclaimed southern gentlemen- him and his friend- who open doors and pay tabs watch me leave by myself no offer of walking me outside or hailing a cab. As the rain pours down on me. I have never felt happier to be alone. The cab waits for me right out the entrance. I open the door and go home. And watch the windshields as the rain washes over us again.

when chasing dreams, it is hard to stay in the back of this boat

What I finally decided to say was ask if he still wanted the dream we had all been working towards. I finally decided to ask him what he wanted. Right now. You see this happens sometimes. We get excited over a student who is dreaming big especially one who had not had the opportunity before who dreams had not been allowed for him in this way. Not by choice. By the accident of being born in a neighborhood with different pressures. No he could dream. But only so big. His dreams could not expand into others or be bigger than himself. And there he went along in life. Making choices. And when he finally got to me. It turned out this student who never thought the words college would cross across his lips, a student who never thought he could say it without someone laughing. He after multiple high schools and a path I allowed to stay in the past. He could still go to college.

So once we found out and he said the words. We jumped in the boat and all started paddling fiercely. For we could not let this new dream die. The death of it. Would kill us too. The obstacles so great, so big, that he needed the extra assistance through the rough waters around this school, around this home. The waves kept on trying to capsize us. But every time we braved it. And peaceful waters would return. His father would drive over the bridge just to bring some money for his college application. He would decide to go to a safer location for the SAT-these are realities you might understand, I might not understand.

But you see somewhere along the line I realized I was in the front of the boat with a colleague and I wasn't sure where the student was. If he was on board at all. Had we lost him on the this last ride against the current? I looked back and saw his face. His eyes distant. His face solemn. The excitement of the dream was dwindling. I realized I had to ask him what he wanted. I realized I had to tell him we wouldn't be disappointed. I realized we could support him in his next step and that didn't have to be a four year college. And once I realized-I had to tell him. The dream didn't die it just changed. And his face relieved in thank you and I didn't want to disappoint you.

We are still on that ship. We just needed to change our positions of the rowing. We still have to go against the current for the temptations are great. The greatest gift of all was the dream. That he could dream and we could believe in him. But in not asking him. We forgot him. But once we remembered it wasn't our dream and our life but his. We did what we could to keep that ship destination bound. Knowing it can stay afloat with our help but he needed to be manning the ship.

The dream didn't die. It just changed. For a dream outside of the street quickness is the dream of most of my students- it looks different and feels different and it is hard work for them and for us. But really what I had to say was I made a mistake when I decided to get in the front of that boat and not move. That is what I said. That is what he heard. And together we still paddle. In unison.

the winds of change blowing me still

The wind of change. The wind of change blew hard and fast shaking the aluminum of cans and cars. The trees sway as if they have lost their bones. As you stand on this street. This one way street home. You just watch it all. And wait. Wait for how you should feel. What you should do. The taking in and holding. Instead of the movement going-just to move. And then. There might be a reprieve.

The wind of change comes rapidly sometimes shocking you. Or sometimes it is a whistle reminding you. A melody that is easier to heard inside of your head. Because when you change-if you start to. People don't want it. They want the bullet points and cliff notes on you to stay the same. Every time. But people change they can. It takes work. The wind makes it so you need protection.

As I sat in the chair and held myself from running after him. Again. I had made it through the tough part or so I thought. Because we play roles in our lives sometimes over and over until. One day the wind blows down the street lighter and we say maybe lets play this a little different. As the weights of my soul held me glued to the seat. I was relieved that although maybe he still ran away. Early. And never saw to see what would be next. That this time I could do something different. And I did- I was. And I thought the wind of change would comfort me. And it did. I was tempted to contact him and reel him back in. But thought no. The wind had taken hold of me and made me lighter.

It wasn't until yoga. The next week as I lay on my back in the last pose of this class. That he came back to me. And remorse I had for it being over. Done. The wind wasn't with me. I didn't feel light. I felt sadness for a goodbye never said. And the heavy of words only heavy because they were never said. And no longer did I want to be different. I wanted to be the same. I wanted to move towards him. And say words that have been trapped in my throat for years. Not to hear answers but to say the words aloud to the face that brought them to be. Wind of change blowing again. For I had given up on a future. But maybe I hadn't given up on letting the words free from my mouth to travel slowly and quickly to his ears in the hopes they would blow into his head and down the long way down into his heart. Just for a moment.

The wind of change was-I still did nothing. I left my mat. And let these thoughts just be. Instead of acting. Not moving for me. Not moving hard and fast. And making sure to never let things simmer. Is one of my greatest challenges. I blow back and forth about what I want and how I would like this all to end. A long traveled journey down halls and roads and aisles and lines we have seemed to find each other more than once. But when I saw him again after years and after the hospital which I had called this match over. I couldn't help but think I can say what I want. Out loud. To him. But he already knows. Just like his words. His words he had told me over and over as he walked or ran away down the street as the wind picks up behind me. It used to propel me to follow. But this time. It willed me. To stand still. And see what happens. Next. The wind stopped. On its own. At least for now.