Yes You Can

Sometimes it feels like you’re stuck. Corralled by your past, your job, your family, or your nature. The possibilities that light childhood and set adolescence aflame have dimmed. The horizon, so vast and inviting as a college student, has narrowed, the path now treacherous, with steep, ragged cliffs and perilous, dark forests. You have become the person who you will always be. You are carrying too much baggage now to change course or – god forbid – turn back. And so, with a sense of duty, or of powerlessness, you continue, the path ever more narrow, the light of the sun shining more briefly each day.

I suppose, for those who attain a path of self-actualization early in life, that this scenario is unfamiliar. But for everyone else in the world, you have surely, at one time or another, felt the sense of limitation creeping into your world. Where once the confidence to conquer all filled your heart with fire, the realities of unrealized dreams, broken hearts, and the weight of life’s responsibilities conspire to douse the flames of your soul.

But this blackening is not inevitable. The flames of our souls should never go out. Though they may flicker, and life can bring hardship or even just the somberness of routine, that is not the end of the story. The truth is, this world, and each of our lives, is whatever we make it.

Old habits are hard to break, it’s true. Egos are fragile things. And fulfillment is not something attained with ease. Like most things worth having – or feeling – self actualization takes work. It takes time to think, to consider your own dreams, to clearly determine your goals, and to chart a path of attaining them. And then years, or even decades, of constant, endless, effort to realize those goals.

The wonderful thing is that no matter who you are or how old you are, or where your are in your life’s journey, each of us has the power to be exactly the person we want to be. Artist, entrepreneur, activist, cook, cat-burglar, preacher, lawyer, teacher, husband, wife, mechanic, mathematician, welder, plumber, writer, blogger, yogi, freak, fighter, or anything else, all these roles are achievable!

You can be who you want to be!

It doesn’t matter who you’ve been up until now. If you once were tough, but you want to be sensitive; Bitter, but you want to be open; mean, but you want to be nice; lazy, but you want to be diligent; afraid but you want to be brave; selfish, but you want to be selfless; poor but you want to be rich – it doesn’t matter! It may take work, it will be a challenge, it might seem impossible. But there is no doubt, that the potential inside each of us is so grand, so astronomical that it often takes only a small – but consistent! – change to set us on a path towards actualization of our dreams.

Take a moment today, think of just one single thing that you once wished or dreamed of being or doing in your life, great or small. Something that maybe you had set aside as just a dream, but that still resonates in your heart. And when you think of it, remember this truth – you can be that person, you can achieve that goal. It will take a personal realiztion deep inside, and an unfailing committment, but it is absolutely yours if you choose. It will take work, focus, discipline, and sacrifice. But if it is truly worth it to you, I have no doubt – and neither should you – that you can be that person in your mind.  You can be whoever you want to be.

The morning of her birth I woke in the wee hours with noticeable labor pains. I didn’t mention it to any one in the hopes that the labor would subside and that the baby would come closer to the EDD (estimated due date). I had read of many women who experienced ‘false labor’ and I secretly hoped to be one of those. O, denial, she is not a river in Egypt! Wade left for work and Lucas and I started our day, going through the quotidian practices that make a day: washing, breakfast, cleaning, playing, dressing, &c. Around half past 10, I felt the pains increase in intensity and duration and realized that things might not go according to my plan and since we had been so focused on finishing the kids’ room there was nothing washed or ready for the new baby, not one bodysuit or footed sleeper, so I called Wade and alerted him to my situation. He came right home.

For the next few hours I paced the house while Wade washed laundry, organized, cleaned and otherwise prepared for our return home after a few days in the hospital. Nonno came to get Lucas so that we could prepare with little distraction. Last time we endured a long hospital stay pre-delivery and we had determined that I would do most of my laboring at home this time or so we hoped. We tracked contractions through the afternoon while we prepared for the inevitable. Toward five o’clock in the afternoon I contacted the midwife to tell her of our situation. She invited us to come on in. Around that time I finally acknowledged to myself the reality that I would be bringing home a little one sometime soon and that my enormous pregnant belly would be history sooner rather than later. There were some pictures to take before heading to the hospital.

As the evening deepened, the intensity of my contractions strengthened. They stopped me in my tracks. At one point I found myself on the sofa, sitting in tailor’s pose entranced by my socks. At this point we decided to head in to the birth center. On the ride there, the contractions started coming closer together, but when we arrived at the hospital I insisted that I was fine to walk from the parking structure rather than leave the car in the loading zone. That was a struggle. The contractions started coming every minute or so and I would find myself crouching on the ground while my glasses filled with tears. We finally made it up to the birth center where a very sweet Labor & Delivery nurse asked if we were the ones for whom she was waiting. She took one look at me and sat me down in a rocking chair and explained to us why I was experiencing so much pain. She showed me how to breath through each contraction. She seemed to have a mind-meld with Wade and for the next hour he gently guided me each time I forgot to breathe. The midwife checked me and determined that I could stay as active labor had begun and she thought that the baby would be arriving sooner rather than later. They shuffled me off to the shower where I labored under a strong stream of soothing hot water with Wade’s encouragement coming softly from the side.

Eventually I tired of the water as I started feeling cold and agitated. Wade helped me from the shower back to our room where a huge tub of warm water waited. As my labor had advanced significantly, they eventually allowed me into the tub where my labor started with a vengeance. A woman’s labor is the transformation of her body from a closed container to an open vessel. This transformation can take days or minutes. The faster the transformation, the rougher the ride. The 45 minutes I spent in that tub were some of the most physically and mentally challenging minutes of my experience. They were primal. They were raw. They were overpowering and completely human. They took me completely out of myself and were transforming. At the end, I felt the so-called ring of fire, which is aptly named, and was helped out of the tub to the bed where less than 20 minutes later we welcomed Quinn, our daughter.

Each birth is special, but this one was especially special. I learned so much from the entire experience from beginning to end. A few days later we brought her home to the midst of our project and yet everything was perfect. We had the most important things: a healthy family and each other. For a few weeks, we all shared the same bedroom. During the night I would wake to hear the sounds of three sleeping beauties and I felt content. It ended up being a special treat to be able to look out from my cozy spot to see and hear each one. The one whose curious eyes started us along this inevitable path. The one whose glorious laugh fills my days. The one whose dreamy sighs have added such sweetness to the new year.

Growing up, in every house we ever lived in, our parents would reinvent each yard. From pulling out thoughtlessly planted trees and uninspired landscaping to replacing fences, lawns, and flowering plants Mom and Dad always had a vision of what a quaint, charming yard should look like. Included in that vision was an idea that we as children and teenagers would have chores and responsibilities in moving each yard closer to their vision. Rick has mowed many lawns in his day, perhaps that is why he prefers the urban symphony to the suburban . I too have had many opportunities to learn at the hands of Ma and Pa. I have weeded many flower beds, planted many annuals, and removed many shrubs, bushes, ground cover, and small trees in my day. In my post-college days as gypsy I have had many plants in pots that i dragged from residence to residence. I still have plants in pots (old habits die hard), but in the last five years I have also stuck my hands into the earth and played with our yard to create new vistas, vantages, and habitats.

We spent this morning in the yard, plucking weeds, planting new plants, and generally arranging. Lucas is more interested in moving dirt than in gardening per se, but for about 45 minutes he sat on my lap while I worked around him. We would point out interesting things to each other. Today we saw red-breasted nuthatches and other songbirds, hummingbirds, bees, worms, roly-polies, centipedes, slugs, snails, spiders, grubs, beetles, lots of very small bugs, a lizard, and wasps. Each time Lucas was fascinated, but in the case of the bugs apprehensive.

One thing (of many) that years of eating organic has taught me is that pesticides are overused. We never use pesticides in our yard. We rely on the natural balance of insect predators and prey to keep our garden beautiful. Thus far it has worked, but it does take some effort of our own to keep things from getting unsightly. This year of composting has shown me is that bugs are good. So when I see all the diversity of the bug life, it reinforces my commitment to not using pesticides.

Years ago when being awakened early on Saturday morning to work in the yard “before it gets hot” if you had told me that I would have a garden of my own someday and enjoy working in it, I would have thought you insane, but i have to say that now as Lucas gets older I feel a sense of anticipation at introducing him to the wonders of gardening. It is a pleasure that is relatively inexpensive, creates value and beauty, and connects you to the natural world even in an urban environment. Gardening in all its forms is an active endeavor that although not highly respected is vital for our survival. One goal for this year is to try my hand at vegetable gardening in order to lessen my impact on the environment and to give Lucas the opportunity to labor for his own benefit.

In the last few months we’ve added some new elements that are encouraging me to focus on the yard more. They include: a fountain, a bird feeder, a real wind chime i.e. not the little tinny ones from the drugstore, but the more melodic (and expensive) ones. These few elements have added a new dimension to the yard. The running water adds peace in spite of the traffic noises, the bird feeder fills our yard with birds and occupies us for hours as we gaze at them and enjoy their songs, and the chimes are very subtle, but add harmony to the chaos of life in the semi-urban symphony.

Listening to them inspired me to try to do some podcasting myself, and so here I have put together a brief ‘radio’ experiment of my own: Mutant Radio vol. 1. Check it out.

Having been single for almost two years, I do not have such a built-in social, erm, network. I have to work for my nights of intimacy, or even just company. It takes effort – you gotta brush your teeth, maybe even shower, and quite possibly spend a bunch of money on food or drinks, to ensure that you and your date/friend/whatever have fun stuff to do together. Usually, you have to leave your house first, even if the whole aim is to get them back to your place.

But sitting home, now that is easy! Especially when your virtual friends with their exciting, edited existences are waiting to be played at your leisure. No need to go to the local cafe, or troll the bars, or volunteer. No. Just pour some chips in a bowl, open the dip, crack a beer, flip the switch, and – BLAU! – entertainment, emotional occupation, and virtual companionship.

The thing is, it’s all an illusion, man. Even the ‘real’ drama of, say Monday Night Football (an actual physical and psychological contest, I mean), is shrouded in hyped-up and melodramatacized versions of human narrative. Athletes become superhuman gods or demonized demons, depending on the announcer’s (or network’s) agenda that evening. Regardless of the format, even if all you watch is, say, National Geographic documentaries, the feed is still an illusion.

Of course, teevee is not alone: you can get wrapped up in romance novels, comic books, video games, blogs (oh no!), porn … whatever. Teevee is the most passive of all these mediums, but taken to an extreme, any of these ‘pursuits’ present the chance to curl in further upon one’s own life, eschewing the real experiences that are what life is truly made of, available to each and every one of us in the densely populated city where we now sit. The further into our little pretend worlds that we entrench ourselves, the more alone we feel.

But we are not alone. Even me – 33, single, and now without my old teevee – neither am I.

I remember shopping for that teevee: reading the ads in the newspapers for a few months, looking for a deal; visiting the Good Guys and Circuit City stores in Emeryville, checking out the features and pictures and sizes. In the end, I bought a relatively nice 27-inch JVC with PIP and other neat features. It was a floor model, so I got a nice discount on the unit. It was quite the bonanza.

Almost exactly ten years (!) after I first brought her home, I will be moving the 100-lb box one last time. I hope to find a good cause to which I can donate my old companion. Soon thereafter, I will be reorganizing my living room, possibly also removing the piece of furniture that has seated ye olde tube of boob for the past 5 years.

Truth be told, this moment has been long in the coming. It may have been last Spring when I first started thinking about getting rid of that thing, reconfiguring my apartment as more of a studio than a living room, and ending the wasted hours of mostly mindless consumption. Though still in withdrawal, I can already sense my teevee-induced twitches dimming. Sure, I still miss it a little, but I know that I will never for a moment regret boxing up that satellite receiver, or donating my old plastic-and-glass friend.

Long ago I declared my self a Creator not a Consumer. It is a characteristic that I value deeply, yet often struggle to live up to: it can seem so much “easier” to consume than to create. But as you, dear reader, likely know, the after effects of each are at odds with the allure of same. Consumption, which seems so easy, often leaves me feeling bloated – yet empty. Creation, which demands energy and spirit, leaves me full and energized.

It has now been one week since I left behind my teevee life. Since that day, I have slept like a baby, worked with greater efficiency, gotten back on the blogging wagon, and in general led a much more fulfilling life. Yes, I did watch The Sopranos at Louella‘s house on Sunday night. But – guess what – watching the show was in the context of a social visit, spending time with friends. And the rest of the intervening 168 hours has been occupied with non-teevee activity. Dining, bowling, eating, stretching, running, walking, talking, writing, reading, sunning, sleeping, and (ugh) cleaning.

Still, having so recently unplugged from my electronic dope, I remain acutely aware of what I am “missing”, and the withdrawal symptoms are still with me. No matter: my first unplugged week has been a resounding and energizing success. w00t w00t!

I am not an idle spectator of the boob tube. I am an active watcher – mostly thanks to the wonders of the DVR. Thus, rare is the day when I actually a) flip through the channels or b) watch commercials. How do I manage this? By recording teevee shows before I watch them. Then when I do watch, I get to skip the filler and consume the meat.

Consuming teevee this way has the side-effect of decreasing the variety of programs I watch, but ensuring deeper consumption of those programs I do.

Despite my technical mastery of the DVR and judicious consumption of programming, I still felt it undeniable that too much of my time was being spent in front of my dear flickering blue screen and Dolby-blessed speakers. So it was early this year that I pronounced my intention to disconnect from my satellite-fed dope, and kick the teevee habit. Nearly three months later, I have actually done the deed, and have begun my new, TeeVee-Free Lifestyle.

It is a big thing, going from ‘America’s Top 150′ channels to Rural Afghanistan Radio, or an approximation thereof. The point of my decision is to take back the time and energy I’d been devoting to following the characters on Fox, CBS, MTV & HBO, and give it instead to my life’s other pursuits: writing, designing, drawing, filming, running, walking, sleeping, reading and all the rest. It is, also, a gesture from which I draw motivation to expend energy on these other activities.

Lastly – but equally important – is my desire to disengage from the poisonous messages incessantly burnt into our consciousness when we consume teevee: the allures of fame, beauty, youth, perfect skin, perfect bodies, flawless sleep, rock-hard penises, giant breasts, plastic surgery, and perfect lawns; or the fear of fear: terrorists, murder, corruption, drug addicts, health risks, illness, the Pope, pundits, and going bald.

The ability of the teevee to propagate such mendacity seems infinite, and indeed strikes fear in this man’s heart. Why is it, I wonder, that we are so easily lured into a dark room, convinced we are living by watching others, as they live their lives, embark on adventures, engage in sexual relations, or chase their dreams. Meanwhile, we slump deeper into our own corners of the world, our bodies melting slowly into the furniture, our own dreams drifting further, deep into the recesses of our memories. Soon they will be forgotten or dead from atrophy, replaced by internalized evils of the teevee’s world, by the unreachable fantasy lives of Hefner and his three bimbos, Tony and his murdering gang, or Lauren’s famous and beautiful “friends”.

And so it ends, my teevee life. And back to my real life, I go.

I made this change recently and not a single soul I have told about it seems to agree that it is a ‘good idea’. Here are a few sample responses from close friends, when told of the change: “Why would you do that?” “Really? Are you serious?” “Is there some reason for that?” “That doesn’t sound very comfortable.” … and,”You should get a really nice stool.”

You get the idea. I figured that perhaps one individual might share a) a sense of adventure and perhaps b) an understanding of the motivation behind the move.

You see, what I have done is gotten rid of my old L-shaped glass-top desk and replaced it with a stand-up desk. In case that isn’t clear, I’ll illustrate: I am standing up at my desk as I write this post. (I’d post a picture but my Digital Elph self-destructed two weeks ago). That’s right: my new desk is set up so that to work at the computer, one can stand in front of the desk and type or view the computer screens comfortably.

I have long wanted a stand up desk, for a variety of reasons. First off, at my office I sit at a desk all day long. It doesn’t wear you out, but it doesn’t build any character (or muscle tone) either. Secondly, standing in front of your desk creates a certain sense of urgency that sitting in a high-backed leather chair could never match. This plays into the Third reason: I want to make the most of my time computing. Sitting in my PJs eating almonds surfing YouTube does not qualify. I am less likely to do that for very long when I am standing up.

Laugh, question my logic, or perhaps give it a try yourself: it’s fun being a stand-up guy.