Happy (belated) Birthday

I wrote this on the plane to Texas for your birthday, but I just realized I never posted it.  I came back to write about the impending anniversary of your death, but I wanted to put this out in the universe first....

1/26/2018
I guess I'm not quite sure what the protocol is.  Do I wish you a happy birthday, or is that wrong because you're gone? I guess I always hear people say "Well he/she would have been...." so, Dad, you would have been 61 this year.  Is it weird to find it satisfying that you died in a multiple of 5? That's the way I like to adjust the volume in my car or on the TV...so having that 0 at the end of your birthday feels more...final, somehow? Maybe it's that it helps me feel a sense of control over something that was so radically out of my control? Maybe it's because I'm still listening to my "Dad Jamz" playlist, and sometimes the music is just a little too loud in my car but it always feels right. It might be a little obsessive, but we've all got our problems.  Loud music will always be one of mine.  After all, I am your daughter.

Whoa, sorry about all of that.  I feel like when I get really overwhelmed I look for the things that comfort me.  I guess that little Woolf-rant about a life-long habit is just one example of the moments I've needed in the 10 months that you've been gone. It even feels weird to say.  How can 10 months simultaneously feel like a lifetime and a single breath?  I don't know if I'll ever understand it, but I know I'll learn to cope with it better (or at least I pray I will).  

I think I just still can't process that I don't get to tell you things anymore.  I guess I still tell them to you by writing these out, and I believe that you can see what's going on in my life, but I want your feedback. I want you to tell me what you think of the Cowboys 9-7 season.  I want to talk politics with you. I want to hear about who has visited you lately and what they're up to. I want to show you all of the places I've taken your passport in the last 10 months. I want to tell you about the hikes I've done and the trips I've taken. I want to swap more stories. I would give anything  to hear one of your stories. I regret the times that I helped finish one that I'd heard a thousand times because I want to hear it so bad.  I feel even more ridiculous because I always knew that I needed to be cherishing these moments, and I still finished your stories or reminded you that you already told me.  I want to sit and drink a nice single-malt scotch with you.  I want to go to El Matador, so Emily and I can tell them it's your birthday. I want to watch you fume that you can't get away from the table, so you have to sit there and let us sing to you while you wear a sombrero.  I can see it so clearly in my mind that I don't know if it's actually happened before or if I'm fabricating memories. I want to watch an episode of Breaking Bad with you because we never finished the series. I want to FaceTime so I can show you my dog and my cabin. I want to complain about the stupid amount of snow piled up outside. I want to hear you say "peachy-keen" (which I always thought was "peachy-king") or end a phone call with "peace, love, grand-funk". 

If nothing else, I want to simply exist with you.

Well, I guess that's actually a pretty large request.

I've caught myself doing or saying things that feel like you. I didn't realize how many of my idiosyncrasies were things I picked up from you over the years.  I never thought twice about calling myself a "nekojita" when describing my aversion to super hot drinks. I will never think it's weird to add an ice cube or two to a piping hot cup of coffee. I didn't realize that it's impossible for me to say "Ohio" without immediately singing "Round on the end and 'hi' in the middle" in my head. When I talk about microwaves and tell people to "nuke it"- I should tell you that I'm trying to break this habit because of all the utter insanity in the US. I didn't realize that my need to make other people feel comfortable in awkward situations comes from you cracking jokes about wheelchairs in a room when people don't know what to say. 

Hear me out, I know you hate(d) Fleetwood Mac- this is where I'm like mom-but I actually broke down crying while getting ready for work last week because "Landslide" came on. It was this live version, and you hear Stevie Nicks say "This is for you, Daddy". I just lost it.  Right in the middle of putting on my mascara.  It is inconvenient, this grief of mine.  I was just trying to start my day, and suddenly I had to be aggressively reminded that you're gone.  I went to Thailand in November, and on my first flight to Beijing I was aggressively reminded that I wouldn't get to tell you every last detail of the trip. Honestly, you owe the poor man next to me an apology.  He just sat there in confusion while I quietly had a breakdown somewhere over the Bering Sea. I much prefer the passive reminders.  It happens when I'm driving home from work, and I want to call you and tell you any of the  aforementioned things, and I simply think "Oh wait, I can't." It happens when I'm digging through my purse and touch your passport- I told you it's with me everywhere I go. It happens on Sundays when I expect you to call me after a Cowboys win or a Texans loss to gloat. By the way, they didn't play each other in preseason this year because of a hurricane. I was glad the game was cancelled because I wasn't ready to face that day just yet.

I don't quite want to call it a gift, but I think that this is a lesson you're forcing me to learn, and it will continue to make me stronger.  You taught me a lot about love, compassion, and empathy while you were alive. I think I'm still trying to figure out my buzz words from this lesson, but so far it feels like grace, appreciation, and trying to carpe the hell out of this diem. 

This is for you, Daddy.

For my dad

I don't know how to exist in a world where you aren't.  That sounds really obvious and sorta cheesy, and honestly I've almost definitely heard it somewhere else before, but it's true.  You have been my inspiration, reason, and excuse for as long as I can remember.

 Because of you I grew up fast.  I learned how to put others before myself, and I learned a lot of valuable life skills and lessons that I think gave me a jump start on life.  When I meet new people I tend to get a lot of "wow, you're mature for your age" and I just laugh and say that I'm an old soul, rather than explaining that my dad has chronic progressive multiple sclerosis and is in a wheelchair. That I learned to co-parent, for lack of a better word, with a parent.  How to be the shoulder you cried on while I cried on your shoulder.  I learned what a mutual support system was.  How beautiful (and messy-literally) it could be to lean on someone whenever you needed to.

Because of you I learned to love fiercely and to tell the people in my life that they matter. I grew up knowing that time could be precious so you have to make the most of whatever moment you're in. I learned that, contrary to what I was always told, words can be just as memorable as actions. I may not remember the last time you were able to hug me, but I know that I never went a single phone-call without hearing you say you love me and how proud you were of me.  I was able to hang my hat on that whenever I questioned if I was making the right choice.



Because of you I learned that humor doesn't always solve the problem, but it makes you laugh in the moment, and sometimes that's the only medicine that works.  I learned that sometimes you can't find the right words, and that sometimes simply agreeing that something sucks and sitting in silence is okay.  I learned that you will never have all of the answers or reasoning, but to simply sit back and have faith and let things happen as they may.



Because of you I learned a little bit about being selfless.  It was always in the little things, like taking your young daughters to paint pottery for hours on end, after you lost the use of your hands, and simply sitting there and being enamored of our mediocre artwork and jokingly calling it "Killin' Dad" instead of "Kiln Time". I learned that doing things to help others can provide just as much comfort to you as to them.  I learned that this comfort is the best kind because it is done without assumption or expectation.  It is motivated by love, and when things are motivated by love it will always go the way it should, even if it's not the way you want.



Because of you I learned to be selfish. I learned that sometimes you have to do what you feel is right in your heart, even if it goes against everything you've thought or believed.  I know that you were frustrated when I moved across the country, but I have always been your daughter, so I don't know why you were surprised.  At least I stayed in the country.  I also know that you are proud of me for living my life the way I need to.  Thank you for supporting me, even when we all didn't quite understand why.  You just (mostly) got it when I said I needed to move, and I will always be thankful.



Because of you I learned that it was possible (and okay) to be angry and still have faith.  You also taught me to believe that faith could come in a variety of forms, and that I should never close myself off to the possibility of more. I don't mean more in a cosmic sense, although I sort of do.  I mean more in the fact that you constantly challenged me to grow my knowledge.  I remember playing with the globe and spinning it, around and around, and then stopping it suddenly with my finger. You would either regale me with a story of when you'd been there, or you and I would sit and wait for the CD-ROM with the Encyclopedia to load so we could learn about it, together. I remember seeing a trailer for a movie called "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" and you said you wouldn't take me to see it until I read the book. Little did you know that I would have read all of the released books by the time the first movie came out.  Thank you for introducing me to that magic. It has changed me. You taught me to believe in the things that matter to me, and that I could damn anyone else's opinion who told me to think otherwise.



Because of you I grew up knowing the power of music.  Take right now for example, the house is full of family and friends sharing stories, crying and laughing, and I find the most comfort sitting back in your room, staring at your empty bed and listening to my "Dad Jams" playlist. I swear I can feel you singing along to "Black Dog" and "Radar Love".  You showed me how to shut off my mind and lose myself in the music.

 

Because of you I learned the power of a story.  I can say with confidence that every person you've met has walked away with one of your stories, whether it was your "World's Worst DWI" trophy or talking about your time living in Japan with the girl who broke your heart..or hearing some of those awful jokes, over and over.  "What does a cow order at Starbucks? De-CALF...get it, get it?" I think of all the stories I've heard you share, our bedtime stories were my favorite. You were so convincing that I never wondered how a boy and his best friend, who just happened to be a robot, could get out of so many sticky situations while they traveled the world with his parents. I learned that the words you wove could build a sense of community so strong that people have always returned to you, like moths drawn to a flame.

So, daddy, thank you for everything.  For making me into who I am.  It will suck.  It will suck a lot, but because of you I know that Emily and I will be okay.  We just miss you, but we know you are whole now.  Thank God.

"I don’t believe in a God who sits in conscious judgment of the actions of humanity."

-Jared Leto

Millennial Podcast

"Oh, I get it.  I get why people stay.  It never occurred to me that while you're in this not so sexy transition space in your life you could get stuck, because after awhile it becomes comfortable and you could stop pushing towards your goals and moving toward the place where you actually want be..because at this particular moment I didn't have a yearning to leave and that was becoming my biggest fear, not leaving." 

-Brunchies, episode 03

Lift Off

By: Donovan Livingston

“Education then, beyond all other devices of human origin,
Is a great equalizer of the conditions of men.” – Horace Mann, 1848.
At the time of his remarks I couldn’t read — couldn’t write.
Any attempt to do so, punishable by death.
For generations we have known of knowledge’s infinite power.
Yet somehow, we’ve never questioned the keeper of the keys —
The guardians of information.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen more dividing and conquering
In this order of operations — a heinous miscalculation of reality.
For some, the only difference between a classroom and a plantation is time.
How many times must we be made to feel like quotas —
Like tokens in coined phrases? —
“Diversity. Inclusion”
There are days I feel like one, like only —
A lonely blossom in a briar patch of broken promises.
But I’ve always been a thorn in the side of injustice.

Disruptive. Talkative. A distraction.
With a passion that transcends the confines of my consciousness —
Beyond your curriculum, beyond your standards.
I stand here, a manifestation of love and pain,
With veins pumping revolution.
I am the strange fruit that grew too ripe for the poplar tree.
I am a DREAM Act, Dream Deferred incarnate.
I am a movement – an amalgam of memories America would care to forget
My past, alone won’t allow me to sit still.
So my body, like the mind
Cannot be contained.

As educators, rather than raising your voices
Over the rustling of our chains,
Take them off. Un-cuff us.
Unencumbered by the lumbering weight
Of poverty and privilege,
Policy and ignorance.

I was in the 7th grade, when Ms. Parker told me,
“Donovan, we can put your excess energy to good use!”
And she introduced me to the sound of my own voice.
She gave me a stage. A platform.
She told me that our stories are ladders
That make it easier for us to touch the stars.
So climb and grab them.
Keep climbing. Grab them.
Spill your emotions in the big dipper and pour out your soul.
Light up the world with your luminous allure.

To educate requires Galileo-like patience.
Today, when I look my students in the eyes, all I see are constellations.
If you take the time to connect the dots,
You can plot the true shape of their genius —
Shining in their darkest hour.

I look each of my students in the eyes,
And see the same light that aligned Orion’s Belt
And the pyramids of Giza.
I see the same twinkle
That guided Harriet to freedom.
I see them. Beneath their masks and mischief,
Exists an authentic frustration;
An enslavement to your standardized assessments.

At the core, none of us were meant to be common.
We were born to be comets,
Darting across space and time —
Leaving our mark as we crash into everything.
A crater is a reminder that something amazing happened here —
An indelible impact that shook up the world.
Are we not astronomers — looking for the next shooting star?
I teach in hopes of turning content, into rocket ships —
Tribulations into telescopes,
So a child can see their potential from right where they stand.
An injustice is telling them they are stars
Without acknowledging night that surrounds them.
Injustice is telling them education is the key
While you continue to change the locks.

Education is no equalizer —
Rather, it is the sleep that precedes the American Dream.
So wake up — wake up! Lift your voices
Until you’ve patched every hole in a child’s broken sky.
Wake up every child so they know of their celestial potential.
I’ve been a Black hole in the classroom for far too long;
Absorbing everything, without allowing my light escape.
But those days are done. I belong among the stars.
And so do you. And so do they.
Together, we can inspire galaxies of greatness
For generations to come.
No, sky is not the limit. It is only the beginning.
Lift off."

Watch the video here

To The Girl In Her Mid-20's

By: Poornima Baskar

You’ve spent so many years looking forward to this phase of your life. And it always looked so cool. So glamorous. So filled with love and laughter.

Yet here you are. With knowledge that it’s anything but.

It’s messy buns and messier lives. It’s baggy shirts and overflowing laundry bags. It’s a lot of work and never enough money. It’s freedom with responsibilities. And life is no longer what it seemed.

Different people are doing different things.

Your best friend’s getting married. Your old classmate is killing it with success. Your ex is happy in love. Your old mate is drowning in drugs. Different people are doing different things. But not you. You’re just existing. You’re getting through everyday a little better than the last. But then you have days where you can’t get up at all.

You spend your Friday evenings holed up in a corner because you’re too responsible to drink your night away. Too control freakish to lose yourself to someone else’s tunes. But somehow, this isn’t enough. This life you’re living doesn’t feel complete. Loneliness wraps around you like a blanket you love and you wonder where you went wrong. Why you became different to everyone else.

“Did I do too much too soon? Did I not do enough? Was there a reason why it was never me? Is this going to be the rest of my life? Alone? Unsuccessful? Filled with dreams that never come true?”

And your hands reach out to your phone. One text. One call. To that someone who might make you feel pretty. Who might make you feel important. And your need takes over.

The need to feel accepted. To feel appreciated. To feel adored. To feel loved.

And it is so strong, you forget your sanity for a few minutes of flattery. You lessen your worth for dishonest words. The hurt in your heart, camouflaged. If only for a few seconds.

But it’s never enough. And when you wake up, it’s worse. The hammering of your heart so loud in your ears. A memory of last night frustratingly haunting. Yet another mistake. Yet again.

You scream hateful words to yourself. When will I ever learn? You go over those messages. Those conversations. How you fell right back into a ditch when you knew better. Just for a moment, you wish you weren’t yourself.

And in that moment, read these words:

Breathe. It’s not so bad. You think I don’t understand. But I do. Because I’m there, too. I’ve made that call. I’ve texted that wrong person. I’ve woken up with regrets. I still do. I’ve felt the need to be held. I’ve felt that silent green monster towards a friend in love.

Yes, we all make those mistakes. And we all think nobody else does. But they do.

So please, don’t hate yourself. And don’t stop. Don’t stop loving with all you have. Don’t stop wishing on every shooting star. Don’t stop dreaming of fairytales and being as amazing as Malala Yousafzai. You might not always get there, but don’t stop.

You have so much left to do. You have a world filled with life waiting to happen. You have books to be read. Steps to be taken. Places to see. People to meet. You haven’t lived half your life yet. There’s so much ahead. And in ten years, when you look back, you’ll wish you were here again.

So don’t waste it wallowing in your own sadness. Don’t lose yourself to your self-pity and non-existent boundaries. Use everyday. And I don’t mean spend thousands of dollars and visit the North Pole. I know how you’re struggling to make ends meet.

Do the simple things. Stop procrastinating. Take a walk with nature. Go to the gym. Read your favorite book for the millionth time. Watch a movie. Write your novel. Sketch until you’re better than the best. Eat like you’re dying tomorrow. And most importantly, make mistakes. Your heart will heal. But today will never be back again. Don’t live with “Could-have-been’s.” Take chances.

And ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS remember – It’s okay to be alone.

There is time to let your life revolve around someone else. But today, let it revolve around you.

Not because you can’t find someone. Not because you can’t be loved.

But because you deserve to wake up with a smile. You deserve to live life. To make memories so wild, you’ll be the coolest grandparent they’ve ever known.

Breathe. It’s only your mid-20’s.

You’re going to be alright.

I love the things that can't be bottled

I love the things that can't be bottled.  The things that you love because they are wild, free.  The things that, once bottled, cease to lose that freedom and wilderness that made me love them in the first place.  The smell of the air when it's just cold enough to see your breath, and there is a dew hanging in the air that threatens to crystallize.  When you take in those lungfuls of air and you can't imagine being in any other moment than this one. Your soul was meant to be there, sucking in the tiny crystals and attempting to take in the moment.  That is a smell, a sensation, and a way of life.  It's why I love living here, where the air is something to be in love with.  Does that sounds strange? I'm in love with air.  It looks weird when I type it or say it aloud.  Maybe it isn't the air I love, but that wilderness that comes with it.  Because when I truly take the time to notice the air, it's when I'm taking the time to notice all of the other little details that make this life so incredible to live.  It's the color of the larches and tamaracks as we shift to a new season.  It's the clear water that's so still it feels like a mirror, clearer than any you've seen before.  A mirror that reflects back just you and your wild backdrop.  Nothing artificial to fixate on.  It's just you, changing leaves, and puffs of air that make you feel like a train.  Traipsing through this space with a radical feeling that you're the first person to see these trees, this water, this reflection.  It's a notion I can't seem to get over.  Every day when I look around it's a crippling sense of missed adventure.  There will never be enough time to do all of the things my heart is beating for.  I find it offensive that this world has so many things to offer, and I can't live for centuries to experience it all.  Hell, we aren't even guaranteed decades, years, or hours.  It's why I choose to fiercely love those in my life.  It's why I make it a point to tell people I love them and how my life is changed because of their influence.  It's why I try to only take in the good and deflect the bad.  There's a lot of shit in this world that can get people down.  It's in those moments that I get outside.  The world has thrived for billions of years.

I can't remember where I've heard it, but someone said that you either love the mountains for two reasons; to either be reminded of your mortality or to feel the strength of the human soul.  When I stand on the tops of mountains I feel that sense of mortality.  This mountain will continue to stand the test of time, while I will move into nothingness.  However, I also feel the power of the world is at my fingertips. I am standing in a blessed position that only birds have the privilege of seeing regularly.  I can see everything for miles.  The sense that in this tiny wrinkle in time, this view is mine and mine alone.

So I love the things that can't be bottled because they cause a consciousness, reflection, and perception that will never be replicated.  It would clip the memories' wings, and then I wouldn't get to return there in my moments of fragility.  I might be weak and flawed, but the world will cocoon me with tales of the past, present, and future.