Day 305: Whatcha readin'?

Ok, I'll admit, on the rare occasion I get invited to someone's house I usually do this little stealthy thing of checking out the host's bookshelf.  I don't normally consider myself nosy although I'm sure I have my moments.  Mostly I do it because I'm interested in seeing what interests them.  The books they read tell you a lot about their personality.  The types of pictures tell you what matters most to them.  Their kids, their dogs, extended family or their old school days.  All these things certainly help when it comes to starting up a conversation.  I mean there's only so much that can be said about the weather and honestly, we both know when the conversation switches to the weather it's only a matter of time before our chit chat goes into a death spiral of disinterest.  "So, how 'bout them Giants?"  "Huh?"  Of course any good host can get out of this predicament with a well worded out like, "Hey, um, yeah, I need to... um, the thing with the ah, you know um, so you just, yeah, ok, um so I'll just need to, oh, uh, cuz, um ..... HONEY!?"  Yes, I'm speaking from experience.

So I usually avoid those types of embarrassing and awkward conversations by coming up with a sure fire list of interesting topics about THEM.  Hey, we all like to talk about ourselves.  I'm so all about me I could write a blog, I mean, book.  But I digress.  If you want to enjoy your next dinner party, just do a little recon of your AO (area of operation, for you non-military types).  Books, pictures, odd looking figurines, you'll be surprised by how much material you have available to you that before the night is through you'll have convinced your host you're a charming and engaging person.  Well, ok, I'm still working the kinks out on that one but it's certainly helped me to make what could've been a mind-numbingly boring evening go by quick and relatively painless.

Wow, who would've thought a blog could be so informative?  And you see there?  I just used the technique called "bullshit" to elicit a chuckle from the reader.  (cricket sounds...)  No? Ok, well I told you I'm still refining the technique.  Alright, so the take away from today's blog is, 1.  I'm most likely to NEVER get invited to anyone's house again, and 2.  Do take an interest in those you're visiting for the first time.  It's not difficult to be engaging and wouldn't you like to know more about the person you're visiting without having to ask them 20 questions?  Who knows?  You show an interest in them, they just might show an interest in you.

Day 304: A grateful day...

I am...

Grateful that my friends along the east coast are weathering the storm of Hurricane Sandy.  Grateful that cooler heads are starting to prevail in regards to the family drama that's been playing out the last few months in California.  Grateful to have received an exceptionally kind gesture from a very unlikely source.  Grateful that I'm getting better at seeing the good rather than the bad.  Grateful that there's still a job waiting for me each morning.  Grateful I still have a choice, even though this whole election thing is driving me nuts.  Grateful that for some reason my big dog loves me unconditionally (or maybe it's just for the food).  Grateful for my faith, that I still retain a sense of hope even though things can look bleak.  Grateful that I'm surrounded by so many wonderful, inspirational people, whether in person or virtual, who remain constant examples of the type of person I aspire to be. Grateful that someone actually reads this blog and views my photos.  Grateful that I still have my wits even if they weren't all that sharp to begin with.  Grateful I can still feel the physical exhilaration of taxing my body to its limits.  Grateful that I can still enjoy all my creature comforts (sourdough, wine, dark chocolate).  Grateful for my identity (husband, father, son, brother, friend, runner, snowboarder, BRAT!). 

And most importantly, I'm grateful for all of life's experiences that have led me to this very moment in time. 

Day 303: T T T Trash Talkin...

Talkin' trash or talkin' smack. I've never had much of a taste for the art.  Mostly because more often than not if I did it usually came back to bite me, actually my team, in the ass.  Always figured it was better to keep my mouth shut and see how things played out.  I mean, you never want to piss off the baseball gods.  As sports fans we've all experienced the moron at the sports bar or the ball park or even in the office space, who rants on an on about how great their team is, that they're #1 and you suck, blah blah blah.  As he's blathering on you sit there trying to come up with a legal argument for justifiable homicide. 

So I've kinda come up with an analogy for trash talking.  Trash talking is much like spending all your hard earned money each week on buying a case of Charles Shaw wine (aka, "Two Buck Chuck").  Sure you drink it all the time and you get a little, and I mean, a LITTLE enjoyment out of it but usually you end up with a bad taste in your mouth and a headache the next morning.  Conversely, keeping your mouth shut and focusing your energies and superstitions towards your team, it's like putting your money into a very nice, big Cab from Bordeaux, France.  But instead of pulling the cork on opening day you store it for a while (the season).  Just letting it age nicely, quietly all the while the rest the loud mouth jerks are chugging down stuff even the church wouldn't offer up for Communion. I mean why celebrate the little victories with the cheap stuff when you can savor a championship with the good stuff? 

When the baseball gods look upon your team and elevate them to the summit of Mt. Olympus, that Bordeaux you've been saving is now the sweet nectar of the gods.  Just remember, moron, everything you say during the game, oh heck, during the season, is just "Two Buck Chuck", or as the French would say "Le Crap".  So at the end of the season, after the last strike of the last out of the last game, when my team sits atop of the mountain, looking down upon all those that failed, anything I say about my team is the truth.  "We're number one!"  Yeah, that one pretty much speaks for itself.  It's kinda like DNA, you can't argue with it.  I really don't care about the other teams. Why would I have anything to say against them?  For one, it's unsportsmanlike but more importantly, nothing I say could be any more devastating or hurtful than having to live with the harsh reality that their team lost and the records will show, for all eternity, that they lost. No amount of Two Buck Chuck can blot out that memory.

Thank you, San Francisco Giants, for making a boyhood dream come true...... TWICE!

YOU ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!  And that ain't smack!

Day 302: 140.6

So yesterday Mr. Guilt, who's been living in my head rent free since I was a child, coerced me into going to the gym yesterday and put in some miles on the treadmill.  I don't think it was coincidence that at the same time I was running, the Ironman Triathlon in Hawaii was telecast on the TV right in front of me.  I don't expect many of you to get this.  When you tell someone that you are intentionally going to travel 140.6 miles in a day, all self-propelled, a crescendo of "WHY!?" will be the response.  An entire book could be written to try to explain what compels someone to do that but I think the bottom line is that if it needs explaining, then it'll never be understood.  You either get it or you don't, and that's fine either way.  Why does a person climb Mt. Everest?  Why does someone compete in an Ironman distance triathlon?  To swim 2.4 miles, cycle for 112 miles and run 26.2 miles is not natural and probably not sane either. 

It's a tremendous commitment when one decides to do an Ironman.  It takes months of preparations and that's assuming you've already been doing this type of physical and mental torture for a number of years.  Deciding to do an Ironman is like deciding to pursue your Doctorate.  You've gotten your undergrad and Masters degrees.  The last great challenge is that Doctorate and for triathlons, it's the Ironman.  I never made it to Hawaii, never qualifying nor winning a lottery draw, and that sits as one of my greatest disappointments in life.  I have, though, competed in and completed two Iron distance triathlons and the experiences are permanently seared into my psyche.

I do miss the sport.  The early morning preparations in the transition area.  Checking and rechecking your gear and bicycle, making sure everything is in order and ready to go.  The nervous energy as you strip down out of your sweats so a volunteer can mark your body with your bib number.  Like being prepped for major surgery, it's coming and there's no turning back.  The nervous trips to the port-a-potty (as many as six times in an hour).  The announcement to head to the water to start your wave.  The sound of the horn or cannon, signaling the start of the race, that shoots through your heart like a bolt of electricity as you run on rubber legs to the near black, foreboding ocean water that is ready to consume you.  Struggling to bring your heart rate down while you overcome your fear of the water, thinking in your mind how you desperately are just wanting to get out of the water and onto your bike. You eventually get into a groove, using visualization to trick yourself into thinking you're just swimming in a pool.  Your breathing is steady and eventually you find yourself in a rhythmic dance that moves you through the water.

You're nearly done with the swim and now you have to struggle to fight through the crashing waves and surf that is pulling and beating you with every attempt to free yourself from it's clutches.  Finally you're scurrying into the transition area, stripping out of your wetsuit and trying to remember where you racked your bike.  You finally get your bearings and quickly slip into your cycling shoes, gulp down some Gatorade and before you know it you're off.  The longest part of the day is ahead of you but you're so relieved to finally be out of the water that you actually look forward to hours of having a bike seat wedged up your ass.  The miles tick away.  You're maintaining your planned pace.  You try not to chase the other cyclists sprinting ahead of you.  You've got 112 miles on the bike followed by another 26.2 miles of running.  You have to remind yourself you'll see them again.  Eventually the miles will take their toll on you.  Stiffness forms in your neck and shoulders.  You're lower back seizes up a bit but the worst part is the lack of feeling in your groin.  Pressure on your pelvic bone has completely deaden that part of your body and you begin to wonder if you'll ever father children again or worse yet, be able to "play ball" without having to "cork the bat." 

You're now less than a mile from the transition area so you slip your feet out of your cycling shoes to help save valuable time transitioning from a cyclist to runner.  You're off the bike and your legs respond with both a resounding "Holy shit!" to "Ahhhh, thank God".  You rack your bike, slip into your running shoes, take another gulp of Gatorade while grabbing a handful of your favorite energy food and you're off!  It takes a while to get your legs to transition from spinning in circles to lunging forward.  It won't be long until you're into a comfortable pace and it's at this time that your mind locks down into a trance like state, allowing only those thoughts and emotions that will serve you rather than defeat you.  No thoughts of 26 miles.  Only the awareness of that "hum" that reverberates throughout your body.  If you're lucky that "runner's high" that we've all heard of will kick in and carry you through the better part of this self-induced torture.  Eventually over time the run course begins to take on the look of a battle field.  Those ultra swimmers and cyclists that blew past you earlier are now blowing chunks on the side of the road.  Another person is lying face up, glazed over eyes with pasty white skin, another victim of their own brutality.  Some are running as if they're running a 5K.  Others are jogging.  Many others are stammering, stumbling and shuffling.  Others are walking, eyes burning into the asphalt, the only source of energy they have is the pure will to finish even though their bodies have begun to fail them. 

I do my best to ignore the carnage around me, focusing only on my pain and my ability to overcome.  For me this is where fear kicks in.  Fear of failure.  Fear that I would have to go home and explain to others how I failed to accomplish what I set out to do.  With only a few miles left in this contest of wills, where the very act of raising my arm to accept a cup of water takes on near Herculean proportions, anger and hatred are now my bedfellows.  The thought of failure, to accept and succumb to the pain that is racking my body are things my rage feasts upon.  "F### YOU!" has become my mantra.  To quit, to give in, are luxuries I'm not entitled to.  Finish this.  Finish what I've started.  Finish or DIE!  A literal ultimatum. 

With only a couple hundred yards to go you reach an elevated state of awareness that's beyond description and I think it's that state which compels many of us to return to this battlefield.  The flood of emotions at that very moment your foot crosses the finish line is unbelievable.  There's a sense of euphoria and completeness that is unlike anything else in life.  It wasn't just genetics that carried you to the finish line.  It's a known fact that nearly ever human has enough stored energy in their bodies to run back to back marathons right now. 
No, it's much more than that.  It's the collective whole, the sum of all our parts and at the very center of that our soul and the will to drive on that marks the dividing line between those that do and those that don't.  That power exists in ALL of us.  The only question and the only reason between you achieving success and not is the desire to discover who you really are.  If it really matters to you to know what strength lies within you, then great fortune will always be your companion. 

Day 301: Brrrrr....

Wow, sure feels like winter today.  Oh no, I'm not complaining.  I'm totally Jonesing for snow, at least up in the mountains.  I've been on travel for most of the past two weeks so I really wanted to stay close to home and family this weekend.  A ton of my 14er friends were all making their way to Quandary Peak this morning.  It would've been fun to hang out with the crowd but it's nice hanging out in my own 'hood.  I got up early this morning with Julie who's starting a new job.  I decided to take Sophie out on a long overdue hike.  Well, it was a lot colder this morning than I was expecting or prepared for.  I stopped near the turn off for Eldorado to try and get some panos of the Flatirons.  While I stood there freezing, waiting for the sun to be just right, Sophie raced up and down the fields of snow, diving head first using here big 'ol melon head to plow through the snow.  After getting a few shots we loaded back into the car and made our way over to the NCAR facility.  Instead heading up into the mountains I thought it might be a bit safer, for me, if we walked along the paths circling the facility rather than scrambling over ice covered boulders.  I'm sure Sophie would've been fine but yours truly probably would've face-planted on some rocks.  It was great getting out with my girl.  Seems like forever since we last hiked.  Sophie is always so much fun.  Loves to get out and run but always keeps an eye on me and never strays very far.  Right now she's crashed in my office as I sit here writing this entry and processing photos.  A great way to start the weekend!

Day 300: Sheath your sword!...

Life is all about learning and I learned a very valuable lesson recently.  When someone pisses you off beyond the stratosphere, before you launch your own version of Armageddon, sit down and write this person exactly how you feel.  Now, you can do this on paper or in a Word document on your computer.  But NEVER, EVER draft a letter of this nature in an email because chances are at just that time the planets will be aligned, the Cubs will win the series, Kim K will join a convent and YOU will accidentally hit "Send".  And just like with tactical nukes, there's no recall capability.  Some of you might be familiar with the family drama that's currently shrouding the recovery efforts of my wife's father who's still struggling with the side affects of surgery he had back in August.  The latest bomb that dropped was the final straw for me.  I won't go into details here but it had something to do with restraining orders between a father and his children.  I wrote a well worded, in my opinion, letter to this person who has done nothing more than create an atmosphere of deceit, suspicion, and resentment, splashed with just a smidgen of pure nasty.  Sorry, my angst might be seeping back in but I've heeded the example set by my wife and decided to take the high road.  Just writing the letter helped me get out all the anger I've had towards this person for all the damage she's done to the family.  Writing the letter and walking away from it for a while has helped me to temper my emotions over something that's truly tragic, at least in my mind.  So I'll keep the letter for now.  If this blog ever gets turned into a book I might include it as some kind of attachment or appendix.  But for now, that smart bomb will remain in my personal armory for future consideration in the event open hostilities break out.  For if that day should come all I have to say is "CRY HAVOC!  And let slip the dogs of war!"

Day 299: "And she's buying a Stairway to Skylink..."

I can't take off on a flight without the theme song from "Top Gun" playing in my head. And somehow whenever I'm traveling through the DFW airport and have to take their Skylink train to another terminal, Led Zepplin's "Stairway to Heaven" plays on my inner iPod as I head up the escalator. Wow, not sure how my dime store psychology will process that.  

There really is no glory in travel. Although collectively we're herded about like cattle this is a one man show. No team affiliation. No unit citations or shared badges of honor. We are together alone in our misery.  We all go through the motions, getting pushed and prodded about.  Delayed, bumped, inconvenienced.  You'd think we'd have this brotherhood kinda thing going on.  "Hey, we're all suffering together!  Power to the people!"  Nope, we just move quietly about, never making eye contact, hoping to make it to our destination as quickly and safely as possible with all our bags and wits intact. 

So with all that being said I'll go ahead and nestle into my exit row seat and wait for them to tell me to turn off my iPhone.  At least I'll be home in a few hours.

Post Script... 

"Hello, Mr. Karp?"  

"Yes"

"We have a message for you."

"Ah, a message?  Um ok...."

"Would you like to move up to seat 4B (First Class)?"

"Oh, HELL yeah, sweet cheeks!"

Ok, I didn't say "sweet cheeks" but my inner voice sure did.  Not sure what I enjoyed more.  The fact I got upgraded to First Class at the last minute or the expression of the other galley slaves sitting around me as I was awarded my freedom, grabbed my bags and headed up to the land of milk and honey and cheap wine.  HUZZAH!!

Day 298: Life or Death...

As I continue down the corridors of my life I’ve been struck by another bit of life’s truths.  Doesn’t it seem ironic that the decision to place another’s life in harm’s way can be the sole responsibility of ONE person however in the business world when it comes to the expenditure of a moderate sum of money it takes an army of people to come to a consensus?  A young Army captain, after diligent planning, can order his company to take an enemy position with full knowledge and understanding that some of his men will die in the process.  But in big business the number people it takes to approve the spending of funds that are a fraction of what sits in the CEO’s wallet is treated as an event that would change the course of human history.  The reason why is simple.  A mistake in business could result in the loss of our job and that would be unthinkable.  It’s truly a risk no one is willing to accept.  So essentially our jobs are more important than our lives.  Kinda weird but as I think about it losing my job would be much more catastrophic for my family than if I just kicked the bucket.  Other than the initial emotional loss, they would be financially set and able to move on.  No, I’m not suicidal.  Far from it.  I’ve got way too much on my plate to accommodate an untimely death.  I just think it’s weird how skewed our priorities are, at least our priorities as a western culture, have become.  I guess that’s why so many of us feel we are so much more important than we really are.  We treat our professional lives as if it’s a matter of life and death when really it’s not.  It’s just money.  Yes, it would truly suck beyond words to lose a major source of income and lose a standard of living but at least we’d still be living.  At what point did dollars matter more than life?  Remember, you can’t take it with you although the Pharaohs made a good try at it. 

Day 297: The "Wall"

One of the mind tricks us runners have developed over time is the ability to focus not on how many miles we need to run but rather staying in the moment, focusing on the mile we are currently running. But as in any road race, whether it’s a 5K or a marathon, eventually you start to become more acutely aware of the miles left to run rather than the miles already run.

I think I’m at the point with this blog. Similar to running, the discomfort and pain that I’ve been able to ignore up to this point is starting to demand more of your attention. I knew the time would come during the duration of this 365 blog where I would struggle to consistently capture quality images or provide interesting discussion topics. Like in marathon running, there are always moments when your mind and body start to falter. If you’re lucky you’ll get a second wind, a burst of energy that will propel you through the next few miles. But unfortunately those moments are short-lived and that proverbial “wall” will come crashing down on you. I’m near 300 days into this blog and I’m finding that I’m thinking more about Day 366 (leap year, thank you) blog entry and how far off it seems rather than how much I’ve accomplished so far.

“Perseverance” is tattooed on my leg as a permanent reminder that quitting is not an option. No matter how I feel or where I’m at emotionally or physically, I’m committed to moving forward. Like an order given by a superior officer, it is not up for discussion. Negotiating or compromising is a luxury I’m not entitled to. The only response is “Yes, Sir!” So I’m compelled to mount up, lock and load and meet the enemy head on. Now is the time to draw on those reserves that will sustain me through the rest of this endeavor. It’s either that or this blog will REALLY suck from here on out…

Day 296: Great expectations...

WARNING:  Narrowing your expectations puts you in a much greater position to experience disappointment.  Let me be clear.  I don't mean limiting your expectations.  You can have as many as you want.  What I mean is the more specific you make your expectations, the more likely you'll be disappointed.  For example.  You want a 2013 Ford F150, totally tricked out in your favorite color.  Finding that exact truck for the exact price at the exact time will be nearly impossible to achieve.  However if you were to say you're looking for a truck that does the things you need (haul ski gear, your dog, stuff from HomeDepot) your options will be more numerous and your chances of being happy with your selection will be far greater.  I'm not saying you have to dumb down your hopes and dreams but you do need to take a long hard look at what you're really wanting. 

So what are you really asking for?  If objects are all you want then objects are all you'll get.  You see folks that surround themselves with their toys, never seeming completely happy with what they have, always looking for more, even at the expense of others.  Heck, I have an in-law in Northern California that is the poster child for this.  Hey I certainly have my moments.  I want an exit row, aisle seat, even an upgrade to First Class.  I go out on photo shoots and expect to capture perfect the photograph.  I'm sure we've all heard of or even know a few people who are obsessed with acquiring a certain amount of money, or they want a particular car or that amazing house on the hill.  They HAVE to have the latest fashions or the newest techno-trinket.  For them enough is never enough.  And the reason is quite simple.  All those toys have absolutely NO meaning.  You can't glean a sense of satisfaction, gratification or achievement from the acquisition of things. 

So what's the fix, you ask?  Well gather 'round, children and I'll tell you.   Instead of having an expectation of things, create an expectation of a state of mind.  Crazy talk, you say?  Instead of Jones-ing for a particular car, house, clothes, or salary (feel free to add to the list), why not just have an expectation of having a good car, a nice house, comfortable clothes and a means to sufficiently support yourself and your family?  For me, instead of expecting a particular seat on a plane or capturing an Ansel Adams-like photograph, why shouldn't I have an expectation for a pleasant flight, regardless of where I sit?  Or why not have an expectation of a nice morning with my camera, out in nature hiking with my dog?  Whether or not I get a good seat or a good picture really shouldn't matter.  When all is said and done, can it be enough that we enjoyed the experience?  Putting our energies towards experiencing a good moment will produce a sense of gratification and completeness in our lives.  If we obsess over trinkets and toys we'll never be fully satisfied and we'll do nothing more than feed our sense of emptiness and that tape-worm called "Greed" that eats away at our soul. 

Day 295: Always alternatives...

In photography, as with most things in life, you have to be ready for the unexpected.  Unlike my fellow photographers who specialize in portraits, as a landscape photographer I don't have to contend with moody teenagers, pimply faces, fly-away hair or finding the most flattering pose for someone.  My biggest challenge is Mother Nature herself.  Last night and early this morning we were suppose to be able to see a meteor shower.  I was all set to capture some amazing night sky shots with streaking meteors racing across the sky but as we awoke at 3:00AM this morning we were greeted with a blanket of cloud cover that pretty much wiped out any possibility of getting any good shots of the sky. 

So, what to do?  We decided to bag it and climb back into bed.  There will always be other opportunities.  I managed to get another couple hours of sleep before waking up shortly after 5:00.  I had the "brilliant" idea of going out to capture some sunrise photos.  Now yesterday would've perfect with a nice mixture of rolling clouds and clear sky.  I thought this morning would've been the same but as I made my way out to some rural areas outside Thornton I noticed that the cloud cover that obscured the meteor shower was quickly dissipating and sunrise wasn't about to happen for at least an hour.  Sure, the sun looks great all by herself but without any clouds it lacks any dramatic feel which was what I was hoping for.  But perseverance is my middle name and I decided to gut it out.  It was a bit chilly, even wrapped up in a hoody and heavy jacket so the sunrise couldn't come soon enough.  Sunset and sunrise pictures in the winter are great because the sun sets early in the afternoon and rises late in the morning so there's no sacrificing sleep.  The only bad trade off is that it's usually freezing at those times.  Well, dress for the occasion. 


So here are a couple shots from this morning.  It was pretty nice out there and, Mother Nature, thanks for cooperating.  We'll see you next time.  Hopefully you'll still be in a good mood.

Day 294: A Tale of Two Seats...

Coming home from Boston I typically take two flights to make my way back to Denver.  Sure it makes for a long travel day but since this was a Friday, what else did I have on my agenda and besides, it's nice to know that when you finally get home you can relax and look forward to the weekend. 

The flight from Boston to Dallas is pretty much always over-booked and over-stuffed with passengers.  Getting an exit row seat is golden, even if it's a middle seat so when I was given the window seat I didn't make a fuss.  Besides, who'd listen?  As we were herded in, fumbling about to find our seats and stow our over-sized and overweight bags I quickly made my way to my "comfy" seat right up against the window.  I spied those coming on after me, making my own mental selection as to who should have the honor of sitting next to me.  Before I could cast a vote an exceptionally LARGE man made his way to my row, tossed a book on the seat next to me and said, "guess that's my seat."  Holy crap, are you kidding me?  The largest man in the world is going to sit in this seat of all seats?"  As these thoughts were racing through my head the guy looked at me, smiled and said, "Bet you were hoping for a skinny blonde."  SHIT!  Did he just read my mind?  Turned out to be a very decent fellow, certainly better than me.  In order to make room, I had to curve my shoulders forward, turn and press my body up against the wall of the plane, sort of like a Picasso figure but even doing that didn't keep him from overflowing into my seat and up against my back.  Not a problem, I can handle this for a three and a half our flight.  Well, as my lower back started to seize up and my hamstrings started to scream, I was pretty much in misery for the last two of hours of the flight.  Within minutes of landing I was virtually crawling out of my skin praying for some quick relief, either landing immediately or lawn-darting into mother earth.  Eventually we landed and after the brain dead first classers and non-travelers got their bags and departed, I was finally able to unfold my body and feel the blood rushing back into my extremities.

The next leg, from Dallas to Denver, was the antithesis of the first.  Not nearly as many folks heading to Denver so a seat among the privileged was mine for the taking.  At this point I really didn't care who sat next to me, I was just thrilled to actually have a seat where my ass fit in my seat and there was amble room for my spindly legs.  But the travel gods must have looked down upon me with great favor because a young, very attractive woman took the seat next to me.  Don't worry, I didn't start off with a "how you doin'?" intro nor did I get into the "when I was your age..." spiel.  She was just a pretty young lady who actually smelled nice, especially compared to those that row in the galleys, I mean, who sit in coach.  We enjoyed some pleasant conversation but for the most part kept to ourselves.  Hey, that's all I want.  Just let me sit next to someone who doesn't possess the girth of three lumberjacks, who appreciates the importance of personal hygiene and can actually string together several words into an intelligible sentence. 

So it was a great way to wrap up a long week on business travel.  Sitting in First Class next to a pleasant person, drinking cheap-ass Chardonnay and eating something that would actually provide my body some level of nutrition.  Mitty or Bambam, if you boys could make that happen on a regular basis for me, brother you've got my vote.

Day 293: Where did the time go?

I was all set to be trite and create one of those illustrations that would say something like "I miss driving my daughter and her friends around listening to Brittany Spears or the latest boy band on the radio - said no father ever" but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss those days. It was a time of transition. A time when I went from being her best bud, indulging all her play time requests to transforming into an ATM machine on wheels. There were still moments when she needed me, not just for what was in my wallet but more importantly, my time. She's all grown up now living on her own, a time zone away. We don't talk as much as we'd like. Life has a way of getting in the way. I've been replaced by the man of her dreams and as expected I'm in her review mirror instead of her front seat. I couldn't be happier to see the woman she has become. I still pine for the old days when we use to go to the park or beach and then out for ice cream. But I'm not looking to go back in time. I just hope I can be there for all the new milestones she'll reach in life. I'll try to avoid the retelling of the old, embarrassing childhood stories. I'll save those for my own quiet times. I look forward to seeing her graduate, marry and maybe start a family. I know she'll make a wonderful mom in spite of my parental influences. She was the one thing I ever truly wanted in life and I can't begin to express the thanks and gratitude for the opportunity to be her father. I know she will go much farther in life than I ever did because there is a greatness in her that she is just now discovering for herself. I'm excited for her for what the future might bring. I just hope as she moves through life that she knows I am with her and love her always. No father could be prouder of his daughter.

I love you, Sam.

Day 292: What compels you...

Back in the day when I was a total fitness freak I had done my share of triathlons and marathons and was able to achieve marginal success where other, more capable souls didn't do as well. The only difference between me and that guy with 4% body fat and riding a $5k bike was emotional state. Call it will, perseverance, desire, or whatever, there is something more beyond technology and genetics that can determine who succeeds and who fails.  I once tried posting a trip report on 14ers.com and got ridiculed because I didn't provide a detailed technical description of the route I took or how I navigated the route.  I understand and appreciate the importance of providing accurate information regarding the terrain you're trying to navigate but damnit there's only so much you can glean from a mundane trip report. The difference between success and failure is your ability to mentality process the gravity of your undertaking. Physical prowess and genetics will only take you so far. The true champion moves willingly into uncharted waters and embraces the unknown in order to experience a life beyond their own comprehension. I would rather read about the emotional and spiritual experiences of someone who achieved success rather than someone who just spews out a road map to the finish line. I've often wondered what compelled a man to stand and fight when surrounded by the enemy as opposed to the tactics they employed. Tactics can be taught. Instinct and courage is something inherent. Back in my ROTC days, when other cadets sat at the bar getting hammered, my buddy Dale and I use to sit and listen to the tails told by our NCOs who survived the jungles of Vietnam as frightened, young teenagers. What fascinated me most was not how they won an engagement but what compelled them to stand and fight under extraordinary circumstances.  I think I knew that at some point in my life I would be faced with the "fight or flight" dilemma and I prayed I would be man enough to do the right thing. So if my "flowery" trip report is not in your liking, turn the page. Courage is not measured by your intellect but rather by your deeds in ignorance. I believe and embrace total preparation in any endeavor but any real objective includes some amount of the unknown because it is how we respond to that unknown that defines our character. And every adventure in life is a quest to discover our true character. A college degree, a first marathon, the next promotion are all nothing more than a valiant attempt to seek the truth of our existence. Life compels us to move forward. May your journey be ever lasting...

Day 291: Wounds...

When combatants go to war it's expected there will be some collateral damage but I'm tired of being the only causality of someone else's war. In war both sides are expected to suffer casualties but in this day and age the only ones who suffer are the non-combatants. Case in point, at American airlines the pilots and execs are fighting over money but the only ones who are suffering are the travelers. In politics the Democrats and Republicans fight over political territory but it's the middle class that suffers the wounds. The rich are continually isolated from fiscal hardships as are the uninspired poor. If the Democrats win I'll continue to support the lives of those who refuse to do for themselves. If the Republicans win I'll continue to cover the corners cut by the 1%ers. We're forced into a world of polarization, you're either one or the other but we fail to realize that the Democrats and Republicans are different sides of the same coin of evil.

I know you probably read this and think I'm overly dramatic and perhaps I am but understand this, life is based upon perception and my perceived reality is based on my membership in the middle class and right now I'm the economic bitch that serves the greed of this country, both poor and rich. For decades we, the middle class, have been the cash cow that's kept this country afloat. For generations we have been expected to shoulder the burden that comes with making the rich richer and the poor more dependent. I won't engage in ideological debate over the merits of the Democratic or Republican platforms, the results are still the same for the middle class. We're at a point now in our society where you can no longer squeeze blood from a turnip. We, the middle class, have nothing left to give. Helping our kids through school, planning for a retirement are now an unattainable dream. The poor will continue to get handouts and the rich will continue to get breaks. I don't want a handout nor do I want privilege. I just want to take care of my family and for once not be afraid of tomorrow. I sit in a plane at 38,000 feet squeezed into a seat designed for a malnourished child and I feel like I'm making one more concession for someone who does not suffer for the war they've waged. They sit in the comfort of their own foxhole while they expect me to charge forward, taking a bullet on their behalf for a war I neither volunteered for nor support. A pilot can feign sickness or show up late for a flight but it affects neither him nor the corporate execs but it turns the world upside down for that vacationing family or business traveler. If you truly want to go to war over something then by God you better be placing yourself in harm’s way, otherwise don't make a fuss. Many but not all the destitute are lazy and many but not all the wealthy are greedy and selfish. I just want to support myself and my family and give some assistance to those down on their luck. The rich don't need any extra benefits or breaks. The unemployed need to take that "shit" job as a springboard to something better and stop asking for help. It’s time that both ends of this polarized world suffer their own wounds and bare their own scars There's very little I'll go to war over but when I do, whatever it might be I'll take the pain and wounds necessary to attain the victory I desperately wish to achieve. No one will suffer on my behalf. You can't claim victory when it was achieved by the blood of others.

Oh, by the way, if the cheap ass wine is complimentary you bet your ass I'll drink as much as I want. I'll claim victory wherever I can.

Day 290: Learning vs Doing

For as long as I've been working in IT there has been an ongoing debate on whether a college education should be required for an IT engineering professional. There are certainly a lot of good arguments on either side of the fence. A structured curriculum will ensure a breadth of information will be learned but little emphasis is placed on practical application. Conversely those who grew up working the trade, much like an apprentice, will have greater skills in applying IT engineering principles but their knowledge will be limited to only those things they've personally experienced. There are merits for both career paths but if I was forced into a "Sophie' choice" I'd have to pick the path of experience. If for no other reason it would be the personal attachment one has with their trade.

I'm sure you know plenty of Sheldon Coopers who know all there is to know about something but couldn't figure out how to empty a glass of water even with instructions on the bottom of the glass. I've met some incredibly bright, college educated IT engineers who struggle configuring a server and I've met high school grads who are senior IT professionals of Fortune 500 companies. It's not that I "ain't inta all that book learn in' stuff", I just think we get a little too wrapped up on degrees rather than skills. I've seen the same thing in the photography world. Some argue that you need a degree in order to fully employ all the techniques for creating good pictures, but little emphasis is placed on how to BE creative.

I think what it really boils down to is passion. In my personal experience the individual that demonstrates a true passion for their craft is the one most qualified. Passion drives the thirst for knowledge no matter what the forum. Passion empowers and challenges us to move forward and embrace the unknown. Those with passion are the risk takers, the ones willing to get bloodied and bruised because they know greatness lies ahead. Those without will sit, observe, comment or ridicule but will achieve nothing. Show me a person with passion and I'll show you a person of great achievement.

So welcome to the University of Hard Knocks. Home of The Fighting Bastards!!!

Day 289: A recovering fan...

Well, I was in a pretty foul mood yesterday and for all the wrong reasons.  Both of my sports teams lost and lost big.  I mean really, why the hell should I care? 

I have to admit it's a bit embarrassing even to admit I have this little hang up but like they say in AA, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.  Where all this angst comes from I'm not really sure.  Perhaps it's from my youth.  No, this isn't an attempt to blame my parents for anything.  For several generations sports has been woven into the fabric of my family.  When they came across the pond back in the 1880s my family has called the Bay Area their home and rooting for the 49ers and the Giants has been an integral part of their lives.  As for me, whether it's my need to gain a sense of belonging or what, suffice to say the Niners and Giants have been a part of my persona since I was about eight years old.  I suffered and rejoiced over every peak and valley my teams went through.  As an Army Brat constantly on the move, I had to endure the ridicule of being a Niner/Giants fan which was especially difficult when my teams were cellar-dwellers.  It was great going to college in San Jose when I was surrounded by like-minded fans but those days were short lived.  I'm now in Colorado, Donkey Town USA, so there's no talking to these fans.  I keep my fan affiliation on the down low.  I celebrate and suffer in silence although my wife and dogs would probably disagree. 

But to be honest, I really have no business getting too excited over the performance of my teams.  Today's athletes are all about the money, at least most are.  Ever notice when the camera scans the losing teams bench and half the guys are laughing and joking around?  Why not?  Sure, they just lost 26-3 but they're still getting paid more in that one week than most folks get paid in a year.  Championships might bring a little extra cash in their wallets but most get paid quite a bit more for individual incentives so as long as they rack up the stats it doesn't really matter who wins or loses.  I know that doesn't apply to all players but far more players today are more concerned about paychecks then championships.  It's sad, really. 

Getting spun up on whether my teams win or lose is pretty ridiculous but it's in my blood and at times I find it hard to cope.  As an athlete I always approached my competition in a "Good vs Evil" scenario.  Even as a marathoner/triathlete, it was me versus the evil that would try to convince me to let up or quit.  To fail or lose would be catastrophic.  My problem is that I've applied that same warped rationale towards my favorite sports teams and that's just pathetic if not a little twisted.  There are far more important things in our world to focus my energies towards.   So jumping ahead in my 12 step program, let me make amends to all those that have had to endure my moods.  Ah, recovery, it's a bitch!

Day 288: Hazardous duty...

As you know I've been volunteering with my wife, Julie, on a horse ranch that's part of a non-profit organization that uses horses as part of a therapy program to help special needs children.  My job has mostly been to help around the ranch fixing and cleaning up things.  One of the things we discovered during our clean up was a collection of what was believed to be petrified, or harmless, eggs.  Harmless in the sense that they were just eggs, maybe duck or goose, that over time had just solidified into hard, rock-like objects.  Apparently they'd been there for a number of years.  Forgive me and my ignorance.  Not sure why I thought they were petrified.  A better word would be putridified.  In the process of shoveling out these archeological finds one of them EXPLODED!  Like a frickin' grenade it sprayed, not shrapnel, but a toxic fume that could've downed an elephant.  I thought a liter box or my gym bag was bad but the stench coming from these eggs could be classified as a weapon of mass destruction.  Hey, George Dub, think we found your WMDs.  Well, that was one egg, the first one.  We had at least a dozen more that needed to be removed.  I tried asking Siri for "HazMat removal" but all that electronic vixen could do was ask "Do you want Happy Approval?"  So the task was left to us to extricate these deadly deposits on our own.  I braced the metal shovel near the base of the egg pile while the other ranch hand, Jay, gently brushed a few onto the shovel.  It was like finding and removing an unexploded WWII bomb.  I was trying desperately not to shake all the while thinking it was going to explode any moment, leaving nothing more then the sulfur coated remains of two unfortunate ranch hands.  Once we had two or three loaded, it was my job to carefully walk them out of the barn to a nearby fence and give them a good heave.  Instinctively I yelled "FIRE IN THE HOLE!", and away they went.  With a load POP! they exploded on impact.  The blistering fumes instantly filled the air as I made a bee-line for the barn.  This was the only time in my life I wish I had my old Army MOPP gear.  Who knew working on a ranch would be such hazardous duty.  Here I was all afraid of horses and the one thing that would do me in would be bird eggs.

"The horror......the horror..."

Day 287: This time it's harder...

It's been a time that tests ones faith, especially for me.  I've felt that as I've gotten older I've been able to be a bit more level headed, more compassionate and forgiving in response to tragic events.  I've been able to look beyond the hurt and feel God's love and know that He is there with us all.  The recent discovery of little Jessica Ridgeway's body is really putting me to the test.  I had a horrible feeling that the body they discovered Wednesday might be Jessica but I still held out hope that somehow she would be found ok and returned to her family.  The announcement yesterday from the Westminster Police Department brought all that hope crashing down.

It's weird that I lived in such a jammed packed place like Orange County, California for 20 years never feeling quite connected to anything that happened in my community.  Heck, our homes were all butted up next to each other but I couldn't tell you who most of my neighbors were.  There were horrible tragedies, just as you'd find in any town in America, but there was this kind of insulation that kept you from feeling any personal attachment to them.  Sure you felt bad but it never lasted very long and there were always plenty of distractions to grab your attention.  But here, living in Colorado, I feel like I'm connected to nearly everything.  The shootings in Aurora, the murder of a little girl, the fires that devastated much of our mountain communities, all of them have affected me in a very profound and personal way.

My heart breaks for the Ridgeway family.  I can't even begin to comprehend the magnitude of their loss.  But unlike the Aurora shootings where my feelings were mostly about prayer and compassion, this recent incident has brought out an animal-like rage and a thirst for vengeance that I haven't experienced in a long time.  It would be one thing to say there is a sick animal out there terrorizing our neighborhoods and it should be put down but there's a part of me that wants to prolong the inevitable termination of this beast in hopes of somehow exacting some level of revenge.  All manners of torture should be implemented, whether to purge this animal of the evil that dwells within him or just to provide the rest of us some form or retribution.  But I know the more I think about this, the more I want to inflict the same amount of pain an suffering upon this animal as was inflicted upon little Jessica, it won't make things right.  The animal will still be an animal and Jessica will still be gone.  It's harder this time for me.  Maybe because it was a little girl and in her I see my own daughters and I couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose either of them. 

These really are the times that test ones soul.  We have to find a way to reconcile this, whether in our minds, our courts, or our faith.  I'm not sure I'm there yet.  For now my prayers are with the Ridgeway family and also for those hunting this beast.  I pray that God's love, grace and strength will give the Ridgeway family some level of comfort and peace in their time of sorrow and despair.  

Day 286: Good Friday...

No matter how much doom and gloom we might have in our lives, we'll always have, at least periodically, a day that can only be described as perfect.  From the moment you wake up until you crash for the night, everything that happened that day fell into place as if by intelligent design or divine intervention.  Your favorite songs played on the radio.  Work was smooth and productive.  All traffic lights were green.  Your favorite foods were in abundance.  And you were surrounded by good cheer and occasional laughter.  On days like that you look forward to each new moment with excited anticipation rather than dread.  It's definitely turning out to be one of those days.  There have been just enough positive things to overshadow and obscure the other little things that could have otherwise turned me into "Captain Cranky Pants".  It's true we create our own happiness but it's nice when you have days where you don't have to put that much effort into it.  Hey, the rest of the day could possibly go south but right now the stars are aligned, the coffee is hot and life it running like a well oiled machine. 

Day 285: Rewards...

Back in the day when I ran marathons and competed in triathlons one of my most favorite things to do after a race was to head down to Main St. in Huntington Beach and have dinner at the Huntington Beach Beer Company.   They served up the best buffalo chicken pizza and they brewed up this incredible beer, Crowley's Cream Ale, the likes I've never experienced since.  It was my reward for months of training and a day's worth of agonizing, self-inflicted punishment.  Now I frequented that brewery more times than I can count but something about those post race meals stood out more than any other time. 

One of my favorite quotes is "You're never more alive than when you're almost dead". I'm sure that's true, literally, although I've never experienced something quite that extreme.  But I think "death" can be defined in a number of ways.  Think of a time when you were emotionally or physically beaten.  Perhaps a bad break up, trouble at work, or those last two miles of a marathon.  At those moments there are no other distractions that occupy your attention.  You are totally focused on the event at hand.  The pain is very real and in many cases seemingly unsurvivable.  You're feeling every fiber of your existence.  It's as if every part of you is buzzing with electricity and every nerve ending is on fire.  At that very moment you are stripping away the facade of your life, exposing who you really are and forcing yourself to draw on that inner strength you never thought you had.   

Eventually the pain stops. You've survive the bad break up or failed marriage.  You've move forward in your career, maybe on a new path.  You've crossed that finish line.   You can look back with some gratification that you survived it.  It didn't beat you.  Although you may feel wiped out, you've actually emerged on the other side stronger, wiser and more grounded than when you first began the struggle.  From that moment on life takes on a new perspective.  Your senses are more finely tuned and many of the things you thought were so important in your life now have no real meaning.  This new awareness wouldn't have been possible if you hadn't first taken that arduous journey. 

You can't fully enjoy the rewards in life if you never followed a path to get there.  It's a magnificent view from the top of a Colorado 14er, but there's huge difference in the gratification and depth of that experience between those that drove to the summit (as you can on Mt. Evans and Pikes Peak) and those that hiked to the top.  Being dropped off at the finish line provides you no sense of accomplishment.  The reward isn't at the finish line, the top of a mountain or at the graduation ceremony.  The reward is earned every grueling step it took to get there. 

Day 284: Depends on how you look at it...

I think the only real difference between good fortune and despair is perspective. 

My 401K is rather lean these days.  I don't see my daughters all that much.  My best friends are a few time zones away and we seldom talk.  My house isn't quite the way I want it.  My joints hurt more than usual and my eyesight isn't as strong as it use to be. But here's the thing, I DO have a 401K.  I DO have two beautiful and amazing daughters.  I DO have a best friend(s).  I DO own my home.  I DO still run and snowboard.  And I can still see all the amazing things and people in my life. 

Right now I'm sure all of you can think of five things you thoroughly enjoy.  It can be as simple as being able to watch your favorite TV show.  Maybe it's a particular Starbucks coffee or a certain activity like photography or running or finding a secluded spot to read a book.  Maybe it's your dog or your kids.  A favorite location.  Anything.   Ok, got it?  Now, imagine that NONE of them are available to you, EVER!  All those things you enjoy I can guarantee you seldom put a second thought to.  They're the creature comforts you enjoy and you'll almost never think of them in terms of good fortune or a blessing.  They just happen to be there for you to enjoy, but imagine if they weren't?

I think we all experience a lot of crap in our lives and it easy for us to harp on all this misfortune because it seems to make the most noise in our lives.  Short of having a baby or winning the lotto, it seems that most all the really good things in life come to us in quiet, unassuming ways.  I guess it's easy to take for granted the good things in life because in a way that's how things should be, or at least we hope they would.  No one wishes for adversity. We all long for the simpler life but we overlook the good fortune we do have because it doesn't stir up our emotions they way bad things typically do.  Maybe I need to take that same energy that comes from seeing my retirement plan take another hit and apply that energy to the good things that happen to me every day.  Even something as simple as the seasonal red Starbucks coffee cups.  If you have something that warms your heart and puts a smile on your face, then brother/sister, you're living the good life. 

Day 283: "At last I can start suffering and write that symphony."

At what point does an artist become an artist?  After they've sold a piece of art?  After they've displayed their art in a gallery?  After they've gotten 500 "Likes" on Facebook?  I guess in some respects we are all artists.  Whether you believe it or not we're all spiritual beings and as such, we are constantly in a state of creation.  We create drama, happiness, love, hate, inspiration, joy...we have so many mediums to express ourselves.  Photography just happens to be mine.

When it comes to photography I like to consider myself an artist but I struggle with something that makes it difficult for me to totally embrace the title of "artist".  How does one overcome the crippling insecurity that comes with being an artist?  Maybe it's just me.  Perhaps being an artist means you've moved beyond the insecurity and you're in complete alignment of your artistic vision and the means to which you express it.  I do photography because I love it and it appeals to me as a method to express my "art".  But beyond that, the point where someone else views my art and how they might interpret it is what makes me shutter.  I'll be honest, I want people to like my photographs.  I really do.  Without an audience, though, I'm comfortable creating through photography but once someone else views my work and expresses some feeling (good or bad) towards it, I can get racked with anxiety.  Admittedly I do just as much to damage to my artistic expression as any critic might.  When I sit there in front of my computer, my photos are all loaded into Lightroom ready for me to do a little magic, it's amazing this transformation that occurs.  While I'm out there taking pictures I usually feel very much in tune with my surroundings and I can usually feel that connection between the moment that I'm in and my ability to capture that moment.  But once I start viewing my photos the self-loathing and photo bashing begins.  I can't tell you how many photographs I've summarily deleted without giving them hardly a look because I was so convinced they probably sucked.  Certainly not a healthy way to live your life but it's something I've struggle with for as long as I can remember. 

I have no illusions that I'll ever produce something so grand as to make the Pope cry and believe it or not this blog entry isn't a desperate attempt to illicit praise.  Regardless of what someone my think of my photographs it has no bearing on whether or not I pursue photography as an art form.  Hey I'm just opening the kimono into my psyche.  I just wonder if I'll ever overcome this crazy insecurity.  Maybe I won't.  Maybe I should just embrace it because I think this insecurity is what drives me.  It pushes me to do better, to try new things, to reach beyond my grasp.  Like my old high school football days, the beatings I took from Mike, Frank, Andy and Jim just made me want to go back in there and fight more.  My wife and several of my friends are gifted photographers who's work I admire beyond words.  I look at their photos and the first thing I think is, "Wow, dude, you SOOOOO suck compared to them."  But instead of turning in my camera I feel compelled to study their work and seek new ways to be more expressive rather than just being a "point-n-click" guy.

So I guess I'll continue to embrace the struggle because maybe without it I'll lose the passion for my art and more importantly lose my ability to grow.  

Day 282: Yippie ki-yay!

Years ago while visiting a friend in Bozeman, Montana I recall driving around looking at all those spacious farms and ranches and thought how great it would be working as a ranch hand some where.  Getting up early, working all day, checking out the local saloon at night or sitting on your porch watching the sunset.  Man, that kind of "simple" life would be such a welcome relief and certainly more rewarding then the desk job back home.  So Sunday I got my first taste of ranch hand work.  Certainly not easy but it was very gratifying.  Julie is volunteering these days at a ranch that specializes in therapy through the use of horses.  They help special needs children and adults basically through relationship building between the rider and the horse.  Pretty amazing stuff.  I think I'm going to join her on weekends.  My volunteer work will be primarily fix-it, clean-it type stuff but I'll be getting a little "therapy" as well.  Ever since I was a child I've a bit spooked by horses.  They're gorgeous animals but incredibly big and strong and compared to them I'm pretty low on the food chain.  Julie has already been helping me on how to approach them.  It was pretty fun getting up close and personal, scratching their heads, rubbing their ears and patting them on the neck.  I'm pretty sure they were much less impressed with me as I was with them.  I'm really looking forward to getting back out there, mostly to help around the 10 acre property but also to get more comfortable with these amazing beasts.  Who knows, maybe someday I'll be racing around the ranch, half naked, wearing war paint and shooting arrows at the stray cats.  My Indian name will most likely be "Falls From Horse A Lot".