Category: Faith

one in a million

April 8th, 2023

April 8, 2023 – 7:42 am

Late start, but I needed the rest. Not that it was solid, but when moments of sleep came, I took advantage. Slipping away deep enough for my brain to play and charge. I don’t remember where it took me, but I remember birds, eggs—trying to save them. From what, I’m not sure. Impending doom of some sort. This could have happened just prior to waking, cooing in the darkness outside our house, filling that space between wakefulness and dream. Or it could be because my daughter has a dove egg propped up on a small blanket under the desk lamp on her dresser. She and my wife found it on the ground near the bird feeder a week ago. We all know the egg isn’t going to hatch. But we also know that stranger things, all weird and wrapped in beauty, happen every day.

∞

Trees emerge from rocky cliffs.

Flowers spring from rooftops.

Blind women see into souls.

Men without legs walk on water.

Deaf children hear the ground.

∞

But all magic isn’t one in a million. We get so steeped in what’s big and moving that we neglect the smallness that thrums our veins moment by moment.

∞

Tis the season for renewal. Birth. Our chance to shake off the cold, ban the snow, and march headlong to warmer days. Riding backroads with windows open to smell the woods and hear the pop and crunch that gravel makes under manmade metal and rubber. Fishing streams for trout, but watching frogs and crayfish, herons and muskrats instead. Family gatherings at the lake. Boat rides that start hot enough for shorts and tank tops but end with sweatshirts and blankets. Yard games. Bonfires. Food and drink and music and great giant breaths of air. In and out. All day, until we begin to blink with heavy lids. And yawn under starry skies. Just little creatures of wonder getting sleepy as they wait inside their shells for the right moment to hatch.

~ KJ
a dog and his man

April 1st, 2023

April 1^st, 2023 – 5:24 am

At the cottage. Wind howling. Rain pounding. And lightning. An eerie delight so early.

I can’t sleep any longer, not because of the weather—Mother Nature doing what she’s always done, rule this place—but because being here after being gone so long, gets me thinking. A dangerous, yet beautiful activity. So many thoughts come simultaneously that I need to engage as soon as possible so that when the wheels start spinning, they have traction. Focus. Solid ground. Direction. That’s what a man needs when he’s caught up in the negotiations between daylight and dark. So, we rolled out of bed about five.

We, meaning me and my dog, Astro. A Husky mix that’s playful, nervous, inquisitive, and always ON when we’re at home. If he’s not playing with his buddy, Iggy the cat, he’s following, laying on, or playing with his life partner, Spindle—the Buggle, a beagle, pug, and bulldog mix. When they’ve had enough of his companionship, he finds his way to me. Watches me work, never completely resting, and nine times out of ten when I look at him, he has at least one eye open, on me.

Astro came for all of us. My wife, my kids, the other pets. We were meant to meet. I know he’s a dog. An animal. But I’m an animal too, and I understand what it’s like to know where it is you’re supposed to be. That there is a connection between all living creatures and love and friendship is love and friendship no matter what we look like, how we smell, or what language we speak. The bond I feel with Astro is old school. Like one of us was sitting at a fire in the wild one night. Lonely. Struggling to stay warm. Contemplating the secrets that darkness keeps. Looking for hope in the flickering flames. The other was making his way through the forest. Doing what was necessary day and night to stay hydrated and fed. Always on the move. One foot in front of the other, but never sure-footed long enough to rest. Propelled forward by an innate will to survive, or anxiousness.

Neither of us expected or asked for a partner. And I’m not sure which one of us was at the fire and which one was in the woods. But here we are now.

The wind and rain are quiet now. The April Fool’s storm has passed. The cottage’s lights and furnace on generator power. Astro is relaxed. It’s a side of him I don’t see often. Zonked out. Both eyes closed. His head on a pillow on the couch. I’m getting there too—to relaxation. But mine will come much later. For now, there’s work to do.

~ KJ
a slow start to the morning

March 22nd, 2023

The waves. They are back. Not that they were ever really gone. I heard them this morning while standing on the porch waiting for the dogs to stretch, tinkle, and dump. It was a pleasant surprise. So simple. Big water against the shoreline blocks away. The waves took me out of my head—a dangerous and vulnerable place early in the morning—and got me pointed in the right direction.

There is only so much I can do. Is that the truth? Or is that what we tell ourselves to keep comfortable? Seems like it would be easy now to settle into the big fade. Ride out whatever comes my way. Make sure family is happy. Yearn for warmer days. Consider the slower pace that can come with an empty nest. Work away time as clock hands keep turning. Saving for rainy days, or snowy days, or sun.

But the kids are not grown enough to try this world on their own. I’m glad for that. I’d like them here for as long as they’ll have us. And even though my wife and I have plans—travel, hike, read, paint, and write—we know that plans are just words unless they’re put into action. It’s fun to make them, exciting to see them come to fruition, and there is great satisfaction in seeing them through. But is there anything better than having plans? Ideas and hopes. Dreams. A little something to talk about on our walks, at dinner, just before we set ourselves off to sleep.

I’m listening to the sound of waves now. Not the mighty Lake Huron, but ocean waves rushing onto a sandy beach. I do this sometimes because it’s soothing. I bring up YouTube, put on headphones, and let my spirit vacation while the body and brain work. Doing what needs to be done to continue this coming and going, earning and consuming. Waking earlier and earlier each day, eager to get started because I believe that more opportunities are revealed the longer I keep at it. Some mornings start slower than others. I get sidetracked with water, thoughts like waves, but that’s okay.

Here’s to another day of heading in the right direction.

~ KJ
debts of regret

February 11th, 2023

Run through the emotions if they come about. There’s no sense hiding from them, fighting them. I spent a lot of my life pushing feelings into my gut. Letting them ball up there, then trying to drown them with as much alcohol as possible. If you ask me why, I’m not sure. Some say it’s learned behavior. Others, genetic. I’ve heard it’s important to know the beginnings, to identify the whys and how things come to be, but I hear lots of things. Every day. And when you hear so much, when the information is flowing in freely from all sides—this one and the others—it’s not easy to focus on one train of thought, to trace the blood through the veins to find out the true purpose of the heart.

So, now, instead of shutting out information and corralling any feelings associated, I pick and choose what to feel, and that means distilling information. Every zero and one may mean something. I don’t doubt there’s a bigger code to be recognized here, but I cannot understand how they string together to make sense. Not in the big picture. The whole scheme. The grand stage. I focus on the bits I can make sense of and save them up as I go. These bits will make sense one day, when I’m close to my end. I know it.

This is the same for all. We are creating our lives as we live. That’s the only way to do it. One cannot become too weighted down in the debts of regret. It’s futile, doesn’t make sense, and it will only stop you from doing what it is you’re meant to do so that you can create your best path possible.

Some travel easier roads than others, or so it seems. All of this moving and climbing and falling and loving and hating—it is all relative, after all. Measuring yourself against others makes no sense. We are not standardized tests. You are not your father, your mother, your brother, your wife, your kids, your lovers. You are you and you can do it—whatever IT is—and you can do it well, but it’s a hell of a lot easier to be your best when you don’t have a chip on your shoulder, have saddled yourself with all that’s gone wrong, and aren’t busy drinking yourself to death.

Life is simple, no matter how hard it gets. It boils down to this—make better choices. When that takes root, clarity comes. Slowly, but it does. Be prepared though, because with clarity comes the reckoning. An honest reveal, and often that can be hard to take, especially if you get past blaming others, balling up your feelings, and drinking yourself away. From IT.

~ KJ
get out and stay out

September 16th, 2022

It’s hard to open a mind that doesn’t want to be open. Same thing goes for hearts and souls. A lot of good people move through life unfulfilled because they’re unwilling to change their narrative. They’ve established a persona, a way people expect them to be, so they fear that being anything else will chip away at their armor, change perspective, and force them to be more than they are.

And they’re right.

Changing course can be challenging. Small movements and little steps can lead you to a better place or take you deeper into the rut. And one rut leads to another. Negativity breeds negativity. Repeating bad habits becomes routine. It doesn’t take long for people to close up, hole themselves away, and blame others for their lot in life. When that happens, it becomes extremely difficult to help them see life in a different light. If alcohol is involved, offering a hand to help someone pry themselves open is nearly impossible.

I knew I wanted to quit drinking. The difficult part was doing it. Not because I couldn’t live without drinking. Not because quitting would change friendships and activities but because drinking was a habit that fit a persona I created when I was younger. Being the drinker, the “fun” guy, the one that could drink no matter what, was what I believed I needed to get me through. I believed drinking helped me cope, made me relax, and helped me be me. I felt right when drinking. And so, to quit that—the ability to pour a glass and get right—was a bit scary.

Giving up a way of life isn’t easy. The day I stopped drinking alcohol wasn’t any different than any other. It came and went without fanfare. It was a private decision. One made on my own in the basement of our old house while on lunch break. All the little steps I had taken over 25 years, forward, backward, and sideways, had led me to the point where change was necessary. The time spent drinking was wasteful and selfish. I made horrible mistakes. Did nefarious things. None of which I would have done had I been sober. Drinking changed my brain. Oh, I thought there were good times, but I wonder now if those good times would have been better without a drink.

I get more out of the days now than I ever have. My ability to think and reason has improved. I have higher highs now, and I do not experience those low lows. If you’re a serious drinker, if you’re really good at it like I was, you know what I mean. Those lovely, sinking, emotional lows when it’s you against the world. Nobody cares. They just don’t get it. Everything has so much meaning but is meaningless at the same time. And you drink more and more because it’s easier to keep going on the path you’re on than to pull back, think of others, and stop.

But you know that’s exactly what you need to do.

Breaking the cycle, getting out and staying out, that’s the hard part. But once you make that break, you’re free. Sure, you have to deal with feelings. You have to begin thinking for yourself because the bottle’s not there to flavor your decision-making. But all it takes is a step. Then another, and another. And it’s not 12 steps. It’s more than that. Much bigger than that. And when you start heading in the right direction, open-minded with nothing to lose and everything to gain, you will be amazed at how productive, strong, and good you are.

~ KJ
9:30 am, Saturday Morning

August 6th, 2022

A morning alone at the cottage. No breakfast. Only coffee and water and the buzzing of the 40-year-old refrigerator fueling me as I head straightaway into two years of sobriety, fourteen years of marriage, and another autumn that leads to months of cold, stories unfinished, travels not taken, amends not made.

The water will run. Light will rise. All of it continues or ends but does not wait. I know I don’t have another second, minute, hour, or day, that nothing is mine. And as the traffic rolls North and South on US23—people engaged in gears and motion, the in-between moments of life—I’m aware that the lake will ripple, rock, then settle to glass with or without my touch. The big cedars will get as big as they can get with or without my daytime dreams from the hammock they hold. And everything the grass and air and flowers have heard from me, they will keep.

Individual importance lies in our unimportance. This realization betters one’s chances for peace. Fighting, posturing, siding, and pretending—your wanting to belong to something bigger—is wasted effort, unless, of course, you recognize the wastefulness. If you look carefully to find the spinning wheels beneath people’s motives, actions, and desires, it becomes easy to stop, disconnect, take a breath and peel away the layers you’ve created year after year after year.

Everything aside from the moment I’m in is extra. There are plans. Lists. Hopes. But none of that is guaranteed. There is only the now. Writing while looking out the big window that shows me the green and the blue, and the red swing, and the firepit with tinder and wood piled pyramid style ready and waiting for the next easy evening when we’re all here. At our cottage. Whomever we are. Whenever we are. Unplugged, in the dark, under the stars.

~ KJ
i like it

September 21st, 2021

photo by Josh Redd (@joshredd)

There’s danger in getting too far ahead. In thought. In action. In words. Even if you know something deep in your core, sometimes it’s best to wait to make mention of it.

Time may not exist, but it’s in control.

Desire for the physical is fading. There’s an appeal from within for a slower pace. Walks. Books. Learning. It could be the change of seasons. Could be a change of life. Whatever it is, I’m here to welcome it. There’s no sense fighting much anymore. Most fighting is due to a lack of understanding. And, I lived many years holed up in my own mind. Wrapped up in my own feelings. Concentrating on what I thought. What I wanted. What I didn’t want. All of it was good, even if it was bad, because it’s led me to this part of life.

I like it.

I woke up thinking about all I could do. All I’m not doing. All I want to do. But then, I took comfort in knowing that I will do as I do. What’s important now is the now. Yes, there’s a beautiful future. Certainly, there is the past—all it’s wandering, the bright spots, the darkness. But what matters most is today.

Turning on the lights. Making coffee. Letting the dogs outside. Letting the dogs inside. Talking to the cats. And getting here. To my friends. The keys.

~ KJ
next

August 25th, 2021

The moon’s still out. High above Eddie’s place across the street. I saw it while putting cat shit in the garbage can. This morning, I don’t feel I’m missing out on—or missing—anything. Life is fine. There’s a comfortable lull of contentedness wrapping up all around me this morning. I don’t feel guilty about it, either.

We’ve come a long way. And now, it’s time to rest. Just a little while. To consider those steps that led us here and plan some steps forward. You see, I have been living all this while, but for many reasons—some yet to be discovered—I just didn’t realize it. It is about taking life one day at a time. Moment by moment, actually. And if you can get yourself to a place of less stress internally, the external world is much easier to experience.

I didn’t stray too far. Just enough to know when it was time to start coming back. And now that I’m feeling good and confident, without the cockiness that comes from insecurity, I believe we’ll go places and have experiences that we were meant to have.

Oh, the steps. Missteps. The energy poured into efforts out of fear. I can see that now. Looking back. And deep down I knew that fear was the driver back then. But life is funny. It takes time. Ups and downs. The right combination to get you to a place like this. Standing at the window, sipping coffee, looking at the road, the sky, and wondering—where to next?

~ KJ
our big trip

August 15th, 2021

Some mornings I want to wake slowly. Watch myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth and give myself the benefit of the doubt. Some forgiveness.

Overall, we’ve done well. We’re not finished by any means. There’s still so much more living to do. But there are days—like this Summer Sunday morning, feeling closer to Autumn than Spring—that we’re thankful, calm. Peaceful and happy because we’re just fine with the being we’ve become.

Learning hasn’t been easy. For years, I forced myself into the hardest path. Rarely taking advice. Choosing to find my own way, rather than take directions from someone claiming to know what was going to happen. Sure, they got here too—to their mornings of silent recognition. Satisfaction. A willingness to let the day fall where it may. Do nothing. Do something. Do everything. It’s hard to tell, right now. Too early in the morning and the coffee hasn’t hit the bloodstream.

In any case, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t chosen my path. I do regret bad decisions. The parts I played that negatively affected others. But I’m learning to accept those decisions, realize they are part of me, and I’m getting better at not getting hung up on regret. People that don’t rise, that never really reach their potential, spend too much time beating themselves up for moments that have passed. There’s always a way toward salvation. A way to accept yourself. To live with your demons. But you have to cut yourself some slack.

We have skeletons in our closets. Secrets we’ll take to the grave. We shape our story each day with every moment. Action. Non-action. Love. Hate. Fun. Boredom. Generosity. Greed. Acts of kindness. Fights. The key is to focus on the good. Look for the light.

Like a fuzzy caterpillar on the sidewalk as you enjoy a sunshine morning stroll with your wife. A tiny thing of intricacy. Doing whatever it does. Thirty feet from the big lake. In a moment of time and space. Sharing existence and energy on this—our big trip—round and round the sun.

~ KJ
crossing the road

August 30th, 2020

Early Sunday morning. A car stops on State Street because a flock of geese crosses the road. They are doing what they’ve been doing for millions of years. Moving from Point A to Point B. They’ve experienced disease, drought, famine, and legitimate predators—not the weekend gun-jockeys that pop them off in parks during three-day hunts sanctioned by the city—and they have survived. But this driver doesn’t give a shit. Agitated, they honk their horn.

They’ve got someplace important to be.

McDonald’s for breakfast.

The Marathon station for smokes.

Their weekly dose of righteousness.

When the oncoming lane clears, the driver swerves over the center line and races down the street.

I get it. We have lives to live. Roles to fulfill and expectations to meet. There’s pressure, real or not, that we feel on a daily basis. And when we don’t address it, it builds. And it can get ugly. We get irritated. We put up walls. Or worse yet, we reach out to other frustrated fucks and commiserate. Strengthening negativity and feeding the ignorance that grows as a result of blindly following like-mindedness.

Pick your party.

Your flavor.

Your team.

We all want to be heard. But nobody wants to listen.

Not to one another. Not to the moment.

And especially not to the goddamned geese.

~ K.J.