Tag: middle class life

you got this

April 25th, 2023

April 25^th, 2023 – 6:38 am

You may not be able to physically remove yourself from a stressful situation, but you can do so mentally. The deep breath trick works. Each breath can back you away from the situation. I like to think of each long inhale as a step back and each long exhale as another step back. Then, when I’m far enough away, I consider the situation, why I’m feeling stress, and how I can navigate the opportunity. Because that’s what the moment is—whatever the moment is. A disagreement. An important test. A car accident. Funeral. A party you don’t want to be at. Opportunity everywhere.

People think that opportunities are always good. Pleasant experiences when a big golden door suddenly opens in the middle of a flowery field. One you just happen upon as you move through your life. This is not true. Also, it’s important to remember that even when people fall ass-backwards into goodness, there’s a chance they’ve made some decisions previously that have led them to an opportunity which has benefited them. Opportunity can be ugly and it’s often worked for.

What I’ve discovered, albeit a bit late in life, is that there is truth to manifesting your destiny. It’s not all sitting and wishing, hoping, and dreaming. You must have some of that, but manifesting your destiny is about creating opportunities, carving out your success and happiness, whatever that may be. And one of the best ways to manifest your good is to step back from stressful situations, analyze them as best you can, and seek the opportunity within that moment. Believe it or not, there’s much more to be had from taking the high road, making good choices, rather than engaging in negativity.

Grace under pressure. Give yourself grace. Patience. Those deep breaths and seconds to collect yourself. When you do, you’re also giving others that same chance. I’m not saying one should always back down from a fight. That is not the case. What I’m saying is make sure you are focusing your energy on the right fights. Those that truly matter. Learn from stressful situations. See them for what they are. And if you remove yourself enough—even if it’s only a few breaths and a couple steps—you’ll likely see that what you’re smack dab in the middle of is a chance to make a decision that will help you level up and grow.

So, here’s to some deep breaths, folks. You got this.

~ KJ
zoom out

April 14th, 2023

April 14^th, 2023 – 6:08 am

Zoom out for perspective. Take that second or two to envision yourself observing the situation you’re in that’s causing frustration, the grief, the worry. Rise, like a ghost—or if you can’t wrap your head around what that might be like, imagine a drone. It’s rising, up and up over the situation. Perhaps, it’s an argument. Maybe it’s a competition. A job interview. Whatever it is, you are feeling stress. But as you move up into the sky, you notice things. At first it is the situation at hand. An office setting. A soccer field. Your very own backyard. And there’s the other person riling you up. What a prick. Not seeing your point. Not listening. Prodding. Or could you be the aggressor? In any case, as you continue your pullback, a straight shot up, you recognize the buildings, wide expanses of green, trees, water, and all the other activity we humans are engaged in. You pause in wonder at all that activity. People going to and from wherever it is they think they must go. Some engaged in happy endeavors, some not. They are stuck in similar situations, feeling the stress of a moment. All of us, together. As you continue your ascent, you breathe easier. You can’t even see yourself anymore. That argument, that disagreement that got your blood boiling, when looked at from above, is pretty inconsequential. By now, you see from horizon to horizon and you feel, once again, the magic of this place. You begin your descent armed with the knowledge that it’s not so bad after all.

~ KJ
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
morning routine

April 3rd, 2023

April 3, 2023 – 6:42 am

Brush teeth. Wash face. Feed cats. Feed dogs. Grind coffee. Start water boil. Empty dishwasher. Play California Dreaming. Let dogs outside. Wait in the dark. Listen to Lake Huron crash the shore. Feel the cool breeze flow around me. Taste moisture in the air. Hope for rain. Not snow. Start thinking about the morning. All mornings. Wonder at routine. Consider change. Certain I’ve done all of this before. In with the dogs. Boiling water over coffee grounds. Wipe countertops. Tidy up living room. Stretch. Pour coffee. And then they come down. Daughter first. Fresh, clean, bright. Gone are colorful dresses, purposely mismatched socks, hair clips and bows. She’s t-shirts and sweats. Long flowing blond hair. She looks like a girl from the late 70s or early 80s. This morning, it’s a Dirty Dancing t-shirt. Wife is next. Glowing complexion. Smiling. Hair up, which means business. We hug, exchange all that we can so early in the day, and she’s off to the den to log in for work. I ask if she wants coffee. Yes. Creamer? A little. I hand it over then head upstairs. My son sleeps in longer than he should, but he’s 17, needs lots of rest, and like his sister, is on the homestretch. School will be over soon. A few months and they’re free. Sunshine, cottage, friends, work. Plenty of time though to be kids, make decisions, and create a path that will or will not afford them the good fortune of a morning routine.

~ 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
winter marriages

March 28th, 2023

March wrapping up. Leading us into the month of showers so we can have flowers in May. Bright spots. The reward for making it through another winter in Northeastern Lower Michigan.

It was fun when I was a kid. We played in the snow until our clothes and boots were sopping wet and our fingers lost feeling. From morning til night, it was indeed, a winter wonderland.

It wasn’t as tough when I was a younger man. I could throw snow like nobody’s business. Never tiring. Even enjoying the act of lifting over and over again. I would set beers on the bumper of my pickup truck. Shoveling, like anything else, went hand-in-hand with drinking.

Today, older and weaker, I shiver at the thought of having to shovel again. I hope it doesn’t snow anymore this year. Not that I shoveled all that much, anyway. Brooke did most of that. I had the easy job—snowblowing.

As always, we divide and conquer. She doesn’t want to mess around with gasoline, choking, priming, and an extension cord, a clogged chute, deflated tires, and broken shear pins. But I don’t mind it. Even with all its peccadillos, the old Huskee still makes quick work of deep snow, and most of the time, the heavy stuff.

After 15 years, I have come to know that machine pretty well. Top off the gas every third use. Twelve pumps of air per tire each outing. Place it fifteen paces away from the outdoor electrical outlet so the extension cord doesn’t hang in the snow. Push the primer eight times. Adjust the choke. Hold the start button three seconds. Move the throttle closer to the bunny than the turtle, unplug from the outlet, and we’re off.

Once we’re at it, there’s no stopping us.

Except for the slushy mounds that city snowplows layer at the end of our driveway.

It’s been a couple of years since I had to replace a shear pin because I have learned our limits. And so, after Brooke has cleared the main sidewalk to the house, the front and back steps and porches, we meet at the end of the driveway to tackle the big mess. Each of us with a shovel in hand.

~ 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
at least for now

March 21st, 2023

March 21, 2023 – 6:38 pm

Last night, at about eight, I had showered, put on PJs and was standing at the top of the staircase. I looked down the hallway toward the L room. I felt a pull to go there. Here, where I am this morning. So that I could write. There was a slight moment of inspiration. The urge. But it was eight. I got lazy. Rather than spend an hour writing—maybe two—I sat on the recliner and watched Saved by the Barn with my wife and kid. Heartwarming show, and it was good to be there with them, coming down from the day, but this morning I’m packed full of whatever it is that creeps in when I don’t write. The type of feeling that makes me mad at the traffic passing by. Silliness, I know. And it’s a punishment, no doubt—this dip in happiness and rise in anxiety—because I’m not doing what I’m supposed to.

I don’t have to publish and earn a living by writing. In fact, I like writing whatever I want whenever I want. But when you don’t rely on an activity, when it isn’t a necessity, that activity can easily be set aside. I know how important it is that I write. That I do it regularly. I’ve had this conversation with myself for years. If I stop equating writing to success and success to writing—if I stop seeing writing as something to show and share rather than something to do and feel—then I will be my best, create the most engaging content, and be happiest.

Writing helps my reasoning. It’s a way to filter out the awfulness. The garbage. It’s also a way to bring to the surface all the beauty that goes unnoticed. Not all of it. Strike that. But beauty, anyway. Little bits and large, sweeping scenes. But I prefer the little bits. Snippets. Letters, lines, paragraphs, short stories. I don’t know that I will write a novel because I don’t have the patience. The only way I can do it is by telling several short stories within the larger story. I’ve been trying that with DEVOTION for years now, but it’s slow going. I’ve got myself stretched in so many directions that the book has taken a backseat. By choice. I’ll pick away at it. Come to it when I feel I should be in it. Otherwise, it is forced. Phony. Work.

Speaking of…it’s nearly seven. I’m already feeling late and behind, so I best be rolling on out into that morning traffic with everyone else that chooses to do something other than what they are meant to do. At least for now.

~ KJ
a last push

March 18th, 2023

March 18^th, 2023 – 7:40 am

Yesterday, it was a morning fresh with 42 degrees, sprinkles, and a big, bulky dark sky promising rain. Heavy drops with the power to melt the rest of the snow, clean us up and get the world greening. Today, it’s 19 degrees. The world’s gone frozen. Snow covers everything. Again.

This last push is the hardest.

Sunshine and hikes. The cottage and boat rides. Evening bonfires and stargazing. It’s there—I feel it. But there are these dismal days to slog through yet. Not that these moments are worthless. This is the time to take stock. What have we been doing? Where are we headed? What are we doing differently today that engages the parts and layers of us that a life of winters can make dormant? Or maybe that’s too much. Afterall, there’s daily life to live and those responsibilities end up taking us to wherever we are expected to be. Dropping kids at school. Sitting in a cubicle. To the store. Paying bills. Feeding and watering and clothing and heating and cleaning up mess after mess after mess. There’s value in all of this—the busyness, playing roles, earning and paying—but is the satisfaction in making ends meet, or is it in the overlap?

Prepare and plan or do nothing at all. Better weather is coming. Brighter days. We’ll be coming out of hibernation soon. Probably should put away the Oreos and Cheez-Its and buy more lettuce and tuna. We’re getting older and slower, but we don’t need to get fatter, do we? Daylight is friendlier lately. Hangs around longer. The couch still calls in the evenings, but the sun is coaxing us to the windows and doors more and more each day. Everything—overall—is warming up. We’ll get out there soon enough with our smiles and movement and good intentions. Yard work, house work, garage work, cottage work, camp work—good, different work that we don’t mind. Even the real work—the pesky day job—becomes easier to swallow.

Time keeps coming and going. Ticks away in silence. Measured by experience. There’s nothing to do to stop it. Our solace is in the cycles that bind us. We’re connected by the air we breathe, water we drink, and the earth we will become. This is not forgotten or wasted upon us. Not for those of that have grown up experiencing the ebb and flow and ups and downs of seasons. We’re waking with the day already on its way to wherever it’s going to take us. Drinking coffee. Eating breakfast. Listening as loved ones rise and stretch to join us. Into the sun and snow for now, but after that, who knows?

~ KJ
March 8, 2022 – 6:25 am

March 8th, 2023

Start early. Get a look at that sky. The stars fuzzier today than they were yesterday. The cold bites deeper. Bones and joints don’t get along as well as they used to. But I stand and wait for the dogs to do their business, one after another. I breathe the morning air, listening to the factory do what it’s always done–provide jobs, sustain families, allow men to piss away paychecks on booze and toys–while it pollutes. The air, sky, water. But that’s how it goes. It is what it is. Insert whatever flip, cliche saying you like. Life just goes on.

We’re all doing this–growing older, feeling the change in mind and body–and I can see why it’s harder on some than others. Essentially, you’re the same kid you’ve always been. The core, I don’t know that it ever changes. And so, it can be hard getting on with the days, doing the simple acts. Not only because they’re more physically demanding, but because I have to change my line of thought. Prioritize. Change the path to endure.

I tend to get too deep early like this. The kids are up. My wife is up. The dogs, they’ve settled into after dog chow mode, and are snoozing. I kinda feel like I’d like to do that too, but I know that laying around with my thoughts isn’t healthy. Days like this it’s important to shake off whatever it is that’s creeping in. The morning traffic–lots of people going places they will regret or hate remembering. The hum of industry–facilitating growth and destruction. The mourning dove perched upon the telephone wire–cooing away the realities of survival, calling out to all that will listen.

~ KJ