Tag: recovery

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
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
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
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
a strange moment in the morning

January 14th, 2023

Starry morning skies appear when you need them. Like this morning. Standing on the back porch, holding the leash as the dogs—one at a time—pee, poop, and sniff around. Those bright spots up there are necessary. Reminders. Perspective. Especially when the days here are so cold and dark for so long.

Plenty to do but I don’t want plans. I’m ready to ride the next bull run. Ready for the movie theater to be built so the family can take in entertainment outside the house. Overpriced popcorn. Annoying guests. Ready to take my real estate license exam. Not sure I’ll pass it, but taking the test is the only way to know. Ready to take a ride to the cottage with Dad. Or to Rogers City with Mom. To Tawas with Brooke and the kids. I have to stay busy, not get caught up in these dark lulls.

I used to handle the darkness better. Now, it seems to call to me more often. Misses me, I guess. I spent so much time with it, it now wonders what I’ve been up to. The dark seeps in back doors and the narrowest of cracks. Even a sealed up, remodel with two furnaces can’t beat that. So, I’m stuck between plans and laziness and desire and sleep.

Days are like this. So are nights. And the moments between.

There was the big dipper. Two bright stars holding steady over the funeral home. A hunk of white moon. Then a plane or satellite moving in a straight line. On a mission. Moving people and information and everything that’s inside of me, the dogs, the plans, the successes, failures early mornings, dog piss and dog shit and tepid coffee—a batch leftover from yesterday’s busy afternoon—to wherever all of us need to go. A piece of you there. A piece of me here. All of us part of this big energy, but ourselves, as well.

I want to talk without making a sound. It can be done, you know. But before I can talk, I need to listen. Sharpen my senses. Get past the ringing in my ears, the discomfort in my stomach—there’s something brewing down there—and feel without feeling. Hear without hearing. See without seeing. We’re getting close to this magic. Better yet, we’re getting closer to understanding the magic. The magic, you see, is always here. Up in the stars. In your wife’s laugh. Your kids’ retelling of their day at school. The way a stranger mouths words as they pass you on the sidewalk. Not at you. Not to you. Just them, away in their own part of this energy, their world that they can control and maintain—or try to—walking, one foot in front of the other on as straight a path as possible on another cold, dark day. Whispering to themselves.

~ KJ
winter swimming

December 8th, 2022

Words for the taking.

Always waiting for

me to reach

to breach

believe.

Beyond comfort.

I dive and

trust my ability

to breathe

underwater

or hold air

for safekeeping

until my blood and brain

need it most.

Seconds are all I need

to see

hidden secrets.

Locked.

Buried so deep

it hurts to dig and

find them.

What do I do when I get there?

Breath all bubbled out of me,

facing the fear?

Do I turn back

with the weight

of the locked door

heavier than ever

and try for the surface

once more?

Or do I break the lock

and open the door,

hoping there is

enough

air there

to sustain me?

~ KJ
to the kids, from Dad

November 10th, 2022

There’s only so much you can do. People aren’t going to like you. They aren’t going to understand you. They will question what you’re doing, what you’re thinking about, what you have done, and what you haven’t done. When they can’t find anything else about you that makes them unhappy, they will make something up. So, there does come a point—especially if you know you’re on the part of the path you’re supposed to be on—that you have to say fuck you, fuck off, or go fuck yourself.

Profanity. Terrible, I know. But that about sums it up this morning.

I take advice silently and through observation. The best teachers are those not trying to teach. For me, the most valuable life lessons have come from those that say the least. It’s important to listen and watch, then listen and watch again. Do this enough, you get good at it. As your observation skills improve, it becomes easier to determine which opportunities are worthy of pursuit. This applies to employment, hobbies, relationships, and daily encounters. Clearly, there are many in this world that observe, but they only pay attention to what affects them directly. This, of course, is a mistake. These people rarely have the self-awareness to function properly, and they tend to base their interactions with others solely on how situations affect and have affected them. And these people love to talk about it—whatever it is, usually themselves—and they always have advice. They know how things should be done. They know what they refer to as the Truth. Don’t believe them.

We run into these people often and these situations—ones that leave you feeling misunderstood and frustrated—occur more often than we like to admit. We suffer through unfulfilling relationships, plug away at jobs we hate, and simmer under the surface because we are unhappy doing whatever we feel we must do. But the thing is, we have choices.

You have a choice to do or not do something. When you think there isn’t an opportunity for choice, you’re not thinking hard enough. Creative solutions, workarounds, can bring loads of relief and happiness, but these usually take compromise, self-reflection, and time. So, one must be patient if one cannot make the immediate change one wishes to see. There’s always a solution on some range of the scale that can bring satisfaction. Little wins are important. Also, taking time to remove yourself from a situation, even for a second, to consider how you will or will not react within a moment can make the difference between growth and stagnation. It’s surprising how strong you become when you begin to reason your way through reactions.

I react today by writing. Thinking. Taking a step back to observe myself, where I sit, and what it is I’m contributing and not contributing to the world. It’s important to have these restless mornings. Realizing there’s only so much I can do. That there will always be people disappointed by what I do or don’t do. But that’s what makes being on this path fun and makes me know that I’m doing things right. It’s good to be questioned. To have people push back, disagree, and not believe in you. It’s challenging, sure, but worthwhile because growth can only come when you understand you have a lot to learn.

~ Dad
our new home

November 5th, 2022

This is a good sleeping house. I say this because I’ve been sleeping better. My family has been sleeping better. The pets seem to have adjusted nicely too. I enjoy walking around the house. It’s not that big, but there’s a life path—a circle—that connects the study, the kitchen, living room, and dining room. There are windows, big ones, in all these rooms except the kitchen, so walking this path provides different pictures of the world each time. There’s frequent traffic and pedestrians, which I thought would drive me crazy, but that I enjoy. I feel that I’m in the middle of something, an activity, and it’s good for the spirit.

I sat in Earl’s rocking chair today under the light of my wife’s Grandma’s antique lamp and read Hallelujah Anyway by Anne Lamott. I’ve been picking away at that book for a couple years now. It’s short, 176 pages, but it’s not a read-through-it-right-away book. Not for me. It’s poetic. Prosey. So, I engage when the mood strikes me. I think I’d get along with Anne. Maybe not. She has spunk, is flawed, is thoughtful—maybe too thoughtful—and would be an excellent resource. A jaded oracle. A once wild Aunt that offers advice without saying a word. I could learn how to write better from her, as well. Which I suppose I’m doing by reading her work. In Earl’s rocking chair. That’s the name of the man who died several years ago. He lived a block and a half from our old house. His family had an estate sale. I bought his rocking chair, but never really used it. Now, I know why. It was meant for this house.

Writing, as much of an old friend and comfort that it is, is indeed work. And work needs doing. I haven’t been doing as much as I ought to. Now is the time when I should be most prolific. I’ve been around a while, have some experience under my belt, understand what works and doesn’t—for the most part—when it comes to life and writing. What needs to happen now is that I get over my laziness. This can only be done by setting aside excuses. I disguise my laziness and excuses by saying I choose to prioritize and devote energy to more important things, but watching Love is Blind with my wife at night while eating Doritos doesn’t require much energy. Or thought, for that matter.

When it comes to shows like that, I do enjoy seeing people make mistakes. Not because I want them to suffer, but because the mistakes they make—saying awful things, selfishness, portraying an image of themselves rather than their real selves gives them great opportunity to rise up and be better, but they don’t. I also like to see how relationships start, how they end, the intricacies of personal development, how people miss obvious moments for breakthroughs, but most of all, how people are unaware of the quiet importance of incremental growth.

Change can happen overnight, but slow and steady does win the race. Sitting with my wife for an hour at night, watching other couples screw things up, makes me thankful for what we have. I’m not sure what it is, exactly—the IT—but we have it, and it works, and I don’t think it’s something that can be labeled. I don’t want our marriage to be boiled down to one word or phrase because that isn’t who we are. We, like many other couples navigating this life, have a system that works. We are quiet about it. We do our own thing. We like it.

This new old house has us sleeping better. Feeling good. We’re on our path—a circle—that we know starts and ends in the same spot. There are windows along the way, places where we can stop and watch the world, and the world can stop and watch us. There’s frequent traffic and activity, inside and out, and I enjoy it because I feel that we’re all sharing this middle of something, connected, and our spirit grows.

~ KJ