and I've battened down all of
the hatches
and I'm sailing too close to
the wind
and at times I've been dead
in the water
and at times I've held fast on
the right tack
at times I've feel her shot
across my bow
as it screamed and it tore
through my decks
and at times I've trimmed
my sails eastward
in pursuit of the leeway lost
to the west
a loose cannon that meters
deep waters
given a wide berth to pummel
the shoals
three sheets to the wind, maybe
four, maybe five
in dead water it is always
sink or swim
and from atop the lofty
crow's nest
yet again I hear the cry
of land-ho!
and I trim to the aft
just to find
the mirage of the sea
once again
and so by the board
all at sea
and sailing toward that
distant horizon
the shimmering sea that
beckons the brave
and equally the cowards
like me
the salt air and a sail steady
is all I can ask
as I search for the source
of this call
a siren in red who gestures
from close quarters
as the crow flies it is
unimaginably far
as the storms whips my sails
thunder clamps down
and the wind is brutally,
caustically fierce
but I dare not set sail for
the safety of home
there is nothing for me
in that lonely port
better to batten down all of
the hatches
better to sail too close to
the wind
and ignore what it is that
I am becoming
ignoring what I might
have been
August Update II
It’s been a super busy month so far – between ridding myself of useless material clutter and watching two of my kids go back to college for another year, it’s been non-stop action!
The band has added a number of new songs, so I’ve had my work cut out for me there as well.
I’m preparing to get my COVID vaccine booster in the next week, and very excited about that!
I also passed my PCEP certification, and am now a Certified Entry-level Python Programmer – so, one test down, two to go!
The road trip to Providence the last two days has been especially fun! As we raced down I-44 and the local NPR affiliate, KWGS, faded from range, I told Ian about an idea I had for writing a golf game in Python, and he immediately grabbed his laptop from the back seat of the rental car and began coding it, with occasional input from me.
When the battery on his laptop died just outside of Rolla, MO, he put it away, then downloaded a moblie Python IDE to his phone and continued working!
The next morning, as we were leaving Columbus, OH, he explained to me the differences between Cartesian coordinates and the polar coordinate system, and how to convert from one to the other using “simple” (his word, not mine) trigonometry functions. He then went on to talk about vector addition – it was a very educational and entertaining morning!
Once we were checked into our room in Providence, he combined what was on his phone and what was on his laptop into one .py file and let me take a swing at it…pun intended
I must say, I think Ian’s golf game has much potential!
August 2021 Update
Got a lot going on, but not much of interest. You know how it goes – work, dealing with the dog days of summer, worrying about the surge in COVID cases. It’s time-consuming, both physically and mentally.
One thing I have started doing is Joshua Fields Millburn’s and Ryan Nicodemus’ 30-Day Challenge. The idea behind this particular game is that, starting on the first of the month, you rid yourself of one material possession. On the 2nd, you get rid of two things. On the 3rd, three. And so on.
Today is August 10th, and so far I’ve gotten rid of:
1st – donated one bag of men’s clothes to Goodwill.
2nd – threw out two old boxes of X-mas decorations.
3rd – donated three books to the library.
4th – donated four pair of gently used shoes to Goodwil.
5th – threw out five boxes of miscellaneous crap from the garage.
6th – donated six books to two different Little Libraries in my neighborhood.
7th – seven old computer cables that I’ve been hoarding for no reason.
8th – eight old phone cases for phones that will never be used again.
9th – nine old phone and laptop boxes that I could never bear to part with previously.
10th – ten ball caps that I will never wear again.
All of this has made a very small dent in the sheer volume of stuff that I have, but every step is a step forward.
Learn more about the 30-Day Challenge/Game by clicking here.
And as always, thanks for reading.
-Steve
The Heart of Theseus
Modern literature and pop culture is rife with references to broken hearts. From Whitney Houston to Shinedown, from Nora Ephron to Rupi Kaur, from New Girl to Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, you can’t turn around without bumping into someone who has survived a broken heart, is surviving one now, or is about to suffer through the debilitation of having their heart ripped out of their chest and stomped on.
And yet, this imagery has never rung true with me. The most glaringly silly example that I can think of is Padme dying of a “broken heart” at the end of Revenge of the Sith, and I’m not the only one who thought this was silly, albeit for different reasons.
The imagery of a broken heart carries with it the idea that something inside of you is broken and in need of fixing, when the opposite is actually true. When someone betrays you or acts in such a way that is contrary to what you were expecting, it is not an indication of some short-coming within yourself. It is in indicator of something missing within them.
Setting aside the fact that your (emotional) heart is located in your head and not your chest, I prefer to think of the heart – that part of you that feels and cares and loves – as an ever-evolving entity that is constantly changing and growing. It is not stagnant; it learns new things, forgets old pains, overcomes previous prejudices, perseveres onward.
When I was young, my mother and step-father tended to punish my sloppy ways by yelling at me or threatening me with a beating with one of my orange Hot Wheels tracks, but occasionally they’d get fed up with trying to correct my behavior, so they’d gather up all of the comic books I’d left lying around and throw them in the burn barrel. My ten-year-old self was traumatized by this betrayal, but it didn’t break my heart. It was an experience I internalized.
When my first marriage ended, I truly felt broken. Not in the “oh-how-will-I-go-on?” sense, but more in the “what’s-wrong-with-me?” sense. I felt I had failed in one of the most basic tasks in life, making a home with a partner. How could I possibly be successful in any other endeavor if I couldn’t do this one simple thing properly? However, I was still able to fully function on a day-to-day basis, so obviously I wasn’t that broken.
Over time, I have come to realize that the heart doesn’t truly break. It takes on more experience, letting old situations go in favor of new ones. My heart is not the same today as it was when I was ten, or thirty. And yet, it’s the exact same heart I’ve always had. How is that even possible?
When something is broken, it doesn’t work any longer. Well, that’s not entirely true – even a broken clock is correct twice a day. But for all intents and purposes, a broken clock is useless for anything more than decorating the wall in the guest bathroom.
The heart, I’ve found, is more resilient than that. With apologies to both John Mayer and Celine Dion, rather than being broken and in need of repair, the heart goes on, continuing to feel and care and love despite all indications to the opposite. And with each new joyous experience, an older, more painful experience is expunged, until one day you feel whole again, and capable of once again giving your heart to someone. Your same old heart, though experience and attrition, has become something new.
That’s been my experience, anyway.
prisoner.
I remain a prisoner
my own jailer
trapped in a tapestry of
my own tastes and
my own desires and
my own self
a self that doesn't exist
I have freedom, to be sure
free to act how I wish
free from constraints
free to think
to act
to believe
but I am still a prisoner
and left to my own devices
my own preconceived
view of right and wrong
of good and bad
of black and white
of shades of gray
I remain imprisoned
victim of my own thoughts
my own fears
my own dreams
prisoner to my own view
absent of clarity
absent of context
chained to my day
while freedom is just a
breath away
I reject the notion that
I can just let go
as hard as I try, my
attempts end in vain
and move forward
for even in the letting go
there is expectation
that does not dissipate
it eats at the fringes of
my restful mind
questioning all
doubting everything
never reaching that
blissful, settled state
that promises relief from
doubt
fear
anger
angst
busy, monkey-mind
won't release its grip
on the banana
whirling around in circles
on to the next stop
when this one is
incomplete
always starting
never finishing.
bed.
awaken to the sound
the gentle swell and release
of the ocean just outside
my window
of the ocean just inside
my phone
smell the coffee brewing
thank god for timers
the scent of vanilla
wafting up the stairs
the scent of cinnamon
filling the house
log in and grimace
so much to do
take a deep breath
but the stress remains
shut the laptop
drink the coffee
randomly chosen mug
I watch the words
resolve to a sentence
and I think
me too, mug, me too -
I'm definitely
going back
to bed
after this.
20820
as I begin the long, slow
slog towards fifty-eight
(and beyond, hopefully)
with a mind that is clear
and a heart that is full
(or at least more clear
than a year ago
and at least more full
than yesterday)
I have learned to not
look back in anger or
resentment or fear or
melancholia or
wistfulness
what happened yesterday
or last week or month or year
is set in stone
unchanging
and I can gain nothing from it
but to learn from it
I have learned to not
worry about the future
adopting a fluid view
of what can be and
what cannot
and so as I start
day two thousand eight hundred
and twenty
I breathe in and note it
and focus on the now that is
foremost in my mind
(at least more so
than a year ago
at least more so
than yesterday)
and let go of the anger and
worry that they lied
to us, for
they promised us jetpacks
and yet I remain grounded
here on earth.
fifty-seven.
one more book
one more drink
one more song
not so much to ask
one more guitar
one more practice
one more gig
not too much to ask
one less argument
one less headache
one less heartache
not so much to ask
one more day
one more walk
one more kiss
not too much to ask
one more trip
around the
sun
with you.
party.
hey, good evening
glad you could make it
can I get you a drink?
let me take your coat and
introduce you around
this is my best friend
Anxiety
she's a bit of a mess
but she means well
usually
this couple over here
Intention and Distraction
are constantly fighting
endless arguments
always at odds
I don't even know why I
invite them to these things
this is my co-worker
Motivation
he's a bit of a talker
so steer clear
unless you have an hour
or a day to waste
I'm not sure where she is,
Peace
I know I invited her
at least I think I did
ah, it doesn't matter
she rarely shows anyway
oh! you'll like these guys
Clarity and Concentration
they spend most of their
time in the kitchen
they like to keep to themselves
but when they pop in
to say 'hi'
you'll remember it
man, this guy, though
Sarcasm
(he thinks he's much cooler
than he actually is)
watch your step around him
he'll piss you off then
wonder why you can't
take a joke
and finally, my new friend
Mindfulness
we're just getting acquainted
and we may hate
each other
or we may be in love
really, it is
too early to tell
anyway, welcome to the party,
the party of my direct experience.
practice.
a blank page
is not the goal
it never was and
it never should have been
what good would
that do? why was that
even a thing?
concentrating on the
rise and the fall, hoping
for the clarity that will
sweep me away in
its beauty and surprise
but its really not like
that, is it?
do I count?
do I note?
equanimity escapes me
as it always does, so
with a tone of
self-compassion
I begin again
striving to do what
I love, but why is it
simultaneously
so easy and so hard?
so difficult such a
simple task,
it can never end
but there is joy in
the enjoyment, in
the attempt, in
the breathing, in
the practice
the recognition is
the attention,
the failure is
the success.
punk.
oh! my literary
existentialism
bordering on despair
my whiny and
strangulated vocals
these towering
synthesizers and
guitars are
my cure
this experimental
new wave of
reggae and ska
is evidence of
my bad religion as
I rise against
the sublime, and
no doubt birth
this clash
my adherence to
the traditional
to the culture that
is my heritage and
is sorely vexed
I will use more words
and say more things
evidence of
my kinks
do I embrace
this division of joy?
can I stomach the
social distortion
of all the talking
heads on my
television?
this is my nirvana,
my jam.
couch.
I left my home
the comfort and serenity
to find the happiness
that had eluded me
for so long
I looked high and low
behind every nook
and every cranny
to find the happiness
that I craved
I traveled from town to town
city to city
country to country
to find the happiness
that had evaded me
for so long
and after I had exhausted
every means at my
disposal
every opportunity
that I thought
might lead to
the answer
I returned
home
only to find it there
as I slumped into
the couch
there between the cushions
where it had fallen
out of my pocket
the night before.
pensiari a caso 