The Grand Purge

My greatest fear in life is being non-essential.  Unimportant.  Valueless in the lives of the people I care about.  I've been doing a tremendous amount of thinking about this lately and I've come to the epiphanous realization that I fear these things because I've felt these things.  Many times, from different people I care about.  Especially in the last few months.

No one reads this blog so I'm perfectly safe in announcing to the non-world that I am getting divorced.  I move out Monday the 12th and will be "officially" separated until the paperwork processes.  To prepare for the logistical change I've begun to purge myself of unneeded and unwanted material things.  As I prepare for a new beginning I realize that I don't want clutter.  I don't want things that crowd and distract from my life.  I want to be in an environment that fosters clean, efficient, powerful growth and self-improvement.  I'm finding myself in an ironically similar place emotionally, specifically with relationships and friendships.

I had a memorable experience years ago during a parent-teacher conference for my middle child who was then in first grade.  He has always been a bit of a spaz so I didn't know what to expect.  He was smart.  Just...out there.  A lot like me.  But the main focus of the meeting was on his social talents.  His teacher called him a "bucket filler"... a term I'd not yet heard.

The idea is that everyone has an invisible bucket that carries their positive thoughts and feelings.  The beautiful things in life.  Some people have a bucket filled to the brim.  Others have buckets that need some work.  Bucket fillers walk through life, adding positivity to the world around them.  By smiling, paying compliments, showing love, and helping people in need, we fill others' buckets.  However, there are also those that are Bucket Dippers.  These are people that may not have much in their bucket and choose to fill theirs by taking from others' buckets.  They dip their imaginary ladles and remove positivity from others' lives.  Unkind words, selfish acts, bullying, cheating, and being dishonest.  This is how school children fill and dip from buckets.

Adults are no different.  We carry buckets with us.  I try my best to be a bucket filler.  I think, on the whole, I do a decent job at it.  I certainly know I can do better.  I also know that I have chosen to bring bucket dippers into my life.  People that have chosen to take from my bucket without returning anything to it.  Or at least taking far more than they return.

I am too resolved toward happiness and change to continue monkeying around with bucket dippers.  And for me it's become the smaller things.  I have lost patience and understanding for people that don't value me the way I value them.  This process of divorce has been brutal.  I've seen special people in my life change drastically toward me.  And it's hard.  It hurts.  I've lost sleep.  I've cried.  I've worried.  I've doubted myself.

A very close friend and I were recently talking about "the game."  The game of life and friendships and relationships.  He made a comment that "if you choose not to play the game, you choose to be lonely."  I believed that.  For a time.  But now, after a few weeks, I disagree.  I don't have to play SHIT.  And I won't necessarily be lonely.  Because the only thing worse than being alone is being with people that make you feel lonely.  I will choose solitude over loneliness all...day...long, because I operate very well alone.  But I fall to complete shit when I'm lonely.

This close friend also said that when he met me he initially believed I get taken advantage of because I'm weak.  Last week he said he was wrong.  I get taken advantage of because I'm a genuinely good guy that pushes for harmony and happiness for others.  That made me feel really good.  But it also flipped a switch.  I don't want to be taken for granted.  I want to feel valued.  I want to feel essential.  I have let my fear of being unimportant in the lives of others cloud my vision and make me vulnerable.  And so today I begin the grand purge.  

There is no excuse for taking others for granted.  For not putting forth small efforts.  Return texts.  Initiate something.  Compliment people.  Smile.  Get uncomfortable to make others feel good.  Recognize kindness and return it.  Let someone know they are fun, or talented, or special.  Show appreciation.  It doesn't take much.  It's a conscious choice.  All it really takes is some effort and a little time.  

If you dip from my bucket without filling it back up, I have no use for you.  You are non-essential.  You take and don't give.  You are taking me for granted and I won't have it anymore.  I have friends all over this country that have been essential to me during my life that now fit this category.  It makes me sad, but distancing myself is now necessary.  It has to stop.  I can't keep filling buckets anymore, just to make people feel good.  I'm scaling back.

I'm taking my bucket and moving on.

Creature of Habits

I'm a creature of habits.  This is very different from being a creature of "habit", mind you.  That just implies you enjoy a comfort zone in life.  You like the same restaurants, the same types of movies, the same daily routine.  You don't stretch outside of this comfort zone often because you feel safe in these familiar places.  But no, unfortunately, I am not one of these.  I am a creature of actual habits.  Those often unwanted little compulsions that you feel helpless against.

I've battled habits for as long as I can remember.  The first I can remember had to do with my eyes.  I would constantly open them as wide as possible.  There was something about the air hitting the whole eyeball that kept me doing it.  I've been a chronic nail-biter.  I've dealt with facial ticks of various kinds.  I crack my knuckles.  I flick my big toes against their neighbors anytime I'm barefoot and bored.  I've compulsively abused food at night while the world slept.  I'm talking full meals here.  I'd always felt helpless against these awful, terrible habits.  Until 2010, when I chose to stop biting my nails.

I had just lost a ridiculous amount of weight.  Like 50 lbs.  And it wasn't even hard.  I just started watching my calorie intake and the fat melted from my body.  No exercise.  Just an exertion of will over food.  I was on a high and thought, "Hey...I don't like these hangnails.  I think I'll stop biting my nails."  And I did.  It wasn't even a challenge.  I just...stopped.

Naturally, like many other well-intentioned food warriors, I fell off the wagon and gained every pound back +20.  But I never started chewing my fingernails again.  That one was conquered.  It had to have been a 25-year habit and I just chose to end it.

I'm starting to learn that the vast majority of things that happen in life are the results of choices.  Some things we can't control.  Others we can.  I can't control the weather.  I can't control time.  I can't control people.  But I can control the way I act, react, prepare, and process them all.  I can't change them.  But I have full control of how I allow them to change me.

I have decided to change many things.  I'm making choices to improve myself physically, mentally, and emotionally.  I have seen immense change in my physical self through diet and exercise, and this is just over the past couple of weeks.  I am continuously searching for ways to improve my emotional and mental state.  These are admittedly harder, but they tie directly with the success I am seeing with my determination to get healthy and fit.

I refuse to allow anything or anyone else to control me.  I've been lost in the fog.  I've hoarded fear.  I've ostriched.  I've battled the darkness alone and afraid.  And through it all I realize, more strongly than ever, that I chose every one of them.

I chose them.  I chose them.  I chose them.

I have fallen in love with the feeling I get from overcoming the awful shit that bogs me down and the habits that feel out of my control.  I have one very difficult nervous habit that I am committing to eradicate right now.  I hate the term "nervous" because this habit is ever-present...not just when I'm feeling nervous or anxious.

I have an eye twitch that I actively battle every single day.  I have to focus to not do it.  It affects my eyebrows, eyelids, and eyeballs.  It's about balance and pressure and airflow and if I lose focus, my entire occular area goes apeshit.  Sometimes I notice that people are no longer looking in my eyes. They are looking at them.  It has to make people feel uncomfortable.  I'm over it.  I'm fixing it.  I swear, if I can conquer this thing that has plagued my face for my entire adult life, I can conquer anything at all.

I'm choosing happiness, freedom, and power.  Starting with my eyes...

The Best Way Out

A good friend to my family passed away last week.  He was just 36 years old, though I remember him as the delightfully quirky teenage kid that could wrap his feet behind his head, thread Oral-B through his schnozz and floss his sinus cavities, and give my kid brother a notion of a challenge at Mario Tennis on N64.  Oh, and he taught me how to make napalm.  I knew he was peculiar.  I loved it.  He fascinated me.  I also knew he was teased for being different.  In addition to being beautifully odd he was also thin and gangly and not remotely athletic.  He and my youngest sister had a special friendship.  They adored one another because they both identified as misfits or outcasts.  Although misfit for very different reasons, they found support in one another.  It was always platonic, though I think he wanted it to be different.  There just wasn't anything there for the other party.  I had no idea he suffered from severe mental illness.  Crippling Bi-polar Disorder.  It plagued him, even though he was a successful attorney with his own law practice.  Eventually it grew too strong for him and he ended his life.

I am so sad.  Why does it seem like depression and mental illness only claim the lives of the eclectic, artistic, imaginative, and unique among us?  It's never the successful business professional in the news for cashing it in.  Why Robin Williams?  Why not Trump?

I'm quite familiar with the darkness that can claim an imaginative brain.  I've experienced it.  I've taken on demons.  I've fought shadows.  I've battled the worst parts of myself.  I've been to the brink and looked over the edge and ultimately decided to stay on the ground.  My brink was in a CVS parking lot in 2015.  I was that low and I don't have any diagnosable illnesses outside of some treatable depression and anxiety.  I can't imagine how hard it was for my friend to have soldiered on for as long as he did.  I am sad and I feel it is tragic.  But I understand.  It's a way out.  A foolproof way to not feel pain, ever again.

I had two friends end their lives when I was in my teens and early twenties.  I still think about them from time to time.

What I'm about to say is in no way a commentary on what these friends of mine did, or on the actions of those who choose to end their lives.  I am a huge proponent of individual thought and personal choice and it is not my place to criticize or question the decisions of others.  I respected them then and I respect them now.  I just want to talk about the ugliness I've seen and how I have found, to date, ways to go on.

Robert Frost once wrote "The best way out is always through."  That simple idea carries immense power.  I know from personal experience that there are ways out that aren't necessarily through.  You can go around.  You can walk away.  You can avoid.  Or you can ostrich.  But I can promise that the best way to get out of anything is to push through it.

There were two albums that I give credit to for helping me through my own personal low: "I See A Darkness" by Bonnie Prince Billy and "Carrie and Lowell" by Sufjan Stevens.  Neither of these records are fun.  They are both dark, emotional, and RAW.  I remember being questioned about why I would go to such dark music when I was already in such a dark place.  Why not some Beach Boys or, God forbid, MOTAB?  The best way to disperse darkness is to shine light on it, right?

I was concurrently listening to a podcast called "The Hilarious World of Depression" where well-known comedians, actors, and artists share their own personal experiences battling depression.  The very first episode addressed the counter-productive effect of positive, happy music on depression.  Every person experiencing depression feels alone and misunderstood.  When someone in that state listens to happy music, they just see one more person that doesn't "get it."  Yet when you hear some dark, sad, melancholy music with visceral lyrics, it feels like there is someone else sitting next to you at the edge of the abyss.  Someone who relates to how you feel.  Someone that experienced it and was able to create a beautiful piece of art from it.  It's a way through the depression.  Through the pain.  It's not avoiding it with distracting pop music.

I'm currently still pushing through.  Sometimes it's too damn hard and I look for alternatives.  Easier paths.  Smooth road.  Happy trails.  But for me, right now, it's all about through.  I'm going to the gym for the first time in my life.  I'm watching nutrition and staying active every day.  This is how you fight through obesity.  It's not easy, but it's the best possible way.  No pills.  No fasts.  Just massive adjustments to life.  And those are NOT easy to make.  I've ignored them for years, even though I know they're there.

I'm so sorry for my friend and his family.  I'm sad that he had to fight such a curse through his life.  But I'm happy his pain is over.  And I'm grateful to have had the chance to experience his beautiful soul.

Octopodes and The Ostrich

Did you know that the proper plural for octopus is "octopuses"?  At least that's the most widely accepted plural.  Technically, the word "octopus" comes from the GREEK word "oktopus" and the true plural would be "octopodes."  Like awk-TAW-poh-deez.  Which brings a mental image of an eight-armed gladiator or a pimped-out cephalopod holla'ing "awktawpohDEEZ NUTZ!"

Other fun facts about animals.  Did you know that you can't get warts from touching a toad?  Or that a mother bird won't abandon her chicks if a human touches them?  Or, my personal favorite, that penguins don't fall backward when they look up at airplanes?!  Last, and most relevant to me, ostriches don't really bury their heads in the ground to escape or hide from danger.  It's a total myth.  They do bury their eggs in the sand and peek in now and then to check on their progeny, but they never actually jam their heads into the ground for safety.

This last one blew my mind.  I've long-identified with the ostrich of old.  In fact I've patterned my approach to life's difficulties after its clearly effective yet apparently false strategy.  Just shut your eyes real tight and wait a while and the problem disappears.  It's like magic.  And it works for everything.

Anytime a difficult conversation or conflict comes on, don't say anything you really mean or feel.  Just apologize and agree with everything the other party says.  Cut yourself off when you are about to say something honest and real.  Bite your tongue and nod.

If there is a bill that has to be paid or a project to be done with a looming deadline, just don't think about it.  There are so many more positive things you can put your mind to!  Like TV.  Or FOOD.  Coincidentally, if you don't want to clean the kitchen or do the dishes...then don't!  Just shut your eyes tight and pretend it's clean.  If you wait long enough it will magically happen!  Same thing with yard work and house cleaning.  Just close your brain and wait.

You don't really need to return rented videos or library books.  Just hold onto them.  Eventually the phone calls stop and nobody will bother you again.

You don't actually have to register for the draft.  What the hell is the point of that?  The army is obviously not for me so I'll just blow it off.

If I don't want my parents to see my report card I'll just hide it in the closet.  POOF!  Problem gone.

Right?

DISCLAIMER:  If you are a fellow ostricher and happy to be so, read no further.  Spoilers ahead!  Minds are fixin' to blow.  Ready?

The kitchen doesn't actually clean itself!  If you wait long enough, someone more responsible than you comes up behind you and cleans it.  And likely resents you for it.  By that time the alfredo sauce has cemented itself to the bottom of the pot and needs a blowtorch and chisel to come off.  There is no force on earth that can get Raisin Bran flakes to detatch from a bowl if it sits long enough.  And grass doesn't cut itself.  It just grows and grows until it chokes itself out and dies.

When people stop calling about a bill it's not because they don't want your money anymore.  It's because they've shut your account down and you're at their mercy.  Good luck using that VISA that is 120 days past due.  Now the financial special forces are onto your ass and your credit is fooked for life.

Blockbuster didn't forget you owe them a rental return.  FUN FACT: In the "olden days", people had to travel to "video stores" to rent movies instead of paying the $15 to buy them.  You would pay money to borrow a movie for three days, then return it when you were done!  Or if you failed to return it you could simply buy it.  For $49.

Mom will find your report card and you'll be grounded for the remaining two months of summer because your grades sucked and you hid them.  

Hypothetical Situation:  Let's say it's 1989 and you have a school paper to write on a famous person from history.  You go to a public library and they give you a card that allows you to "check out" a book called, oh...let's say "Joe Louis: The Brown Bomber".  You get this book for two weeks.  You read it and write your paper and get an A!  Now you just need to return the book.  But no one is forcing you.  You didn't pay any deposit so what's the point?  Way too much effort here.  Just forget about it and pretend it doesn't exist and you'll never have to think about it again.  Flash Forward to 2004 and you want to go to the library to check out CDs to illegally copy by the dozens but you can't because you've still got to return The Brown Bomber and your card is frozen.  You can buy the long-forgotten book for its current value that has tripled over time, or you can invent an elaborate story about how your identity was stolen and someone else named Peter Tyler Pearson checked out The Brown Bomber in 1989.  The latter totally worked.

Oh, and it turns out that registering for Selective Service, aka "The Draft" wasn't optional after all.  Good luck getting any kind of federal loan or assistance if you failed to register.  I've never been through more hoops for anything in my life.

Bottom line, DON'T OSTRICH.  It is painful.  There is no sense in not just doing shit when it needs to get done.  I don't think I was lazy.  I think I just didn't care.  There wasn't any real-time accountability.  And it is the absolute worst practice imaginable for communication and relationships.  Say what you mean.  Speak what you need.  Hold your ground.  Know yourself and respect yourself enough to insist on your right to feel and think and want things.  Be perfect in your speech.

I am new to this concept.  Truth and authenticity at the cost of comfortable environment is scary.  But I believe it's crucial to a happy, healthy life.  I can't just sit back and pretend my body and mind don't need work.  They won't fix themselves.  I have to actually do something about it.  The concept of doing important things now or being straightforward and strong in life may seem so simple for non-ostriches.  But my avian brethren get it.  It feels complex and difficult and scary and, frankly, sometimes impossible.  But it's not.  Difficult?  Sure.  Scary?  Yes.  But it's not complex and it's not impossible.

It Gets Easier

I can come off as elitist.  Especially when it comes to film and music.  And sometimes television.  I embrace this snobbery and I actively look for new tunes, flicks, and shows to experience.  The one place I’ve never really gone when it comes to entertainment is in the animated stuff.  I have never seen a single episode of South Park, Family Guy, American Dad, Futurama, etc.  I avoid anime like the plague.  Those weeaboo scare the bajeezus out of me.  I’ve done some Simpsons in the past and I laughed like an idiot, so there’s no real reason I should avoid such highly-rated, universally-loved programs.

While cruising Reddit I came across an interesting post in r/getmotivated that referenced a current animated TV program called “Bojack Horseman.”  I thought the post was clever and I decided to give the show a try.  I love Will Arnett’s humor so I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed.  It is hilarious, cringy, and bizarre...just as I’d expected.  What I did NOT expect, however, is the poignant insight into serious life issues like anxiety, depression, abandonment, usefulness, and self-worth.

Bojack is not a “horseman” in the traditional sense of the word.  He’s not a man on a horse.  You’ll not see him participating in the Olympic Modern Pentathalon anytime soon.  Bojack is actually an anthropomorphic horse that stands on two legs and speaks english.  He is a horse...man.

In the 1990s, Bojack was a wildly popular television star.  The lead character in the network hit “Horsin’ Around.”  During his hayday (best pun ever?), Bojack lived it up.  Parties.  Women.  Booze.  Constant attention and fame.  And the love of a media-crazed world.  But now, 25 years later, Bojack struggles.  He tries to maintain an outward appearance of bravado and panache, but in reality he is quite sad.  He feels abandoned by the fans that once adored him.  He struggles to maintain friendships.  And he really struggles with self-worth.

I can identify with Bojack.  I think on one of thousands of levels, we all can.  Everyone knows what it’s like to be disappointed and sad.  I’m sure I'm not alone in having felt old or ugly or fat.

A scene from the Season 2 finale of Bojack Horseman hit me like a freight train.  Bojack is unhappy with his physical form and has decided to start exercising.  So he goes out for a run.  He is struggling.  It’s hard.  “Oh God, lungs on fire...running is terrible.  Everything is the worst.”  After a short period of time he can’t go any farther and collapses on the ground, exhausted.  As he’s pleading “Oh my God, Oh my God” through tight-shut eyes, a random character called “Jogging Baboon” appears over him and delivers this incredible bit of insight:

THIS IS IT.  This is the secret to everything in life.  I’m convinced of it.  It applies not just to physical exercise, but to every other difficult aspect in life.  I’ve been trying guided meditation.  It’s rough.  I have a hard time focusing and relaxing. But it’ll get easier.  I just have to do it every day.  I’ve been struggling with balancing nutrition intervals.  But it’ll get easier.  I just have to commit to it...every day.  When my thoughts take me places that I don’t like, I have to just remember that pulling them back in WILL get easier.  I have to just commit to doing it every day.  That's the hard part.  But it will get easier.  I am investing in myself.  I am rewiring my perspective.  I am re-evaluating and reframing relationships.  I am relentlessly pursuing happiness and freedom.  And all of these things take WORK.  Tiny steps that need constant attention and the dedication to do them every day.  That’s the hard part.  But it’ll get easier.  And once it becomes EASY, I’ll be right where I want to be. I'm documenting my progress here.

I have a feeling this life lesson from a talking, animated, jogging baboon is going to change my life.  Help finds a way to find you.  Sometimes from the most creative of places.

The Fog

I've been having an out-of-body experience lately.  As if an unseen hypnotist snapped his fingers and brought me out of a murky trance.  I strain to recall faint details and vague emotions from a strange time.  As time passes it becomes painfully clear that I was the hypnotist.  The trance was self-imposed.  And it had been going on for a very, very long time.  I call it The Fog.

I resent The Fog.  It's full of ethereal apparitions that are negative versions of myself.  And there are thousands of them.  They represent shame, fear, laziness, sorrow, anger, helplessness, hopelessness, cowardice, and an overwhelming sense of weakness.  I realize not all of the past is negative.  But I've sifted the good from the bad and isolated The Fog for what it is.  And I am determined to lift it.  Pierce it.  Forget it.

Recovery from extended hypnosis has significant challenges.  Old habits die hard.  In The Fog, every version of myself struggled with crippling co-dependence.  I've had that issue for a really long time.  Feels like forever.  The target of my co-dependence has shifted to different people or things during my trance, but it was ever-present.  I also became apathetic and found ways to assign blame.  In The Fog, I am a wonderful victim.  I was vapid.  I was hollow.  I was Lester.

Ironically I wrote a post called Don't Be A Lester years ago during my parents' divorce.  The whole idea was to grab life by the nutsack and live it.  Don't hoard wishes.  Use them.  In an odd, creatively reframed way, I became Lester myself:

Lester by Shel Silverstein

Lester was given a magic wish

By the goblin who lives in the banyan tree, 

And with his wish he wished for two more wishes—

So now instead of just one wish, he cleverly had three. 

And with each one of these

He simply wished for three more wishes, 

Which gave him three old wishes, plus nine new. 

And with each of these twelve

He slyly wished for three more wishes. 

Which added up to forty-six—or is it fifty-two? 

Well anyway, he used each wish

To wish for wishes ‘til he had

Five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four. 

And then he spread them on the ground

And skipped and sang, and then sat down 

And wished for more. 

And more… And more… They multiplied

While other people smiled and cried

And loved and reached and touched and felt. 

Lester sat amid his wealth

Stacked mountain-high like stacks of gold. 

Sat and counted—and grew old. 

And then one Thursday night they found him

Dead—with his wishes piled around him. 

And they counted the lot and found that not

A single one was missing. 

All shiny and new—here, take a few

And think of Lester as you do. 

In a world of apples and kisses and shoes

He wasted his wishes on wishing. 

I didn't hoard wishes.  I hoarded fear.  Instead of apples and kisses and shoes I chose anxiety, depression, and sadness.  Yes...I chose to be sad.  I didn't know it at the time.  The Fog does that to you.  Like a funhouse mirror, it bends and contorts you into something strange and odd...but you don't feel any actual change.  And over time, you just accept your reflection for what it is.  I missed so much.  And I chose it.

With each passing new day I am feeling stronger.  More independent. The Fog is thinning.  Light pierces it every so often.  It won't be gone overnight, but I know what has to be done.  I have to accept the fact that I was never a victim of anyone but myself.  I don't need anyone to facilitate my happiness.  I chose to be weak and sad.  And it is just as easy to choose to be strong and happy.  There are honest-to-god, scientifically proven ways to achieve happiness.  If you don't like your body and the way you physically feel, there is a solution.  If you don't like the way you feel emotionally, there are tools.  If you don't like lying face down in the muck, then get on your goddamn feet.  I am perfectly confident that I will be happy, and that decision is made independently of anyone or anything but ME.

I have a plan.  I have a partner and mentor.  I am joining Fitness Connection today after work.  I am eating healthy and watching my calories.  I am cutting way back on adult beverage consumption.  I am playing piano and reading books.  I started an open Instagram account to document and track my metamorphosis, @bastardo_magnifico.  I find accountability when I involve others.  And yes... I shall be one magnificent bastard.  And soon.

As for Tylester, he's still in The Fog, protecting his hoard of miserable things.  And he can keep 'em.  He looks a lot like me.  But he's not me.  His eyes are dark and sunken.  Mine are bright.  And getting brighter every day.

Invictus

BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

Out of the night that covers me, 

      Black as the pit from pole to pole, 

I thank whatever gods may be 

      For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 

      I have not winced nor cried aloud. 

Under the bludgeonings of chance 

      My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 

      Looms but the Horror of the shade, 

And yet the menace of the years 

      Finds and shall find me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate, 

      How charged with punishments the scroll, 

I am the master of my fate, 

      I am the captain of my soul. 

Release the Inner Rockstar!

I've always believed that every man is a rockstar, fighting to pretend to be something else.  In my case I fight to be normal.  A father and a provider and a functioning, taxpaying citizen.  It's a farce, but at least I have the self-awareness to admit it.  Semi-publicly.

For the past several years I've had an incurable case of instrument ADD.  I keep buying new instruments, mainly stringed, with the full intent on becoming the next Tommy Emmanuel, Vic Wooten, David Grisman, Jake Shimabukuro, or Bela Fleck.  The reality is that I'll never get past the Sloth-Love-Chunk phase of any of these instruments.  But I can totally pretend.

That said, I'm somewhat musical.  I can play a mean piana'.  I dabble in a few other things.  Just enough to fill my minstrel bucket.  I've been musically putting my littles to bed for years now.  I did the storybook thing and it was fun, but singing them to sleep is an experience unlike any other.  I just love it.

I've lately had this bee in my bonnet to make sure these songs and experiences are documented.  So I record them.  Some video.  Some audio.  And lately I found the coolest little app that allows me to record multiple tracks of a song on video.  I've had a lot of fun with it.  And I think my kids will one day cherish them.

I'm no singer.  Period.  I can carry a tune, but the bucket has its work cut out for it.  Yet I am entirely over my apprehension and self doubt.  I'm 40 and grizzled and proud to be me.  So check me out.  I have so many ideas swirling for future songs.  It's just too fun.

The New Gig

I started a new job last week as a sales associate for a company called MXToolbox.  I’m digging it.  I’ve been talking to a number of friends and family that are asking how the “new gig is going” and I’m learning pretty quickly that everyone has a preconceived notion of what a sales person at a company called “MXToolbox” might be selling.  One dear friend and former colleague thought I was selling actual tool boxes.  A buddy of mine asked if I was selling tools door to door.  He figured I was a SnapOn competitor.  Allow me to clarify for all just exactly what MXToolbox does.

MXToolbox is a suite of email monitoring and diagnostic tools that utilize technologies like SPF, DMARC, and DKIM to identify blacklists (i.e. SORBS) and improve email deliverability and reputation.  Clear as MUD?  I get it.  I’m just now getting to a point where I understand these technical concepts.  Here's an analogy that should add clarity;

You are a bank teller.  You are the first person there in the morning and you need to get into the vault right away.  In order to get there you have to pass a number of security measures.  First, you need a key to the door.  Once you get inside the building you will need to disable the alarm system by keying in a code of some kind.  Once that’s done you’ll need to get to use another key to get to the vault door and FINALLY enter in the combination to get into the vault to access your cash.  You can't just walk into the vault and take the money.  The bank would be vulnerable to all sorts of up-to-no-good folk.

Each of these security measures has two sides.  First, the door locks are expecting very specific keys.  If there are any discrepancies to those keys, the locks won’t respond and you’re stuck outside.  The alarm system is expecting a very specific code.  Anything other than the correct code will set off an alarm and law enforcement will make sure you don’t get to that vault.  And finally, the vault itself is waiting for the exact combination to bypass its ironclad security to get to the cash. 

As it turns out, email has a similar process.  The recipient is expecting very specific security items from the sender.  If they don't line up, your email can get stuck outside.

Let’s say you run a small business.  Lawn Care.  You’ve determined the absolute best way to communicate with your customers and market to your prospects is through email.  In order for you to get messages from your outbox to your target’s inbox, you have to pass a number of security measures to get it there.  First, the recipient’s email provider is going to require a key (a whole bunch of numbers and characters) that verifies you are who you say you are.  It’s checking to make sure you aren’t an imposter.  Then it’s going to check again by comparing your email’s digital signature (more numbers and characters) to make sure it looks the same.  Once it’s determined you are authentic and in alignment, it will allow your email to pass through.  If it fails, the email may never be delivered or end up in your Spam folder, then likely turn up on one of over 100 email blacklists.  That’s bad.  Once you are on a blacklist, it’s hard to get off.

The whole purpose of this is to battle punk-ass companies and nefarious bastards  
that are phishing and spoofing (pretending to be someone they aren’t) and from sending awful emails with instructions on how to add inches to your johnson.  By the way, what's the deal with one of my favorite bands on the planet having to compete with such a negative modern term?!

But what if you aren't one of those evil entities?  You’re legit but your email isn't getting to your customers or it's automatically going to Spam?  What do you do?  You could maybe call an expensive IT consultant to diagnose and fix.  Or you could go to MXToolbox.com.

My company provides tools that will alert you if your email authentication is failing or you have somehow ended up on a blacklist.  It’s that simple.  It monitors your business’ email reputation.  Sometimes it’s just a simple mistake on your end that needs to be tweaked.  To go back to the bank analogy, maybe your key to the door is bent.  Or the button on the alarm keypad is sticking.  MXToolbox diagnostic tools will be able to tell you exactly what the problem is so you can fix it.

And that’s it.  We don’t fix anything.  We just help you figure out what's broken.  Most companies live and die by their email capabilities.  If you can’t get your information to your targets your business will die.

I feel fortunate to have found this very cool company full of innovative SMART people.  I’m surrounded by engineers and developers.  It’s a really neat environment where people focus on who you are and what you can do and couldn’t care less about how you look.  There is no air of superiority anywhere in the building that I have seen so far.  And we have the most nectar breakfast tacos in Austin every Thursday morning and beers at the bar next door every Thursday night.  I’m really happy to be there.

If you are a business owner or if your business has issues with email deliverability and blacklisting, check us out.  More and more companies are really beefing up their email security.  In fact, Homeland Security recently put out a Binding Operational Directive  that requires all government agencies to set email authentication policies.  If you do business with the government at all, you'd better get compliant.  Business should be a-boomin'.

Choosing My Path

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a problem with authority.  It’s not that I mind rules, which I think are important, with one caveat…I have to buy in to the rule.  I have to believe in it.  A double yellow line might as well be a brick wall dividing lanes in the road.  I’ll never cross them.  But I’ll smuggle food and beverages of all types into a theater.  See, I respect the traffic rule.  I believe in it.  But I think $9 for popcorn that costs me $.50 to pop and smuggle is insulting.  I respect dress codes until they are enforced by authoritative d-bags, then I’ll push the envelope as hard as I can.  I just freaking hate being told what to do.

I grew up in the Latter Day Saint faith.  I don’t consider myself Mormon anymore.  I’ve debated whether or not to share my faith journey on some public level.  I’ve never really been one to publicly riff on my personal beliefs in any detail..  I don’t generally like social media debates.  They tend to be self-serving and rarely to the point.  But for some reason I feel that giving my faith journey life through writing will somehow complete it.  Or at least be an integral part in my continuing life saga.  And I partly want to repay those whose own stories have strengthened me personally.

I don’t remember being able to comfortably testify of the truthfulness of any religious principle.  I’m confident God, or something god-like, exists.  It’s the only thing that currently makes sense in my mind.  But beyond that I just don’t know.  And I really don’t care.  This doesn’t mean I haven’t testified of the truthfulness of LDS doctrine.  I certainly have.  But it always felt like it was a duty and not a self-guided action.  I chose to serve a mission.  I had life experiences that led me there.  I’m forever grateful for the mission experience.  But even there, surrounded by strangers, I never fully knew that what I was testifying of was actually true.  I’m embarrassed by this.  I’m embarrassed that I didn’t have the guts to accept my own self-awareness as reality.  And I’m embarrassed that I misled people by promising them fact when I didn’t really know.  But I was young.  My brain hadn’t fully formed yet.  And I was doing the best I could.  I was doing what everyone else around me was doing so passionately.  It was play ball or go home.  I chose to play.

I’ve come to understand that the most talented liars believe their own lies.  They believe they aren’t actually lying because they have forced their minds to be OK with untruth.  It’s some fundamental rationalization that I believe truly imaginative or hyper-focused humans can’t control.  It’s basic instinct.  Emotional survival. 

I started to become cognoscente of my own untruth shortly after my move to Austin.  I really liked the church here.  It felt far more real than any Utah ward environment I’d been in, with the exception of that beloved West Jordan ward.  People thought differently out here and were more accepting of fringe ideas and even faith crises.  I found through conversation that there were others like me that were starting to recognize the motions they were going through.  Robotic tradition.  I remember playing piano in primary and thinking “these kids won't think for themselves because we are implanting their thoughts and beliefs here and now.” 

I didn’t know how to confront it.  Where do I start?  This is scary territory.  The LDS faith is not easily abandoned and leaving has “eternal consequences” not just for you but for your family as well.  I wasn’t comfortable accepting terms like “fell away” when it came to my faith journey.  I wasn’t falling from anything.  I was finally moving forward.  My subconscious mind still hadn’t grown the balls to admit serious, basic doctrinal issues and church history that I secretly hated.  It went to the easy things.  Disgusting inexcusable polygamy.  Shameful barring of the blacks from the priesthood.  Aggressive action against gay marriage.  And finally the use of shame and guilt to manipulate young people into towing the moral line as interpreted by the church.  I took my four issues to the bishop in 2011.

That bishop is an amazing man.  We met frequently.  Weekly in his office.  We read from the scriptures.  We prayed.  I read and prayed on my own as well.  He assigned study topics that we later discussed.  And it was this bishop that helped me see that my core issues weren’t polygamy, priesthood racism, gay marriage, or shame.  My core issues were whether or not there was a GOD.  If Jesus was real.  If Joseph Smith was a hero or a cad.  My mind's ear heard the record scratch and we course corrected toward basic gospel principles.

We moved to the Dallas area in 2013.  What a soulless place that was.  The only bright spots of the move were our neighbors, the schools, and the bishop.  I continued conversations with this bishop almost immediately.  He’d come grab me out of whatever class we were in and we’d chill in his office.  He’d hang his suit coat up and sit in a normal chair.  No behind-the-desk positioning.  Just two dudes talking casually about existential stuff.  I kept praying.  I’d stopped reading scriptures by this point outside of family scripture time.  For 18 months we talked.  Worked through some insanely difficult personal issues and I never once felt judged or patronized by him.  What a great guy.

We moved back to Austin at the end of 2014 and immediately started working with another bishop.  Same issues, mixed in with personal and family difficulties.  I don’t envy that job.  I admire them for taking the job and doing their best.  I was called to teach the 14 and 15-year-old youth.  There were 26 of them in one class.  My “team teacher” hardly ever showed so I handled that mob on my own.  There were some great kids in there.  And there were three or four that will end up in prison because they suck as humans.  I don't care if that's unfair because they're young.  They're horrible people already.  As time passed I found myself less and less comfortable teaching gospel principles.  The pre-existence, resurrection(s), millennium, judgment, and kingdom placement just sounded so foreign and preposterous to me.  I’d been rationalizing teaching the youth from a “curriculum” that wasn’t my own.  I didn’t have to actually testify of anything, right?  I just had to deliver a curriculum to the class.  Should be easy.  Yet after several months I could no longer teach that class in good conscience so I asked to be released.  Concurrently I had experience with people that met the criteria for exaltation, i.e. ordinances, but proved to be wholly disgusting, vile, black-hearted people.  And I finally vocalized my #1 hang-up with Mormonism...the concept of a "checklist God."  I know too many incredible, giving, loving, beautiful people that hold different, myriad beliefs.  I can't imagine an eternity where they are barred from entry to God's presence because they failed to be baptized by the right guy, marry in the right building, and belong to the right church.  Yet people that have filthy, repulsive souls that manage to check those boxes while hiding behind facades of service and commitment get in.  Nope.  Not in my world.  If that's heaven then give me HELL.

I had a couple very close friends that were transitioning or had transitioned out of the church that were recommending resources for people like me.  This was the first time I’d heard of any “essays” or a “CES Letter” or “Mormon Stories.”  But at my core I was still resistant to any kind of authority steering me in any direction that I wasn’t choosing for myself.  My whole life I was told to only read certain things or accept certain ideas.  I wasn’t going to let any other agenda dictate the future of my mind and soul.  So I stuck to the things that I knew.  I tested the claims of the LDS church.  I put Moroni’s Promise to the test (which I’d shared countless times in the mission field) and you know what I got?  Nothing.  SILENCE.  It wasn’t because I didn’t study hard enough.  Or pray long enough.  It was because there was nothing on the other side confirming anything to me.  Period.  And at this point I decided to “leave” the church.

My wife and I talked about it for dozens of hours.  We discussed it with our therapist.  And finally came to a joint conclusion that leaving was the only authentic choice to make.  We gathered the kids and told them about my journey and my decision.  They each reacted differently.  There were tears from some and instant acceptance from others.  But at the end of the conversation, they all threw their arms around me and told me how much they loved me and that I was the BEST DAD EVER.

Navigating the transition has been hard at times and weird always.  All of a sudden there were rules that I’d subscribed to and, on some level, “bought in on” my entire life.  And magically they were no longer there.  I could drink bourbon and beer.  I could wear black undies.  I could shop on Sunday.  And it was all initially weird.  But Sherri was a rockstar and the kids were outstanding.  We navigated it all the best we could and we continue to do so.

I am proud of the way I transitioned.  I used my own brain and my own soul to put church practices to the test and came away confident in my decision.  With the exception of a handful of months, I was fully worthy to go to the temple.  I’m not proud of the time when I wasn’t, but I am proud that I ended in good standing.  My daughter turned eight during the middle of this journey.  I didn’t know how my journey was going to end with the church so, after discussing at length with the bishop and people I trust and admire, I decided to baptize her myself.  A temple recommend was needed to confirm her.  I was temple worthy but didn’t hold a recommend…and didn’t want one.  I wasn’t comfortable interviewing to enter the temple so spiritually conflicted, so I arranged to have her uncle fly in and confirm her.  And I’m proud of that.  I am happy that I didn’t let emotionally difficult scenarios influence my authenticity.  Instead I talked to my daughter as frankly and honestly as possible and she was totally fine.  She was ecstatic to have Uncle Derall come out and confirm her.

People I have loved for years have left the church.  One of my favorite mission companions on the planet was excommunicated for refusing to stop posting his views on same sex policy to social media that conflicted with official church stances.  His was the first Mormon Stories episode I watched.  I slowly started to inform myself with the church essays, CES Letter, and personal accounts of others that have transitioned.  I’m happy I waited.  My spark would have ignited into a brushfire if I’d gone there early on and I wouldn’t have so thoroughly tried.  Now they are simply supporting materials that validate some of my fundamental struggles.  What the church labeled as “anti-Mormon” literature is largely just information and opinion that differs from core teachings and doctrine.  There’s certainly some inflammatory and ugly stuff out there, which I categorically avoid.  But there’s also some incredibly intelligent, well-researched information.

I’m not angry at the church.  Some social and cultural policies drive me bat-shit crazy, but I don’t take it personally.  I’m not picketing conference or tongue-slapping church leadership.  I can genuinely look back on aspects of church membership fondly.  The community, for the most part, has been unreal.  I fully support my children being brought up in the church.  If they choose that path then I will support them and wish them happiness.  I sincerely hope they will examine their beliefs early in life instead of waiting until they are 33 years old and terrified, then choose whatever path works for them.  I still go to primary programs and church functions and have dear friends that are all in.  Two of my closest, most respected and intelligent friends are true believers.  I don’t think anything less of them for buying in and they don’t think less of me for choosing my own way.  Life is a series of decisions.  We all do the best we can with the information and instincts we have.

So what now?  I don’t know.  I don’t really care.  I’m happier for sure.  I’m in no rush to replace a lifelong religion with a new one.  I have work to do on myself.  Physical, emotional, maybe even spiritual.  I believe in The Cosmos.  It reciprocates what you put into it.  I believe in kindness and love and full acceptance of others.  And I have to believe that whatever God exists will appreciate that, smile, and welcome me home.  Or maybe blackness.  Either way I’m good.