What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?

... the correct answer is...

... the Boss.

My dad is a wise man. My dad is the boss.

He was laid off in 1991. So he became the boss. Those shitty circumstances ended up with him starting his own business because times were tough and jobs were scarce and the economy was lean. So my dad lucked into being the boss.

And sometimes you'd rather be lucky than good.

And now I'm a customer service rep and I offer support to sales reps and retail accounts and private consumers because the help is needed and the job is there and I'm good at what I do and I enjoy it... most of the time.

And I'm not the boss, but I am, too, and I should realize that. Everyday I'm the boss of what I do. And sure there's a boss that I answer to, but everyone has someone they answer to, that doesn't make you any less the boss of your own actions.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I want to be a success. I want to be the boss. I want to be like my dad. I want to be looked up to by my son. I want to be comfortable in the present. I want to look fondly at the past. I want to look optimistically to the future.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I want to be happy. I choose to be happy.

Hm. I'm grown up. Am I what I want to be?

No. And yes. And a million times maybe.

It is, but it isn't.

Hurry up and wait...

This is how it always happens.

I don't post for 6 months... then I post twice in less than an hour trying to make up for lost time.

This is how it always happens.

But it's not what works. It's not the way of the world.

Except it is. Because the world is not exceptional. The world resides in the middle. The world occupies the mediocre. The world is spinning and spinning and time is passing and passing and the world is content with its lowered expectations.

I know what I want to say, but I don't know how to say it.

The people who get ahead don't worry about getting it right. They worry about getting it done. And they're so good at getting it done that it can't help but be right.

Drip, drip, drip. Wise men work like this...

What do you want to be when you grow up?

You should want to be the boss.

We all have ideas. We don't all have the guts to execute those ideas.

This is how it always. Happens.

Hurry up and wait. You're so damn oblivious that you can't even figure out that you're waiting for a train that's already left the station.

It's for Future Me

It's been almost 6 months since I've posted in this blog.

I've been busy. I've been lazy. I've bee preoccupied. I've been lazy.

There is one way to make sure I blog. I just need to remember that it's for "Future Me".

This blog has 9 followers. And I'd be curious to see how many of those people actually read every post. My guess is closer to 0 than 9.

But there is one person who has read all of my posts.

Me.

And there is another person who, every now and then, every once in a while, every blue moon... goes back to read select posts, to relive the moments and thoughts and stimuli that lead to each post.

Future me.

Future me is interested in what past me has to say because future me knows more than past me but not really because past me had the guts to write it down while future me just passively experiences what past me was courageous enough to document.

Read the paragraph again.

Future me is my biggest fan. And my biggest critic. And my closest friend. And my most jealous follower.

I've written about running, about Chase, about getting married, about changing jobs, about writing solo albums, about sports, about the mundane.

And future me eats it up.

And I don't know what it all means. Damn. No one does.

But future me will always be interested in what past me has to say.

Because I'm nostalgic. Because I'm narcissistic. Because if future me can't be a fan of past me then what's the point?

Rachel's asleep. I like watching her sleep. She's beautiful when she sleeps....

Chase is asleep, too. He turns four this year. I think I have memories from when I was four...

I'm going to play guitar tonight. And I'm going to write a song. And it won't be for you. It will be for me. For future me, for past me, for present me.

Damn. I'm a selfish person.

Two Months Later (and notes on a solo album)

And I'm just now checking in...

What's up, internet? How you been? Good? Good! I've been doing okay, too. Well, more than okay. I've been doing really great! What's that, you say? There's not really any actual content in any of my posts? Hmmmm... I would have to agree with you, and yet, I won't. Because there is an audience for everything. And metrics don't lie. I don't have any actual content in my posts...

"I'd like to do lots of stuff, but there never seems to enough time," said anyone and everyone at one point in her life.

I like listing logistical properties of artistic projects I hope to bring into existence.

Solo album.

Recorded in my garage.

With a single microphone up in the storage area of the garage.

Recorded on to and mixed in and with my iPhone.

It would have to be garage rock, by default due to geography.

Three piece?

Bass.

Guitar.

Drums.

Vox.

Concept album?

8-12 songs.

2:30 minutes or less, which bumps the song total to 14-18. No, wait... 10-12. About half an hour would be nice, but I wouldn't cry if it were 34:19.

Extreme focus within the subject matter. A song about the 4th hole at Mountain Meadows golf course. A song about the Expedit shelving unit from Ikea. A song about the bacon wrapped asparagus from Bengal Barbecue in Disneyland.

Take your time, but don't dwell.

Sweet.

He's Old Enough to Just Walk Around the Mall with Me

Chase is almost 3.

Which means a host of things. He has opinions. He's beginning to voice those opinions. He soaks up everything like a sponge... and is able to regurgitate those things with uncanny intelligibility.

And he's able to just chill at the mall with me without making a scene. Just walk through the mall, saying "Hi" to the occasional passerby, holding my hand while walking or rushing 4-5 feet in front of me to demonostrate his independence.

It's awesome. It's scary. It... is going to be a song very, very soon.

OCD just... works for me...

Lots can happen in almost three months...

I start a brand new job with an awesome company on Monday. And I can't think of what to say in this blog because I've forgotten how to write in the past three months...?

Question mark because I'm not sure if that's true or if it's just an excuse.

Excuses are easy. Much easier than taking a good hard look in the mirror and bringing to light your own shortcomings, misgivings, and failures.

OCD, huh...? Maybe. I do eat my burgers in circles...

I just googled "eat burgers in circles" and nothing very interesting popped up. I may or may not have to make my way down to San Diego to fill my belly soon, though.

My double stroke roll is coming along nicely. I guess that's what's happen when you actually practice and don't just rely on natural talent.

I am arrogant. I am humble. I am clueless. I will stumble. But if I can keep my feet underneath my body for another moment or two, I know I can become truly great.

You Don't Get Anywhere by Announcing Your Intentions

Yeah. This blog is a journal of sorts. If you're reading, I thank you. And I despise you because you keep me from being my true self because I seek your approval. I need to be accepted by you. Otherwise there are no repeat visitors, no audience, no purpose to this blog. Which is bullshit because didn't I say that this is a journal? And does a journal depend on any reader other than the writer himself or herself? It shouldn't. And so your weaknesses and deficiencies are exposed...

Blacklisted. A loaded term. You did something worth prohibiting. Worthy of being remembered... but don't do it again.

It's hard to write a post while listening to Black Star. Genuine. Authentic. And really good. Would that I could create art like this.

Don't say. Don't not do.

Circular reasoning. A feeling other than believing. It's true because it is.