"I'm gonna be a happy idiot and struggle for the legal tender..."

"Never continue in a job you don't enjoy. If you're happy in what you're doing, you'll like yourself, you'll have inner peace. And if you have that, along with physical health, you will have had more success than you could possibly have imagined." - Johnny Carson

There were a lot of things I loved about teaching. Being able to share my knowledge and wisdom, not just about music, but about life and success and growing up and a million other things, is an incredibly rewarding opportunity. By the time I left, there were just too many things about the job that were not only unsatisfying, but incredibly disheartening. The climate of the American public education system has changed a great deal in the past 15 years. The amount of misplaced accountability has skyrocketed. Society is amazingly critical of teachers. They are underpaid, overworked, and generally maligned for doing an extremely difficult job day after day with inadequate resources and uncooperative clients. Music teachers, in particular, are considered to be an even lower class of contributors to society. When I told people what I taught, their reply was invariably, "Oh, so you're not a real teacher." Even teacher look down on music teachers. The stress of the job is phenomenal, especially with the lack of a support system.

"Midway upon the journey of my life,
I found myself in a dark wood,
where the right way was lost."
- Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

So it was that I left my career of 14 years as a high school music educator and spent some time wandering in Dante's woods. I rediscovered my dream of being a writer. This quote from my first post on this blog seemed so apt when I included then, and seems even more so now. I have no idea where this path will emerge from the woods, or even when. The trees press around me and make it seem as though I may never see the sun without the filter of their branches, for that is what a dark time in our life is like, seeing the sun through a filter of thick branches. I know that it still shines, for today I entered a bit of a clearing.

"Don't waste life in doubts and fears; spend yourself on the work before you, well assured that the right performance of this hour's duties will be the best preparation for the hours and ages that will follow it." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today was the first day of work at my new job. This is not a career, mind you, it is but a way of keeping roof overhead and sustaining my physical self, so that my mental self has the freedom to create. I asked a few people when I first embarked on this journey if it was possible for a person's main occupation and their career to be two different things. Most people did not comprehend the possibility. Several firmly told me that it could not be so. I believed then, and still believe today, that it can be true. My career is "writer" but my job at this time is "retail media specialist."

"And I want to thank you for caring about my job, really." - Zack, Employee of the Month

I would like to thank all of my friends and readers who took the time to send me happy thoughts and positive vibes, all of those who said prayers on my behalf, all of those who truly cared about how I would fare in this transition, and still do. It is appreciated more than you know.

"You see, what we're actually trying to do here is, we're trying to get a feel for how people spend their day at work... so, if you would, would you walk us through a typical day, for you?" - Bob Slydell, Office Space

I started my work day at about 1:00 this afternoon by learning the finer points of the software and hardware used to complete transactions. The P.O.S. terminal (no, it means point of sale) is the central conduit for everything from clocking in and out to checking for release dates on the internet and ringing up purchases. When I last worked in retail back in the late 1980's, I was using a "simple" cash register (so simple that nobody else in the hardware store I was working in at the time really knew how to use most of its functions... I programmed it and taught everyone else how to use it). That bore only an ancestral resemblance to this computer terminal.

I look at it this way. When I was much younger, I was involved in music as a performer. I played music for the enjoyment of others. As I grew older, I became involved in music as a teacher. I taught people to play music for the enjoyment of others. Now, I am involved in music as a vendor. I sell people music that they can listen to for their enjoyment. It is really like a circle. We sell CD's, DVD's, some sheet music, and things like mp3, CD, and DVD players and such. I get to work directly with people who are looking for some entertainment to brighten their day. I get the chance to share my knowledge and excitement about music and movies with these people. I get to talk to them. I even got to talk about the Mets today to a guy who came in wearing a David Wright jersey. I have a direct impact on people almost every moment of the day, much like I did when teaching. The big difference is that if they don't like what I recommend, or the way in which I present it, I don't get called into my supervisor's office because mommy or daddy visited him to complain that I didn't explain the product well enough, or that I spent more time with some customers than with others. The difference in the level of responsibility was vast and liberating. If I screw up, it does not "destroy" lives (we know that sometimes teenagers lives are "destroyed" by the smallest things). I am not directly responsible for the fragile self-image of a hundred other people simultaneously. At this point in my life, that is refreshing.

I think it must be the ghost of Cory's suicide haunting me. That event, when a former student took his own life because he did not find the rest of the world as accepting as my band program, has changed my life forever. I can never escape the responsibility I felt and to some extent still feel. I don't blame myself. I know I could not have prevented it. I know I couldn't save everyone. I just couldn't let that happen again on my watch. I saved some people who were extremely close to taking the same steps to end their unhappiness and dissatisfaction with life, but it took its toll on me. Now I must be the student and learn to reconnect with myself. I must observe the variety of people who will come through my store each and every day and learn all I can from watching them and interacting with them. I will not have a direct impact, but I will affect them in small ways... and I will watch.

"Life is like a mop. Sometimes life gets full of dirt and crud and hairballs and things and you gotta clean it out. You gotta stick it in here and rinse it off and start all over again. And sometimes life sticks to the floor so much that a mop, a mop, it's not good enough. You gotta get down there with like a toothbrush, you know, and you gotta really scrub 'cause you gotta get it off. But if that doesn't work, you can't give up. You gotta stand right up. You gotta run to a window and say, 'These floors are dirty as hell, and I'm not gonna take it any more!'" - Stanley Spadowski, UHF

For now, I learn the routine. I learn the procedure, the system, the rules of the game. At times today, things just felt strange. I was never unhappy. I just felt out of place at times. I felt like this was a diversion, and eventually I would go back to my old life. I think that feeling is normal immediately after any big change. It's like when you take ice skates or catcher's gear off and you still feel as if you are wearing them for a while afterward. It's going to take time. I have to come to terms with my new reality.

I will say that at the end of the day, my younger co-worker was exhausted and couldn't wait for the time to pass until we could close the store and he could go relax. Both of my co-workers were astounded by my lack of a need to leave the sales floor and my constantly being able to straighten stock and engage with customers without seeming to tire. To be honest, I am physically tired. My legs are sore. The difference between this and how I felt at the end of a day of teaching was this. At the end of a day of marching band, I was physically and mentally drained. I had to make thousands of split second decisions every minute, affecting the well being of a hundred other people. I had to monitor the heat, check for clouds that may contain lightning, scan the kids for signs of heat exhaustion or dehydration, evaluated hundreds of points of reference for musical and physical (marching) performance at all times. I had to supervise, monitor and adjust, track behavior and progress, encourage and motivate, discipline and praise. I had to coordinate millions of variables mentally at all times simultaneously. Talk about multi-tasking! At the end of a day of concert or jazz band, I was physically fine, but mentally drained from all of those mental calculations. At the end of my work day today, I was mentally fresh, but physically tired.

For me, physical tiredness, aching in the muscles and such, takes much less of a toll on my well-being. Due to my old injuries and some chronic pain I deal with every day, I am used to letting physical pain roll off of me. I am sore, but I am not tired. I am physically strong, even without working out regularly (my students were always amazed by my physical strength and loved to challenge me to arm wrestling after concert clean-up was finished, thinking I would be worn-out from carrying heavy equipment and conducting for an hour... few ever beat me). I can handle this. I am sure that there will be mentally taxing days. I know that I will come home frazzled at times, but so far I feel that I am in a good place, where my talents in working with others will be maximized, my knowledge of movies and music will be utilized, and my wisdom and experience will grow and develop. My dream is to be a writer. I write the human experience.

"The work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives and the dreams shall never die." - Edward Kennedy

It is my turn to be the student. The entire world is my teacher. There are so many different kinds of people in this world and, being in the heart of a tourist "mecca," our store sees visitors from all parts of it.

Welcome to my store. What kinds of music are you looking for? What types of movies do you like? I will be there, at your service, every day that I am called to be. Just know that I am watching... and learning.

"I'm going to pack my lunch in the morning
And go to work each day
And when the evening rolls around
I'll go on home and lay my body down
And when the morning light comes streaming in
I'll get up and do it again."
- Jackson Browne, The Pretender

"I'm doin' it for old time's sake..."

(title quote: Beach Boys, Somewhere Near Japan)

"Running down around the towns along the shore
When I was sixteen and on my own
No, I couldn't tell you what the hell those brakes were for
I was just trying to hear my song."
- Jackson Browne, Barricades of Heaven

My brother graduated from high school in June of 1980, right around the time my father was eligible for retirement after serving 25 years with the Glen Rock police department. Ever since my parents were newlyweds, their dream had been to move south. Shortly after they fell in love with each other, they fell in love with Myrtle Beach. They drove south any opportunity they could get. They never came on an airplane. My father vowed never to fly again after an airplane he was on during his time with the army lost an engine in the air. They always drove.

For a few years we stopped coming to Myrtle Beach so often. We stopped spending large chunks of our summers and every week that school was out on vacation in the land of the palmetto tree. I didn't realize at the time that my parents were saving money for the move. Saving money was something they didn't do often. My dad has always been the type who loves instant gratification. At least I come by it honestly.

“My life is like a stroll on the beach... as near to the edge as I can go.” - Henry David Thoreau

After attending my brother's high school graduation and my father's retirement ceremony, we were soon to embark for South Carolina on a more permanent basis. My father drove down ahead of us, with my grandmother, in his conversion van that he and a few friends had spent months building out of an old appliance delivery van my dad was given in exchange for helping with deliveries during the past 20 years. They converted it in the warehouse of the grocery store where my father worked when he wasn't wearing blue. Now it was to serve as his RV while he found us a place to live. My grandmother went along as my mom's agent in the location of lodging for us, so that my mother could be sure that any place my dad purchased would be fit for us to live in. My dad can be an impulsive man, and he was determined to buy a house of some kind during his single week of advance scouting. We just wanted to make sure it had a sturdy roof and walls and a floor that wasn't dirt. My dad had joked about us moving into an old, abandoned ramshackle farm house falling into the weeds because the price would be right. Mom was afraid that he was serious, so she sent her mother with him.

My dad found a house, a mobile home actually, and soon after his retirement and Scott's graduation were behind us, we made the land of our dream beach vacations our year-round home.

"But if you left it up to me
Everyday would be
A holiday from real
We'd waste our weeks
Beneath the sun
We'd fry our brains
And say it's so much fun out here
But when it's all over
I'll come back for another year."
- Jack’s Mannequin, Holiday From Real

This is how I became a "Damn Yankee." When I entered school, I quickly found out that fat, nerdy kids from "up north" were not all that welcome in the South. It was, and in some quarters still is, a "true fact" that the South was gonna rise again and throw off the yoke of Northern oppression once and for all. The war was still being fought in the playgrounds and schools, in the streets and at the bus stops. Needless to say, I got picked on a lot.

Soon after our arrival, I discovered something that was to be my escape from the harsh realities of my existence for many years. To some extent, it still is. Soon after we moved, I discovered Dungeons & Dragons. Some of my sixth grade classmates were trying to learn how to play the game and nobody could understand the rules, so they gave me the books and asked me to read them and teach them the rules, then serve as Dungeon Master. Ah, the benefits of being the nerdy kid in class. I was so used to being picked on that I declined at first, thinking D&D was some new version of "snipe hunting" or some other trick they were trying to play on me. They finally convinced me that it was no joke, they just didn't know what half of the words in those books meant.

As time passed and I grew older, I began to discover my surroundings in this place I now called home. It wasn't long before we realized that living in the town where we had passed so many dream vacations, and as I related yesterday some of those dreams were nightmares as well, didn't necessarily mean that we would be on a year-round vacation. My dad soon began to work full time, since living in a resort town, while cheaper than living in New Jersey, was a bit more expensive than he had originally thought. My parents didn't' own a house in New Jersey, and they didn't have any kind of "nest egg" from which to draw. My brother's college tuition also became a financially drain since he wasn't able to hold a job for any length of time. When he dropped out of college, the tuition bills were still there and they were soon added to the medical bills for the care of his bi-polar disorder.

As a teenager, I discovered the benefits of living in a resort town. There always seemed to be something to do. While I continued to play D&D, I got a job as a pool attendant/life guard at our neighborhood pool, eventually bought my first car, a '79 Mercury Cougar with a LOT of horses under the hood, and broadened my horizons while using the car to explore my surroundings. There have always been a number of songs that, while they were written about other places, places far away like California and New Jersey, have always captured the essence of what is was like to grow up in Myrtle Beach.

"We stand up in the Palace like it's the last of the great pioneer town bars
We shout out these songs against the clang of electric guitars
You can see a million miles tonight
But you can't get very far."
- Counting Crows, Mrs. Potter's Lullaby

"Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rear view mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard..."

"The amusement park rises bold and stark..."

"Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist."
- Bruce Springsteen, Born To Run

I spent my teen years in Myrtle Beach driving way too fast in a car with an engine that was way too big. It didn't take me long to figure out that my Cougar could win drag races. Though I was never one for thrill rides, even when we vacationed in Myrtle Beach, we used to go to The Pavilion Amusement Park, which is gone now. I was horribly embarrassed once when my mother dropped a bag of fudge on the haunted house and forced them to shut the ride down, turn on the house lights, and find her fudge! As for the beach, I learned that once it started to get dark, the tourists would pack up their things and head for their hotels to shower and change clothes to go eat in the local seafood restaurants in Murrells Inlet. Once they left the beach, the locals took over. I spent many nights on the beach with friends until long after the sun had faded and darkness had covered the surf and sand. As for The Palace, it was built too late for me to enjoy much of its short heyday, but I did get the chance to see STYX in concert there. I actually made it onto the stage and sat on its edge while James Young gave me repeated high-fives.

"The ghosts of the tilt-a-whirl will linger inside of your head..."

"And the ferris wheel junkies will spin there forever instead."
- Counting Crows, Mrs. Potter's Lullaby

When I was in college, my roommate came to Myrtle Beach during the summer with his church youth group. They went to The Pavilion and were enjoying the rides when something unexpected happened. He had just gotten off the ferris wheel when he heard screaming and a commotion. Turning around, the discovered that several people had fallen from the ride. A teenage boy was killed and two girls were injured when they fell from the car, which they were rocking at the time of the accident. When I was in the seventh grade, an eight grade girl that I vaguely knew from school was killed while riding the "Black Witch" roller coaster at the Magic Harbor Amusement Park. I spent much more time at Magic Harbor while growing up here than I ever did at The Pavilion, but after several high profile deaths, the park was razed. The grounds are now considered haunted.

“You know I gotta get out
But I'm stuck so tight
Weighed by the chains that keep me...
Hangin' around this town on the corner
I been bummin' around this old town too long
I been hangin' around this town on the corner
I been bummin' around this old town for way too long.”
- Counting Crows, Hangin’ Around

One of my favorite "haunts" during my teen years was the corner of Atlantic Avenue and Waccamaw Drive. Though the area was destroyed by Hurricane Hugo in 1989 (the storm surge reached the level of the yellow awning on the left - I'm planning a Hugo photo post in a month or so with many of the photos I took right after that storm), it was rebuilt fairly close to what it looked like during my teen years. The 24 hour diner at Sam's Corner has been serving its "World Famous Hot Dogs" since 1957. This corner is still a favorite hangout for locals teens and tourists. Recent visits have proven that I still "have it" (whatever "it" is) on the air hockey tables and skee ball machines in The Pavilion Arcade. My first job was about 300 yards from this corner, selling "Hawaiian Shave Ice" from a little wooden shack. Also, while I was in college, my favorite surfing spot was about 100 yards south of this intersection, and I could often be found there as early as 5 a.m. trying to catch a few waves before I went to work at Village Hardware.

"Down on the boulevard they take it hard
They look at life with such disregard
They say it can't be won
The way the game is run
But if you choose to stay You end up playing anyway
It's okay...

The hearts are hard and the times are tough
Down on the boulevard the night's enough
And time passes slow
Between the storefront shadows and the street lights glow
Everybody walks right by like they're safe or something
They don't know..."

- Jackson Browne, Boulevard

My post from last night, about my traumatic head injury at age three, really got me thinking about a lot of my memories. Memories, for me, are often tied together by fragmented images, sounds, and smells, and are often associated with some of my favorite songs. After I went to my new place of employment to fill out necessary paperwork and pick up a shirt for work tomorrow (I will let you all know how things went when I get home around 11 p.m. Eastern Time), I went on a little photo safari, armed with my memories, my camera, and my ipod. This post is the result of that. It's disjointed and fragmentary, much like my memories. I'm sure I will be sharing more of those memories of more specific events and places in the future.

"We can give thanks for our health and happiness, the support we receive from our families and friends, some wonderful memories and the excitement that each new day brings." - Queen Elizabeth II

I spoke to my former color guard instructor this evening. She is overwhelmed with the responsibilities the new director is loading onto her shoulders and despairing that she will be able to handle them all, along with college, and working as a waitress at her father's restaurant. I told her that I knew she could do it. More people are starting to learn of my career change, and I've had several somewhat awkward conversations with people over the past few days. It's still difficult to answer when they ask what career I'm pursuing now, because I don't consider retail my career and I haven't earned any money from writing yet. Isn't that a prerequisite for calling it a career?

When I spoke to the manager that will begin training me tomorrow, he told me that he will be calling the other manager tomorrow to set up an interview for the management training. I hope that works out, because once I am trained, the store I where I hope to become assistant manager is much closer to my house, and the pay would be much more suitable to financial survival.

Thank you, faithful readers, for your support and encouragement. You have all made the journey of this summer so much easier for me than it could have been. You have allowed me to write, to change, to grow, to revisit the days of my youth, and now, to see the ocean again as I did when I first became a "Damn Yankee" (someone who moves from the Northern U.S. to the Southern U.S. and stays south of the Mason-Dixon Line). May we have many more journeys together.

"It's been so long since I've seen the ocean... I guess I should…" - Counting Crows, A Long December

"No matter how fast I run I can never seem to get away from me."

"Man... cannot learn to forget, but hangs on the past: however far or fast he runs, that chain runs with him." - Friedrich Nietzsche

My title today is from Jackson Browne's Your Bright Baby Blues. Lately, I have seen several others tackling the issue of dealing with, and ultimately escaping their past. Actually, I think the word "escape" oversimplifies this concept and is a virtual impossibility. The best words I have seen to explain it is the quotation that Loz used on his blog.

"All we really want is to get to the point where the past can explain nothing about us and we can get on with life." - Richard Ford, The Sportswriter

Obviously our past is something we are powerless to change. There are many things in our past that we may not be proud of. We are all too painfully aware of the many and myriad mistakes we have made throughout our life's history. The only thing we can do is to live our present and future life in such a way that indicates that we have overcome our past weaknesses and failings.

“Men are born to succeed, not fail.” – Henry David Thoreau

The desire, as expressed by these two excellent writers (here and here), is to reach that point, as Richard Ford says, where the past can tell us nothing more about ourselves. The point at which we have examined our actions and experiences and have learned all that they have to tell us about who we were, and ultimately, who we are. Since we are the product of all of our past experiences, this may be an extremely difficult point to reach, if it is even reachable.

Most people seem to run hand-in-hand with their past, never quite conscious of what it tells us about ourselves, until they reach that point of reflection and self-examination that many people call a "mid-life crisis." Thanks to the input of several of my wonderful readers, I have quickly come to instead call this experience the "second-life awakening." At this point of awakening, we often take stock of all that has gone before and, whether it's conscious or subconscious, make an accounting of our lives. Often, we find ourselves lacking.

"The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become." -- Charles du Bois

We who are beginning to embark on our second life can be our own harshest critics. We hold ourselves accountable for our failings and shortcomings. We look at how we have treated others and fallen short of being the people we now know we could have been. We are becoming. We are trying to shed the baggage of our past. We are atoning for our past wrongs and looking to move forward, unburdened by these failings. While we cannot change the past, we must release our regrets and forgive ourselves for the mistakes of our past, knowing that the person who made those mistakes is no longer who we are.

“You have to know the past to understand the present." - Carl Sagan

I don't think we can ever block out the past, for it informs our existence every day. Without the frame of reference it provides, we are doomed to repeat all of our failings; relive all of our worst memories. What we strive for instead, is to reach the point where that past self has been put away. The point at which we can come to terms with the things we did in that life, but not to allow it to define our future capabilities. We want to transcend the person we once were and be reborn into this second life clean, awakening unfettered and free of the shackles of our past. While it is true that all of our experiences define us, at this point we can begin to create new experiences and new memories, armed with self-awareness and the impetus to redefine, or at least clarify, ourselves and our lives.

"Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear." - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Is there a point at which our past can no longer teach us anything about ourselves? I'm not sure that exists, because when we reach the distant horizon, we arrive with the experiences that have become our new past. We look ahead and see that the horizon still stretches in front of us. We are constantly evolving and assimilating our new past, filled with new memories. Hopefully, we are gradually refining ourselves so that this new past is much more acceptable to our current views of what it means to be who we are. So, while we cannot totally escape that which has gone before, we can shape it anew with each day that passes into history.

"With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame." - George Eliot

"In my life I find that memories of the spirit linger and sweeten long after memories of the brain have faded."

Welcome back! I've been remodeling. As you can see, I've moved things around a bit, freshened things up, opened some windows and let some light into this place. Hopefully, it will be a bit easier on your tired eyes. I know... it even looks bigger in here. It's amazing when you choose the right color scheme how much brighter a place can look.

"Some of them were dreamers
And some of them were fools
Who were making plans and thinking of the future
With the energy of the innocent
They were gathering the tools..."
- Jackson Browne, Before the Deluge

Back in the summer of 1993, the world seemed so much simpler, for me at least. I was only a few months out of college and had gotten married at the beginning of the previous summer. We had been living in subsidized housing with jobs that paid only a pittance. My wife and I both spent the spring after my December graduation working for our college's education department. She was a secretary and I was an interviewer for the accreditation study that we were conducting. I also taught private clarinet lessons (clarinet was NOT my principal instrument and I barely considered myself proficient on it, but I have always had success teaching others how to play it well) and played in a rock band (Slightly Used), which cost a lot more than it paid, I promise.

As I've related previously, after much interviewing, wailing and gnashing of teeth, I secured a job most of the way across the state in a place neither of us had either lived previously. Also, neither of us had ever lived in a place so rural. Sure, my wife's family on her father's side had grown up in the country, as farmers, but we were both children of the suburbs.

"Let me tell y'all what it's like
Being male, middle-class and white."
- Ben Folds, Rockin' the Suburbs

We soon found ourselves living in a small town in the middle of a rural area. The school where I was going to be teaching was in a part of the county about 15 miles north with extremely high poverty and few other white faces. In the tiny town where the school was located, the white people that could, sent their children across the attendance lines to a predominantly white school in the next town, or to private school. I have never considered myself prejudiced, but I had never been seen as a minority before. The school was functioning under a recent court order to desegregate... in the 1990's... in America. They were under a requirement to hire a certain percentage of white teachers and staff and curb the problem of students crossing attendance lines. The school was short on funds and the building was in terrible shape, having once been the town's "colored" school in the days of "separate but equal" in which separate seemed to still be the case, while equal definitely wasn't.

When I moved into the band room, I noticed that the carpet was lime green shag. It was in a building all by itself at the rear of the campus, with no windows and, for most of my three years there, no air conditioning. It was like working, living, in a brick oven. We had no band uniforms. There hadn't been more than a half-dozen students in the band program for the past four years. The "music" they made on that first day made the inaugural notes of Mr. Holland's band sound like a symphony of angels.

"Playing music is supposed to be fun. It's about heart, it's about feelings, moving people, and something beautiful, and it's not about notes on a page." - Glenn Holland, Mr. Holland's Opus

When I received my class rosters a few days before the school year started, I couldn't believe my eyes. I would be teaching two middle school band classes and a high school band class. I would also be responsible for teaching the middle school band students physical education. The thing that astounded me was that the classes were nearly empty. They really weren't kidding. I had never done this before and I was going to be responsible for making the numbers grow from the six students on my class rosters to a musical ensemble that could give a Christmas concert for the student body in... what? Only about five months. Before that however, I was supposed to start putting together a marching band to perform in the stands at football games (thankfully, I would not be required to give halftime performances that school year... no field show). I had work to do.

“There's a time when a man needs to fight and a time when he needs to accept that his destiny's lost, the ship has sailed and that only a fool will continue. The truth is I've always been a fool.” – Ed Bloom, Big Fish

I started by looking at only a small group of select sixth grade students to be considered for admission into the seventh grade band class as beginners. No recruiting had been done, and it was not an easy task, since being in the band had an even worse, by far, stigma at this school than it does at most schools. I managed to recruit two sixth graders, one on trumpet and one on saxophone. Since the program was so small, my performances would have to combine all students of all ability levels, from these raw beginners, up to the more experienced high school students. While I was recruiting these sixth graders, I also began combing the classrooms of both the middle school and the high school, looking for students who had dropped out of band, or had been members of the band at a previous school. I managed to find a number of these students and convince some of them to join my band. I lured them into an open house in the band room with an instrument repair technician, since many of their instruments hadn't been played in years, and most were handed down... what the technician called M'uncle horns ("Son, where'd you get that horn?" "M'uncle played it."), and most importantly, my open house featured something no self-respecting teen or pre-teen could turn down... free food.

Soon, my band had grown to over thirty mostly warm bodies, including the high school principal's son, a member of the varsity football team, two cheerleaders, and a talented tuba player who had transferred in from another school. It was time for my first marching band practice. I rounded them up on the football field and began showing them proper marching techniques, just like I had been taught when I was in high school. They stared. They started laughing. The tuba player was helping me demonstrate. The principal's son was trying to get his fellow students to give it a try. It wasn't working. In less than thirty minutes, the "rehearsal" turned into a rout. Only a few students were still present. The rest marched straight to the principal's office demanding that this "crazy white man" be fired and replaced with a proper "black" band director. He left no uncertainty when he told them that the next practice I held, they had better be there doing exactly as I told them to do.

I was young, persistent, resilient. As Paul, the school's softball coach and as time passed, one of my closest friends during those years, soon taught me, "Not everyone's gonna want what you have to offer." He also taught me that "life sucks, grab a helmet."

I begged. I cajoled. I struggled. I gave every ounce of everything I had to get that program started. The principal got a former band director friend of his to put together an alumni band to "drum up" (pun intended) community support for the band program. I contacted the city newspaper in the nearest large city of Charleston and got a reporter to make the drive up to the school, about an hour away, to see the band rehearse. I chose an indoor music rehearsal, and the only song they knew how to play, "Under the Sea" from Disney's The Little Mermaid. My sense of humor and my rapport with the students quickly captured the reporter's attention. Since that ill-fated practice, we had begun to bond and work towards a common goal. One of my favorite quotes from that article was when I stopped the rehearsal for a moment, wiped my brow and said, "We need saxophones." One of my trumpet players quickly retorted, "We need Jesus!"

"Now let the music keep our spirits high
And let the buildings keep our children dry
Let creation reveal its secrets by and by
When the light that's lost within us reaches the sky."
- Jackson Browne, Before the Deluge

Not too far into the football season, we had a band that could perform a few simple tunes in the bleachers during football games. I bought used uniforms from a school halfway across the state and drove the school's battered activity van all the way there to pick them up. My wife carefully ironed patches over the other school's name on every single uniform. We both worked incredibly hard. By the afternoon of the homecoming game, I passed out on the floor of my office's private restroom. The hours were grueling. We gave everything. We developed pride... and discipline.

In late October I took the band on a long bus ride to the Lower State Marching Championships, the equivalent of a semi-final round, for high schools our size. I told them before we got off the bus that we were there to watch and learn. I looked around that bus and told them that we would be returning the following year... to compete. As they watched the bands march across the field, they were incredulous. Most of them had never been to a marching band competition before. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. They couldn't believe that these bands were using the same fundamentals, the same marching style I had been teaching them, and were putting together these amazing productions, almost theatrical. They couldn't believe the pageantry and discipline on display. As we boarded the bus for the long drive home that night, several students told me that there was no way we would be ready to do that in only a year.

"A teacher has two jobs; fill young minds with knowledge, yes, but more important, give those minds a compass so that that knowledge doesn't go to waste." - Principal Jacobs, Mr. Holland's Opus

As a matter of fact, that next week, one of my talented clarinet players, also a cheerleader, was overheard talking about our band in a very negative light at her lunch table one day. In class, I stopped rehearsal a few minutes early. I talked to them about how negatively we were already viewed by the rest of the school. I talked about how difficult it was to change that image when the members of our own organization were championing those negative views to their peers. I singled out the clarinet player in front of the class. It was silent. I told her how much it broke my heart that all the effort I gave, all the effort her fellow band members gave, was nothing to her. How could she talk about the band this way, I asked, now with eyes growing a little moist. She tried to argue. She tried to defend what she had done. I pointed out how it just made her look ridiculous, giving so much time and effort to this organization that she was putting down to her non-musical friends. I will never forget the speech, the impassioned plea I uttered that day. I can recount it, hear it in my mind like it was yesterday, instead of fourteen years past. "Give me one year" I begged her. "One year... If in one year, you feel ashamed to be a part of this band, then I will personally tell your mother that she needs to let you quit. Give me one year. If you still feel ashamed to have me as your band director, then I will quit. I will go do something else. Give me one year."

Kelly agreed. She told me that she would give me one year. There wasn't a dry eye in the room. We shook on it. One year.

When other bands ended their marching band practices for the year to practice for concert band performances and other engagements, we continued to have at least an hour of marching band practice three days a week, every week, in addition to our concert rehearsals. The next year, we marched at football games. We had a 32 person marching band and performed The Hits of Mariah Carey as our halftime show. I wrote the marching drill myself, in what was to become an annual tradition for the next twelve years after that first show. Yes, we did march in the 1994 Lower State Marching Band Championships. We finished dead last, but we performed. Kelly stayed with the band. She was never caught ridiculing band again. The next year, my third year at that school and the final year it was open, Kelly was one of the drum majors of the band. She stood on a podium at football games and competitions while the entire school watched her conduct the band... HER band.

"You love music and you made the kids love it with you." - Rowena Morgan, Mr. Holland's Opus

I have taught hundreds of students since that first year, but I will never forget that first group. I can see the faces and hear the names. I'm sure I learned at least as much from them as they learned from me. Actually, I'm pretty sure I learned much more than they did.

Yesterday, I noticed that the high school of a beautiful, small rural town nearby, a town we lived in and loved for the first five years I worked at the job I just left, is looking for a band director. My mind drifted back to the memories of my first teaching job... to those first students... to the simplicity of that life. I thought about how difficult that job seemed at the time, but how I also knew there was no way I could fail. I thought about how easy it had been to give everything, every ounce of my life, to that job, and to loving those kids. Then I snapped back into the present, mind once again joined to body and firmly planted in reality. Things which seem effortless at age 23 are not the same at age 37. I realized that, while I have the fond memories of those first years of teaching, I am now also fully aware of the cost. As the title, from the movie My Dog Skip, implies, I also know that I view those early days through the hazy lens of memory and the softening filter of time.

"I'm not sure all these people understand
It's not like years ago..."
- R.E.M., Nightswimming

The thought of rebuilding that band program, while exciting, fills me with feelings that are not welcome. Having to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground the program gains is immensely rewarding, but physically and emotionally draining. The idea of establishing relationships with dozens of students, parents and teachers I have never met before and working tirelessly to gain their support would be a harrowing experience at this point in my life. I discovered that I'm just not interested. That is simply not what I am anymore. It is a part of who I am, just as anything I have ever experienced has shaped me, but I am content to savor my memories and leave this opportunity to someone else, hopefully someone who is just starting their journey, to create their own. I hope theirs are filled with joys and sorrows, sweetness and pain, just like mine.

"Some of them knew pleasure
And some of them knew pain
And for some of them it was only the moment that mattered
And on the brave and crazy wings of youth
They went flying around in the rain
And their feathers, once so fine, grew torn and tattered
And in the end they traded their tired wings
For the resignation that living brings
And exchanged love's bright and fragile glow
For the glitter and the rouge
And in the moment they were swept before the deluge."
- Jackson Browne, Before the Deluge

"Everybody's just waiting to hear from the one who can give them the answers..."

"Seems like I've always been looking for some other place
To get it together
Where with a few of my friends I could give up the race
And maybe find something better."
- Jackson Browne, For Everyman

When I was reading the comments that were left in response to what I wrote yesterday, several of them struck me as being very meaningful, but the thing that really stood out to me was something that Paisley wrote. She was referring to our little community on the net when she wrote:

"We are all trying the best we can to get over the reflections in the mirrors, the aging parents, the changing bodies...none of us totally successfully, but together as a group we can see ourselves in each other all the time." - Paisley

I had written about finding inner strength at this point in life, which seems contradictory because I believe that many see this "mid-life crisis" as a time of weakness. Yet it is strength that we find. I have seen that affirmed again and again. I have read so many stories of personal triumph from so many gifted writers. Yet, it is not only inner strength that we find. We are also finding strength in each other collectively.

Before you object, I want you to know that I have used the term "mid-life crisis" because it seems to be the most universally accepted term for this transitional period. Yet, over the past fifty years I have witnessed so many changes in terminology and classification. As an educator, I know that the terminology associated with "special learners" has changed so drastically and so frequently that it is difficult to keep up with it. So maybe it IS time for a change in terminology. As I've said, it's human nature to label, so... since we're labelling, let's at least choose our own label.

Loz was right when he pointed out that calling it a crisis makes it seem so negative, when in reality it can lead to some very positive changes in our lives. I also agree with Zirelda's point that calling it "mid-life" makes us even more painfully aware that this incredible ride is just about halfway over. Isn't that realization part of the impetus for this stage of life in the first place? If so, then why do we have to hammer the point home by using a label that constantly reminds us of this? I like what A.B. says about being on her "second life" and I also like Micki's suggestion of calling it an awakening. I know that I'm making life more difficult here by increasing keystrokes, but I am making the decision to refer to this transitional phase of life as a "Second-life Awakening" from now on. Or at least until I hear something better.

"Most people die before they are fully born. Creativeness means to be born before one dies." - Erich Fromm

I am finding that at this point in life, we are coming to an awareness of being responsible for ourselves. When we graduated from high school or college, many of us set out to change the world. We wanted to be the person that was going to break free from the pack and make a real difference. I think one of the mistakes we make is thinking that just because we haven't won a Nobel or Pulitzer Prize, we don't have a building or at least a hospital wing named after us, or even an entry in an encyclopedia with our name on it, that we didn't make a difference. If it takes having an encyclopedia entry to make you feel important, then by all means create a Wikipedia entry about yourself.

“I know we're all pretty small in the big scheme of things, and I suppose the most you can hope for is to make some kind of difference, but what kind of difference have I made? What in the world is better because of me?” – Warren Schmidt, About Schmidt

In reality, if we have touched the life of a child, we have made a difference. If we have contributed to streamlining a system or devising a more efficient method for something at work, we have made a difference. If we have truly and deeply loved another human being, we have made a difference. We have all made a difference to the people around us. As Paisley points out, we make a difference to each other every day.

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main." - John Donne

We all affect each other. It's interesting that we have found all this inner strength, but when someone we've never met, who lives a thousand miles away is having a bad day, it affects our day as well. By the same token, when we read about that same person triumphing over some obstacle in their life, we too feel like we can conquer the world. This "universal current" runs through all of us. We are all plugged in, connected to this current. When we are able, we serve as generating stations, contributing to the output of this current. When we need to, we also serve as consumers of this flow. When you go through a period of power consumption, and we all do, don't feel like a burden to the network. Your contributions have helped power this co-operative in the past and will do so again in the future. The supply is not going to be depleted just because you are drawing from it. This supply is limitless. We can consume all we need and not lower the power output by any noticeable amount. It is like trying to consume the ocean through a straw. No matter how much we drink, we have not lowered the water level or held back the tide at all.

I'm happy to be plugged into this phenomenal network. It's not just about emotional support. We draw on each other for creativity, mental stimulation, problem-solving. We all have our unique area of expertise. If I want to know something technical, I would likely ask Bobby Revell. If I am looking for creative inspiration, I might look to Paisley (though there are so many creative types here in this community). Each of us has an area through we which contribute the most to the group. We may contribute in more than one area, but we all give something to the wider community. I always taught in my leadership training seminars that "You can learn something from anyone." I firmly believe this to be true. Nobody should be written off or dismissed. The moment you write someone off is the moment at which you should be prepared for them to change your world.

"We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future." - George Bernard Shaw

Despite this interdependence, or perhaps because of it, we must take responsibility for ourselves. Now that we realize how much our actions affect those around us, we must take responsibility for our own reactions and attitudes. This is indeed a part of our contribution to the power grid. After all, if you are true to yourself, how can you help but be true to others.

"Remember always that you not only have the right to be an individual, you have an obligation to be one." - Eleanor Roosevelt

If you read the post I wrote a few days ago about being content with who we are, I mentioned the comment that was made by one of my former students and the response that was written by an alumni, Christine. I got the chance to have a conversation with Christine shortly after I wrote that (another example of synchronicity?) and I had the opportunity to thank her for her support. It was a conversation where a great deal was communicated that wasn't actually said, if you know what I mean by that.

“You are not only responsible for what you say, but also for what you do not say." - Martin Luther

The other day, I received a call on my cell phone from a company whose name I did not recognize. I didn't return the call right away because it sounded like a credit or finance company. Since I didn't recognize the name and have no credit card debt at this point in my life, I waited for a follow-up call. When the second call came, I discovered that it was a company that was sub-contracted to handle verification of employment references. One of my former students had applied for a job and used me as a reference. This student was a wonderful young man and a joy to teach, so I gave him an extremely positive recommendation. I received a message from him yesterday:

"Though I have only known you for a couple years, you have become one of my favorite teachers and though you have left; just know that you have been a major help in my life... Thank you for what you have done for me and the entire band inside and outside of school."
- Antonio

That, my friends, is what it's all about. Without even realizing it, Antonio has contributed to the power grid and amped up the voltage of people that he, or even I, will probably never meet. Welcome to humanity.

“Let everyone sweep in front of his own door, and the whole world will be clean." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"They knew how they could hurt you, and you let them cut you to the bone."

But God forbid,
you allow them to rid you of your virtue!

Forget their laughter;
The next voice you hear will be your own.

- Jackson Browne, The Next Voice You Hear

Welcome to my first ever second post in a day! Are we all confused yet? I know I am. The last you heard, I was dealing with everyone finding out about my decision to leave my career of 14 years. Things got somewhat quieter just about the time I sent that last post flying into the ether.

I never heard from my parents after the initial calls. I know I probably should have called them back later in the day, but I just didn't know what to say. Once I have some more leads on what it is I'm going to do for money in the short term, I'll feel better about talking to them. I just have to let them cool down a little I think.

”There are always difficulties arising that tempt you to believe your critics are right.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

As far as getting leads on some jobs, I revisited my priority list of places I would apply to if I made this decision. I started making this list about a month ago, so I would be prepared for this eventuality. I started with places that sold things that I know a great deal about and enjoy using. My biggest interests as a consumer are: books, music, electronics, video games, cell phones, gaming supplies, model railroading equipment (though not recently). I placed book stores on the top tier of my list, and actually applied for some all available openings at two of the three local units of one of our two chain book stores several weeks ago online. The other chain book store doesn't accept applications online, so I will need to make the drive out there and turn in an application. I also applied online to the local chain music store and two of the local chain electronics stores. I started with the most desirable companies and the optimum positions at these stores to start with, except the book stores. I will be applying for every position dealing with books at these stores since that is my first choice. Also, if I can get hired in one of these mid-level positions in a store that's not in my first tier, then I have a cushion, a safe place from which to search for a more desirable position if one exists locally.

"Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will."—George Bernard Shaw

Other than that, I have solidified an idea for my first query. Now I need to determine my priority list of publishing outlets to send it out to and hope that somebody wants to pay me to actually write the article. I think I can have the query finished by Friday and start sending it out on Monday.

I did hear from a few more people today, but things definitely slowed down in the afternoon and evening. I had a nice conversation with the student who will be serving as Brass Captain for the coming year. He started texting me about model railroading, which is a hobby we share, though we've both been more armchair hobbyists for the last several years. I had model railroad layouts in my two previous houses, but things had already gotten so hectic and busy by the time we moved into this house three years ago, that I never got the garage cleaned out and the layout rebuilt. I texted him back my reasoning for what I had done, without him asking for it, or even mentioning it. He thanked me for explaining, expressed relief that I wasn't fired or asked to resign, then told me that he didn't need to talk about it, he just wanted me to remain a part of his life. Interestingly enough, his father has been one of my bigger detractors over the course of this year. He served as Booster Club President this past year and was unsupportive to the point of undermining me. Other than some radical political views, and a strange sense of humor, the child is an outstanding leader and is a lot better than his father, who offended several of the female volunteers with some sexist comments this past year.

“I know we're all pretty small in the big scheme of things, and I suppose the most you can hope for is to make some kind of difference, but what kind of difference have I made? What in the world is better because of me?” – Warren Schmidt, About Schmidt

For several hours this afternoon, this 17 year old young man kept up an interesting conversation, via text, about model railroading. He volunteered to come help me clean my garage when the weather cools, so I can have my model railroad to help ease my stress now that I should have more time for it. Once again, I was overwhelmed by the maturity and acceptance of this teenager. Once again, the adults could learn much from the examples of their children. However, the fact that my students could relate to me in this way and I would hold mature conversations with them about things as varied as literature, music, model railroading, movies, gaming, whatever, was often a point of contention among band parents, who I think feel threatened that their child might find an adult role-model or mentor other than them. They should be thankful their children were looking to me instead of today's celebrities. Most of the adults seem to feel sure that an adult could not possibly sincerely care about their children without having some sinister ulterior motives. I know there are a lot of crazy people in the world, and you need to protect your children, but there is a difference between caution and paranoia.

My former color guard instructor called to tell me that one of the ladies who served as a catalyst, probably the central figure, in the effort to make my life miserable over the past year because her son did not get his desired leadership position, called her father to ask if he had heard that I had resigned. Her father, as I have said, is entirely on my side. This lady, on the other hand, regularly Googled me throughout the school year and sent links to the principal, so he would know of any blogs or websites, social networking sites, or anything that students wrote in theirs about me. Rather, her son probably did all this and gave the reports to her. When she called and asked him if he had heard, he replied that he had and that now maybe the people who wanted me gone would see how much I did for the children and how great a director I was. Her reply was basically that I shouldn't have tried helping people so much because it took attention away from the rest of the group. She also mentioned that she suspected my motives and intentions. He told her that he would trust me with any of his girls anytime (his oldest is my color guard instructor, his middle daughter just graduated, and his youngest will be a sophomore). This is a huge statement for him, since he is the epitome of the overprotective father. He is a big guy who owns an Italian restaurant... and owns guns... and owned restaurants and nightclubs in the northeast corridor before settling down here to raise his family... a big, scary guy... who also happens to be one of the nicest, most hardworking guys I know. He cares about his family and is loyal to his friends. I am thankful to be able to call him a friend. The parents who were against me actually fought his nomination to the presidency because we get along and they saw him as a potential enabler or something for me. I think the whole concept of enabling is a load of crap (in most cases), but that's a topic for another post.

Other than that, and the events of the morning, it was a quiet day. Unfortunately, I'm watching the Mets lose to the Padres. To think that I sacrificed watching Rescue Me to watch this blowout of a game (UPDATE: Just after I typed that, the Mets rallied and tied the game! Now I'm glad I chose this final night of MLB Extra Innings, I can watch Rescue Me on Friday or Sunday) [SECOND UPDATE: They ended up losing anyway, but at least they put some drama into the game in the late innings... oh well, my week of free baseball is over - I enjoyed it while it lasted].


"Take a seat
and catch your breath
You're only working
Towards your death
For us the days go by, They go by oh so slow."
- Nightmare of You, The Days Go By Oh So Slow

"I'm gonna have to block it out somehow to survive 'cause those dreams are dead... and I'm alive."

"No man is useless while he has a friend." -- Robert Louis Stevenson

Earlier this week a friend of mine called me and asked me to be at another friend's (Cameron's) house to meet him at 7:00 p.m. on Wednesday evening. Unfortunately, I had a prior, extremely important, commitment. It was something I could not get out of for any reason. It was a meeting I had been committed to for weeks. He told me that he didn't ask for favors very often so I should do whatever I could do to be there, even if I had to be a bit late.

This friend, Rosie (short for his last name), is one of the most loyal friends I have. He flakes out sometimes like all of us do, but when I was going through the worst of my times this spring, if he didn't hear from me, he would stop by my house and drag me out of my funk. I certainly don't deserve this sort of loyalty from him, yet he gives it anyway.

"You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing."

- E.B. White, Charlotte's Web

I first met Rosie back in the spring of 2000. The previous fall, a hurricane had come through the area while my wife was attending a wedding in Buffalo, NY. The predictions were for Hurricane Floyd to make landfall as a category 5 hurricane right about where my parents live. My father, ever the stubborn Dutchman, always refuses to leave for storms. The last one he left for was Hugo back in 1989. That probably saved my parents' lives. Finally, my mother and I talked him into at least going as far inland as my house. Being about 15 miles farther inland, on higher ground, and a house instead of a mobile home would be safer. As the forecast grew more and more dire, we finally decided to drive even further inland, about 45 miles further, just to be safe. It was a frightening night even that far away.

When the storm had moved on, we drove back to my house to find most of my town flooded and without power. Schools were closed for the entire week. My parents' house had been spared when the storm had weakened and turned north. At landfall, it was only a category 2 and we got the weaker side of the storm. While they were completely spared, my only damage was that a small oak tree (still about 30' tall and the cause of one of my strange injuries when it fell on my shoulder while we were cutting it up and clearing it - left shoulder has never been the same since - pinched nerve) in the back yard had fallen near the house and ripped the power lines out of the house. Power crews were swamped all over town and I was told that I was very low on their priority list, so I stayed there without power. We brought in a generator to run the refrigerator and a single lamp, but that was it. As a result, I spent most of my time at a local gaming store called The Dragon's Lair.

After spending so much time at the store, I got to know the owner fairly well and he was looking for a DM (Dungeon Master) to run a D&D (Dungeons & Dragons) game in the store that spring, so I volunteered. What did it matter if I hadn't played in a little while... it had only been 8 years. I could do it.

When I arrived at the store for my first night of running the game, I had 17 players show up for the game. That was way too many. It's difficult (nearly impossible) to keep track of more than 8. The next week, we got down to a more manageable 13 players (plus myself) and I determined that I could handle this number. One of the players that showed up to those gaming sessions was Rosie. We had never met before, but he had gamed with a colleague of mine, the drama teacher at my school, who was also in the game. She talked him into showing up, convincing him that I was a great guy and a good DM. So, a hurricane had brought us together. The rest, as they say, is history.

"The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

When we met, Rosie was a 25 year old firefighter and he and his wife had their first baby on the way. Now, Rosie and his wife have two children. I stopped playing D&D when things got bad with my job, but we have stayed relatively close. His knee gave out from the constant abuse it received from his job a few years ago, so he too had to give up his chosen career. Fortunately, he received disability benefits, but is now hoping to return to firefighting full-time and has recently been cleared by his doctors to return to work. We have been through a lot together over the past seven years.

"Friendship makes prosperity more shining and lessens adversity by dividing and sharing it." - Cicero

When my meeting ended on Wednesday night at about 7:45, I called Rosie and he told me he couldn't wait any longer, but would be at my house on Saturday (today) at 7:00 p.m. and that if I wasn't there, he would track me down. Rosie has a way of tracking me down. He is persistent. He does not take no for an answer.

Needless to say, I was home when he arrived. We actually spent most of the afternoon tidying up ("Ulla tidy ooop!" - The Producers) the house for his visit. He refused... absolutely refused to tell me what he wanted or why he needed to see me so badly. He also instructed Cameron to do the same.

Promptly at 7:00 p.m. came the sound of the doorbell and I walked to the door and opened it. Rosie stood there smiling, so I invited him in. He took about a step and turned around. Then, from around the corner came Snapper. Snapper is another one of our dear friends, actually Rosie's best friend. Snapper was also at that first gaming session back in 2000. The catch here is that Snapper has been off in Afghanistan serving his country as a member of our National Guard. His full-time job is as a police officer for the county, but he has been on active duty since last August. He is scheduled to come home in January, but he and Rosie surprised me, since they told none of us that he would be home on leave. He goes back to Afghanistan on July 19, so this was a short visit, and probably the only time I will get to see him while he is here, but it was a great surprise.

We talked for about an hour and a half and caught up with each other's lives. Rosie knew a little about my career decision, but not the whole story, so I brought them both up to speed on that and they were very supportive. I look forward to January, when Snapper is back in town full time. Also, we decided that for Rosie's and my birthdays (mine is April 10th, his is April 11th), we're going to see Spamalot on April 12th in Greenville, SC.

Friendship is an amazing thing. When I was in high school and college, I had a close-knit group of friends. There were about 14 of us in the group in college. I had a mini-van at the time, and we would often all pile into the van and take road trips. We would usually leave about 8:00 at night. Yes, everyone would be in my van... mini-van. I had a television in a custom console that my dad built (he made his own conversion van out of an appliance delivery van once when we still lived in NJ), so people could watch TV while I drove. One of the most amazing trips was when we went out to find snow. We had heard that it was snowing farther to the northwest, and my girlfriend at the time (she's my wife now) wanted snow for her birthday (which was that week), so into the van we went. We drove for hours. Our first stop was Asheville, NC. There was some snow on the ground, but we decided we could do better, so we got on the Blue Ridge Parkway and drove until we had to stop at a barricade that said the road was closed due to hazardous conditions ahead. We got to see our snow. We also got to stop the van on the side of the road and walk out to a frozen waterfall. We broke icicles off the waterfall and ate them on the way home. We got home just in time for 8 a.m. classes the next morning, which some of us had to attend, myself included. These trips were just something we did together as friends. It didn't matter how crazy it seemed, or that we had to be up all night and then go to classes the next morning.

"Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose.” - Oscar Wilde

I think that as we get older and more entrenched in our lives, we are more hesitant to make friends and establish close relationships. We start to guard ourselves more closely against "outsiders." We get down in the trenches and push along like good soldiers and the spaces in our lives we used to fill with our friends, we fill with work and maybe, if we're smart and fortunate, family. Nature abhors a vacuum. The spaces in our lives will fill with something; better to fill them with friends and family.

It took a hurricane to bring Rosie, Snapper and Cameron into my life. A few years ago, we assimilated another group of friends into our circle of friends. I was starting a new D&D campaign and was looking for one or two new players. I went to a few gaming forums online and placed ads looking for gamers in the area. Someone replied to those ads and attended a few sessions, then asked if he could bring his friends to the game. Thus, we added 5 more people to our group.

"A sympathetic friend can be quite as dear as a brother." - Homer

The question of whether or not "online friends" count as real friends seems to arise quite often. I think with every new piece of technology, we get the unique opportunity to widen our circle of friends. People have been making and maintaining friendships through postal services since almost the advent of reliable long-distance mail. When the automobile was invented, it enabled people to visit friends who lived farther away. The invention of the telephone then allowed us to keep in touch with those distant friends, or become friends with people we met while traveling. Sometimes, friendships have even sprung from wrong numbers. The next big piece of technology that enabled to widen our prospective circle of friends has been the internet. Is someone who we have to travel by car to see still a true friend? Of course, we don't even question that, because the technology has been in place for so long. Is someone we have to talk to by telephone still our friend? Once again, I believe the answer is yes. Why then, would it be questionable whether or not a person we talk to only, or primarily, online is a "real" friend? I believe it is only because the technology is relatively new. One of the great technological advances for online friendships is the combination of voice chat software and a microphone headset. I sometimes use Ventrilo or TeamSpeak to talk to friends online. It's inexpensive (no longer distance charges - only the cost of a headset) and allows you to hear your friend's voice just like a telephone call.

Through this wonderful hobby (addiction?) of blogging, I feel that I have met many wonderful people and have made a number of new friends. I think this intimate sharing that we all do is made possible by the impersonal task of typing it into a computer. We are more free to share intimately when it seems less personal. It is less threatening that way. We can become closer more quickly without feeling like we're giving ourselves away. We share things that would be harder to say in person. I'm sure that some of us at least, would feel secure enough to welcome each other into our homes, or at least meet on neutral ground somewhere if we were ever in close proximity to each other.

One of the gaming forums I participate in is a great community as far as fellow participants letting each other know when you are going to be traveling and organizing meets if any of the posters live in the town or city you're going to. A few years ago, several of us just happened to be traveling to New York the same week, where several of the regular participants lived, and a meet was organized in a gaming store in Manhattan. You would've thought these people had been friends for years, and I guess that was the truth of it. Even though we had never met in person, we still shared common interests, some history through our conversations on the forum, and the bonds of friendship.

I believe that is true of many of my fellow bloggers. We check in with each other every day. We are genuinely concerned about each other. We care about each other. If one of us went away, we would be missed and our blogging friends, our faithful readers, would worry about us. We support each other and help each other through the tough times. Sometimes checking in with each other is all we have to keep us going when things look especially bleak. That, as far as I'm concerned, is what friendship is all about.

Some of you may be wondering about my choice of the Jackson Browne title quote. What does it have to do with a post about friendship? Well, it's simple, really. When I told Snapper about my career situation and how the stress of my career had affected my life and my health, both mental and physical, he fully supported my decision to leave the job and the career. He said (and I paraphrase here), "It sucks because you did it for so long and enjoyed it so much, but you have to take care of yourself because no matter how much you're getting paid, you can't spend your paycheck if you're dead." Well, that career, that identity, those dreams may be dead... but I'm alive.

"When the road looks rough ahead

And you're miles and miles

From your nice warm bed

Just remember what your old pal said

Boy, you've got a friend in me.

You've got troubles, well I've got 'em too

There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you

We stick together and we see it through

You've got a friend in me."

- Randy Newman, You've Got A Friend In Me

"Since when does anyone have a clue about what they want?"

"A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving."
- Lao Tzu

Once again, I spent the majority of my day at my office cleaning. By "majority of my day" I mean over 8 hours. I have 9 rooms there, which include a huge rehearsal hall (which was never big enough when there were 80 people in the space), my office, my color guard instructor's office, a computer lab, an instrument storage room, a uniform storage room, a music library, a general storage room, and two hallways connected by a staircase with a landing. It really is a lot of space, though there has never been enough storage, nor has there been enough rehearsal space. So far, I have taken 7 large plastic crates and a number of miscellaneous items to the storage unit, and 11 sixty gallon trash bags to the dumpsters. I have finished all of the areas except my office and the music library. I wanted to finish all of it by tonight, but I am going to have to delay turning in my resignation letter by a day and finish tomorrow night. I think I can do it. Of course, I thought I could finish it by tonight too.

I am exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Yet, it still feels liberating. I feel like a skydiver standing in the doorway of the plane. The green light has come on and the signal to jump has been given, but I'm still hanging on, white-knuckled, to the edges of the door. That is the fear holding me in place now that I am within 48 hours of having to stay or resign. I know what I want to do and I know what I need to do, but I am in one of those Square One moments. The moment of truth approaches.

"Life is a daring adventure or it is nothing at all." - Helen Keller

I did find today that I am more caught up in the process while I'm cleaning than the emotion. The first two days I was extremely emotionally involved, but today a sort of detachment set in and it became a process. I guess that's a good thing. I got a large portion of my office finished today, but not all of it. So far, cleaning out my office has not evoked very much emotion at all. It was still the bare walls of the rehearsal hall that struck me the most as I was leaving again today. I really can't wait to be finished. I really hope I have the courage to follow through with this. If I don't, I know that I will be extremely unhappy and my stress level will skyrocket, as I will have to engage in a flurry of activity to prepare for the beginning of marching band camp when the "rookies" are scheduled to begin, along with drum line, student leaders, and color guard, in about two weeks. I think I would be burned out before the actual school year even started.

"This above all: to thine own self be true.” – William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Now it is up to me to be true to myself. It is up to me to let go of that door frame and trust my parachute to open when it's supposed to open. I know that when it opens, the ride to the ground and the landing itself will be breathtaking, exhilarating experiences. I just have the fear that it will fail to open and the ride to the ground and landing will be quick and painful. I still can't wait to have this all behind me so I can find something to temporarily bring in money, hopefully enough to pay the mortgage and other bills until I can begin writing and hopefully get something accepted for publication. I am going to start sending out inquiries as soon as I finish cleaning out my office and putting this life behind me. I can't wait to start my next chapter. Once again, fear exists. Will anyone like my writing? Will I get anything accepted for publication, or will I just receive an endless stream of form rejection letters. I've already begun searching for ideas and outlets for free-lance writing. I also have my Writer's Market ready to go. I haven't had a chance to even open it yet, because I've been so busy cleaning out the baggage of my past career. I feel like I can do this. I just hope the people that count think I can, those in charge of accepting work for publication.

"To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life." - Robert Louis Stevenson

Tomorrow, I plan to spend the morning writing my response to the letter I received when I last met with my principal, as well as re-writing my resignation letter. I also need to clean out my laptop bag and transfer any important documents from my laptop to a CD-ROM or zip drive. I hope I can get through the day without any work-related emergencies or other delays. My plan is to turn in everything on Tuesday morning. I pray for the courage to pull this off and I pray that everything goes smoothly. Any thoughts or prayers or positive energy that could be sent my way would be appreciated greatly.

“I've been trying to remember things, CLEARLY remember things, from my past, but the more I try to think back, the more it all starts to unravel. None of it seems real. It's like I've just been dreaming this life, and when I finally wake up, I'll be somebody else. Somebody totally different!” – Walenski, Dark City




Last night, I awarded my 5 Thinking Blogger Awards. Tonight, it is my honor to award my 5 Schmoozing Blogger Awards. Even though my two lists will be similar, I chose not to tie the awards to one another and to allow myself the option of selecting different recipients if I so choose. Before I share my recipients, it is once again time for the fine print. If you are chosen for this award, here are the rules:

1. If, and only if, you get The Power of Schmooze Award, write a post with links to 5 blogs that have schmoozed you into submission.
2. Link to Mike if you receive the Schmoozing Blogger Award, so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Schmoozing Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

Ladies and gentlemen, the envelope please. Our five nominees for The Power of Schmooze Award are:

1. Controlled Chaos
2. Faith Dance
3. Manicmanicurist
4. My Rearview Mirror
5. Seiche

As you can see, most of the recipients are the same as for the Thinking Blogger Award. I did want to separate the two awards though, so that they didn't always have to be linked. There are some bloggers out there who are truly Thinking Bloggers, but don't like to draw attention to themselves. There are also just some really nice people out there who are great at promoting their blogs, but the focus of the blog may be on a hobby, or may just be fun. While sometimes thought-provoking, these bloggers are always contributing to the blogging community. So, congratulations to my 5 recipients!

Well, it seems that is as far as I can travel with you tonight. A comfortable bed and 6 or 7 hours of sleep are calling to me. I was watching Ice Road Truckers on History Channel when I got home and I have at least discovered one career I definitely do NOT want. I usually don't watch much television at all, but I sometimes enjoy some of those channels with higher numbers. This interesting show also got me thinking about the traveling metaphor. This is truly a journey with no set destination at which we can safely arrive in this lifetime. It is the journey that is important.

I am setting off without fixed plans. I'm glad you choose to accompany me on my journey. We all need good company on a long and dangerous trip.

"Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels,
I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels."
- Jackson Browne, Running On Empty

"Don't confront me with my failures. I have not forgotten them..."

“Whatever you do, you need courage.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Up to this point in my journey along the edge of the abyss, I have only told an extremely small number of select people what is going on inside my head. To me, talking about these changes makes them more real, and that is where fear creeps in... and pounces. I think you, yes you, faithful readers, are the most informed as to what I am thinking. It just seems easier sometimes to tell total strangers these life-shaking thoughts and ideas than telling close family and friends. The few close friends I have told, have reacted in a variety of ways ranging from cautioning me that I'm "getting a little old to start over," to open-mindedly listening to my ideas and helping me strengthen them (thank you Cameron), to selfishly wondering how this will affect their future, to wondering where the money will come from, to support and acceptance. Thus far, I have met some wonderful citizens of Blogville who have been extremely supportive and have allowed me to look over the edge into their abyss as well.

What that brings me to is that today, I have taken a step forward in admitting that this is really happening. It is almost as big for me as the step I took the first day of my personal exploration of these feelings. That day, I looked at apartments. That was terribly frightening. Today, I texted a friend, former Lutheran pastor and former band parent, who is also in the process of becoming an Episcopal priest. Like Cameron, Jeff has been through career change before. His first career was, as I said, as a Lutheran pastor. He left this career when his father became ill so that he could help run the family business of selling high-quality menswear. He recently sold that business and took steps to enter the Episcopalian priesthood at a time when the Episcopal Church is highly unsettled. I set up a meeting with Jeff at a local restaurant for tomorrow evening.

I mentioned my friend Cameron. He has been indispensable to me through all of this. We have talked about intuition, synchronicity, and all of the facets of my potential change of careers. The other night, when I had a particularly strong intuition about something, I mentioned to someone that I should "call Cameron" and discuss it with him. Unbeknownst to me, my phone, which was in its case in my pocket, called him right before I said that. He actually heard me make the statement. Soon after, he hung up and called me back. Talk about synchronicity! Cameron is also a veteran of career change. He left his teaching career several years ago after a number of years as an English teacher at a local high school. He too was given choices much like I have been given, though as an English teacher, his were more restrictive than mine. His choices were leaving the profession or teaching at the county's alternative school. Cameron is now working towards his M.S. online and working in the field of dental prosthetics as a salesman.

“I just wish I could go someplace where nobody knows me.” – Chris, Stand By Me

I guess its easier to share these important matters with strangers because we either feel that they are less likely to judge us, or that if they do, their judgements will matter less to us because we are less connected to them. Those closer to us know all about our past histories, our successes and our failures. We perhaps fear, as my title lyric from Jackson Browne attests, that they will remind us of all the times in the past that we thought we were on the right track, all of our course corrections. If you remember the old television show Cheers, the theme song suggested that sometimes we need to go where everybody knows our names. Lately, I feel the urge to travel to a place where nobody knows my name. I want to be free from the reminders of my past mistakes; free from judgement and scorn. This urge to "get away from it all" has been strong lately. I've told a few friends that I just want to run away sometimes. I assure them that I'll let them know where I've gone once I arrive. I think we all must go through that. The problem is, I'm not sure that I'll know when I arrive at that place. Maybe I will. Maybe my intuition will just let me know with a feeling that says, "I'm home. I have arrived." Or is it a constant journey?

I am reminded of a scene from Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, which was the school play at my high school this year (synchronicity once again):

“One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. Which road do I take? she asked. Where do you want to go? was his response. I don't know, Alice answered. Then, said the cat, it doesn't matter.” - Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures In Wonderland

I am still not sure where I am going. One of the most helpful books I have read recently has been Martha Beck's Finding Your Own North Star. The back of the book outlines the four stages of change. The first stage, Square One: Death and Rebirth (ever heard of starting from square one?), is definitely where I am now. I have embraced the Square One mantra, "I don't know what the hell is going on, and that's okay." My wife has not been as accepting of this stage or its associated mantra. She likes to have everything planned out well in advance. I, on the other hand, have never been much for intricate plans. My idea of a detailed plan is deciding where I'm going to eat right before I pull into a restaurant parking lot. Once again, I credit my right-brain creativity and my ADD for this. Still, this stage is frightening. Going through a major crisis like this is much like grieving, it seems. Prior to all this talk of changing my life, I at least could take for granted that I knew what I would be doing for a career for at least the next fourteen years.

What is "The American Dream?" I think, to some extent, that the media and previous generations have given us this imprint of what life is "supposed to" be like. I've spent the last fifteen to twenty years chasing it. Three years ago, we finally bought that "cute little house in the suburbs." Last year, we finished paying for our car, which now needs a number of expensive repairs. Now, I am wondering, "What's so great about the 'American Dream?'" Can it be acceptable to live slightly outside the boundaries of this "paint by number dream" (Jackson Browne, The Pretender)? Maybe I don't want a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence anymore. Maybe I want a little walk-up apartment in the big city. Maybe I don't want to drive the ubiquitous SUV. What if I want to take the bus, or el, or subway instead? Maybe I don't want to sit down in front of the TV after work (I don't do that anyway). Maybe I would rather volunteer my time helping at a homeless shelter or writing a book. I think we're just conditioned to look at some dreams as better than others.

And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!
...
And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...or am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!...what have I done?
- Talking Heads, Once In a Lifetime

My current career has never afforded me the stereotypical after work "unwinding time" in front of the television. It rarely allows us to even have meals at home. Other than during the summer, when I get a month off, I don't have the time to pursue many interests outside of my career. Sure, I play World of Warcraft (yes, I'm a geek) occasionally, though I don't get to play it much during the school year. I spend some time on the computer. I occasionally get to play Dungeons & Dragons (yes, I'm a true geek) with some of my friends, but once again, not often during the school year. I use the summer to catch up with my friends, to watch all the movies that I missed during the school year and to try to cram in so many other things I deny myself the rest of the year. I used to love watching the leaves change in the fall, but since the fall is my busiest season (marching band), I have not been able to enjoy that since college.

So, needless to say, I don't meet friends for drinks after work. I don't have time to pursue something like writing or helping the homeless. Those things wait for summer. Thankfully, my favorite sport, baseball (go Mets!), is a summer sport. Also, the one television show (Rescue Me) I currently watch is only on in the summer. Still, my one month of vacation is the only time I get the opportunity to indulge in many of my favorite activities, since I work 50-80 hour, 6 day weeks, on average, the rest of the year. I am not sure if that is the lifestyle I want anymore.

Actually, I'm pretty sure its not.

“It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” - Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures In Wonderland