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love

what I want

Sep 18th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
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A few years ago spending time with people that mattered to me and respected me was the most important thing in my life. That hasn’t changed. That still is what is most important. We are, after all, very social animals. Being social makes us happy. And, as I’ve said before, success is happiness.

But the people that I find myself surrounded by continues to change. As the core of my group grows and shrinks and mutates, those that support that core fluctuate as well. While staying out until 3am drinking and laughing and smoking and doing silly things that I should regret the next day but probably wont still sounds like a REALLY GOOD TIME, it just doesn’t happen. Not because of lack of opportunity and not because of lack of desire. There are merely more important things. No matter how drunk I get, no matter how loud I sing, no matter who I accidentally make out with, I wouldn’t trade the smile on my daughter’s face, and an early morning walk with her for it. No way.

But this isn’t about Celeste. I mean it is, but it isn’t. Because I wouldn’t trade a happy smile and a nice morning walk with anyone I care about for a night of carelessness and lack of inhibitions. For me, an intimate moment with someone I care about has always been more important. Now, if I can have both, then I’ll take it.

This isn’t a holier than thou thing. There’s nothing wrong with preferring the super-social acts of silliness and debauchery over a quiet, happy, peaceful moment. Everyone is built differently. I’m not knocking those of you who would prefer to stay out late and party. In fact, if I can find a way to get what I want most and join you too, then I will.

Getting married, or finding a significant other, or having a child, or moving within walking distance of your closest friends changes things for people like me. It isn’t because I’ve changed who I am. And it isn’t because the event or other person changes me. It is, instead, because with that change comes that which I seek the most. And, in having it, I choose it over and over again.

So that’s where I am. That’s where I’ve always been. I seek intimacy and closeness. I seek it in all of it’s forms. I seek it as often as I can have it. And I seek it in ways that allow me to have even more of it, instead of in ways that would limit me from finding it. Often that means being around people with the same priority pattern because it just works out that way. But it doesn’t have to.

I still like being super-social and wild too. Believe me, I’ve still got it in me. And if I can find a way to do both, I will. And if being super-social is on the top if your list, but an intimate, close moment with a good friend sounds enjoyable too, then maybe we can work it out to where we both get what we want.

I’m learning that anything is possible. ANYTHING.

That Jumping From a Plane Thing…

Aug 28th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
6 comments
makes falling feel like flying

makes falling feel like flying

…. I did it.

So, last Sunday I jumped out of a plane. And I haven’t written anything here since then. Unless you follow me elsewhere, you might be wondering if I died. I guess sort of, in a way, I did die. Part of me anyway. One of those parts that really wasn’t doing me any good. But, in a purely physical sense, no, I’m quite alive.

I’m not really a thrill seeker. For me, sky diving was more about releasing control and enjoying the moment than it was about the adrenaline rush one gets from falling to their death for 60 seconds at 120mph, or floating 5,000ft over North Texas with nothing but some nylon and some rope keeping you stuck in the sky. Of course the adrenaline felt pretty good too.

But back to that death thing. The truth of the matter is, had there not been an experienced person strapped to my back willing to take control of the situation, I would be dead today. I almost entirely untrained. I would more than likely not been able to figure out how to operate my parachute or how to properly steer myself in for a landing or even find the Drop Zone. In addition, I made a mistake within the first second of leaving the plane that would have surely left me disoriented, unable to regain control, and, eventually, dead. But instead I have an entry in my log book that says “Awesome 360″.

So I did. I released control. I left my life and my child’s future in the hands of someone I just met with the only thing even resembling a guarantee of my safety being the unwritten pact between myself and my jump instructor that, he too, would like to come out of the jump alive and ready for the next. And we both did just fine.

The free fall is amazing. Air rushing past your face and yet the ground doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. It’s almost like you’re floating and the wind is blowing really hard at the same time. It doesn’t feel anything like falling. It’s flying. For 60 seconds, I was fucking superman. I even had X-ray vision. If you ever decide to jump with me you might want to think twice about getting in front of me. I’ll look.

I didn’t even notice that our parachute was being pulled. I knew it was about time because I’d been glancing at the altimeter. When it happened it took me a second to even figure out what it was. Suddenly my feet are pointing to the ground, I can feel my own weight resting on the straps at my groin, and the wind has stopped. Then the parachute fully catches, there’s a slight jerk, and that’s it. We’re not flying anymore, it’s more like controlled floating. The parachute works a lot like a hang-glider. You can steer the thing, make it fall faster or slower, turn in one direction, spin, spiral, whatever you want. The view is amazing.

Then we’re 150 feet or so off the ground and discussing our landing. Legs up at 20 feet, and we’re down. Heart pumping, skin tight, lungs taking in oxygen. You breathe. You look around. You have great respect and awe in that moment. You smile, you laugh, you hug your friends. If you’re me, you even ask a few of them to marry you. It’s just that kind of moment.

Within 30 minutes or so, I’m wondering why I’m not jumping out of plane again already.

The strangest and most unexpected part was the “afterglow”. I already run with a very high libido. This made it even more intense. Even if recreational drug use really is only a way to help us cope with what our society is lacking that we as human being require, this was the best damn drug I’ve ever been on.

I left part of me up there. Somewhere between the yellow belly of the plane and the bright green earth we live on a little chunk of me — a hard callous built up from too many pokes and stabs protecting some piece of me from feeling — tore itself free. I feel more capable of love, more ready for life, and less dependent on this silly society we’ve built around us having no idea what we were getting ourselves into at the time.

I’m jumping again in October. I think you should come too. And you really should click on the image in this post and buy yourself a copy. Because the next time I go, I’m bringing better photo gear, and you’re going to want to see those.

and we shout at the top of our lungs

Aug 20th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
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(I recently wrote these words to a friend going through some hard times in her marriage. I cried when I wrote them. I’m crying now rereading them. I figure they are worth sharing.)

Marriage is hard. Really hard. And children make it harder.

But, then again children are hard too.

I think anything worth keeping requires some work. The natural order of the universe is chaos. If we want to keep it, we have to KEEP it. KEEP is an ACTION word.

I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m not even offering advice in that arena because I honestly don’t know ANYTHING about ANYTHING.

But I do know this: Marriage is more than “I love you”s and sweet nothings and flowers and good times. It’s more than a handsome face and a shared paycheck. It’s more than monogamy. It’s a commitment. It’s a promise to yourself. It’s a promise to another person. It’s an agreement between two people to scream at the top of their lungs:

FUCK YOU WORLD! I don’t care what you throw at me, or how hard you make this life, or what comes my way good or bad, this person and I are sticking together, hand-in-hand, through thick and thin, to make sure that, in the end, we both make it out together.

And sometimes we have it easy. Sometimes the world is so nice to us and everything goes our way and there are no trials, no doubts, no difficulties. Then there are the rest of us.

There are plenty of reasons to end a marriage. And there are plenty of reasons to stay in one. I can certainly learn a thing or two about knowing when to call it quits, because I’m the kind of guy that never gives up on anything, and that’s not exactly the way to be. But there are two things that I am unwilling to give up on:

  1. my child(ren). Never. Ever. EVER.
  2. my promises (both to myself, and to other people).

Promises are meant to be kept until they are fulfilled or until all of those affected by the promise agree to dissolve it.

You will get through this. And, in the end you will only be stronger. Both the YOU-alone you. And the YOU-together you.

If it helps any, know that you are not at all alone. I’ve talked to lots and Lots and LOTS of Moms (and Dads) about this. Something I heard over and over again is that, at this point, right at about the one year mark of your first child, it gets rough. Lots of women (and sometimes men) think about leaving at this very moment. And all of those who didn’t have told me over and over again how glad they are that they didn’t.

I hope this doesn’t come across as preaching. Because that’s not how I mean it. I’m just trying to share what I’ve learned, in the hopes that it helps you, even just a little, get through this hard time no matter how it is that you do that.

the glass is half full

Aug 18th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
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ducks on a pond

ducks on a pond

I always so actively share the bad, the negative, and the difficult aspects of my life, that I probably leave the impression that there is no goodness or happiness to be found here. This could not be farther from the truth.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a perfectly good or a perfectly bad anything. There’s always a mixture of goods and not-so-bads and, sometimes, bads and not-so-goods. But all-in-all my life is pretty fantastic.

I have a good job.

I complain about it a lot, it takes up a lot of my time, and the work has slowly declined from “interesting and exciting” to “life-threateningly dull”.

But it’s a job. A good job that earns me lots of respect and a very decent wage. In these hard times, that’s saying a lot. And every day I get closer and closer toward self-employment.

I have a house.

I complain about it a lot, parts of it are too empty, and other parts of it are too full. It doesn’t have enough storage space, the kitchen doesn’t have enough light, and the walls that surround the kitchen aren’t as open as I’d like them to be. My yard is insane, and no matter what I do I can’t seem to keep the weeds at bay.

But, it’s a nice house. It’s mine. It’s provides shelter for Celeste and I and gives me the freedom to offer a bed for the night, or a room for the month to friends and family. My neighborhood is safe to walk in and is spotted with beautiful parks and a pool. I’m a short drive from a great number of city and state parks if I want to get even further out.

I have a nice car. A very nice car.

It’s not perfect. It’s not luxury. It costs too much. It’s not exactly what I want.

But it’s safe, it’s comfortable, it’s gets me around, it holds everything I need, and has room for 2-5 more people (depending on how much you like to squish). Plus it gets decent gas mileage and has good 4-wheel drive when needed.

I have a beautiful, smart, amazing daughter who loves me very much.

I complain about how hard it is to be a single dad, or how cranky she can get when she is being thrown back and forth from home to home with two different sets of rules and two different schedules. I complain about how much I miss her when she’s not around.

But our time together is amazing. We teach each other so much and she brings so much joy to every second I am with her. She is the brightest spot in my every day. She makes me want to be a better person and reminds me that the simple pleasures in life are often the greatest.

I have a small handful of very good friends.

I complain a lot about how people never drive to visit me. How they don’t understand what it’s like to try to kill time with a toddler because they couldn’t get their ass ready in time to be where they said they’d be when they said they’d be there. I complain about how it never seems to be fair or even and how the supposed two-way streets of friendship often seem to have traffic going in only one direction.

But… that isn’t all of my friends. There are some who call or email just to check in on me. Some that that offer to cook me dinner, even in my own home, for no reason other than that they’d like to see me. I know at least 3 moms that I communicate with on a nearly daily basis that love and care for their children in ways very similar to my own. I have great respect for them and offer as much of myself to them as I can. They offer me support and kindness and friendship and even an innocent flirt from time to time. The remind me that no one is perfect and every day is its own success and its own reward. They welcome Celeste and me into their families and often reach out to us when they feel we are too distant or that we might be in need of company. I have other friends, with and without kids, that genuinely care and regularly offer themselves into my life in various capacities. Though they may not be numerous, what they lack in quantity they surely make up for in quality.

One friend in particular, who happens to be an amazing mom of four kind, beautiful children, said this to me yesterday when I was particular upset that turned my entire day around.

Daniel, very very few people love or care as much or as deeply as you do. You are one of the most caring people I have ever come to know.

All of these words to say, my life is quite good. While, more often than not, my complaints are valid, if you should find yourself on the receiving end of my venting, after expressing a little compassion and understanding, you should probably kick me in the ass and remind me that my life really is fantastic.

(I chose this photograph because, just like my life, it is not perfect. But it’s beautiful, and full, and enjoyable just the same.)

better?

Aug 7th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
4 comments

better?A friend recently told me that my brain runs too fast analyzing what’s being said and thinking of what to say next that it makes it hard for me to be a good listener. She’s probably right. I had always thought that knowing exactly what to say at the right time is what sorted out the good listeners from the bad ones. But I realized, when she said that, that sometimes there isn’t anything someone can say. Sometimes, there isn’t an answer. And when there isn’t, I suck at it.

Whatever skill needs to be employed in those cases — to listen without having the answer — is probably useful just the same even when there is an answer. That skill, whatever it is, is one that I don’t seem to have. But if I did, and this is just conjecture, it would make me a better listener in all cases. So I’m looking for that skill.

I keep a text file on my computer named “things I should never forget”. It’s mostly just small quotes from various people and links to whatever they came from. It’s full of good things. Things like:

It’s getting immensely easier to enjoy living as I stop trying to prove a point to anyone and just do what’s good.

–Farris Goldstein

Yesterday I added a new bit of knowledge to this book of my life:

Don’t be an asshole. Learn to love donuts.

– Joey Comeau

It’s no wonder it has become so easy for us, as a society, to tell lies and half truths to get what we want. We’ve seen it used over and over again as a tactic for pacification since we were so very young.

Imagine you’re a young child. Your father is about to leave for the day and you don’t want him to. Your father told you he’d be back at the end of the day and covered you in hugs and kisses, but that it didn’t help to ease you. He told you didn’t want to go but that he had to. That didn’t help much either. Then, another adult tells you that your father is really just going to get you a snack, and that he’ll be right back. That makes you feel better. You stop crying and your father leaves. You’re happy to go on playing and wait for him to return. But he doesn’t. Not until much later that evening. After you’ve glanced at the door so many times that you eventually stop looking. When you see him you’re so happy that he’s there that you almost forget that it took longer than you expected. Almost. But day after day, time after time, over and over again, it sticks and you remember. You learn that people lie to get what they want. They lie to innocent children and they lie to other lying adults. Lying is a fact of life, a required tool. A tool requiring mastery.

When there are turtles under the bridge, when there are fish in the pond,when the birds sing us home, when there’s a frog in the car that we can’t get out, life is good. And those little laughs, the little giggles, the little smiles, make everything that much more amazing and bring warmth to even the coldest days. I am inspired by her, every day, to be more like I want to be. Whoever said parenting is a zero sum game

popcorn!

Aug 3rd, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
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I have 13 minutes to write to you all and tell you how wonderful my Yesterday was, and instead I’m wasting it telling you that I’m about to write. I’m silly like that. But, much like love, projects, friendships, romantic interests, and even just good, old-fashioned, carnal fun, I’ve never been able to just jump right in to anything. Except I am jumping out of a plane next month. Not quite sure yet how.

So, as I mentioned, yesterday was wonderful. It deserves to be laid out in 40 — maybe 50 — long drawn out pages. But, this will have to suffice: tickles and kisses; breakfast: grapes, cherries, and apple sauce; starbucks; friends, kolaches, and puppies; nap for C; lunch: chicken nuggets w/ a chick pea and black bean salad; cleaning — all the main rooms, laundry, floors. Celeste is an expert sweeper. Especially with good tunes on; swimming underwater; dinner: noodles w/ chicken, broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots; our evening walk: in search of crunchy leaves; popcorn in the dark. I’ve never given C popcorn before now. She loved it. Despite her gills. She must get that from me; bed time for C; Warehouse 13; bedtime for me.

As much as it’s nice to think of how much relaxing I can do, how much partying I can do, or how much I can actually get done when I don’t have Celeste tonight, in the end it doesn’t make it “worth it”.

I left my wallet in Keller on Saturday. I hope my Dad remembers to bring it to work today so I can get it from him.

That’s all the time we have folks.

Finer Points

Jul 9th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
6 comments

I don’t dare to say that anyone’s life is perfect. Despite outward appearances, we all have hardships and difficulties. It’s these very things that make the sweeter things sweet. However, Erin (of BlueBirdBaby) and her life continue to inspire me as an artist, a parent, a lover of nature, and a member of the human race.

Recently, she’s begun to share the words of Sasa, a significant person in her life and the life of her daughter, on her site as well. I take the following words from him posted on my birthday and share them with you:

It is amazing to me how quickly things can change. How sun follows storm, how clouds follow clarity, how time follows eternity. And yet there is something always there, aware and present to notice every thing. From the simple joy of seeing the moon again for the first time, to the frenzy of fireworks filling the sky, it is all there for us.

We are such cyclical creatures. It’s not a curse or a blessing, it’s simply what we are. We have been indelibly shaped by our tides, our planet, its rotation, and its orbit around the closest star, our sun. Under the gentle hand of our creator, these little pushes and pulls in all different and unseen directions have led us here, shaped the moutains and the sea, created night and day, and gave birth to four generous seasons. We are creatures dependant on our planet’s rotation; Dependant on its orbit around the sun for our very survial; Dependant on these cycles.

I wish to live my life in concert with what created me, not in direct opposition to it. I wish to blur the lines between which parts of the world are me and which parts are not. I wish to welcome each season against my skin instead of shutting it outside, closing all the doors, and blasting the air conditioning or stoking the furnace to force out what sneaks in the cracks.

I will find peace in a handful of sand. I will feel comfort in the mud between my toes. I will be refreshed by a heavy summer rain. I will be lulled to sleep by the gentle tug of the moon. And I wish for my daughter to find these same things and more in the world from which she was born.

It matters not if my she is wealthy or famous. It matters not if she is the biggest, the brightest, or the best. For her I only want peace. Peace found within ourselves aided only by the map that our creator has drawn time and time again all around us. And from this peace great love, happiness, and communion with others will spring forth. And the finer points of what it means to live here and now will be evident. I wish that my daughter would find naturally what has taken me thirty-one years to look for in all the wrong places. And I intend to be sure she has every tool she needds to find it. And in this great design, those tools are all free of charge.

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you. And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you, for life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

-Kahlil Gibran

I’m older than I’ve ever been

Jul 8th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
8 comments

Today is my birthday.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. I have for the 31st time in my life successfully circumnavigated the sun. Quite an accomplishment, I know. It wouldn’t have been possible without my mom, my dad, gravity, and inertia, all of whom I’d like to thank on this momentous occassion.

Ha.

In reality, there’s nothing more significant about today than there was yesterday or will be tomorrow. We could just as easily celebrate birth months, birth weeks, or births at 500 day intervals. In fact, I once threw myself a 10,000th day alive party, just because.

Really, life should be celebrated every single day and at every possible opportunity, because, despite being abundant here, it is so very precious.

But, there is a tradition in our society to celebrate a person on the day of their birth. And it is that tradition, not the actual event, that makes today special for me. The day is only 10 hours old and already so many friends and family have texted, called, emailed, and sent photographs wishing me a happy birthday. It is so very appreciated. Thank you all for helping to make this day special.

I spent my 30th birthday alone in Syracuse, NY. My wife and 7 month old daughter had left for Canada the day before to visit her parents and I was to follow 3 days later. I’d wanted so badly to spend the time together but it just didn’t happen. And even though, just like today, that particular day was not really any more important than any other day, the tradition placed on it made it feel more important. And the round number of “30″ made it seem more important too. Therefore, it made me feel very sad to not have those I loved dearest close to me then.

But this birthday will not be that way. Despite the fact that Celeste’s grandparents are in town for the next two weeks to visit her, I’m seeing her tonight. I don’t have anything planned, but spending time with my daughter will be more than enough. No matter how amazing my life was before her, with her in it, everything is bigger and better and more important than it ever was before.

So today, on my birthday, I am grateful for Jess and all the family and friends that have played a role in bringing her into this world and shaping her life and making her who she is. I can say, without a doubt, that Celeste has the best chosen family on the face of the planet.

Of course, as always, I welcome and appreciate spending time with people I care about. If you’re without plans this evening (or Thursday, or Friday), or have plans worth cancelling, and would like to join us to go swimming, go for a walk, have a nice dinner, watch a movie at home, have a beer or two, or just stand out on the front porch and talk as the sun sets, I’d love that. You know how to reach me.

The will of a child, part I

Jul 6th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
No comments yet

Last night was terrible. Im laying here awake thinking of it partly because it was so bad, but also because it’s our last day together before my inlaws get here.

Despite a bad headache, a cranky girl, and a few other bad circumstances, we had a really good day until we got home. Then everything went wrong.

First there was the dinner thing. She wasn’t listening at all and almost got boiling water splashed on her. I tried the nice voice and the stern voice. I tried askin and I tried physically moving. No matter what she either threw a fit or didn’t listen. Then, when that didn’t work, she resorted to being intentionally hurtful. I would have never believed a 1.5 year old could be intentionally hurtful if I hadn’t been through it. More than once. On the same day. Which is what she did last night.

After dinner we went for a 1.5 hour walk because that’s what she wanted. We played and laughed and had fun. Except for the two times we stopped at the house to get water and/or use the bathroom. We were even playing “which house is ours” and she was so excited when she found it until she thought that meant we were going home. It didn’t. We were just walking past it. So then she changes her answer to a very angry NO, that it was definately not our house. When it was actually time to go in she cried and cried and cried. Thankfully, singing and laughing inside got her over that fairly quickly.

When it was finally bed time she wanted nothing of it. No songs. She didn’t want me to lay with her. She started getting more and more dificult. When I could think of no other options I set us up a little bed in front of the TV (which we rarely watch) to let her decide she was ready on her own. But she just got crankier and crankier. After almost 45 minutes of that I decided it was time to stop giving her a choice. Then she exploded. After dealing with that I told her that she could do whatever she wanted but that I was going to sleep. I laid down and she just threw herself on the ground and bumped her face on the night stand.

I picked her up and tried to tak to her. She resorted to being intentionally mean again. 30 minutes of laying around and talking and trying to change the subject and she finally decided she could stop being mean and that it was okay to go to sleep. It took over 1.5 hours to go from some form of very upset to sleeping.

And of course all of that is made worse by the fact that I got frustrated. I stopped being a source of calm and love and instead just cake off as upset and ocassionaly angry and yelling. Which does no one any good at all. And all of that was made worse still by this being out last nIght together before my inlaws get here. In the end I was crying and she was crying and it was just absolutely terrible.

And I feel horrible. I’d take the day off of work if it was an option. But it just isn’t for a few reasons.

At least I get to see her again on Wednesday.

corresponding paths

Apr 30th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
No comments yet

I miss Celeste a lot today. It’s easy to list hundreds of reasons why I’d feel this way, but nothing in particular jumps out as any different than any other day. I just do. More so than usual.

I think maybe it has to do with the way we said goodbye last night.

Jess had her for the evening and I stopped at Jess’ place just to visit for a bit. Celeste was already a little on the cranky side. Jess didn’t feel like cooking so we went out to eat. Being confined to a restaurant tends to make her even more cranky. Then we went back to Jess’ place and hung our for a bit. I got to play with her some but she was really irritable and very clingy to Jess. Eventually, Jess decided it was time for her to go to bed. Celeste didn’t like the idea so my goodbye was said through tears and whines.

on the way down

Of course, this happens when she is with me from time to time too. It’s not unusual. But the difference is, when I put her to bed on a cranky day I can cuddle her and sing her songs and play games until I know she is happy and everything is right with her world again. And when she wakes up in the morning and I can see that big smile on her face as she feeds me pretend crackers that she continues to pretend break off of a drink coaster. Even if it’s a rushed, mad dash, 30 minutes to get her awake, dressed, fed, and out the door, there’s enough time in there to just be and find that strand of peace between us.

So I guess I feel this way because I never got that peace in the end. I never got to feel like everything came back to center. Our lives — mine and Celeste’s — are, of course, very different with very different paths. Yet those paths are laid close to one another now, straying only slightly and crossing often. As we both grow our paths will take us different places but, hopefully, still cross as often as possible.

Last night, I never got the feeling that we reconnected and are back to corresponding points on our respective paths. I feel like one of us needs to slow down and the other speed up until we can meet there again. I just need that reassurance.

Jess has her again tonight, so it looks like it won’t be until Friday afternoon that I can see Celeste again and find that peace in her smile.

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