365 Before 2013.

Last year I had some thoughts on the new year and my own resolutions, wishes, friendly reminders to myself (since my blog is often a cathartic refrigerator for my emotional sticky notes.) I wanted to give that another go. So, here I am.

Remember where you were one year ago and count paces to where you are now. Remember the cells and hairs you've shed and the people you've brushed against (they matter.) Seek them out every once in a while and find out about the things that speed up their hearts.

Put words on paper and ignore the backspace until you feel like you've said everything on your mind (and then keep going.) Make things and fill empty spaces. It's the closest thing to magic you're ever going to experience. Save everything or keep nothing.

Go on long drives or walks or bike rides alone. Get to know your own head just a little bit more. Surround yourself with people who make you think or drown out the noise, the ones who chip away at walls to creep in through the cracks.

You don't need to change, but you will anyway.

You'll take the easy way out and stay inside your head and wait. You'll watch and listen or block everything. You'll mess things up and you won't even realize it.

But, really, there's nothing wrong with growing attached or growing apart. It's alright to want someone to share your space and just as alright to not want that. There's enough room in your brain to be content and restless in the same minute. You can love yourself and still grow.

You need very little really, until you need a whole lot. You're a dynamic and fragile thing.

A Response To Tragedy

Things got unfortunately real today. I hope conversations are had and changes are made for everyone's sake.

    I’ve spent the last five years of my life working as the head coach of a local communtiy swim team. Our league is made up primarily of Conneticut and New York swimmers aged 5 to 16. I’ve been fortunate enough to bring my little athletes to the different pools and lakes in the area from our neighboring New Fairfield to Danbury and Newtown areas.  

    The thing is, when you get into a swim meet environment with anywhere from 50 to 100 kids running around, crying, scraping their knees and picking their noses, it all blends together. You rub a shoulder, kiss a booboo and hand over a tissue to your own little rugrats and the other teams indiscriminately.
    It’s all the same.

    When a kid gets out of the pool at the end of a long, hard race or if they’re too scared to get in the water to begin with, you’re there.You tell them "It's okay" and "You can do it," because they're young and full of potential and of course they can.

    It doesn’t take a whole lot of work to really care for these kids. They’ve got this evolutionary advantage that makes them pretty damn endearing. You want to keep these kids safe, watch them paddle off and experience great and beautiful victories. You just do.

    This is what I’m thinking about today, in light of the events at Sandyhook Elementary. The loss is the sort to weigh down on your heart in the worst way. Sure, monsters exist and sometimes they win. But, I’ll be damned if that makes it suck any less. 

     I think there are going to be a lot of important conversations coming up in the next few weeks. Ones about gun control, mental health services and personal liberties that will show the best and worst of us.

    I just hope we all remember the runny noses, scraped knees and races that are never going to be finished; I hope we remember what we really should be protecting.

“It's like in the Great Stories, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end, because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer. Those are the stories that stayed with you, that meant something even if you were too young to understand why. But I think I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something-that there's some good in the world, and it's worth fighting for!”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings