False Friend

I can't believe after five years, this is how it ends.

I can't believe how I've supported you and how I've been there for you even as your family was in crisis and even as your father hurt you. I can't believe that you are so selfish, how you are so uncompromising and how vindictive and mean you are. I've never had anyone treat me so badly and while it hurts, I know that you are going to miss my friendship because there is no one else like me out there. I can't believe that in the end, you haven't even acted as though you'll be sad to see me go. 

This is all I can say: you aren't worthy of me. I deserve so much better in a friend and all you need do is look around and see all the people you've hurt and driven away, even if in small pieces. It's sad that you wouldn't let me have something as small as a cat to make my quality of life better. And it's really sad to see how little you care about me even though you've always been the one to say that "you're friends are here to support you" and "if someone can't be with you at your worse, they don't deserve you at your best." Maybe you should take a dose of your own medicine.

I've always been one to say what I mean and mean what I say. I can't believe it took me five years to realize that you don't mean what you say at all. And in a lot of ways that makes you just as bad as Sean. 

I just hope that one day you'll realize what it is you've lost when you want to laugh at something I would think was funny, or something I would say. And I hope you'll feel a lot of regret when you realize you want to talk to someone empathetic and when you reach for the phone or want to send me an email, you realize you've burned your bridge to me. 

This should come as no surprise: I'm an all or nothing person and I also have a healthy dose of forgiveness. But I'm done and I can't forgive you for the pain you've put me through. In the end, I acknowledged my mistakes and said I was sorry and it's sad that you can't own up to your own petty and mean behavior, which of course you wouldn't do because you don't take responsibility for your actions. This is why you've lost friends and driven people away. 

It took me five years to see how false you are and though it'll be sad to see a friendship end, I'll be better for it. 

music

One, singular note, a voice weary with tobacco, tears and too much booze, and fingers sliding across a discordant guitar: this is music. This is my music. This is my passion, the thing that keeps me writing; possibly because I feel myself every time I hear the echo of that wailing and Waylon voice and that scratchy guitar. It is the thing that moves me to write because the music is beautiful beyond words. And perhaps, that in the end, is what I like so much about the music. It is a confluence of events, a convention, where words are amplified by the beauty of sound, something, despite communication and words' beauty, cannot be replicated in writing. 

Reading the Signs

I'm a semi believer in signs. 

I can't remember if I've ever told any one this, but one of the main reasons I decided to go to school in Portland, and therefore, change the course of my life in a fairly radical way, was because I saw a truck that had "NAVAJO" painted on the side and it had Oregon license plates. I remember where I saw this truck too; it was on the 134 East/ 5 Golden Gate exchange at Griffith Park. The truck's placement at this park, which means so much to me, as well as the Native American reference on its side, at a time when I was into reading Hillerman novels, was a positive sign--an auxiliary sign that told me to stretch my wings and go to Portland. 

The problem is, what if you misread the signs? After all, the way they are interpreted depends on a person's emotional state at the time, and that being said, isn't it possible to read a sign in a shitty mood and do something really foolish depending on your skewed analysis. 

And it's not in my nature to be a fair weather friend so I hate saying that maybe signs should only be followed when your in the best of moods. Like maybe they don't count if you're in a bad one. 

But I will say this. Perhaps the most strong signs are the ones that come from within. Your Gut. Your Intuition, that voice or movement inside of you that urges you in a particular direction. This is the sign to be followed and if outward signs help point the way, then so be it! And if they seem to go opposite of your Gut, then fuck 'em. 

Hey, I did say I was a semi-believer after all.

Whistling

Do you ever realize that no one whistles anymore?

I can go months without thinking about it, until I let out a whistle, that often moves from a rock melody to a jazz riff on that same rock tune. It creeps up on me, the knowledge that I'm usually the only one out of dozens of people milling about, that chooses to whistle. 

And unlike most people, I have no shame or embarrassment in singing or whistling, often at loud levels, in public. 

I had just gotten out of my car today, my feet hitting the pavement, mid-step towards my apartment when I realized I was whistling, really loudly. Out loud, my whistle cut across, high and clear, a great jazzy take on Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' "Last Dance with Mary Jane." 

Yippidy-Do-Da comes to mind as does old cowboys whistling as they whittle away wood into flutes or tobacco pipes. Public whistling is certainly an old hobby, and knowing I am an old soul, this only makes me smile. Because long ago I knew I was an old soul, that I've been around in a lifetime or two---this is no surprise to me, but merely a confirmation of who I am, and a feeling that in one more way, I've come home to myself. 

From the Fire There Was Brilliance

I have clung to faith in ways I'd never imagined. But given the circumstances we face ourselves in, an economic crisis that reaches across oceans, that affects allies as well as the US, it is faith in myself and in my boss and my job that keeps me sane. At any moment there is a part of me that is afraid of losing my job, of friends and family losing theirs, and of masses of people living in poverty and crime. 

Maybe it's true, what they say: that in times of great distress and trouble, we find ourselves growing strong of heart and of mind, of gaining fortitude in strides and by revolutionizing technologies and ways of life. Maybe it is true, that God grants us difficulties so that we might better ourselves. 

I've heard that for many years, the whole concept that without the crosses we bear, we'd never achieve levels of greatness; that we'd never reach to be better than ourselves. Jesus had his cross, but without it, He never would have shown us magnificent compassion, or so the story goes. It's really the story of the Phoenix: that our greatest moment comes at our rebirth---after we smolder to ashes, burn to nothing, we rise anew; a bird of firey magnificence. 

I hope for three things. 1) That we do learn from this crisis, that we do strive to be better and do become better. 2) That by being better, by rising to the ideals of the best that the human spirit has to offer, that we stay with that brilliance in good times and in bad. 3) That none of us have to burn all the way down to embers before we can fly on wings of gold. 

Runnin' Down a Dream

There's a story about a young man who, after listening to Elvis, was blown away and could do nothing but beg his father for a guitar. 

The same young man did nothing but eat, drink and sleep music and by the time he was a teenager he had talked several people and friends into joining a band. 

This isn't an uncommon tale. We've heard it from the greats so many times; people who were inspired by the Beatles or Elvis (almost always either or both of these entities). We've also occasionally heard about how these local 50s and 60s bands turned into something more, turned into small phenomenons, which moved into larger phenomenons and these bands started to become famous. 

What separates this story from the others, and what stands out to me as being unique among all the greats is the lead singer of this particular band. 

With no doubt to the observing eye, this singer had no fear to cajole and to ask that he keep his band members from going to college or even going to war. It was Vietnam, but that wasn't going to stop his band, his players, their music or their journey. 

That's what I find so intriguing about the Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers story. He didn't see any other option in his life other than to pursue music. 

As I feel a residual of fear every day (a fear of no new story ideas to pitch, a fear that no matter how much I try, I will never get to the level I'd like to be at) I sit and think about Petty. And then I think about my own journey. 

While I am SO thankful for the opportunities I've had and am SO thankful to have a good job, I feel in my bones that I am a writer and that I will be and am meant to be a top level reporter. Few things give me the fire in my belly and the satisfaction in my soul, than writing. And I believe that this, in turn, makes me a writer. For this and so many other reasons. 

Rejection is hard, and something that parents and teachers and mentors don't prepare you for when you enter the real world. It is a lesson and an experience that is hard earned and to a certain extent, rejection never loses its affect of slapping you in the face. 

But I will not let that defeat me. The fear can live there at the fringes of my mind and my heart. It can be the nervous jangle that winds its way through my life, but I refuse to give up. I will act like Mr. Petty and his band members, and keep my eye to the road, my eye to the prize and see that there is no other option but to achieve everything I dream. 

How I Fell in Love With Writing

There is a team, a couple of people who work with me at Flowerbud. They are very young and they have their own graphic design/ tech business situated in downtown Portland. It amazes me how they got started, how they are self taught and how they literally have their own business, a thing that seems so abstract and overwhelming to me. 

I've listened to Michael, a founder at Colorcubic describe the events that lead him to start doing graphic design. And his story made me think about putting my own story in words. So here I go:

Looking back now, a steady stream of events occurred over the summer between my high school graduation and my entrance to college. That's where it all began. Actually I lied, it started much earlier than that, so let's travel back into the days of middle school. 

My father has always been a man to listen to rock 'n' roll, stuff from the 50s and sixties, like Elvis, the Beatles, Beach Boys, Rolling Stones, Motown classics etc. By the time I was in elementary school, I could sing all the lyrics to any oldie that came on the radio and as I entered middle school, my dad moved on to listening to Classic Rock stuff as well. 

A few classic rock songs stick out in my head as really being memorable and serving as turning points. I remember LOVING Thin Lizzy's "The Boys Are Back in Town." There was something about it that really reminded me of a fifties scene and I loved that. 

I remember hearing a whole slew of good songs that sounded like they all belonged to one band, but I didn't know what it was until I hear "Breakdown" on my way to the beach with my mom and Aunt Christine. I loved the water and that song was infectious and I kept hearing the beat of each opening phrase to the rhythm of each wave gliding underneath my boogie board. It wasn't until I kept my ear to the radio, to hear who did that song, that my love affair with music by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers began. 

Skip to my first Tom Petty concert where I heard Jackson Browne open, and I was so elated, I felt like I was on the best high for a week. I'd never paid any attention to a Browne song and I didn't know who he was, but he was incredible and this only added to the awesome factor of that concert. I then added Jackson Browne to my list of people to follow and I did just that when I went to a collaborative concert at The Greek Theater, nestled among pine trees, dry dirt and the night, I heard an entire array of American music; a span from blues and jazz to country and southern rock, to folk and rock 'n' roll, and the experience was beyond belief. This concert featured a singer by the name of Steve Earle and The Dukes and from there I was hooked. 

You see, I used these concerts beyond their immediate satisfaction. For each concert that I loved and that included a new singer, I invested time in following that singer until the next concert that added another talent to my roster of curiosity and admiration. 

In those days of high school something in me changed. I listened to the music differently. At first it was just a good song and a catchy melody. But as I got older, I started to really listen to the lyrics, the phrasing, the possible double entendres as so many good English words entail. And these songs and words started to MEAN something to me. They started to capture memory and feeling to the point that when I next heard that particular song, it brought back a memory so vivid that I felt I was living it again. 

To Be Continued....