Interdependence Day

Last night, the Fourth of July, our daughters, my wife and I were playing cards at the kitchen table when fireworks began sounding in earnest. They had been going off occasionally all day, but as evening came down, regular volleys of minor explosions and whistling rockets sounded across the city. We went outside but couldn't see much. We live amidst drumlins, ice age deposits, and tall trees. The fireworks were being shot from neighborhoods on the other side.

Let's go see, I said.

We scrunched into the front of Dad's '72 Chevy pickup. The girls scanned the sky, pointing at each new explosion, their heads turning and turning. I watched the road, my arm dangling out the window, the truck rolling slowly, my mind at ease, content, happy.

We ended up on the northeast side of town. I pulled into the lot the Syracuse Northeast Community Center shares with Dr. Weeks school. My wife and I climbed out and stood beside the truck, our older daughter climbed into the truck bed for better views, and our younger daughter kept to the safety of the cab. Fireworks soared into the sky from all four directions, asynchronous, un-choreographed, a jazz improvisation of bright explosions and color.

It was all just right for us. We had gone out on a whim, searched out what we wanted, and relaxed into the wonder of it all. We were parked in the lot of my new job, a place that brings me unbelievable joy and challenge, that has made our family life better. I'm no longer miserable, counting days until I can retire, dreading each new day of school. Parked there, I felt ownership and responsibility to my family and the community. Around us, over our heads, the night erupted in celebration.

This year's Fourth Of July was full of challenges. The white supremacist in the White House and his cowardly enablers on the right believe Independence Day represents going it alone and being above others. They're dead wrong.

Last night, in the parking lot on Syracuse's northeast side, we celebrated our interdependence and love, the challenges and excitement of serving our neighbors, and the memory of Dad embodied in that old truck. When the fireworks wound down, we climbed into the truck, sitting tightly together on one shared seat, and drove back to the home we share. We watched colored sparks soar into the air at random across our city, celebrating all we mean to one another and all we are to become together. Happy Interdependence Day, everyone.

New Morning

This morning I have nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no one expecting me. Instead of rushing to make the coffee, grumbling about the dishwasher, and worrying over the clock as I write Morning Pages, I feel light, content, unencumbered, almost healthy.

Stress has not been my best friend or at least I've not learned how to accept it as my guest. This morning I weigh just shy of two-twenty at the end of week I hoped I'd be two-seventeen. I ate my stress this week. I tried to resist it.

There has to be a better way.

Better sleep helps. Last night I went to bed without electronics and fell right into deep sleep. Simple measures. Ben Franklin was right about that early to bed, early to rise stuff.

Writing helps. I rewrote someone else's piece and felt great playing on the court of my skills. In my new job, thinking in solitude with pen on paper brings clarity, comfort, and understanding.

Fresh air helps. Walking to and from work each day, reading outside, shooting baskets, and running all cleanse me.

Timers help. I spend exactly half an hour reading a report, an hour writing a proposal, twenty minutes decoding a budget. I need tight limits on scrolling through YouTube and reading the news, things I do out of habit that don't feel good at all.

Stressed out, heavy, and under-rested, I'm unsure and feel out of balance. Today I have started anew, begun a return to balance, but this is a long game. I'll be at it all year. Hell, I'll be at it the rest of my days. That's okay because I'm curious what's out there and what's within me. I'm in the mood to explore.

I was stressed to distraction this week. I'd prefer to feel healthier, to accept rather than resist stress. Sleep, writing, fresh air, and timers help.

I said there's nothing I have to do today, no one I have to see, but that's not entirely true. Even on weekends I have obligations. It's just that I'm not resisting things so much. That feels like the first step. It feels like a way through. Mostly though, it just feels better.

Shit You Not

Sometimes life is shit. Everything sucks and there's nothing to do but go in the corner and pout. Stuff just keeps raining down and giving up is the only option.

This is not one of those times.

A couple weeks ago around ten o'clock on the eve of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, my wife tentatively woke me with news there was standing water in the basement. She couldn't plunge the floor drain open. I got up groaning and whining and went down. I stepped into the water in pajamas and bare feet, and went to town with the plunger. Nothing doing.

And why, I wondered, is an oatmeal cookie floating here?

That wasn't oatmeal. I stepped out of fetid, fecal water and hung my head.

Still, even then life wasn't shit. Sure, sewage was floating in our basement and I walked into it barefoot, but feet clean and plumbers come in the morning. I went up two floors and back to bed.

The next morning two guys cleaned the roots out of our pipe. Water and sewage ran freely. It cost a pretty penny, but so it goes.

See, it's not all shit.

This morning, as I walked toward the office, my wife called. Sewage had pooled between the sidewalk and the road. I walked back home. No water or sewage in the basement. Just a brown puddle around the vent stack. Okay, I thought. That's enough. That's about all I can take.

But it wasn't.

The same guys came over. My wife stayed home to wait while I drove to work. Hours later she let me know they had cleared the pipe from the sidewalk to the street. All was well again. No problem, no charge, no shit.

Two weeks from now the pipes may back up again. Maybe the whole sewage line will need replacing or worse. There's no telling, but here's what I know:

• The sewage in the basement wasn't so bad and is gone.
• Sewage on the lawn instead of in the house is small potatoes.
• Many problems can be solved with no more than a phone call and credit card.
• When no one gets hurt, sick, or lost, it's not a big problem.

There are times when life is shit, but right now the pipes are clear and everything bad is flowing away from me. This is a good life. I shit you not.

Mistake, Reflection, Fix

It's fitting that on the first draft of this I mistyped the title and on the second changed it completely. Between those drafts I took a break to reflect on what I'm still trying to say. Mistake, reflection, and fix.

I screwed something up and I'm embarrassed. It wasn't the end of the world, but it wasn't spilt milk either. I wanted to hide in a corner the rest of the day. I also wanted to learn from it and move on. But I wasn't ready to do either. I was stuck in a familiar-feeling place that I couldn't identify until this thought occurred:

A mistake is a tiny death. Once made, there's no returning to a life in which I haven't made it.

That helped me understand that I'm mourning having made the mistake. Moruning takes time. It is a process of moving back into balance. There's a system to it and my way forward is to reflect in writing on the steps involved. Like so:

1. Acknowledge the mistake and apologize. Yeah, I screwed the pooch on that one. Sorry, pooch.
2. Rather than beat myself up, consider how I would treat my daughters if the mistake was theirs. Alright, you messed up. These things happen. Are you okay? What would make it right?
3. Make coffee and write. Coffee improves most everything. I like the process of making it, the slow enjoyment of drinking it, the calming it brings over me, and how it goes with writing, my tool for reflection.
4. Ask what's next. What should I do right now and what should I do tomorrow to move through?

A simple plan, but it takes time to move through the steps. It was hours after I apologized that I thought to be kind to myself. It was an hour after that until I made coffee and wrote this. In between, I beat myself up, worried what people will think, and felt the sky was falling. Bad habits learned over five decades. It's tough to turn that around and plot a new course. The list above looks good, but I've been mourning my mistake most of the day and I'm not done. There are miles to go before I sleep.

I'll probably wake tomorrow still carrying too much regret even as I reflect and ask what's next. I know regret isn't useful and there's not enough time in life to waste it on guilt and abuse. But I also know balance doesn't just restore itself nor can I forget my mistake and go on like it never happened. I'm between mistake and recovery, reflecting, hoping time really does heal all wounds. What's next is to go forward, learn, grow, accept, and move on.

Thinking that's easy would be another mistake and, I tell you, I'm just not ready to deal with any more of those right now.