Eat (whenever I want and with minimal exercise), Pray (for the perfect job to appear on the internet), Love (my time with Oliver)

So, I'm beginning to get the hang of this unemployment thing. Much has changed since my last rant, and I'm starting to fear that I'm getting too comfortable. Barring some miracle where I become rich overnight (like the publishing of a young-adult coming-of-age novel, for example), I will have to again work. Just the thought of it is frightening. Now I know how Michael Vick felt when he got out of jail. "You mean I have to play in the NFL now?" Like that dog murderer, I am rapidly getting out of shape.

The upside is I am writing like it is my job. Which of course it is not. I don't have one! But I enjoy it more than anything.

I know what you're thinking. I enjoy raising Oliver more than anything. That's true of course, but I don't need to list it every time I rate fulfillment, do I? Or Nancy? I mean, if I were to get three wishes I wouldn't first wish for air to breathe, would I? Obviously nothing else works without that, but it's there along with the sun shining already. I'll tell you what, from now on whenever I talk about happiness and don't list Oliver or Nancy, just assume they occupy the top two slots. Then we don't have to worry about being bogged down in useless paragraphs like this one anymore. But I digress.

Back to the writing thing. I started this project on the Oliver story in such a way that enough people being interested would drive me to actually finish the story. So far it's definitely been enough to keep me writing. The flip side is, now that it's not my turn I am lost. So I'm reading.

And here's the point of this whole thing. I'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. You may have heard of it? Anyway, it's good and a bestseller for a reason. Read it. But that's not the point.

The point is, she's searching herself because of crisis in her life. Who hasn't? Fortunately for us, she's been kind enough to write about the experience and the story started before she started to improve. Which I thought was interesting, because my whole life has been based around self-searching and I only seem to write about it when I'm really up or really down. I decided to give the middle a shot. Here goes.

Oh yeah, I'm pretty unoriginal too. So I'll compare to what I'm reading, but it still seems interesting to me to do so. I've been thinking about it a lot. But I'm only in the first of three parts. I guess we'll soon find out how much that matters.

She (Liz) was married because she thought she should be and resenting the expectation of having children, which she didn't really want. But she had a really great job that paid her well for doing something she loves - writing. To be true to herself she acknowledged she didn't want kids, or even her husband for that matter. She went through an ugly divorce, but as the main breadwinner, she came out the other side able to travel for a whole year!

On the other hand, I married Nancy because I love her so much it sometimes makes me grit my teeth to the point that I fear they might break. And if that doesn't damage the pearly-whites then my love for Oliver is sure to. He was born because that's what we wanted. It hasn't felt wrong for a second and I don't expect it ever will. However, it is my job situation that has me reeling. I went through a divorce of sorts, but it wasn't so ugly for me as much as for the kids born of that relationship (co-workers). I too love writing, and although I once got an A+ in a 100-level writing class, I have yet to receive a cent for my imposing skill.

My search is different, and yet it's the same.

The first place Liz went was Italy. She had no real agenda other than to learn Italian and eat. Italian because it's beautiful, eat because...because it's Italy! The whole country is based around eating, for the love of God!

The first place I went was home. I ate because I have to stay alive. But quickly my life turned into Italy, and the whole day is based around food. "I need to get Oliver up so we can eat breakfast together, I need to stop working so I can feed Oliver lunch, he needs to eat now so he can sleep soon and be up from his nap at a reasonable time." Etc. As it turns out, eating responsibly means that it takes a few minutes to prepare food, clean up, and so on. Chunks of day gone, but I don't mind. I can eat what I want, and for the most part whenever I want. (Halloween candy, however, is a curse.)

But the beauty in my life is two-fold. I will take back in part what I said earlier, because it involves Oliver. But being around him so much is wonderful. Sometimes, of course, I want to put him in a basket and float him down the river. Not doing so is teaching me a lot about the depths of patience. The other times are great. I love the unsolicited, "I love you Dad," or "Oller tired," or even, "I miss Mama." I love that he's wearing underwear. That couldn't happen if I wasn't around all the time. I love wrestling him for as long as he wants, and not having to hurry up because lunch time is almost over. And I really love snuggling under a blanket with him and watching a movie. Am I a good parent? Eh, who knows? I just figure if I'm loving our time together then that love will make him a good person, somehow. And if that's true, he'll be great.

The other beauty of my life is writing. And reading this book makes me realize that what makes great writing isn't necessarily learned in school. She is funny, self-deprecating, insightful about herself, and she touches on a nerve that applies to most everyone. That's why her book is a bestseller.

Hell, I can do that.

At least I hope so. Do I want to have a book published? I'd be lying if I said no. But I understand the doubt. Why me, anyway?

Why not.

Also, does it matter? Isn't enjoying writing enough? I've actually found myself avoiding writing jobs because I'm afraid it will take away the magic. I'm probably right, too. So I keep looking at the other stuff, and I am not inspired. I am enjoying this time in my life that is suddenly filled with wonder. By helping mold a child's imagination I am molding my own. And I'm finding that imagination is powerful and easily discounted. Just know this: if I am a published author, reasonably wealthy, and living in an Italianate-style house in the next couple years, then you should remember this blog and talk to me. You can do it, too.

I am loving my personal Italy. Next up in the book is India, for spirituality. I've been so focused on that for over a decade that it sometimes makes me one-dimensional. What I'm really looking forward to is Bali. The fusing of enjoyment and a deeper meaning. Hopefully I can apply that to my life.

And when I do, I'll get back to you.

I Love to Write!

This blog has started something amazing, at least for me. I've discovered that I really, really like writing. A lot. I've had a lot of "hobbies" throughout my life, and I currently love music (see previous post), play both softball and basketball in leagues, watch movies and TV series on Netflix, and I even started playing Fantasy Baseball this year. But I have not felt so passionate about something as I have with writing since my attachments and desires were much less mature.

When I think about writing, the technical aspects that is, I am afraid. I am NOT a writer in any traditional sense. I took two writing classes in college, and a news-writing class (which is where most of what I know about proper sentence and paragraph structure comes from). That's it. Sure, I learned about business and memo writing at the U of O, but certainly nothing that would lead me to believe that I would be passionate about this endeavor. When I went back to school, I was going to be a math teacher, after all! And in the end I was a finance major. Something is not adding up.

I can spell pretty well, but I get confused as to when to use a colon or semicolon. I know that the comma or period goes before the closing of a quote, even though it looks wrong. But I don't think about adverbs and pronouns, or even adjectives. I just don't care about them. I use commas, but only to express how I want that sentence to sound, like the pauses in my head.

When I took a basic level writing class at community college, the teacher told me that maybe I should try a creative writing class because that would help me find my voice. Before her, I never heard one positive thing about my writing from any teacher I'd ever had. And even though she was telling me I was creative, all I heard was that I sounded generic. I never took a creative writing class, and I thought I'd be a journal writer at best for the rest of my life.

And then the blog idea came along. Mostly because I wasn't journaling, I had a new laptop, and I thought some of you may like knowing what Oliver was up to from time to time. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it would turn into this. And by "this" I mean the level at which I would love it. Don't get me wrong, nothing else of great consequence has happened. I have a few confused "friends" on Facebook who think I actually won a Pulitzer, but alas I have not (yet!).

It is funny to contrast this post with an earlier one I wrote about fulfillment. At that point I thought that it was perhaps a career that I needed and I was wrong. It was simply something I love to do that I needed, and I have found it. The story that I'm writing with others may turn out to be slow, boring, sophmoric, juvenile, poorly done or all of the above, but I don't care at all! It is a thrilling ride for me to be on, and when it's done I will keep going. Because I have found my voice, and I don't plan on stifling it ever again. I can finally express myself without tripping over my words, or worrying what the other person is thinking.

I have found an outlet, and people are actually plugging in to it. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me to write and don't care if I'm not "trained" to do it. Thank you for showing me that I don't need to be paid by something in order to love it fully. Thanks for taking a couple minutes, or many minutes, out of your day to care about what I've written. It is very flattering. Thank you.

The Need For Fulfillment

This first part is not part of this post. Just a notification. I've recently discovered that the sidebar doesn't show up when this blog is viewed with Internet Explorer (just one more reason to hate this browser). So those of you who've experienced frustration with leaving comments, following, and so forth should use Mozilla Firefox instead. Now, on to the other non-important stuff.

A couple people have read this thing in the past, and the general consensus is that funny is appreciated. Well here comes disappointment. First of all, I'm too dry to be very funny. Secondly, this post is going to be cathartic if anything. I apologize in advance.

A strange thing has happened with this writing outlet of mine. It has become a focal point itself in many ways. Much like taking pictures or video only to immediately watch what just occurred. I find myself looking at my life through the filter of how I can write about it, and that's not the point. I want to live first, and write in a way that allows me to release the pressure of what's in my head. So I haven't written in a while. I've been to San Diego, Portland, and done numerous entertaining things since then, but I just needed time to live. And some pressure has built up.

I have learned that my life has check-points. I think most people have them. Everyone has heard of a "mid-life crisis." Those who experience only this check-point are probably very happy overall. Some people experience check-points often, and they are generally depressed. They explode upon me once or twice each year. As you may have guessed, I'm in the midst of one now. It's not a pleasant experience, but it is the place where life-altering decisions are made.

In my life there has been much discussion on the topic of "Choose Your Own Adventure" books lately. You know, read a couple paragraphs and then choose from the three options at the bottom of the page. I think this is a rudimentary example of how life works. People live, get all emotional about their personal dramas, and react. But every once in a while a truly important decision arises, the result of which sends that person on a path to experience certain dramas until the next important decision. We set ourselves up to encounter those things that we need the most, and when we don't ignore the lessons we can move on to a different drama.

I am stuck wondering what to do with my life.

As you may know, I love disclaimers. I won't spell them out individually here, but know that I AM happy. I love my wife, I love my son, I love my home, and I am grateful to be employed at a time like this in our history. I have great friends, and I genuinely like spending time with them. But something is missing that none of these factors can fill.

I need to find what makes Matt happy.

I worry so much about the happiness of others that I forget to live. I want Nancy to be pleased with me constantly. And when I feel like (or know) I have failed, I get disoriented. Sorry Nancy that I'm not my best at these times.

I want to be the best Dad possible, but when I feel like doing something that doesn't involve Oliver, I feel guilty. I love you my son, but sometimes daddy needs time to himself. It has nothing to do with you.

I write things about appreciating my father-in-law, and immediately feel guilty that I haven't expressed similar feelings in writing about my own parents. I'm sorry Mom and Dad that I haven't written about you yet. Hopefully you know that I love you because I've actually told you so - many, many times throughout our lives. I don't say things I don't mean.

If a friend gets excited about something, I try to help them achieve their goals if I can. I just feel bad when I can't dedicate myself because I want to spend time with my family.

When I see my work go through a difficult time, I just want to help because I think I can. Plus I feel like I'll feel fulfilled because I could actually use some of the skills I paid thousands of dollars to acquire through school and help someone I care about at the same time. Except I'm not sure I'd actually feel fulfilled or if I'm just imagining things. And I feel bad when I put Deb in the difficult position of telling me I can't help her financially. I understand that everyone there is a family member or a friend or both, and there's potential for weirdness. I'm sorry that I didn't major in marketing.

At the end of the day, I've always known that something good will happen to me. Again, this isn't a family thing. It's most closely a career thing, although I'm not sure it has to be. I just know myself better than anyone else possibly could. A lot of things have happened in my life that have resulted in a lot of soul-searching. And I KNOW that I am honest to my core. I KNOW that I truly care about the happiness of others, and I mean people that I don't know too. I KNOW that I don't have ulterior motives. And so I've been sure that being a good person would bring to me, eventually, something that makes me feel fulfilled. Just typing this makes me feel awful, because Nancy could read this sentence and think that she isn't enough and neither is Oliver. I am glad that Nancy knows what I mean, though. She knows that I mean making a positive impact on the world around me, and being able to make a living in the process.

I'm sorry that being good isn't enough to make me happy. I'm sorry that I am a middle-class, white male who finds room to complain in a world filled with difficulty. But comparisons have never been real enough to remove me from my own emotional body. I am human, and my story is just one of many. But it's very real to me.

At the risk of offending some, the problem is not spiritual either. If anything, this area is one of my strengths. The soul-searching that I've mentioned has led me to an inner peace that can't be summed up by one traditional religion. Nor is it a conglomeration, per se. It is simply what I believe to be true, what I have felt quite deeply at times throughout my life.

Sometimes at the end of the day, I reflect and notice what my motivations have been. They are generally the desires and expectations of others. And then I resist. But not for long. The cycle always starts over again. And I don't necessarily want to stop it. I will always love people, but when will I love myself?

So this is where I shut off my computer, turn off the lights, and hope that tomorrow is the day that the answers come.

Eugene, Oregon

Looking back, I realize that I must have low self-esteem. Why else would I spend most of my time here justifying what I've done? I have made excuses for why I'm blogging in the first place, why I joined Facebook, even why I'm talking about old jobs. Well, guess what? I am going to justify one more time, only slightly. I have been getting questioned as to why I live in Oregon (you're not the only one, Dave). So now that you know why I'm writing this, we can move on.

Ah, but first. Why Oregon? This is tricky. A friend once talked about an uncle living in Oregon (at that point in my life, everyone pronounced it "Or-ih-gahn," which is WRONG!). That planted a seed. Soon afterward, I was questioning my mom, accusing her of lying to me about where I was born. It must have been Oregon, since I had a rather realistic dream that said I was born there, not Connecticut. But no. So when it came time to leave Oswego, of course I went to...Tucson, Arizona! Not like Oregon at all. However, it was meant to be. That's where I met Nancy, and held three jobs that will be discussed here later. Soon after meeting Nancy, she finished with the community college part of her life, and didn't want to go to the University of Arizona. (Whew!). Plus, it was about 108 degrees everyday. So we decided to move. She wanted to go to San Francisco, but I said it was too expensive. And since both of us are from the East Coast, we knew we didn't want to go back to the humidity. So I said, very quietly, "how 'bout Oregon?"

She said "YES!" (That's what it sounded like in my mind, at least). There are a few schools in Oregon, but it really came down to Portland and Eugene. Portland is a big city, and that's not really my style. The "Welcome to Eugene" sign said (and still says, for some reason) 137,893. Perfecto. Then we visited to make sure, and it was underwhelming and weird. But we moved here anyway, because we are not logical.

Finding work was difficult for me. I had a few jobs before I settled at a shoe store. I also decided to go to school as well (finally). And then I could explore. I discovered all sorts of stuff. Let me start with the things about this place that are not so good:

Downtown. Cool older buildings have been given "modern" facades, government buildings have bars on the outside to look like prisons, and some spots haven't quite filled in yet.



Diversity is an issue. The best description I've ever heard is, "I've never seen so many different kinds of white people." True.



And it rains every once in a while. Big deal. That's why it's so green. It rained in Tucson like twice, ever, and what color do you think it is there, huh? You guessed it, brown. There are a couple green things, but they are all angry and trying to hurt people.

The real question is, why do I LOVE it here? I'm not sure exactly. But I can certainly list things I like and hope they all add up to love in the end. Here we go.

There are always people outside. The weather can be good, bad, or otherwise and it does not matter. We have covers for everything, just so we can keep going outside. We are obsessed with it.

The University of Oregon Ducks are here. Strange football uniforms, but generally good teams, and as a proud Duck that makes me happy. Plus baseball is back this year for the first time since 1981.

It is beautiful, in a way that is understated. There are two rivers (Willamette and McKenzie) that go through town, most of the city is between two buttes, and there are gorgeous trees everywhere. Plus a zillion parks, only a couple streets that are strip mall filled, and Springfield right across the river, so we have a place to put our garbage that is close by. (I have friends in Springtucky, so I must say that I am kidding, only I'm sort of not).

There are ducks and geese that live at the riverbank - which is 1 block from my house - all year round.

I am an hour's drive from the coast, mountains, waterfalls, desert, hot springs, and Corvallis. Well, scratch the Corvallis part. That place makes Springfield look clean. I'm not even sure they have running water yet. Or soap.

Click on this map for another reason why Eugene dominates. If you gaze in the upper left-hand corner long enough, it'll make sense.

We typically vote people into office who actually care about regular folks while trying to promote business at the same time. I know, that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it must be possible. Except downtown is poop. Oh well, at least we still care about people.

There are bike paths all over the place. When I was in school and working full-time, I couldn't go to the gym. So I simply rode my bike to and from school, sometimes twice each day, and never got fat. We drove our car 4,000 miles last year.

And oh yes, the weather. It rains constantly. Every second of every day. Legend has it that it once stopped raining here for a whole hour in 1965, but every single witness of this event has strangely died or vanished. (That is for people who live in California. If you live anywhere else, read on.). It rains a good deal between November and February. There are still stretches of sun, but that makes it colder. As a general rule, cold and precipitation don't occur at the same time, so it snows about once a year. March through June can be spastic, rain one second and 75 degrees and sunny the next. But July through September are perfect. It hardly ever rains, hardly ever gets unbearably hot, and it is not humid. Seriously. It gets cold overnight, so sleeping is possible. I've never been to a place where the weather made me happier, because I get long stretches of great weather and the change in seasons too, all without owning a snow shovel. Na na na na boo boo.

So if you live somewhere else, read this and ask yourself "why do I live here?" Don't think too long, there's no good answer. You might as well start packing.

Straight Shot to the Face(book)

I am a bad and unclean person. I am a hypocrite. I have a confession to make. I am now on...dum dum dum...FACEBOOK!!! AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHH!

Re-read my first post. Then re-read the above paragraph. Make sure you then pick up again at this sentence, or you may find yourself on an endless loop. Anyhow, forces have collided to make this happen. Kind of like those two satellites that just crashed into each other. Highly unlikely, yet it happened.

Here's the deal; I saw Dan's Facebook profile over his shoulder the other day. I saw people that I haven't seen or thought about in over a decade that I actually really liked. I thought, "I wonder how he's doing?" or something like that. Stupid, innocent satellite #1. The other satellite in this collision? I have a master plan. You don't know it yet, although maybe you do. It depends on who "you" are. I will let you know soon, but here's why I can't: not enough people read these garbage (and so you know, garbage is code for wildly entertaining musings). How do I get more people here? You guessed it - FACEBOOK! Yeah!

So I signed up last night. Then I turned off my computer and the light. It is at this precise moment that I felt (with my entire being) like I had made the biggest mistake of my life. And I forgot to turn off email notification of Facebook activity, so I had 30 new emails this morning. Neato.

The fun was just beginning. Facebook has my favorite feature that I can't seem to turn off. Instant Messaging. People know I'm there, and want to make small talk. (Disclaimer: I really like all of you that want to make small talk. Otherwise, would we be "friends?"). But IM is anything but instant. It's why Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone - waiting for all the dashes and dots was not getting it done anymore. There needs to be a "my turn" feature or something. Because without it, conversations go like the following sample:

Someone else: whats up trent
Me: Not much, how have you been? (An aside: even in IM I prefer proper capitalization, spelling, grammar, and so on. Why? OCD)
Someone else: good ive been maried for a year now
Me: That's great. How'd you meet your wife?
Someone else: and i have a pet alligator
Me: Whoa! Why? Why exactly?
Someone else: working at Vona's
Me: Who is it, do I know her?
Someone else: ive always wanted an alligator for some reason
Me: (Computer is now off, and I'm smashing it with a hammer so I don't ever have to have another circular conversation again as long as I live. I would honestly rather write a letter, put it in an envelope, stamp it, place it on my mailbox, wait 5 days for it to get to New York, wait 3 months for exotic pet guy to get around to responding to me, and the 5 additional days for his letter to arrive in Eugene.)
I've got to go to bed now. Bye.
Someone else: see ya
Me: Good night.

And so on.

And one more thing. I am not afraid to admit that I am overwhelmed. Part of signing up is searching for "friends" as determined by my email contacts. Then I have invited a lot of people to pick me or treat my like the fat kid in a gym class draft. Well, in the world of Facebook I am thin and athletic. They ALL picked me, and then some. Now I have over 40 "friends" and messages from these people and pictures and little chat boxes popping up and I don't even have my blog address on there yet. I want to say "hi" to everyone, but I'm on business people! Let me figure out how this works first. Give me a grace period. But alas, no.

I feel like I'm stranded in the desert, when finally a clear spring appears just over the dune. And as I approach the water (which is real!), I lean down to take a drink. Anticipation makes me salivate for the first time in days as I reach down to scoop up that first glorious handful of water. And then I am hit, square in the face, by a 3-hour locust storm. I cannot move forward to save my life, and my only hope is that a bit of water will remain when this hell is over.

Is there water left? I'm not sure yet. I'm afraid to go back. But please, if you are my "friend," would you tell your other "friends" to check out my blog, enjoy it, "follow" it, and comment frequently. I'm afraid I don't have the heart.

The sooner you visit, the sooner my project will be underway.

A Loved One is a Loved One

Believe it or not, I spend a lot of time trying not to offend people. It just so happens that life presents ample opportunity for me to do so through negligence. For example, whenever I create the Christmas newsletter I am filled with dread as to whom I have left out. (It's only four pages people!). I'd be surprised if I've never upset anyone via exclusion.

That being said, when I wrote about loving each other and how that could help cure the automatic reactions we have toward others, I talked only about people. And I have been slapped in the face by my ignorance today (and it won't be the last time, I'm sure).

Today I found out that both Aunt Maureen's cat Daphne, and Pete and Ali's cat Willie Randolph died. The closest I've ever come to experiencing what they are was when a cat we took in, Frank the Tank, was hit by a train. Seriously, a train. How's that's even possible, I still don't know. We only knew him for two weeks, so honestly I don't know what it feels like to lose a pet that is loved. I KNOW how Aunt Maureen felt about Daphne, and she truly lost a loved one. And as far as I know, my brother and soon to be sister is pretty upset about the early demise of his one-time Mets' manager turned housecat. If you would like to offer words of condolence to either or both (surely more poetic than these), please do so by commenting at the end of this article. They'll be able to see, just so you know (that is for those of you who still hold remote controls with two hands and try to bury your finger with every press of a button [yes, you Mom]).

Congratulations, Kitty Heaven. You just got better today.

P.S. Click on the title to read an interesting article from a cat lover. He's not as good a writer as me, but what can you do. (If you don't understand this is a joke, know now that if it ever seems like ego, it IS a joke).