I realized just this morning that I have more joy in my life than I possibly could have thought of as a young man. While life is not easy for anyone, and has not been a trip through the daisies for me, I have been blessed with a wonderful family, a lovely home and work that does not suck. So, I am left with the question...why do I want more? Why is this life not good enough? Is it possible that my longing for pure joy, pure beauty, pure ecstacy in all my endeavors is a yearning for the joy of heaven, or am I just a malcontent? As an American, it is almost assumed that nothing is ever enough. But, is that who I want to be? I am truly happy when holding my daughter hand, whenplaying with my son or when talking about just about anything with my wife (except fashion reality shows, which I almost never want to talk about). Why is that not my goal, that kind of happiness? Is that not better than riches, than prestige, than power? Could I not pursue happiness, righteousness and depth rather than goods and services? Could we not all pursue these?
As I have written this, I am reminded of the old agent, only seen in flashbacks in Jerry MaGuire. He has a line at the end of the film that I love and will butcher, but it goes something like this, "I wish you a good life, a good wife and my kind of happiness." I love that line. I want to be that guy, should I ever grow up.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
back to work
Well, it has been two weeks since I posted so I guess that writing everyday thing just didn't cut it. I took the week off last week to spend time with my family and recuperate a bit from the daily stresses of life. While it did not actually remove any stress, it did make me appreciate my job an re-invigorated me to do it. For any who do not know, I am in real estate and it is not a good year for that. I wrote "in real estate", what a funny comment. The truth is that I try very hard to serve people in both the decision-making and the purchase of commercial real estate properties with an emphasis towards restaurant and entertainment properties. This morning I have the unenviable job of telling a bunch of other brokers that my clients are witless twits and have wasted both their time and mine. Fun, huh? Anyway, if I sound a little down today it is for that reason and no other. My beautiful, wonderful, gifted bride is out on a photo shoot today making me just as proud as a husband could be. She is truly amazing and I am so blessed to be married to her. I hope you all have a fantastic day and really hope someone comments because I am having a similarly hard time to the time I had when I tried my hand at radio. The lack of feedback leaves me with little idea of where to go next. So...yeah...it IS all you fault I haven't written in two weeks. Yeah, that's the ticket!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Striking writer
Well, I would like to tell you that in an act of solidarity for the writers of WGA, I have been honoring the picket lines with my blogs. However, I am not a member of WGA and the one union I do belong to (AFTRA) is in a spat with WGA over some unkind words they put out about Ellen Degeneres. Besides, that's not why I have not written.
I have a predilection for self-pity and occasionally, it shows itself in bouts of long naps. Now, don't get me wrong, naps are perhaps the greatest thing ever. Dogs nap all day, and most people spend their entire lives trying to be more like dogs ... well, men do at least. However, recently my naps have been what I have been doing rather than blogging. Anyway, I thought I would was eloquent on the subject of naps or depression or unions or Ellen. Instead, I will talk about sensitivity.
I am a sensitive guy. I don't mean that like Alan Alda sensitivity or Phil Donohue sensitivity, oh no this is much worse. I am touched by Hallmark commercials and sad moments in chick flicks. I seem to feel things pretty deeply and I think my son does as well. I must assume that most men are able to go through their days without feeling every slight and every negative experience. I assume that they must not empathize with almost everyone they encounter, from the homeless guy to the woman who just lost her job to the teen whose heart was just broken. If they feel these things, they are much better at not showing it and not being affected by it. My day to day interaction with life is just an excercise in pulling the scabs off my emotions. I don't know, maybe no one can see this either and I am deluding myself into believing that I am different.
I grew up being told that I was different, both in a good way and a bad way. I see myself as set apart from most of humanity, not better or worse, just a little different, askew or off. In fairness, as my bio would suggest, my life has been pretty average, pretty middle America. It is accentuated by tragedy and comedy, but the framework is pretty ordinary. Perhaps I am just like everyone else but can not see it. I don't know if that brings me comfort or angst. I guess I will never really know whether I am like others in the way I view reality, or in my sensitivity. The definitive answer is inside someone else's head and I can not get it. For in order to know if I am truly different, I would have to experience daily life in someone else's life. I would need to see what they see and fell what they feel. Would I want to do that if I could? I guess that would definitely be different.
I have a predilection for self-pity and occasionally, it shows itself in bouts of long naps. Now, don't get me wrong, naps are perhaps the greatest thing ever. Dogs nap all day, and most people spend their entire lives trying to be more like dogs ... well, men do at least. However, recently my naps have been what I have been doing rather than blogging. Anyway, I thought I would was eloquent on the subject of naps or depression or unions or Ellen. Instead, I will talk about sensitivity.
I am a sensitive guy. I don't mean that like Alan Alda sensitivity or Phil Donohue sensitivity, oh no this is much worse. I am touched by Hallmark commercials and sad moments in chick flicks. I seem to feel things pretty deeply and I think my son does as well. I must assume that most men are able to go through their days without feeling every slight and every negative experience. I assume that they must not empathize with almost everyone they encounter, from the homeless guy to the woman who just lost her job to the teen whose heart was just broken. If they feel these things, they are much better at not showing it and not being affected by it. My day to day interaction with life is just an excercise in pulling the scabs off my emotions. I don't know, maybe no one can see this either and I am deluding myself into believing that I am different.
I grew up being told that I was different, both in a good way and a bad way. I see myself as set apart from most of humanity, not better or worse, just a little different, askew or off. In fairness, as my bio would suggest, my life has been pretty average, pretty middle America. It is accentuated by tragedy and comedy, but the framework is pretty ordinary. Perhaps I am just like everyone else but can not see it. I don't know if that brings me comfort or angst. I guess I will never really know whether I am like others in the way I view reality, or in my sensitivity. The definitive answer is inside someone else's head and I can not get it. For in order to know if I am truly different, I would have to experience daily life in someone else's life. I would need to see what they see and fell what they feel. Would I want to do that if I could? I guess that would definitely be different.
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