This post was written 8 years ago while in a different job and a much different place with my wife and kids. It rings truest today. I have a real problem that may be the root of all those enumerated on this “emo blog” of mine. I want to be great! I do not want to be the best husband in the world, or the best facilitator, or the best basketweaver. I just desperately do not want to be ordinary. I want to have benefitted people in the world in whatever I do especially those closest to me....

Just nine years ago, I was floundering in my last year in a job that wasn’t headed anywhere. An acquaintance who profoundly influenced my twenties and traveled a path through mental health with me from afar had died a year before. My on-going battle with depression, which I was just beginning to quantify, gripped me more than I would ever care to admit and hadn’t admitted, until just now. Then my wife did it. As I anguished about some issue concerning work or life, or more likely the balance...

Recently, I had this feeling of dismay when I woke up each day for the period of a few weeks. It was startling and clearly depressing. The idea of "waking down" struck me as we confront "Woke" culture and as I dealt with the negativity I felt just waking up. I tried to play with words throughout this journal but it's nearly all stream.

Everyone has seen quotes referring to ourselves as works in progress or masterpieces in the making. When we jettison the "bad" parts of ourself, aren't we denying the masterpiece a part of its composition? Perhaps in isolation and in extreme those traits stick out, but as parts of the greater whole work to create the art. 

Years ago I watched an NBA game late one night around this time of the year. The Lakers found themselves the hottest team entering Miami to face the team of potential. Miami was on a 6 game slide and had pointed to the matchup as a way to right their ship in a single game. They did so and won. Kobe Bryant, the Lakers’ perennial MVP candidate and two-time reigning NBA champ, had a poor shooting night. By all accounts he had hit all the shots that mattered in the game save closing the game out...

On World Suicide Prevention Day, I wanted to revisit a post written nearly 10 years ago and 3 days after we lost someone close to us to drug overdose and perhaps suicide. The preface to the post is also recorded ringing true still 10 years later.

Moments. ←That one. Moments seem so insignificant. They aren’t quantified in seconds. They are so tiny that we do not perceive how they heap and pile into hours and days and frequently into years. We cannot comprehend the truth that our lives are but series of these infinitesimal fragments strung together. We cannot appreciate how significant each one acts in its role to build plans to which we adhere for years on end or how they are each an episode in the habits we revere or despise.

Whenever I’m troubled, stressed, or can’t sleep, I search my mind for a phrase and chronicle from there my thoughts using stream of consciousness. I don’t edit it or censor any thoughts. I just pick some images in my mind and try to let them speak for me. For several months, I’ve been haunted by the image of a yo-yo and a pogo stick, these novelties that require some manner of skill and balance, but ultimately don’t matter at all. Frivolous skills ill-equipped for meaningful use. But...

What the hell is a “karmic kamikaze?” To be honest, I tried a million other names when I started a Blogger account 15 years ago. Finally, I decided to think of two words that I really love that sounded cool and that no one else would have likely used. Since then, I have used the two words in some combination for a number of accounts all over the web.At the time I started the blog, I had begun writing once a week or so and I reserved it for moments of silliness or inspiration.