tcr! diaries - podcast

Lying is the absolute worst.

“No, I wasn’t drinking. What the hell are you talking about?”

Telling lies. To another person. Makes them crazy. They start to question their own sanity.

Someone has a pretty good idea about something and then we go and sow a row of doubt. It’s twofold. Not only are we handing them a flat out lie, we’re also giving them personal conflict. We’re insisting they stop questioning us and question themselves.

Self-doubt is one of the worst things we can serve somebody. It’s a car wreck for the soul. Twisted metal and broken headlights. Sure, the fender can be bent back but it’ll never be true.

It’s funny that we tell our kids that it’s not what they did that was so bad, it was that they lied about it. And then we grow up as adults and do the same thing. But on a Rushmore, monumental level.

I don’t know about you guys but if someone lies to me that’s just it.

…

I wrote the above back in August. And then it just sat there not feeling finished.

It’s all fine and good but it’s also abstract. The real stories in life aren’t. The car crash here is that I lied to somebody yesterday. A flat out lie as mentioned above. First time I can remember since I stopped drinking.

I lied because I don’t like this person. I don’t trust them. Being honest gives them ammunition and I don’t like the thought of loading bullets into an unstable person’s gun.

I am kind of disappointed in myself, though. Lying goes against what I believe, who I want to be. In all situations. In all dilemmas.

However, I don’t feel too bad for lying to this particular person. They lie to me on the bimonthly basis, the latest just this past week. I know they lied because I looked it up. I didn’t crucify this person for it but I wanted to. I mean really wanted to.

I could justify the whole situation with some notion about how spiritual truths need not apply in all situations. Cold wars and nuclear armaments. I won’t make more of a case than that because I don’t really have one. Plastic tanks and toy soldiers, peeps.

Would I do it again? Tell a flat out lie? Probably not but I don’t know. Sometimes somebody shines a hot spotlight on us and shit just happens. I don’t like how I feel about lying for sure. I don’t like playing the odds that I’ll get caught. Driving fast doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I don’t want to smash up, crash up somebody’s fender.

So there’s my confession. Two Jim Carrolls and a bottle of wine.

#confessional #diariespodcast

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I’m sitting in the McDonalds on State Street in Geneva. Because Egg McMuffins.

This is also the place where Maggie’s mom and I told Maggie that we were getting divorced. It was the most painful conversation I’ve ever had. The most painful day ever. Watching her little nine year old face panic as the conversation unfolded.

It wasn’t a long conversation but it lasted forever to me.

A therapist said to do it in public so the hurt would live outside the home. Sometimes breakups really better are in public. Sometimes it's the better way out.

And as we were driving back home, the three of us, I thought to myself, “I’m never going to that fucking place again.”

But here I am. Cuppa years later.

Because one of the best things I learned was to “give it some time.”

For as long as it takes. Don’t make up your mind. Just put it down. Don’t rush healing. Don't rush the feeling. Let the pain fade. It will if we don’t force its end.

#photos #protip #diariespodcast

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As I was sitting again at a stoplight on Randall Road this morning meagerly minding my own matters, I casually looked to my left and noticed a dude in a car beside me having his breakfast. It was an Egg McBiscuit from McDonald’s. Or whatever they call them.

In another era I, too, ate mobile breakfast sandwiches behind the wheel before work so I knew of his quest.

These years I craft my McMuffin clones at home, fine tune them to my exact specifications as if I were indeed Chef Michael of Schaumburg.

Now then this non-clandestine commuter was also drinking heartily from a Diet Coke. In a plastic bottle, mind you. I don’t know about you guys but that didn’t sit well with me. Not that I have anything against Diet Coke or bottled soda but cola and eggs should never cross paths in my mind. Or in my mouth. Maybe Chef Michael would disagree.

Even more, I questioned the crispness of this soda. “Dear god,” I prayed, “let this man not be guzzling from last night’s cola bottle.”

Anyways. His refreshment is beside the point.

As he was lost in his own world of crumbling biscuit and melted cheeses, as he was navigating the creases of his wax paper with advertising tattoos, I wanted to raise my octopus coffee cup like a chalice to him in like a good morning salute. Let him know that he wasn’t alone in his adventure, alone in the cosmos.

That there was another traveler traveling a similar path on this very day. Watching him feast from my mechanical four-wheeled steed, nary but a few hours from dawn’s first light. To salute him in a way that let him know I approved of him savagely attacking his breakfast quest.

And also that I admired his simultaneous command of the steering wheel, McBiscuit, and the very Diet Coke bottle I so despised.

But I didn’t.

Engaged and supportive readers, I was worried that I would break he and his horse’s stride. Because seriously, this dude was going after each and every fallen crumb from his McBiscuit. I doubt if any escaped. Or if he abandoned any yellow scrap of folded egg as his mouth-scissors cut their way through the biscuit-bites.

So, sadly there were no traffic salutes. No shared stoplight connections.

Alas, our cars are often akin to isolated bubbles of oblivion. And having another driver willingly acknowledge whatever self-pursuit we’re pursing can make us feel uncomfortable in our upholstered seats and fastened buckles. I didn’t want to embarrass him as he was so eagerly and delightfully fueling his body for his next adventure.

When the light changed from halt-red to go-green his travels took him west and mine took me farther north.

Now as I sit eating the couscous I didn't spill yesterday, I wonder to myself if that dude's day could possibly have gotten any better. Any better than those few minutes he had alone. Enjoying his solitary but obviously satisfying, portable goodness.

I hope so.

#randallroad #missedconnections #diariespodcast

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Guys, I just witnessed a heated couples exchange inside one of our local Walgreens.

A man was outright denying his wife of her Friday snacks because apparently she “already had her daily allotment of cheese puffs.”

She then retorted or snorted, “Oh no, I’m a get my cheese puffs” with the bitterness you’d expect of dreams shattered in full view of the other drugstore patrons.

I can see both sides really. I mean they sell a 20 ounce plastic tumbler of them (Market Pantry brand) at Super Target so they must be good. On the other hand... Well, I can’t think of another hand. I can’t come up with one good valid reason to deprive your girl of cheese puffs if she wants cheese puffs. You won’t get lucky tonight withholding their fluffy orange texture.

Anyways, I thought for sure she was gonna hook his leg with her cane and send him to the floor in a crumpled heap of senior citizen. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time.

I grabbed my receipt from the cashier and made my least hasty exit. The couple then disappeared down the food + drinks aisle so I have no finale for this yarn. Sorry.

And now as I sit in the Walgreens parking lot on the corner of State Street and wherever I am, I’m enjoying these sweet, first, few drinks of this refreshing can (16 ounce) of Coca-Cola. It’s not the good stuff that the aforementioned Super Target imports from Mexico but it’ll do on this Friday afternoon.

Anyways 2, happy weekend everybody. I hope this is your best one yet.

#photos #snacks #soda #diariespodcast

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Looking for reasons why things would fail used to be a big part of my day.

I devoted hours to it. Always poking around under the hood for clues to prove that whoever I’d gotten close to was up to no good. That I was going to get hurt. That people were evil.

Reviewing all the data at frequent intervals.

If that all sounds dumb it’s because it was.

I didn’t trust people or the cosmos. I knew the fingerprints were somewhere, I just had to find them. Keep dusting, keep analyzing. Always teetering on the brink of crazy.

Where is the evidence?

When I didn’t find any, it didn’t matter. I knew something was there somewhere. I just had to keep looking. Patiently waiting for some unspoken testimony because sooner or later I’d get a confirmation, a conviction, and then all my doubts and nightmares would come true.

And then if I did get absolute confirmation that there was indeed absolutely nothing going on, I couldn’t even relax with the sound judgement that everything was good. I was too battle-exhausted from my search. I was too shaken by the possibility that it could happen, that I could find something.

I needed to stop looking for proof. Do you know what happened when I did look? I made the very people who loved me crazy. I pushed them away until they left.

I’m divorced twice. It’s a real thing that we bring what we most fear into our lives by being absurdly afraid of it.

Looking at my case files it's pretty clear now that it was never about the other person or what they were doing. It was about me and my insecurities. I needed to “quit” all the scrutiny if I wanted to have a healthy, peaceful connection with another person.

With Sara, I still keep a close eye on things but in this very moment I look for proof why things *will* work. Reverse the numbers and flip the math. Cherish the very reasons why love wins. Embrace what flows freely when I be my best self.

And then all my hopes and dreams come true.

#lettherebehope #relationships #diariespodcast

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I haven’t been writing as much because I’ve been struggling with my nicotine addiction. All sorts of things happen and don’t happen when I try to quit.

Sometimes I’ll spout off something about quitting on social media or whatever but lately I’ve just been keeping my struggles to myself. Because unless somebody was a daily smoker for over 30 years, they don’t really get it. I know people are trying to help but move along. Sometimes we just need to vent.

And then vaping made my addiction even worse because I could do it anywhere at anytime. I would vape at Maggie’s school during her recitals and in team meetings at work, too. I would use my vapor in the dentist’s restroom before I went in to see them.

When I go into withdrawal my ears will ring. Ring to the point that I can hear them in the next room. My head will start to hurt. Like I have a vice slowly squeezing my temples. It’s not a sharp pain but dull and warm and oh so intense. And when it’s really bad I’ll start to get lightheaded. Like I’m going to fall over. Detox always makes my stomach bloated and gurgly regardless of which drug it is. My intestines will fill with witches brew and putrid toxins.

I’ve not been sleeping that great at night which makes it hard for me to concentrate throughout the day. Concentrate on writing or whatever. And then because I’m tired I drink more caffeine. In the early evening when I’m dragging both feet I'll make a couple cups of coffee because I’m missing my old smoking friend. I’ll jump from one drug to another. Trade this addiction for that one. I didn’t realize I was even doing it at first with the coffees because when you’re a drug addict the addiction is sneaky and silent.

I've quit smoking probably 20 times and generally end up smoking again because the physical pain gets to be too much. And I know that if I smoke or vape or whatever all that pain goes away.

And then I stopped this morning and bought a pack cigarettes because the hellfire withdrawal had been kicking my ass for the better part of two days. I’ll do that every now and then, buy a pack, smoke one or two and then throw the unsmoked away.

I never tell anyone when I buy a pack of cigarettes because everybody is always disappointed. Because I’m the poster child for success or something.

...

It was snowing this morning. In the middle of April. And as I was standing outside the gas station smoking, a guy came up to me and asked for a cigarette. He had to be at least 20 years younger and wasn't wearing a winter coat. He was missing half of his index and middle fingers on one hand. He had a plastic grocery sack full of things he hadn’t bought recently.

He seemed reluctant to ask me for a smoke but he still did because nicotine is a powerful bitch. I gave him three cigarettes and he was more than grateful. I could see the look of relief on his face. I treated him with dignity and respect because all people deserve that no matter where they are in life. No matter what really.

He reminded me of my 19 year old self when I lived in Cedar Rapids with one of my brothers. No job, no money, and desperately needing something to fill my soul. Standing in the morning snowfall regardless of the cold, feeding my addictions however I could.

Somehow I made it out of that era with all my fingers and toes attached. But I easily couldn't have. Somehow I made it out of that life alive and now have my own house, a career, beautiful daughters, a gorgeous girlfriend, and all that.

Somehow I made it over the hump and to the place where I have a choice in life.

Driving away I wish I would’ve given him the whole pack. I wanted to tell him that he could make it out, too. Make it out of whatever place he was in. That life is bigger than where your next cigarette comes from.

But I didn’t think about any of that until I was driving away. Plus, I’m suspicious by default.

Anyways, never underestimate the impact you have on people, especially strangers.

#confessional #smokersunite #diariespodcast

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My favorite Freakonomomics[1] podcast is from a few years back. It’s beautifying titled, The Upside of Quitting.

It’s also the only podcast I’ve listened to more than twice. The episode is one of those things that changed everything. It’s become part of my spiritual condition. The notion that I can quit has become part of who I am.

We’re all familiar with the dogmatic mantra:

Winners never quit.

That’s all fine and good if we play football but not if we’re dying inside because our life is horrible.

Let me give you three examples:

Suffering isn’t a badge of honor or something to be proud of. It’s bullshit. And we won’t sleep any better until we quit believing that anything but first place will do.

There’s something to be said for loyalty and persistence for sure but quitting when the situation demands it is something that’s often overlooked or ignored altogether. Sometimes it’s easier to just stay stuck than revolt. But staying stuck is not something we’ll ever want to tell our grandkids about. Wouldn’t it be grand to tell them the story of the great revolution that made the world magical again?

Quitting is decisive and final.

It’s not fruity, metaphysical, or abstract. It’s concrete and effective. We feel release when we quit. All the hurt will stop.

Sometimes it takes time to quit, especially when we’re in the middle of something big or entangled in something painful. When I quit drinking it took months.[2] Getting ready and absolutely wanting to quit was most of the battle.

The road we walk is ours. Our future is up to us and not our partner, not our boss, and not the dandelions. We don't have to be along for just their ride.

And we have to firmly believe that we deserve nice things as well. I’m telling you now that you do. The moon and the stars are all hanging in the sky just for you.

Quit. What it that's making you unhappy. Quit.

#photos #flowers #protip #freakonomics #diariespodcast

Not familiar with Freakonomics? Don’t worry it all began when... “New York journalist and author Stephen J. Dubner went to Chicago to write about award-winning economist Steven D. Levitt for The New York Times Magazine.” Find it on your local NPR station. ↑

I started wanting to quit drinking in June 2011. Needed to in August. Should have in December. And finally did in February. ↑

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The scene, of course, is my truck as I’m headed to work.

Driving along Riverside Avenue and following a Toyota Corolla. The speed limit is 35 mph and we’re both sailing along about 40. There’s maybe two or three car lengths between us.

Other cars are around but they’re only slightly involved.

Up ahead is the Prairie Path crosswalk at the intersection close to Moore Avenue. There are two or three people standing with their bikes waiting to cross. Those crosswalks are always a gamble, as you never know what the other drivers will do if people are waiting.

The car in front of me doesn’t change speed and I look over at the Fox River. Not more than a second later I look back at the Corolla I’ve been following and the taillights are lit up. We were still doing about 40 only moments before and then she comes to a complete stop in about three or four seconds. The cars driving in the opposite direction don’t bother.

I stomp my brakes with both feet. My computer bag, my lunch bag, and my trail mix all fly forward and hit the dashboard.

Now then. Let me step up to my soapbox.

- - -

1. People out in groups riding their bikes at morning rush hour are most likely out for recreational rides. Maybe not, but with their racing gear I would tend to think so. So... you can’t bring the whole world to a stop so they can get across the street. They can wait.

If anything, don’t make it a last minute decision. Doing the “right” thing at the “wrong” time will only get us in trouble.

- - -

2. Most of the time people don’t see us or what we’re doing in life. I’m not that important that every other driver is out there thinking, “The King of Geneva is headed to work. I better layout the red carpet and be on my absolute best behavior. Did anybody polish the trumpets to announce his trip?”

While driving earlier in the morning another lady pulled out in front of me. Her windows were covered in morning dew. She hadn’t bothered, at the very least, to roll down her windows so she could see.

I watched her turn right in front of me, moving at a snail’s pace, no wind in her sails. Slow going because she had 2% visibility. I kinda wanted to really lay on the horn because she was obviously in the wrong and a hazard to society.

But I wasn’t in a hurry so whatever. I just saluted her as if she were my superior.

- - -

3. There’s a difference between expressing our feelings and getting even. The former is what I’m doing now. Getting even would’ve been me riding either lady’s ass until my frustration passed. It would’ve been me roaring around like I was a villain in Mad Max, and then cutting them off and thereby teaching them a lesson.[1]

Yes, I did swear like a furloughed drunken admiral at the earlier crosswalk of certain doom.

And I would’ve scolded her if we were face to face, but me revenging behind the wheel isn’t going to prove any points. Nobody’s gonna throw me a parade, nor will it give me any long-term, deep-down validation that I was right. Revenging is gonna give me a list of all the times other people pissed me off. It’s gonna keep me angry until I’m old and dead.

More importantly: it’s okay to be agitated when people step on our toes. Feel that, deal with it, love it. We’ll never get to the point where our only feelings are the ones we want, or to the point when everybody does the “right” thing at the “right” time.

What can happen, though, is for us to learn how to be okay with and also becoming highly skilled sailors at navigating life’s rough waters.

We’ve had heavy thunderstorms, lightning, rain, all of that in the Fox Valley the last week or so. We can’t stop or change nature, it does what it wants.

And it’s our nature to have a full weather system of feelings, too. It’s natural for us to be annoyed with people just the same as it’s natural for us to be sleepy come bedtime.

Sweet dreams.

#trafficnews #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

Protip: people don't learn to be better drivers by me riding their ass in these scenarios. They learn that other drivers are jerks. ↑

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Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.

When I got to the Eighth Step I was kind of disappointed that they use the word “harmed.” I didn’t like it because I didn’t like the thought of me actually hurting people. We get a taste of peace after working the previous steps and then Step Eight comes crashing in like a bowling ball. Announcing we'd done harm.

And I felt bad. Like I was supposed to.

The other problem I had with Step Eight is that I was pretty timid for much of my life and my drinking. And I felt like others had harmed me just as much, if not more, than I had harmed them. Yeah, I'm sure every alcoholic says that.

Anyways, so then I was thinking about Step Seven, and humbly asking God to remove my defects of character. Selfishness was one of my most glaring defects. Selfish with my time. Selfish with my understanding, selfish with my forgiveness. If you hurt me then I had nothing but intolerance for you.

But if I want to be rid of that selfishness then I need to practice the opposite as they say. For me to do my part in Step Seven I need to be generous in Step Eight.

Generous with my honesty by honestly looking at myself and what I’d done. Generous in my forgiveness for others and what they’d done. Generous with my tolerance. I needed to be generous with my humility. The humility that they call for in Step Seven.

And once I found those things the willingness came easier. The willingness to make amends. To them all.

If I’m generous then becoming willing to forgive others and to ask for forgiveness, to make those amends wasn’t so hard.

#forgiveness #twelvesteps #beagoodperson #diariespodcast

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And then there was that one time a few years back when I was standing at the front door of the work building. It was a cool autumn day and I was enjoying a beautiful cigarette.

Enjoying the smoke, the solitude, and the cars going by.

The side of the building I was on wasn’t the main entrance but it’s the public entrance that everybody sees. All the cars in the world drive-by kind of place. And I stood at that specific door because nobody was ever around.

I’d also use myself as a prop to keep the door open because it’ll lock behind you.

That particular day the owner of the building happened to walk by. He startled me as I was daydreaming about mannequins or telephone poles or something similar. I felt like a busted teenager when our eyes met. Caught skipping class and smoking on school grounds.

Plus, I was obviously violating the 15 feet law. No smoking at the entryways, peeps.

Tom looked at me. Then looked at my cigarette. My heartbeat rose slightly as I prepared for an earful, a scolding. A deserved verbal whipping.

He looked back at me and said, “you need an ashtray here.”

I smiled and said, “probably.”

Then he left.

And that was the day I learned that, even if people are doing something they aren’t supposed to, we can still go above and beyond. That we can not only treat them with dignity and respect, we can also go out of our way to make their lives better.

#photos #beagoodperson #smokersunite #diariespodcast

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