tcr! diaries - podcast

Today when I was driving to work I was thinking about the water cooler there. Yesterday morning when I got in the 5 gallon bottle was empty. At one point in my career I would’ve thought, “who do I have to blow to get somebody to change the water?”

Yesterday I didn’t think that at all. I just changed the water bottle so I could fill my glass.

And that, peeps, is how I be happy. Instead of complaining, just doing the next right thing when it’s in front of me is how my soul stays full.

Way back when I cooked in the restaurants it was all young people in the kitchen. The dishwashers were all teenage kids. It wasn’t uncommon for them to slack off or get behind. And then somebody from the cook’s line would go back and say, “who do I have to blow to get some plates?” Yeah, that’s where that all started.

And it was all fun and games, that’s how you were accepted into the tribe. Played in the reindeer games. Because complaining is sociably and professionally acceptable. It’s okay to tell the world that you’re miserable. Many people will even cheer you on when recounting your daily struggles.

But the interesting thing is that there was never any, “you did a great job keeping up today.” Sure, it was a restaurant and nobody really took it as a serious career path but that kind of self-centered mentality of only complaining when other people don’t do their jobs followed me around for decades.

As I’ve said before when I write/post these things, it’s not that I’m trying to give you guys a sermon but it’s more documenting the revelations I’ve had or whatever. When I write them down they stick better in my head.

The key point for me here is that I’ll never be happy having the “who do I have to blow” mentality. Regardless of what anybody else is doing, I’d rather be at *peace. “Who do I have to blow” spills over into other areas. That negativity sticks to my shoe like sandy gum and then I’m tracking that shit into the house.

So I just realized that when I write stuff down it’s easy for me to get creative with the sandy gum when I’m being my pessimistic self. And then when I’m being optimistic I feel like a fruit loop.

Anyway, back on topic. What’s even more interesting about the restaurants is that the guys who I really enjoyed cooking with were the ones who stood apart. They took part in the camaraderies but they were also their best selves regardless of how many dirty plates had stacked up. They didn’t knock people down or flip them shit when it wasn’t necessary. They walked their own path regardless of what the herd was doing.

Those are the kind of people I wanted to stand next to my whole life. In high school and college, at my corporate job, and even when I drag myself out to be sociable today. People like Don and Kris and Jimi. I do my best to be like them in the here and now.

Yeah, there’ll always be slackers and no, I won’t do their job but I do my best to be the kind of person my younger self would want to stand with.

At work I change the water bottle now because the water bottle needs change. But really, it’s not just about getting the job done. It’s actually about taking care of the other humans I share the world with.

And it lets me show off my muscles. 😉

#advancedsoul #diariespodcast

  View original  

I only fought with the police once and there was only one of them. And it was 3 in the afternoon. And I was drunk and feisty. And then he tackled my 19 year old self in an alley and one side of my face ended up in some gravel. And then I went to jail with a swollen eye. And got to spend the rest of the evening sobering up.

About 9pm or so and no longer drunk, I decided I would never fight with the police again.

#realhorrorshow #thepolice #diariespodcast

  View original  

If I’m worried I can be replaced,

If I’m worried I’m not enough,

If I’m worried I’m unwanted,

If I’m worried I’m unlovable,

How about instead of worrying,

People love a warm sun beam

--

#photos #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

  View original  

And then there was that one time when I was in high school and in a car wreck. Of course I was drinking so the details are all a blur. I had huge gash on the top of my head after hitting the windshield. I would tend to believe there was enough blood to make people worry.

My friends and I are outside the car and the police are there and it’s all a big commotion. The car’s smashed, there’s broken glass, flashing lights blue and red.

And I’m just there acting like an obnoxious prick. It was one of those times where I felt like I could act like a jerk so I did. Entitlement can come in all forms. I’m still surprised the police didn’t put me in handcuffs.

So then the ambulance came and my friend and I are taken to the hospital. I remember being in an operating room and the staff, doctors, nurses, or whoever are trying to stitch my head up and I’m continuing to act like an asshole. Cussing, swearing, an all out belligerent jerk.

People were just trying to do their job and I was making it 10 times harder than it needed to be. Lashing out at them because they were there and I was drunk.

And why was I so angry? I don’t know. As a teenager I think mostly what I felt was just frustrated. Not really being in touch with my emotions I couldn’t even tell you back then that I was frustrated. It was just what I felt. I needed another cigarette.

Annoyed, discontent, restless, irritable, those are the reasons why I listened to so much angry music in the late 80s and early 90s. It was a conduit, an outlet I could plug in to that helped release just a little bit of that overall emotional cramp. Put on the headphones and have the music so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. Including the very things going on inside that wanted to get out. That would set me free.

Looking back decades later I know why I was so distressed at 17. Because I never dealt with anything. You’ve all heard that before. Garbage bags of hostilities piled up inside from situations I was in that I never allowed myself to feel. Bullies in school, spiteful older brothers, or whatever. Take your pick.

And as everyone knows volcanoes blow when there’s too much pressure. I hate that analogy because everybody uses it but it fits.

Back to the hospital. Frankly I’m surprised that people even work in emergency rooms in the middle of the night because I’m sure I’m not the only drunken asshole they’ve had to fix. People like my mom, my sister, my niece, people like Sara. Nurses who dedicate their lives to caring for souls, toxic and warmongering.

I don’t remember what happened after my head was stitched up. I don’t remember going home or remember the next day. Probably because it’s been so long ago. But what I do remember is that nothing changed in me because of the wreck or because of my behavior that night. I just went back to being my quiet self and throwing fits when I got drunk enough.

What I’m most ashamed of is that night the girl who was sitting on my lap during the crash ended up with a broken neck. And nobody knew it at first because I was out there being my worst self.

After I got sober I saw handfuls of kids when speaking in treatment centers and lockups who were filled with the same kind of rage. Subconsciously waiting for someone or something to pull the pin from their grenade.

And I think that once someone goes too far down the angry path there’s little we can do to snap them out of it. Frustration layered over hurt, the torment, the pain with no where to go, those are too powerful of forces for us as parents and adults to pull them out of.

If only we could touch them with a magic wand like the fairy godmother and Cinderella’s pumpkin and take away their pain.

But we can’t. We can only love them until they can love themselves.

And don’t worry moms and dads. We as parents can only hold the bow and aim for the bulls-eye. Our kids as the arrows will go where the wind blows. Or however that saying goes.

Even after another car wreck and broken nose, countless stitches and staples, too, I somehow turned out all right.

OR DID I? 😉

#alcoholism #lettherebehope #diariespodcast

  View original  

When I drive up 7th Avenue on St. Charles’ east side, headed toward Main Street I see this older guy sitting in his garage. It’s pretty packed in there but he’s got enough room for a lawn chair right up front by the overhead door.

I’ve seen him in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the early evening. Not everyday and not every time but he and his chair are fairly reliable.

Earlier this spring there was about a month when he wasn’t there and I was a little concerned that something had happened. Don’t worry, he showed up on his perch not long after.

He’s always flying solo in his white chair but one time I did see what looked like his daughter and grand kids leaving his house. And there he was, still sitting in the garage, watching them walk to their car.

After I go by I often want to turn around and go back. Stop and talk shop. I want to say that I haven’t had grandparents since I was in my 20s and back then I was too caught up in me to enjoy their company.

I wouldn’t ever really stop though. I’d worry that he would think I was going to take advantage of him or something. He’s kind of a brute, too. From the look of him I would guess that he eats nails and drinks gasoline.

But it'd be kinda cool if we could just hang out. Maybe look at some of his tools. He could tell me stories of when he was in the Navy or something.

He’d probably say I was moron when I tell him my plans to dig an underground bunker in my backyard like I suspicion that dude has on the corner of 7th Street and Prairie Street on the west side.

#meanwhile #diariespodcast

  View original  

I was telling Sara last night about the time I was in a grocery store and they had 12 packs of my favorite soda. Unfortunately I couldn’t buy just one, the man was sticking it to me (and the world) by forcing me to buy all 12.

So I did what any teenage anarchist would do. I ripped opened the box and pulled out just one can of my favorite soda.

Delighted with myself I took le single can of soda up to the checkout aisle and fetched a crisp one dollar bill from my wallet, feeling confident that would more than cover the cost.

However, when the checkout guy in his maroon apron tried to scan the barcode it failed two or three times. He then gave me a puzzled look and asked me where I had found this particular can. I told him that I got it outta a box in the soda aisle.

His bepuzzlement quickly turned to annoyance and he firmly let me know that I couldn’t do that. The cans weren’t marked for individual sale and therefore wouldn’t be in his system.

Avid readers, that was the day I learned the customer is not always right.

#soda #rebellion #videos #diariespodcast

  View original  

I’ve been working on my magazine pretty much since I got up, trying to get the July issue all done and off to the printer. Sometimes the pages and layouts just spill onto my screen effortlessly. It’ll sound kinda corny but when I do my best creative work it feels like the cosmos is directing me. That whatever I’m doing just comes out all on it’s own.

Same goes with writing or whatever, too. They’re not my words, they come from somewhere else. It’s like being funny. Everybody knows that we’re not funny when we’re trying to be.

So if I force shit, it just never works. I end up frustrated and hating it. I need to let go and let the cosmic river take me where it sees fit.

Anyways, I’d earmarked today to get this latest issue finished. I was plenty social yesterday and Maggie’s with her mom and I got nothing else going on. I just wanted to be alone and channel my expressive side. Plus, I needed to make things a priority now and then or I won’t get them done. And I had early 80s music on and everything. The B-52s.

But the last 4-5 pages weren’t coming together. I was pushing crap around, rearranging content, deleting shit. Forcing my artistic hand and nothing was working.

And then a thought came to me that wasn’t my own. Because I’m selfish and my best ideas are never mine.

I messaged Sara:

I don’t know if Hope is still with you or what your plans are until this evening, but if you wanted to hangout for an hour or two or whatever my magazine stuff can always wait.

We set up plans for a couple of hours later and then, because I got out of me and what I wanted, put someone else before all that, the stars aligned and everything fell into place. Those last pages of the magazine came together with little effort and little time. The universe spirit moved my hands to paint for me.

Okay, that was definitely corny but it’s true. When I be my best self, the best things happen to me. My magazine is more or less done and I get to see a beautiful girl.

And then Hungry Like The Wolf by Duran Duran came on and life was complete.

#diariesmagazine #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

  View original  

When I was driving to work this morning a sheriff’s car was behind me in the other lane. As we approached the intersection on Randall and 64 the stoplight turned yellow. I slowed down and stopped because I’m sure the sheriff had his eye on me. And of course my license plates are expired.

So then the sheriff gunned his car and blew through the red light. No sirens, no lights, just horsepower. Whether or not he was within his law enforcement privileges to do such isn’t important to what I’m writing here.

What is relevant is that at one time in my life I would’ve thought to myself, “Eff’ing cops.”

But I don’t think that way anymore. There are only policemen. Some are good, some are bad. Just because one guy does something doesn’t mean that I should throw out the whole lot.

Just the same, I don’t think of the “damn Mexicans” anymore. Nor do I think of the “stupid white boys” or the “blood sucking lawyers” or the “strung out crackheads” or the “christian zealots” or even the “soccer moms.”

Taking time to know people from those groups, talking with them, learning about their lives and struggles, wins and loses — all of that — has only made my life better. It’s made me a bigger person, bigger than the small town cracker I was growing up in Iowa.[1]

Okay fine, we can categorize people. There may be some truths in stereotypes. But there’s a difference between that and judging people, condemning a whole race or social group.

I don’t know about you guys but I don’t like being lumped into a group because of what somebody else did or didn’t do. I want to be judged based on who I am and what I do.

At the end of the day we’re all just humans. You’ll find good and bad in any group. I want to look for the good. I’ll never go wrong with seeing people as individuals and making new friends.

#randallroad #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

See what I did there? I called myself a cracker…but not everybody in every rural town in Iowa. ↑

  View original  

What I mean by this is something along the lines of:

Last time I came home you didn’t look up from the TV so the next time you walk in I’m not going to stop watching it either.

Scorekeeping is a way for me to exert control in a situation where I feel like I have none. When I feel helpless, putting marks on the blackboard helps me claim some power.

I will punish you when you hurt me, give you the silent treatment when you don’t pay attention to me. Won’t fold your laundry because you were more interested in your phone at dinner than talking to me.

That kinda bullshit.

Keeping score doesn’t work though. It perpetuates the infinite, dysfunctional loop. It’s sprinkling more salt on my wounds. And theirs. It’s me locking myself in a box with all the things that’ve ever hurt me. It’s me saying that keeping track of what you’ve done wrong is more important than the overall health of our relationship.

If I want to have healthy relationships I need to practice healthy behaviors. Talk to people about what’s bothering me as things come up. And if they don’t take my feelings into consideration, if they aren’t willing to compromise for the greater good then fuck them. We deserve better.

I better compromise, too. Take what people say with an utmost urgency because they’re taking a chance on me. Going out on a limb and showing their own vulnerability.

And please don’t think that I’m some kind of spiritual dynamo here. I’ve kept score my whole life and you know what I got? At the end of the day with that blackboard filled with checkmarks?

I got a list of resentments as long as both arms.

I got a pile of hurt long after they were gone. An index of crimes and criminals. A mental spreadsheet with dates and times going back to the first day when I didn’t feel like I could tell you what was wrong.

One time when I was married to Kathy I unloaded my scorecard on her, spread all her felonies out on the bed for her to see. I can’t imagine how she must’ve felt knowing that the whole time we’d been together I was silently keeping score. When I think back on it now I’m embarrassed. More than that, I’m ashamed. I was a real champ.

Sure, in my early 20s I didn’t know my ass from a hubcap but memories like that are what push me to be a good person in the here-and-now.

Resentments aren’t good company.

And then when a good soul does comes my way I won’t be ready. I’ll start a new scorecard. You’ll have a clean slate but a slate none-the-less.

How about I just erase the blackboard. And throw away the chalk. Retire the standing army. Learn to deal with myself and my feelings. Communicate with those I care about and care about me.

I look back on certain parts of life and think, “boy I really fucked that up” ... but the good news is that for the last few years, I feel like I’ve done my best work. Been my best self and that’s a pretty good feeling. So much more than tallying your scores and balancing the books.

Each day I’m given a fresh chance to be a better person. It’s a new day to give people another chance. If I want power in life, if I want control then that’s where it’ll come from. Being my best self.

#relationships #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

  View original  

Earlier this month when I was giving my recovery talk at the church in Montgomery, I was sitting at a long table facing everyone. Like I was a teacher at the front of the class or something. It was the first week of August and hot so they had fans blowing. I had to talk louder than normal and that wasn’t easy. I may yammer away on social media and on my blog but in groups of real people I’m not a fan of speaking up or standing out.

One of the things I mentioned when giving my "sermon" was that drinking never really made me feel like I was better than anybody else. That was something I was never after, being better than you. Drinking just brought me up to a level of “normal” that I thought the people around me had. The warm alcohol burn gave me a feeling of “okay” that it seemed like everybody else had. And I didn’t on my own.

When I was a kid everybody was older than me. Everybody was taller than me. I didn’t feel as big as the other humans. Always smaller. Constantly looking up, both emotionally and physically.

In fourth grade when we moved to a new neighborhood with a new school and new people and all that, I felt even smaller. Navigating new waters in life. Riding my bike down to the Des Moines river with my friends. Growing up but still struggling with staying little.

Even now I still find myself looking up to people. When I’m at meetings, when I’m with my peers, and when I’m at home. I don’t always feel on the same level as those souls around me. It’s not that I’m plagued with low self-esteem or whatever but I don’t always feel like I’m playing on the same field as most people. Some people are self-assured by default. That’s not me.

Also, earlier this month I posted a link to AC/DC's Who Made Who video. When I heard the line, “ain’t nobody told you” it was an emotional enlightenment if you will. Where something clicked and I had a moment of self-awareness. As a teenager it put words to a feeling I’d had for I don’t know how long. Yeah, it doesn’t translate exactly to feeling less-than but it did and does describe to me the feeling of being without. Of missing something. Of being in the dark.

The only time I feel “normal” now is when I’m tuned into the cosmic signal. Pick up the divine frequency. Become one with the fan that blows across me while laying on my bed. Let it blow me in the direction I need to go. The search for wholeness is complete when I find and embrace the god within.

When I remember to do that then I come out of that slightly nervous place and a confidence that’s not my own fills most of me. I’m not scared of life and somehow muddle my way through not feeling less-than. People tell me that I’m calm and confident. I say “ha.”

Look around. That dude over there that you’ve thought had his shit going on this whole time? Probably not. When I learned that I wasn’t the only one who wrestles with low self-esteem, that other people around me struggle, not only did that refresh my tolerance for pesky humans, it boosted my own self-worth. I’m not the only one who’s crazy here.

I almost wrote that I can tell when I haven’t plugged in, that I’m acutely aware. But that’s not true. Sometimes it’s hours later that I realize. Emotions can overtake me, blind me to what’s really going on. It’s like a hazy lace a few inches out that warps my perception. And then the ground is shaky and my feet unsure.

The other day I was writing about the spirit painting for me, through me. Sometimes when I talk or write, the words just come flowing out. But when I’m on the topic of self-esteem in the here-and-now I’m tapping into vulnerability and the words are not like water. They’re more like rocks tumbling out. One by one. Falling heavy.

Ain’t nobody told you.

The only thing that makes me whole, makes me calm doesn’t include people, places, or things. It’s remembering that I’m part of the cosmic spirit, that underneath the flesh and bone we’re all nameless, faceless equals. Each a shimmering, glowing brightness and together we light the universe. Fruity, I know but it’s my god concept. Ethereal and throne-less. Heavenly and infinite. People never die in my world, they only let go of their physicality.

In related news, cicadas are a superfamily. That's how I feel about you guys.

Here’s the last thing I wanna say to wrap this up. As you guys know I usually dictate much of what I write to my phone while driving. In my truck I let my mind wander and things bubble up. I wanna write, “the truth is revealed” but that sounds too corny. But saying something out loud, just talking helps the words flow naturally. It gives my thoughts an honest voice since I’m not trying to impress anybody with being cool. Just being true to myself.

Anyway, I was walking down the hall to the work office this morning and still talking to my phone, dictating a sermon. Getting some last minute thoughts down. Usually the office floor is empty when I get in so I was just yammering away. I rounded a corner and almost bumped into a younger guy, right when I was saying “hazy lace.”

Oh good. Lace. In another era that would’ve filled me with embarrassment from head to toe.

But you know what? I don’t give a fuck. I don’t feel shame for being me when I’m walking a spiritual path.

#photos #advancedsoul #cicadas #diariespodcast

  View original