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A Peek Inside

I’ve learned a few things this weekend.  Learned may be the wrong word.  Maybe Just continued evolving.  For good or bad.

First up, I went to see The Butler last night.  It was an unexpected, last minute decision to go to see a movie I didn’t have that much interest in seeing, which isn’t that unusual.  I’m turned off by almost everything that is playing in movie theaters these days.  But with one kid away at college and the other itching to spend the evening with friends, the opportunity for dinner out matched with a last minute call from friends to see the movie meant that instead of making pizza and writing I found myself in a movie theater.

The Butler tells the story of Cecil Gaines, who grows up the son of a sharecropper in Georgia before running away and eventually becoming a butler at the White House, where he works for almost 30 years, a period spanning Eisenhower to Reagan and every President in between.  The story is based on the real life story of Eugene Allen.

A bit of a segue here.  Here’s a fact-checking article about the movie.  Eugene Allen served from Truman to Reagan.  In the movie, Cecil joins the White House in the late ’50’s, when Eisenhower was President.  Here was the odd thing, when Cecil arrives for his first day of work at the White House Robin Williams is the actor playing the President — and he looks amazingly like Harry Truman and not Dwight D. Eisenhower.  In reading the article, it turns out that many of the elements that make up the arc of the movie aren’t actually true.  Which is disappointing.

But back to what I learned.  My entire adult life I have spent fascinated by certain things, the civil rights movement being one.  I have never flinched from the reality of the movement and the hate with which many Americans responded to the dignity of MLK, the Freedom Riders, and others involved in the movement.  The movie replays some of that as Cecil struggles with his role as a black butler in the White House and his fictionalized son who is very involved as a Freedom Rider and briefly a member of the Black Panther Party.  I found myself no longer able to watch the scenes of assaults on the civil rights protesters.  The water cannons, the beatings, the firebombings, the police dogs, etc.  I simply could not watch these scenes, both real news reel and fictionalized for purposes of the movie, that represent such a dark, hateful period of our life.  There was a point at which I wanted to walk out of the theater because I simply did not want to watch any more of it.

I’m done being fascinated with the dark chapters in our history, the evil that lurks in our past, the examples of horrors we inflict on ourselves and on each other.  I will not hide from it, but I no longer need to dwell there either.  It’s all part of replacing hate with love, don’t you think?

What about you?  Do you turn away from the ugliness of the human race?  Or do you wallow it because it is, in fact, a part of who we are?


Thinking about the above led me further down a path.  I started thinking about this pocket I find myself in.  Dissatisfaction with a lot of aspects of my life.  Some would say that I’m in a mid-life crisis.  I think it’s different than that.  I’m not getting the expensive sports car.  I’m not going after a newer, younger model of wife/girlfriend.  I’m not quitting my job to buy a sailboat and sail the seven seas.  I think it goes deeper than that.  (Although none of those things I just described I would object to.)

I am in the process of identifying the things that matter to me.  Plotting a course to an end place where I can surround myself with those things and people and places.  Part of that is also eliminating elements of my life that cause more harm than good. 

Here’s an example.  For a dozen years, I coached my kids in their sports.  Baseball and soccer.  Last year was the first year that I had no coaching obligations.  I tried being a soccer referee.  This year I’m not even doing that.  Instead, I’m hoping to do only this — to go watch my younger son’s games and then leave those games behind.  Anybody who has gone through youth sports knows that there is simply far too much drama and trauma involved.  It is a life I have lived for the past dozen years and I am ready to leave it behind.

This is not a complaint about that time.  It was well spent.  I loved watching my kids play their sports.  I loved the opportunity to be their coach and help not just them, but other kids, learn how to play, to compete, to love the game.  I will always look back at the time I spent coaching my kids as one of the best “moments” of my life.  I wouldn’t replace it for the world.

But, it also turned me into something I never was before.  I got too caught up in the bad aspects of youth sports.  Yelling at referees.  Arguing with other coaches.  Taking things far more seriously than needed.  It’s a game and there were times when I let emotions lead to unfortunate actions on my part.

And, I’m done with that.  I’m leaving it behind.

There are other examples, but it comes down to this.  My oldest son will turn nineteen in January, he’s off for his freshman year of college.  My youngest is two years behind him.  I’m beginning to close the door on a chapter of my life that has spanned almost twenty years.  That of being a parent.  Of being responsible for so many things in so many ways. 

In some odd way, my reaction to The Butler is also a part of this.  I’m beginning to move on from some of the many things that have been a part of me for most of my adult life.  I’m beginning to look for something else to fill my soul.  It’s something other than politics and hate, war and trauma, fighting battles both large and small.  It’s this other thing.  About finding peace and letting go of responsibility.  About finding beauty and love.  Enjoying little things and letting go of the things that don’t matter.  As I’ve said before, it’s about finding the place where I can be me.  Just me.

What about you?  Are you in a mid-life crisis?  Are you constantly evolving?  Or do things stay the same and you’re good with that?


I learned two things from walking this week.

Walking affects different body parts than running.  This should be clear, but I’m shocked nonetheless.  When I ran, most of my pain and discomfort was in my calves, knees and feet.  Now that I’m walking (7.5 mile walk yesterday, 9.5 mile walk today), particularly with the longer walks, I’m experiencing the pain and discomfort in completely different areas.  My feet don’t hurt, it doesn’t bother my calves, and my knees are OK so far.  No, where walking bothers me is in my hamstrings, my hips, and the ol’ gluteus maximus.  Very odd. 

There is actually one area where walking bothers my feet.  When I ran, I would hear stories about runners who run longer distances experiencing horrendous blisters on their toes and feet.  With my longest runs only hitting half-marathon length, I never, ever had blisters on my feet.  Now, walking has provided me with four blisters on my right foot.  And they are blood blisters.  Right now, I’m looking at an ugly one on the tip of the second toe wondering how the hell did it get there and thinking I’m going to need to tape it up as I head out the door in the next couple of minutes for another long walk.  And also wondering where the next blister will show up.

The other thing I learned was really more of a refresher.  I’ve been in a much better mood over the last week or two.  And I haven’t understood why, but I know that I’ve just been in that happy space a little more.  Even if nothing has really changed in the fundamental dynamics of my life.

I realized why that was while out on my walk today.  I’m exercising again.  Regularly and consistently.  Every day.  There is definitely something to be said for the mental health value of regular exercise.  Or maybe it’s just the endorphins monkeying with my brain chemistry.


A Peek Inside

I post regularly about events that help me recognize there’s a page in my life that needs to be turned.  One of the on-going topics has been the frustration of not being able to exercise the way I want.  I had a love-hate relationship with running for the 4+ years I participated in that sport.  What I loved was the ease and freedom it afforded me.  I also loved the challenge of going further and pushing myself and seeing that I could do more than I thought possible.  I loved to run in the rain.  On cold mornings and in the heat of a late summer afternoon upon my return from work.  I loved how I felt when I ran.

I hated how I felt when I ran.  Something always hurt.  I pain-free run never happened for me.  And every step of progress I made in distance or time was hard fought for.  I hated that running didn’t come easy for me like it does for others.

I loved the challenge of it though.  I grabbed that challenge and forced myself beyond what I thought my limits would be.

And then I couldn’t anymore.  I gave up on physical therapy almost a year ago and have wallowed and wallowed since.

And then I read this and was reminded of why I loved running and why it has to be a part of my exercise future.  I made contact with the physical therapist yesterday.  I’ll be committed to a physical therapy routine with his assistance for the next couple of months.  If there isn’t some marked improvement soon, I’m going to the sports doc and demanding an MRI and surgery.  There will be some bicycling as well because that helps strengthen the muscles in a different way.

I absolutely cannot wait until my first run in the rain when I have got to where I want and need to be.

Last week I also started first thing in the morning walks as many days as I can.  So, this morning was out on my 2.5 mile walk when I was reminded of something else.

In neighborhoods all over the community I live in, virtually any time of the day, you can see older Sikhs walking.  The men with their covered heads, flowing gray beards, and long white tunics.  The women, in their colorful, flowing robes.  Typically, the men walk alone and the women walk in pairs.  Rarely do I see a Sikh man and woman going for a walk together.  But, still they walk.

A little over two years ago and a couple of miles from my home, two older Sikh men out for their afternoon walk were gunned down while they took a rest at a bus stop.  The perpetrators remain at large and that disgusts me.  There are people who know who pulled the trigger and their silence makes them less than human.

This morning I was pleased to see, as I always am, many Sikhs walking in the neighborhood.  Walk on.  I know I will be.

Thanksgiving Morning

Last week, I got permission from my physical therapist to start going for brisk 30-minute walks.  To me, brisk means just short of a slow job.  It means walking as fast as I can.  Thanksgiving morning was my first such walk.  40 minutes later things felt fine.  Problem is it makes me want to try that slow jog.  Patience has never been one of my virtues.  My goal is a New Year’s Day three-mile jaunt.  Not before.  Keep walking, yoga-ing, and doing the physical therapy exercises until then.  Not a day sooner.  Patience.

I took my camera on the walk and found these along the way…

And, here’s my backyard through a hole in the fence …

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