A man doesn’t have time in his life
to have time for everything.
He doesn’t have seasons enough to have
a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes
Was wrong about that.
A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment,
to laugh and cry with the same eyes,
with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them,
to make love in war and war in love.
And to hate and forgive and remember and forget,
to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest
takes years and years to do.
A man doesn’t have time.
When he loses he seeks, when he finds
he forgets, when he forgets he loves, when he loves
he begins to forget.
And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur. It tries and it misses,
gets muddled, doesn’t learn a thing,
drunk and blind in its pleasures
and its pains.
He will die as figs die in autumn,
Shriveled and full of himself and sweet,
the leaves growing dry on the ground,
the bare branches pointing to the place
where there’s time for everything.
I see too many dudes every day who have no idea what they’re doing: guys who have no idea how to dress, how to drive, how to lift weights, how to eat/drink, how to sit, how to listen, how to speak, how to spell, how to write, how to think for themselves, or how to even live their lives.
I very, very rarely meet a fellow gentleman and then later think to myself, “He knows what he’s doing”. That sucks. Now, I don’t claim to know what I’m doing most of the time, but I’m trying. Please try with me.
“So I guess this is where I tell you what I learned - my conclusion, right? Well, my conclusion is: Hate is baggage. Life’s too short to be pissed off all the time. It’s just not worth it. Derek says it’s always good to end a paper with a quote. He says someone else has already said it best. So if you can’t top it, steal from them and go out strong. So I picked a guy I thought you’d like. ‘We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.’”—Danny Vinyard, American History X (via myclue)
Dedicated to my dad, my brother, my mom, E, Allan, Henry, & Jackie.
Foreword: This was a hard entry to write. I guess most of the time when I write, I’m kind of detached and dispassionate - like I’m sitting in front of a fireplace in a silk robe, holding a snifter of brandy, and reading a dictionary when all of a sudden you, my reader(s), quietly clear your throat to catch my attention - but this piece required a gram of flesh and a thimble of blood. I know most people don’t understand me and don’t care to, honestly sometimes I don’t give them reason to try to, but here’s a piece of me.
had lunch with my mom, brother, and Joseph at Sweetee Thai.
went to REI with my dad to look at backpacks. Settled on the Gregory Z65. Can’t wait for Europe & Asia!
worked on my the new company website.
had dinner with Eugene and Steve.
hugged and kissed my dad good bye.
5 years ago I hated my father. If you asked me if I wanted to bury the hatchet, I probably would have responded “Yes, in his skull.” Or something equally morbid. That type of hate is such a heavy burden to carry. One of my friends, let’s call him E, experiences the same thing. He describes it kind of like, pushing a heavy box through a cluttered room or a boat sailing over a large mass of immersed rock; you can just feel a hateful displacement pressuring your thoughts and all you can really do is just try to steer yourself in another direction. I’ve since moved on and forgiven him. At first it was nothing, just an “Ok, I can understand why he did what he did” type of thing and there was no real emotional attachment to him, even though he was seriously depressed and had to go on medication. But recently, I’ve learned to love him. I didn’t know that even love could be such a heavy burden too; every time I think about him or visit him it feels like there’s a heavy weight attached to my sternum.
E asked me how much I loved my dad in comparison with my mom and I responded “Probably about the same.” Shocked, he asked “Why? Don’t you think that’s unfair to your mom? Doesn’t she deserve it more?” I told him “Every one deserves love, but some people need it more.” My dad needs to be loved more than anything right now. His heart is like a city with protesters blocking the roads. Omnes te moriturum amant.