Danny Boy

Oh Danny boy. Please stay, please stay. Don't leave us.
They don't care about our island in the sea.
With you going, who must, who must,
Our hero be?

Is it true?
The leaving of our pink, white and green team?
Please return and bring back with you,
Your pride and vision for the Newfoundland dream.

And if you leave us in a fortnight,
Without a leader to wade into battle,
We will fight for our right,
And the cage we will rattle.

We hope to hear,
Your love for our good name,
The snarl at fear,
And only our flag will remain.

So we wait, we wait,
For your return.
From St. John's to Twillingate,
The candle will burn.

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, we love you so.

Brindle Swirls

Summer heat
brings memories of skipping clawed feet.
Cloudless sunny sky,
Remembering ponds of floating tail-high.

Lips pulled back in fake bite,
Kisses replaced moment of fright.
Soundless sleeps with room to spare,
Our patrolling guardian has no fear.

Scratch her nose, ear, and belly,
But watch your feet - she finds them smelly.
Offer a treat with ease,
But ask and wait for the bark of please.

Cool and content,
Her father she did compliment.
Here for so long,
Taken away in a song.

Summer starts with a warm breeze,
Pollen whispers always made you sneeze.
Never forget,
Your smell when you were wet.

I will miss you Zoë.
Rest well my friend.

Home Sweet Home

My focus on life is on choice and experience. It is not possible to turn the page on the past, but it is possible to move forward to a better life. You just need to take a chance.

The example here is from seven years ago, when I was leaving the west coast of Canada and returning to my roots in the east coast. I was on my way to university at the ripe age of 29 years old. I was leaving a lifestyle of drugs, booze, women and snowboarding. I was leaving a life of irresponsibility and diving straight into a potentially bright new future.

I have gone through several pseudo-editors over the years. None were able to commit to my work. I can either focus on the loss or keep my eyes forward. The time is right to be my own editor. The time is right to share with my readers. It is only fitting that the following post is from a time in my life when I was returning to my home. Just in time for when I am leaving it again.

Here you go. May you enjoy an excerpt from my memoir: Soul to Squeeze.

We all have moments in our lives that we build upon until the moment arrives. We base our days around when it will happen and daydream about what the moment will be like. The days pass. The moment grows closer and closer. Our anticipation rises. Our thoughts race forward in time.

Then, suddenly, we are in that moment. It happens so fast that we desperately want to release the jam on the fast forward button of motion that is life. We watch as the moment slides by us and then passes us by like a stranger on a busy street corner. It is all we can do to keep our heads high and wait for our next moment to arrive.

But what about the moments in between? Do we not live in between those times? Is our life nothing more than a transition from one big moment to the next big moment in between our mundane days of existence? How do we collect our moments and develop our future? How do we build upon our days and make each collection the rest of our lives instead of one fraction of it? Instead of looking forward to something that comes and goes like the precious breath we draw in and out?

Up to this point in my life, my existence was based on moments of anticipation. Moments of a better existence. Moments of anything more than what I had at that present time and place. But, slowly and surely, my outlook changes. Instead of keeping my eyes planted solely on the distant future, I fixate on my present course. Slowly and surely, I place one moment in front of the other, no matter how mundane or monotonous, and find that adding each moment to the next is the only way to design the future. To achieve the full potential of my destiny.

I focus on my days now. Focus on making each one better than the last. Each morning I wake up is a reason to smile. Each morning I wake up is a reason to live. Each day I wake up is a reason to learn. I watch as the days grow into something more than just a trivial passing of time. For, in reality, there is no such thing as a trivial passing of time. My days collect into something more. Something to push me forward. Something that I can almost taste but still have to wait to touch.

Each morning replaces each night. I center my thoughts on the idea of what happens with the collection of my days. I realize that the collection of my days eventually becomes the phases in my life. Phases of knowledge that becomes wisdom with the aid of time. Phases of experiences that teach me how to learn from my mistakes. Phases of new life that spurs tangible growth through the hard times.

I think about the phases in my life - the moments that come and go. Not the phases of puppy love or of drug use. But real phases in my lifetime. The extra push from behind that demands I make something better of myself…that I don’t let life pass me by because it is the only one I get.

I don't see my life as a moment in time but as a collection of days that guide me down the path of resistance. A guide that recognizes the signs standing firmly in the ground along the road side. I recognize the guide for what it is: an understanding that these days I live will eventually catch up to what waits patiently for me on the road ahead.

I am entering into the very first phase of my life. For so many years, I shuffled through my years and stumbled in the dark because I was terrified of the light. Then, one day, my path suddenly became true and just. It became a reason to make myself into the person I always knew was possible. Listen closely. That same message is hidden in your own moments in life.

So, here I am. More than seven years later. In a couple of days, I will reach another anniversary in life. It marks more than the date I jumped off a three storey railing and fell 50 feet to the hard ground below; fracturing my skull and shattering my lower back. It also marks three years of being clean.

Life is so fragile. Embrace it while you still can. Change yourself. Change your world. Change your life.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

"Waking up dead inside my head would never, never do, there is no med. No medicine to take. I've had a chance to be insane, asylum from the falling rain. I've had a chance to break." - Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers

The Promise

Never give up
And I will never leave your side.

Never give in
And I will fight the surging tide.

Always look forward
And I will guard your back.

Always reach higher
And I will keep your dreams on track.

Always stay patient
And I will protect your heart.

Always keep moving
And I will honour the start.

Always treasure your love
And I will mend the tatters.

Always smile through the loss
And I will focus on what matters.

Always respect the past
And I will prepare the future.

Always live in the present
And I will plan the adventure.

Always nurture the soul
And I will develop the reason.

Always work smarter
And I will grow each season.

Always remember your character
And I will pave the road.

Always push further
And I will promise the seed is sowed.

Grey and White

Floating in a soft hurry,

No cares,

No worries.

Light winds push and stall,

I watch in silence,

Marvel at its proud fall.

The paths it may travel,

The roads,

The dreams that unravel.

Alone now separated from a whole,

Flying on its own,

The wet winds taking its toll.

Will it stay,

Yet it may go,

Does it bring good fortune this day?

No one sees its flight,

Swinging to and fro,

Quiet in its wake and vulnerable in its own right.

Simple thoughts and wishes,

Single feather,

Brings me unforgettable riches.

Behind Me on the Road

Autumn is here. The leaves slowly drift off the trees in a lazy swing to the wet ground below. A light mist falls on my shoulders as my thoughts race back and forth. I hurry to scramble up a mountain of doubt. To prove it wrong. To prove there is a reason. That there is a purpose. That my road is true. That it is paved with good intention.

It can be so desperately cold at times but my faith keeps me warm. Adversity. The maker of Kings. I wonder what it takes, what is necessary, to fight your way back up the heap after you were tossed to the bottom. I guess only time will tell. I am only concerned with starting the climb once again.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

What music plays when a heart breaks? Is it the soundtrack of a continuous lost song, forgotten, now remembered? Do we pluck simple strings to elicit emotion, to pull tears unbidden without permission; hoping and praying forgiveness?

Mine has broken again and again this year. So many ups and downs. I know the road is there. I can feel it. I just can't see through this damn thick rainy fog. I just want to believe it is leading me in the right direction. No matter the cost. I want to believe.

So many questions. Not near enough answers. What is next? Where do I go? How will I get there? Do I stay here? Can I forge a better opportunity out of mere will? What was the purpose of four years of education? Was it not for a better life? A better future? I faced an addiction and accepted sobriety in order to stage the first of many victories. But I have to ask when does the disappointment lose the battle with the happiness? When? Why? Where? What? How? And the litanies keep coming and coming. No end in sight.

Pillow is wet at night. Throat is raw. Quiet whispers of sadness. Internal replies of confidence. Enough. Never enough. Sleep. Focus on the now. Race. Race. Race. Focus on the now. It will come to you. Trust. Believe. Listen. It will come to you.

Peace is coming. I can feel it. I know that hard work is necessary again. That results, a reason for hard work, happiness, that everything and more is coming. I want to believe that this is all a lesson. One day I will look back behind me on the road and understand. My faith is surreal. Pushes me. Drives me. Steadies me. Holds me upright when I want to give in to the buckling in my knees. Stay the course it tells me. Stay the course. There is reason. There is rhyme. There is purpose. It was not all for naught.

To lead is to risk failure. It is knowledge from the experience. To forge ahead when sanity urges reprieve. It is lonely. To lead is to gamble. It is desire to grow. To shape a dream from nothing but mere hope and passion. It is ephemeral. It is life. To lead is to inspire. It is reason to breathe. To see you gave it everything. That you gave it all.

This is where I am. A transition to a new level in life I never imagined was possible. I have tasted so many failures and rejections this past year that my pallet is rough and scored with slivers of disappointment. Yet I know the end to all of that is near. That a new beginning waits for me. Little, subtle, hide-and-seek glimpses into the echoes of my future. My memoir, after so many years of hard work and harder work still, is in its initial stages of editing. Each day, I read new messages from my editor about how we can shape its direction, small notes of what to leave out and what to take out. Every day a new song collapses the ache in my heart and rebuilds it with hope and desire to overcome. Fight, each song says, show your worth. Show that you are better than you can even possibly understand.

The truth is that even though my heart breaks with each chord, it is also strengthened with each word. Someone else has been on the same road as mine. To know that I am not alone in it all is more strength than I could ever ask. I sit back at times and look over my shoulder at my life. The mistakes. The memories. The moments in time that developed a life for the making. I stand back and look at the boy who struggled to find his place in the world and look inside at the man who only wants to find stable footing in the here and now. The man has laid the groundwork. Now he is told to wait. The rest will follow.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

"What were all those dreams we shared those many years ago / What were all those plans we made now left beside the road / Behind us on the road / More than friends I always pledged cause friends they come and go / People change as does everything / I wanted to grow old / Just want to grow old." - Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam

The Absurdity of it All

It started the other night when my friend dropped by from Toronto. “It was a total whim,” he said. “I was walking through the Montreal airport and thought about heading back to the Maritimes.” He laughed and gave me thump on the chest. “I bought a ticket and here I am.”

“Good to see you brother,” he adds and looks me in the eyes. “You are looking healthy.”

I swig a gulp of beer and think about his words for a second. We are so tight and yet so far apart. Distance is one factor. He has many play-dates to keep him company. I have one. He still likes to drink. He still enjoys his highs. I only recently picked up an occasional social drink. Drugs are not a factor in my life. And it never will be again. My former lifestyle is no longer imminent in my time and day.

But I still think about it.

As recently as last week when my roommate smoked on the balcony and the pungent aroma drifted into my room. I thought about joining him. I held back. There are more important things in life. She is more important. Our love is more important. I. Am. More. Important.

My friend opens his cigarette package and lights one up to add to his already endless line of heavy smoke. My lungs wince. How I want to ask for one little drag, one little puff, maybe even a whole cancer-stick of my own. I pull a mouthful from my beer and stay silent. It is so hard sometimes. The demon inside is sick of its prison. The walls drain his creation. Let me out, it screams, let me the hell out. There are no windows here. I can’t breathe. Let me out.

I stand outside the door and listen quietly as it beats its head against the slick, moldy walls. Again. And again. And again. Over and over. Again and again. I reach down and softly ensure that the door is locked. Touch the padlock and forget where I buried the key. I turn on my heel and walk away. My dusty footprints are the only trace of my presence. The way it has to be.

Here you go and may you enjoy.

Will anyone who is not ever understand what it is like to be one who is? To walk with thoughts consumed of how to get it? Who might have it? Where to find money to pay for it? To use it as an escape from a life full of pain, full of plain, full of disdain for the uncool. The ones who never understand. The ones with the snide looks. The ones with the upturned nose. The ones on the outside of cool. The ones who walk without thoughts of how to get it. Of who might have it. Of where to find money to pay for it.

The memories cling to my matter with chemical claws and unforgiving nails scratch and rip my will to ignore. The amount of stress existing in my life at this moment is numbing. All I can think of is what needs to be done. Of the loss. To replace what is missing. To find myself once again. This stress has taken me prisoner. It is the jailer. But I refuse to beat the walls with my skull. I refuse to scream. I just look for another way out. There must be a way. There has to be.

It is deep. In its depth there is no pain. No plain. Not even disdain for the uncool. How can I forget walking city streets, high and free, floating above ground. No cares. No worries. Give me more. Give me. Give me. Give me. Free me from the constraints. Free me. Free. Me.

It is inside this prison that the demon lays. Next to me. Breathing on me. I can smell its fetid, rotten stench. Let me out, it says, let me out. I want to play, it says, I want to taste the bitter pallet of failure again. Let me out. Give in to me. Just give in. Come on. You know somewhere deep inside, that deep hole you stuck me in, that you miss it. Give in to me. Damn it. Damn you. Give in to me. Let me out.

No. As long as there is a breath to pull from my lungs, you will never get out. I faced your need. I denied it. I hold my head with pride now. You will never be the reason that it will hang in shame. I am alive. Alive.

Freedom of a different kind is my vision now. I don’t miss the guilt. I don’t miss the glaze. I don’t miss the permanent imprint in god knows how many sofas. I do miss the fact that special moments in my life were torn from my grasp. That I stood in front of so much beauty with numb thoughts and cold emotion. That I robbed myself of the simplistic rush of a waterfall, the glisten of fresh snow, the soft feel of warm grass underfoot. I do miss that.

I embrace my reality. Strange. I am learning lessons that lay, mortar by mortar, brick by brick, inch by inch, the groundwork and foundation of what is to be. The structure of complete and utter happiness just around the bend. Stability. Peace of mind. Success. Clean. Sober. Warmth. Light. Sunshine. Love.

I talked to my friend recently. Told him that the drinking, drugs, womanizing, that it was not him. I just went for it. He would either accept it or deny it. He stayed true to form. Thanked me. Told me there was only one me. I laughed.

It’s true. There is only one me. No room here for addiction any longer. I take a deep breath in and let a bigger breath out. It will be okay. I am doing what needs to be done. I have found a way out. And I will come out a newer, stronger, happier version of the person who went in. And that person was impressive. To say the least.

So now I wait. I rock back and forth gently on my heels. Muscles tense and strain against patient tendons and neurons. Don’t jump the gun, says a small voice of wisdom, don’t jump the gun. Be patient. The biggest prize of all awaits. No need to rush. Be patient. You have come this far. The rest of it is only a mere moment in time.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

“Its not a habit. Its cool. I feel alive. If you don’t have it you are on the other side…the deeper you stick in your vein the deeper the thought. There is no more pain. I am in heaven. I am a god. I am everywhere. I feel so hot. Its not a habit. Its cool. I feel alive. If you don’t have it you are on the other side. I’m not an addict…maybe that’s a lie.” – Sarah Bettens of K-Choice

These Are the Seasons

A single year in our lives can constitute phenomenal change, challenge, and decision. Change who we were to who we become, challenge to overcome adversity, and decision to face the morning with new resolve. This is where I am. I have become, I have overcome, and I have decided. I will change, I will challenge, and I will decide.

A full compilation of seasons has come and gone. Winter to spring, spring to summer, summer to fall, and fall to winter once again. Each represent a time in my life where a decision was made, a change took place, and a challenge grew a life in leaps and bounds. I look in the mirror and each genuine smile is a new reason to forgive if only to forget. I taste life ever so palpable and sweet.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Clean. No more smoke in my lungs. I breathe easier and easier each day. I sleep better. No coughing. No guilt; no pressure to succumb. It was never me. Yet it was something that came so easy for so long. I make the decision and it is easy once again. Give it up. Start over again. But at what cost?

Betrayal. Loss of her. A love once so strong that was actually transparent as the rising wind, blowing her away from me, blowing away a life so close to my grasp. I see her in the hallway, and she looks at me like a stranger might on a busy street corner. No sign that two years had come and gone with passion, love, hope for a better day. Nothing. It is not until months later that I find out there was someone else. The challenge to grow becomes evident once again.

Battle. I fight through the nights when all I want is to fill my lungs with release, with smoke, with failure. Instead I fight to survive until morning, until sleep, until success. I fight through the daily illusion of student at morning, consultant at day, and addict at night. I sit through meeting after meeting, listen to the sad stories, the abuse, the uncertainty. I leave with the knowledge that my path is right and that it is paved with true intention. I walk in my door, smell the pungent and acrid smoke, hear the laughter, and ask for courage. One more night became one more morning. Outside the snow falls.

Time. Days turn into weeks and weeks blur into nights of bottomless bottles, clinking of tide, and lost memories mired deep in a liquid fog. When will enough be enough? When will it be time? Soon. Soon you will find who you are meant to be. Patience. Weeks become months. Exams, papers, more exams, and then, a decision. Where do I go? Bermuda? Australia? New Zealand? Stay in Halifax? Where next? Write my last exam, the next day write my last paper, and then I am free from my commitment. A voice says go for it. Go for it. Buck the naysayers and the unsure because they never understood you anyway. It never was and never will be for them. It is for those who believe. Go for that dream. Outside the flowers wake and embrace the light.

Complete. I walk down an aisle, feel the paper in my hands, see my mother beam at me. A graduate. A degree. It was supposed to be our day. I listen to her speak about her educational experience, think about how we were meant to leave together. Make a road trip. Start a life. Instead, I listen to her speak of a new destination. A place where I once lived yet where I have no place by her side. The sadness wells in my throat and robs me of the true happiness of a day that can never be replaced. We go to dinner and celebrate our success. I confess my love, watch her cry, listen to her tell me as we both agree that it had to be. Days later I drive her to the airport and watch her walk out of my life. Gone.

Write. And write. And write some more. Blank paper becomes pregnant with potential as words scrawl across the surface and a plan, dare a dream, becomes a reality. I sit in front of people with my future in their hands and yet I do not bat an eyelash. This is my destiny. I have been walking to it since one fateful morning after waking up in a hospital bed, my skull fractured and my back shattered. I always knew that adversity only develops character. That the hardest challenge is only accepting that choice. The rest is easy. Outside the sun shines and splits the ground with love, with hope, splits my sadness apart and replaces it with faith.

I start my own business. Buy a car, find my own space, do the impossible: ignite a business from scratch without a single client and only letters of intent. I walk the concrete, find people to meet, sell, sell, write, write, and write some more. Each night is spent alone, nothing more than myself and a computer screen. The solitude I wanted so badly becomes a tomb of silence. It is unbearable. I long to smoke away the silence, to inhale the darkness, to break down and admit defeat. Yet I wake in the morning, more alive than the day before, and face the day with courage. I face life with knowledge that my path is right and that it is paved with true intention. Believe. Have faith. Believe. Trust. You are only given what you can handle. Nothing more. Believe, damn you, believe.

Then the night falls and begs me to play. It begs me to come back and join the fray that once almost took my life. You are missed. It is no fun without you. Okay, I say, okay. One more time becomes one more week and one more week becomes one more month. Then came the day I will never forget. The day I said it is enough. It is enough. I decide to face the day without any drugs. I decide to embrace the night sober, with no smoke, no spirit, and only my courage to test the hand of fate. If is this is how it is meant to be, if this is the right path, then I walk it with true intention, with true faith, with love in my heart. Outside the leaves begin to fall.

Opportunity. One single night, on Halloween of all nights, nine years to the day I almost took my own life…I meet her, the woman in control, the woman in charge, the woman with certainty in her step, and beauty in her voice. She meets me, the addict who is sober, the addict who is clean, the addict who believes. We dance. We laugh. We smile. We walk and talk, and laugh some more. I travel to an island far away and laugh with friends I have not seen in years. They see a man they do not know but yet always believed they would one day meet.

Home. I return. We sit. We talk. We laugh. She sings to me in a voice literally stolen from the heavens and trapped on earth. Be patient she tells me. It will all come when it is meant to come. I just want to get to know you, learn you, see if you are truly what I believe. Okay, I say, okay. I tell her that I am glad to be the man she met and that she will never meet the boy I used to be. I like this person she knows. So do I, she says, so do I. Outside the snow begins to fall.

Celebrate. I sit down at a table laden with holiday cheer, share a cup of coffee and not-so-ordinary conversation with my mother. So proud, she says, so proud. Days slowly become the best holiday of cheer, of music, and yet no spirit touches my lips, and no wasted nights passed out in a forgotten mist. Sober. A business ails as a market falls. A decision to make once again. Do I drink the frustration and stress away? Do I roll it all into a simple burn of faith and lose myself in the rising cloud of failure? I smile. Shake my head. Laugh at my demons. Make some calls. Join the market once again and plan for the day when I will once again be my own boss. Adversity. The creator of kings.

I feel that each day is a step forward. A movement, ever so subtle, not to meet a woman meant for me, but to the man who is waiting for me. I am smiling, watching my journey to the place I have been sitting, waiting ever so patient for the man who is clean, the man who is sober, the man who understands that adversity is only a reason to develop character. That one day is another day to place one foot in front of the next. To walk toward my destiny, no matter what it might hold. I know that my path is right because my intention is true. And I will know that when my day comes I will meet it clean, I will meet it sober, and I will recognize the man I have become. The seasons change, the demons call, but the courage to succeed stays with me every step of the way. Nothing but me and true intention.

Until we meet again my friends. Until we meet again.

“Say hello and wave goodbye...we were born before the wind. Who were we to understand? We were born before the wind...say goodbye. Through the rain, hail, sleet and snow...say goodbye."
- David Gray

Picking Up the Pieces

There comes a time in our life when we must take stock of our decisions. Are we doing the best we can to live a higher and more fulfilling life? Are our egos confusing our actions? Are we running our lives or is it our habits and vices that make the rules? Finally, what is more important: our image or our identity?

I asked myself these hard questions recently. It was necessary to set my position and potential course direction for the rest of my life. It was time to become my own one-man-army.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am clean. From drugs, and now I even dare to remove booze from my life. Not an easy choice, but surprisingly my resolve is strong. My birthday recently passed, only a couple of days ago, and I stayed sober. I drove my new car home in the early morning dawn and thought about where I have come from…even more so what I have survived.

Too many nights I stumbled home and crashed into walls. Kicked in doors because they stubbornly refused to yield to my shoulder. Passed out in my bed only to wake up, groggy, and oh so guilty. An empty wallet and a hazy memory of the night before. At some point I had to ask, “When does it all stop? When is enough really and truly enough?”

I always worried that if I gave up drugs, gave up alcohol, would my soul follow suit? There is an old saying about no junk, no soul for a writer. It is a mythical idealogy that a writer is nothing without a nasty habit. He or she has nothing to pull from anymore, and even worse, nothing to create for the future. No parties, no broken hearts, no empty, dusty bottles of whiskey, and no fragrant whisps of smoke filling the air with false inspiration.

I reflect back to another time for a moment. To a time when music was my salvation. I was encased in a body-cast, and only a few days out of a two-week hospital stay. I walked around my living room, headphones on, and listened to the Red Hot Chili Peppers soulful harmony in my ears. I was so aware of the contraints in my life at the time. The headphone leash that limited me to a few feet of freedom. The fibercast tomb that trapped me in my body. One, a leash tethered to sanity; the other, a physical reminder of insanity. Yet, all I could do was walk back and forth, pace and pace, and taste life so palable on my lips. New life. Second chance.

There came a day, more like a morning in fact, when I knew it was time. I woke up with what may be my last hangover, groggy, guilty about an empty wallet, and a memory fading into the ether of my mind. I searched for my car in an underground concrete parking, fearful it was towed away. I retraced my steps, and realized in my confused state that I had walked right past it. When would enough be enough? That was the day. I had too much to lose now. I had a business, a future so promising that I could not afford to ignore warning signals. Pay attention, said the signals, pay attention before you give it all away for free. Pay attention.

This past week has been an escape from the trappings of drugs and booze, but a return to the beauty and freedom of music. It has been seven days full of parties, live music, and dancing under neon lights. Swaying, bouncing, swinging to powerful beats and real words from real people. I was surrounded by others with bottles to their lips, stumbled hitches in their steps, blurred lights in their vision. Loving life. But I was sober. It was so real. My outlet was real. To dance, sway, bounce to soulful harmony because I could. No constraints. No restrictions. No leash.

New life. Second chance. Freedom.

It is the first week. In two more months, it will be a year clean of drugs. I used to laugh when people asked me how long I was clean. It was one month, three months, even six. It was ephemeral at the time. Now it has been almost a year. There have been challenges and there have been many a test. But, I passed and each day continues on from the next with another opportunity to disappoint myself. That is what it comes down to for me. It is not the opportunity to fail but the opportunity to look at myself in the mirror in the morning…and be proud. So, it is one week. I wonder how long it will take before a year passes in single blink of an eye…I wonder.

Scattered all around me are pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I have been building this damn puzzle my whole life. Just when it is seemingly complete, I realize there is a missing piece. In frustration sometimes, I scatter all the pieces into the wind and then chase after them. Start all over again. Place them all on a flat surface and rebuild. Time after time. One piece fits here. Another piece fits there. Each one fits easier than the last. Gives me hope that the next piece will be the link to the complete puzzle. To a complete me. No missing pieces. More whole than the last time I put myself back together after I scattered my identity into the wind in frustration. Time after time and time again. I have come to see over the years that I am not forming an image after all. I am working on completing a master identity. An example, a change for others to see. For others to follow. At the very least, the change I need to follow in my own life.

With every day comes another day to walk one step in front of the next. One step at a time. One day at a time. I keep my head up and watch out for the signals, whether warning or warming, and think about one day at a time. I think about these goals that I set for myself and I smile. I am a soldier. So, it would make sense that my one-man-army keeps marching to its own beat. One day at a time.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

Peace and love.

“But my hand was made strong by the and of the Almighty. We forward in this generation...triumphantly. Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? Because all I ever have...redemption songs. Redemption songs. Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery...none but ourselves can free our minds." - Bob Marley

My Own Sunroom

I move into my own place in a couple of weeks. No roommates. My own space. I started my own agency recently and will run my office out of this new place. I can't wait. However, I am procrastinating from packing. I am not a fan of packing. Never have been. This is more about inspiring myself to feel the energy and excitement of having my own place.

I wrote the following piece last fall. It seems fitting. It captures why I am in this moment at this very stage in my life. It's a reason behind why I chose life over destruction. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

"And this is our sunroom."

I looked around the room, every little corner filled with sunlight. There was such a natural calm to the room. Next to the picture window, just under the sill, sat a small table and some comfortable looking chairs. The whole place just begged me to sit down and just think for a while.

I was fourteen at the time and had never seen a room quite like this one. "A...a sunroom?" I finally stuttered out.

"Yes, sort of like our breakfast room," he said.

"But didn't we just pass that?" I asked him.

"No," he said and laughed. "That was our, um, hmmm...my parents call it the formal dining room."

I instantly thought of our small battered table in my kitchen. All the contrasts between my new friend and I flashed quickly in my mind. His big house with its own separate land placed just far enough away from his neighours. My small, pseudo-lego, government-subsidized townhouse that connected to two other identical ones to mine.

I thought of his lawn with its beautiful thriving trees and alive with its multi-coloured flowers. My house had a small patch of grass with nothing but a neatly mown face. I thought of the flower bed that Mom always attempted to grow each year, but how the soil was never rich enough.

He had two parents who could give him anything he wanted. My Mother was raising me on her own. I never needed. Anything. But he never even wanted. There was such a huge gap in the collective standard of living. I felt sick. The gap was so expansive and it threatened to swallow me whole if I ever jumped across it.

That was twenty years ago. I sit here now, typing away on my laptop, and think of how twenty years can do much to a man's confidence. It all truly started five years ago with a single phone call.

"I want to move in with you when I turn sixteen," she politely demanded over the phone.

"Okay," I said.

"And my room needs to have an ocean view," she whispered.

Okay, I said.

That was five years ago. I have been moving along the path to slow, but sure success ever since. Funny, but it took the words of my then-seven-year old niece to give me the initial push.

I've seen so many beautiful houses in my life. So much character in deep, dark mahogany handrails, in attics with so many rooms that it could be a house on its own, and yet each time the old familiar feeling returned. I always felt sick. It would never be mine.

Nice place, I would say. Then ask to use the bathroom and hope not to vomit.

Yet...I walked into what would be considered a mansion. It was monolithic. I gazed around. What a house. Piano. Chandelier. Vaulted ceilings. Large winding staircase. I joined the party outside and walked past the outdoor pool and the large, catered open bar.

"I could have this," I said to Sarah.

She smiled at me. "Yup."

"You only have so many years before she turns sixteen," she added.

"Yup," I said.

Not to state an old adage that time waits for no man, but...we only have so much of it. Once it's gone; it's gone. I see a tool-belt wrapped around my waist, hear the workers by my side, and taste the glistening sweat sliding down my skin. I can feel the blueprint design under my fingers. My house. Built with my own hands and the way I want it to be.

Anything is possible. While there is still time. I dream but I am now finally living those dreams. I have my own business and am almost finished the last edition to my memoir. I even have an editor now. Soon it will be pitched to publishing houses. I will be the agency that promotes it. It is not about the money, nor the thought of it, that drives and fuels me. No. Not at all.

It is the thought that one day I will sit in my own sunroom. With a table right next to the picture window, and just under the sill, a small table with some comfortable looking chairs. I will greet my sleepy-eyed niece as she walks in for breakfast and ask her..."How was your ocean-room view?" And Mom will follow in right behind her. I can't wait for that day.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

"I am looking forward to a sunrise where I don't have to face a storm to go outside. And here at last, with a new found understanding, all the baggage not withstanding, it means no more. And all is well. When I am looking into friendly eyes. Lo how their hands keep me warm and hang on tight....and that's my plan. Yeah that's my plan." - Justin Hines

The Best of You

I ran into her today. Her hair was dyed jet-black and cut into ragged angles. She looked incredible. I thought about the man she now calls hers and walked away with a heavy heart. Then that small little voice, the same one that consoles me and pushes me, said, “Be happy for her. There is more waiting for you. Not someone else, but you. Find out who you are and find that balance you need in life. Find the best of you.”

I bit back tears, looked up at the blue sky, and thought of my life. I thought of a time when I fought to live in a hospital bed. I can do better. Not better as in better than her. That would not show her the respect she deserves. No. I can do better in life.

I wonder at times about being single again. Why it had to happen and why I have to be alone. I know why now. It only took me years of thinking and pondering and a chance meeting to resolve. I need this time not to get the best from someone else…but to get the best from me.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I have learned to let go of pain. I have learned its lesson and removed its presence from my life. It is the only way to push through in life without having something drag me from behind and hold me back. It is hard. I won’t deny that. But anything in life worth fighting for is hard. It is a reason to fight.

It all started in my childhood and the times I was pushed to the outside and forced to look in. Look into the fun, look into the laughter, but more importantly: to look within. I think my journey as a fighter started in those days. Pain was my worst opponent and always beat me down. To my knees. To the ground. To the dirt. Eat that it said. Eat that and live it.

It followed me. It taunted me. It tempted me. “You can run from me,” it said, “You can take that pill, snort that line, or smoke that joint. But, I will find you time and time again.” It played with me like a predator played with its prey…keeping me alive only to kill me time and time again in the end.

Time and time again. I even leaned on it as a friend leans on a friend. I sometimes wondered if pain followed me or if I followed it. I reveled in it. I licked my own wounds and sewed my own scars. I asked for it again and again. Give me more I said….gimme gimmie gimmie.

Some say that pain feels good. No fuck that. Pain is your body’s way of telling you something is wrong. Pain is a warning signal. Pay attention it says or you will be in a world of agony. I only finally realized a couple of months ago. I came to this conclusion on November 1st, 2007. That day, ironically enough, was eight years after I woke up in a hospital bed with a fractured skull and shattered back. That day, only months ago, was the day I decided to get clean from drugs. I lost everything that day. I lost her. I lost my pride. I even lost the trust of my mother. That hurt more than anything else. I started all over again. One more time.

I survived some really rough times these last number of months. So many moments of confusion and times of sadness…nights spent in solitude with only a pen, paper, and my thoughts. I was lost and yet so found. I put my head down, opened book after book, worked hard, and came out more alive than I have ever felt in my life. I made plans for me and no one else. I started to trust in me. I focused on me. I spent time with me. I became my own teacher.

I stopped looking into a future impossible to predict and took one day at a time. One more day without a drug is one more morning to look proudly in the mirror. That pride grows every single day. I have strength now that I don’t even comprehend. Life has opened up again. I feel like it is truly starting for the first time. I love that feeling. It is not the first time I have tasted it.

I would not be here now unless pain came again. It still visits now and then but we sit and talk like old friends. It tells me what is wrong and lets me figure it out on my own. “Don’t fear me anymore,” it says, “See me for what I am.” I smile more now. Pain is no longer that ravenous, mongrel dog feeding on the empty hole of my soul. It is my companion now. It pushes me. It shows me. It warns me. Be more it says. Be more and the less you will see of me.

It is real. I won’t deny that. But I have decided that happiness is the best way to fill that hole. Do what I want to do and take a risk for what I want in this day and time. Fight for it. Fight for my life. I walk out now into a beautiful sunny day and stare up at an empty sky. I see blue all around me. I see vast potential. I will feel the pain but I will resist the urge to taste it. I will refuse it past the point of warning. It understands.

I am that someone who needs the best from me. I want the best from me. I have not given that yet. No one else but me can give it either. I want the best from me now. Only I can give that. The best of me will be the rest of me.

So I search for balance now. A balance between extreme highs and extreme lows. A steady flow of positive feelings and positive thoughts. I feed on something entirely new now. Something better than I can even imagine. I have never felt so honoured to be in this joy we call life. I am not on this road alone. There are many to keep me company. Walk with me. Learn with me. Live with me. Find the best of you.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

“Has someone taken your faith? It’s real. The pain you feel. The life. The love. You’ve got to heal. The hope that starts the broken heart. Your trust. You must. Confess. Is someone getting the best of you, the best, the best, the best of you? Is someone getting the best of you, the best, the best, the best of you? I’ve got another confession my friend. I’m no fool. I’m getting tired of starting again…somewhere new. Were you born to resist? Or be abused? I swear I’ll never give in. I refuse.” – Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters

Just Part of a Journey

The bitter cold reaches into my lungs and yanks measured breaths out in crystallized puffs of air. I climb higher up the back of the mountain and leave behind an empty footprint with each step.

Sweat slides down my spine and pools at the base of my lower back. I tighten my grip on my board and flex my fingers over its base. I use it to chop into the snow in front of me and lean on it for extra support during the hike.

It is a beautiful cloud-less morning and it has been snowing for the last couple of weeks. There is plenty of powder to find. And, judging by the absence of tracks leading up the mountain in front of us, I could tell it was just me and my friends.

It was a stellar day for riding: fresh snow, good friends, steep cliffs, and big old empty bowls of pure bliss. What else could I ask for? I think about my question as I click into my bindings, ease off my edge, and drop off the first of what would be many cliffs that day.

Oh yes...that's right. I know what else to ask for. Even more so, what was needed. Progression. At that moment in my life, I knew the only true road to progression was the road that points to education. At that moment in time, education was only a mere couple of months down the road. Man...it came and went so quick.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I sat in a classroom today, surrounded by other students, and wrote the final exam of my degree. Four years later and it is all said and done. My degree may be done but my learning is only truly beginning.

I feel that my life is at an apex. I have reached the summit of the mother of all hikes and stand at the lip of the biggest cliff I ever seen. No fear. Once again, I do not hesitate to strap in, lean back, and make a running jump off the lip. I hate cliches, really I do, but in the end it is not the destination in life that matters...it really is about the journey. It is about the nicks and scrapes you receive along the way. It is about the wounds that score your skin and leave behind a permanent scar. It is about having your heart broken only so you can rebuild it stronger each time. It is about taking risks and either learning from the loss or reaping the reward.

I am so blessed. So many people stood behind me during these last years while I was in school. My best friend Steve, who watched over me in a hospital bed, my best friend Sophie who was there from the beginning of it all - she even drove me from the mountains across Canada. My professors who pushed me to excel. So many people.

And then...there is Gail.

My mother is my hero. She was there every single, iota, minuscule or large step of the way. She held my hand when I was alone, she rubbed my shoulders when I was tired, she fed me when I could not afford to feed myself. She shared my failures. She celebrated my successes. I never knew how to thank her over the years. Now I do. It is called being a university graduate.

This feeling is so hard to describe right now. I have worked so hard for a little piece of paper and yet the quantitative benefits are unmeasurable. The three little letters of BPR stand for so much more than Bachelor of Public Relations. It stands for late nights, early mornings, horrible headaches, travels to caribbean waters, a back tattoo, a loss of a friend, a couple of broken hearts here and there. It stands for being clean from drugs. No more foreign substances in my blood. It means being stronger than I even realize. It stands for a book I wrote that just passed its first round of edits with fabulous reviews. It stands for my new direction in life.

Today is not the same as yesterday, and tomorrow, tomorrow will never be the same as today. I have learned to wring and twist every little drop of life out of every day now. I am taken advantage of the opportunities to right the wrongs in my life. To not give up when I want to quit. To work harder when I am past the state of exhaustion. To laugh when I want to cry. To hold my head up and see the world around me.

I am proud of this. Proud is only a word from our simple language that could never capture the emotion inside or explain how I really feel. Our simple language could never capture the hard work that went into this. The fun times. The incredible times. The simply amazing people I have met. The pure unfettered happiness of the insanity called school. I will miss it so but I look forward to what comes next.

So, tonight I celebrate. Next week, I start a business plan for my own PR agency. Yup. I am going for the whole enchilada. I wonder if they will allow running on the stage when I go to accept my degree? One step down, Gail, and so many more to go. One day at a time.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"If I was young, I'd flee this town, I'd bury my dreams underground/As did I, we drink to die, we drink tonight/Far from home, elephant gun/Let's take them down one by one/We'll lay it down, it's not been found, it's not around/Let the seasons begin - it rolls right on...let the season begin - take the big king down." - Zach Condon of Beirut

Equal Footing

Prepared to go on my own.
Ask and
Then ask again some more.

Is it a new beginning?
Different life
Seen through different eyes?

Is it new ideas?
Clear suggestions
Heard from an open mind?

Is it physical?
New skin
Replacing old memories with body chemistry?

Is it emotional?
New feelings
Covering up dusty windows into my soul?

Is it jealousy?
What was once mine
Could not possibly be yours?

Is it me?
If it is in me
Will I ever know?

Search and
Then search again some more.
Ready to go on my own.

My Thoughts

I am afraid to be alone with you sometimes,
Especially when the rain falls,
And evening pulls its dark hood over the sun’s eyes.

I refuse to be alone with you sometimes,
When I lay awake,
And breathe into that empty void.

I am terrified to be alone with you sometimes,
When there is no one else around,
And the silent ticking of wasted time falls faster and faster.

I breathe deep,
In and out,
Exhale and yet want to scream and shout.

Strong,
Strong,
Stand strong.

I need to be alone with you always,
It is the only way I can grow,
And understand what to remove and what needs to remain.

I have to be alone with you always,
To tell me everything will be okay,
And that the road ahead is sweeter than the road behind.

I want to be alone with you always,
Memorable times of days before,
And better days yet to come.

Without a Father Figure

Crash. Boom. Bang.

I walked softly downstairs to see where the noise came from. I saw my step-father passed out on the couch. It was 2:30 in the morning and he snored away on the couch. I looked him over for a couple of minutes and listened to his heavy rasps of air.

I went back upstairs, sat in front of the computer, and thought of the news I heard today. I knew it was coming. I just wasn't ready to hear it. I just didn't want to hear it.

I hope you can handle what I am about to say. I just need to get it out and rid my heart of the terrible weight that has burdened it for so long. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I was one when my mother left my father. I don't recall the night it happened. I only vaguely remember waking up on Christmas morning and my brothers telling me of the bad happening the night before. I went downstairs with them and noticed that it was a different living room, a different Christmas tree, and a different house. Funny. My mom left my father on Christmas Eve, took her sons to her sister's house, and started a holiday tradition that lasted for many years. From that moment on, we went to my aunt's house every Christmas for dinner.

I never knew my father. Bill was not exactly the affectionate type. I don't remember hugs. No. None of that. I only remember one kiss from him. Unfortunately, I also remember the bitter sting of his palm one time. It happened when I was five years old. Mom ran out of time to find me a sitter and had to take me to a family wedding outside of St. John's. My parents had been divorced maybe a year or two at the most at the time.

I wore only shorts and a rugby t-shirt because of the summertime heat. We met up with Bill and he was not happy to see me tagging along. They argued in my uncle's kitchen while I sat in the living room. Then he called me in. I was terrified of this man. I knew who Bill was but I had no connection with him. I immediately latched onto my mom's pant leg. He reached over, pulled me off, called me a baby, and tossed me into the cupboards. I bounced back off it and careened straight into his open palm.

Bam. Right on the kisser. I can still feel the hard cold linoleum under my ass when my body hit the floor.

I don't remember much after that, except for the fact he bought me soda pop all night, and told me that he didn't mean to hit me. I sucked my liquid sugar through a straw and nodded at him in silence. Sure. Just please don't hit me again. I don't like it. But I dared not say that out loud.

I grew up in a house of boys without a male figure. My brothers tried to be a father to me, but our household was just too violent. Not a day went by without a fistfight. To this day, I am still in awe at my mother. How she put up with it all is beyond me. She only pulled us closer and refused to give up on any of us.

My mom met a man many years later when I was eleven years old. He became a male figure in my life but well; not a father figure. At that point, I had become so disassociated with what a father figure meant anyway. My mom was the law in our family. She was the solvent that melted away the sadness of not having a father. She was everything to me growing up.

I met a girl when I turned 21 and we ended up moving into her father's house. I became close with him. Jim was such an intelligent man with a caring and gentle soul. He opened not only his doors for me but openly embraced me into his family. We hung out in his room and watched old movies. I listened as he explained the history of etymology behind historical names. He had been a teacher once and he taught me during our conversations. How to love a child and the small little things that make a difference in a child's life. Kisses he said. Lots and lots of kisses. You can never give them enough kisses. Then he laughed at his simple words. And I laughed with him.

We even took a technology program together for a year. I sat in the same class with him and envied his ability to get better marks than me. Well son, he said, maybe you should actually study. Then he laughed at his simple words. And I laughed with him.

His daughter and I eventually separated but I continued to live with Jim even when she moved out. I loved her father. He was the father figure I never knew. He was always there for me. His door was always open. And, believe me, I took advantage of that open door policy many, many times. It was incredible to know that I was like a son to him.

Time went on and people move on as we are known to do. I moved out, left the province, and traveled across North America for five years. I spent each of those years in a different mountain every winter and snowboarded with abandon. I almost even died on a scary, dark night during those same years. I lost touch with all of Jim's lessons and forgot about everything my mom told me about drugs. I almost drowned under the dark heavy weight of misspent youth.

Yet, as those years passed, I still called him. We always knew how the other was and he always wanted to know if I was being safe. He was one of the few I called when I dropped back into town to visit mom. We always went out for lunch. He always paid. The last time I saw him was a couple of years ago.

I am back in town again. I emailed my old girlfriend to meet up, have some drinks, and meet her new fiancee. I have not seen or even talked to her in over eight years. I asked her how her father was and noticed an absence in her written reply.

Today, I called another old mutual friend of ours who I had also not talked to in over eight years. Have you talked to our friend, she asked? Yes, I said, and I left a phone message with her last night. Do you know what happened, she asked. Do you know that her father passed away from cancer last year? She mentioned that she had no idea how to get ahold of you. She told me how close you and her father were.

No, I said, no I didn't know that. I hung up the phone a couple moments later and put it all out of my mind. I spent the day shopping with my mom, saw my old friend, got a haircut, and dropped mom off at home later on in the night.

I drove to get some food and then it hit me. He's gone. He's really, really...gone. No chance to even say goodbye. Gone. The one and only father figure in my life...gone.

The keyboard blurs in my vision. I think of all the motivating reasons I have created over the years to make sense of my life. To push me forward with haste. To make sure that this life does not pass me by and leave me with regrets. For me primarily, for my mother, for my close friends, heck, even for the random strangers I will hopefully inspire to live a life more than ordinary.

I think about my age and guage how much time I have left to make an impact in this world. People talk about age all the time. We are a culture so inudated and saturated with youth that we forget what comes with age. We turn a blind eye to the time needed to develop experience, to develop character; to develop a life. Oh getting old hey, some tell me. No, I say, actually I am just still a puppy. My age only represents the number of years I have been on this earth. I have many years still ahead of me and many journeys still to be walked.

But, for some reason, tonight, my life window grew a little shorter. A candle flame somewhere inside snuffed out, never to be lit again. He's gone. So, I will do my best to honour him with the time in this life that I have left. I will do my best to honour the only father I have ever known. I miss him. I will never have another father like him in my life ever again.

I think of Bill and of his last words to me over eight years ago. They were not of the kind, fatherly type. He suffered a major stroke a few months ago and does not even remember my name anymore. In his mind, I have never even existed. I could really care less. I don't know the man, never have, and really do not even care to know him. Sad.

My mom tells me she is so proud of the man I have become. I tell her that I have no idea what being a man really means. I never had a true example other than Jim. I have basically been building my image of a man the only way I know how: in my own image. Learning from my mistakes, avoiding those same mistakes in the future, and directing my life to a higher purpose.

I will continue to push on, Jim, and one day may we meet again to sit and talk. You may have used simple words to make your point, but you were never a simple man in my eyes. Thank you for all the times you pulled me aside and told me what it meant to have a son like me. Thanks for being the father I always wanted to have.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Now how I can survive without my friend of mine? My view is not perfect...yet somehow perfect. What I am to do? I've lost that part of me...will I be alright? Yeah will I make it?"
- Daniel Greaves of The Watchmen

Juggling Act

I watch the pins cascade and tumble in the air. I deftly catch and switch each one from right to left, and keep my eye on the movement. Every once in a while, one drops mid-spin and lands softly upright on my head.

I ponder it and never stop juggling. Is it worth it? Will it sing? Does it have reason? Does it have zing? Will it last? Will it survive? When will it start? When will it thrive?

Out of my peripheral, I spy another pin about to tumble into the game. It seems brighter than the other pins. An aura surrounds it. Quick. Decision time. Quick, quick...hurry, hurry. It must be a smooth transition. It must be now. It has to be quick and easy.

But what stays? What has hope? What has matured? What retires young?

I grab the pin just as it joins the maddening rise and fall of the others. I grasp it in my palm for a split second. Flames lick up and scorch my mind. Uh oh. This one's on fire.

The ins and out of my life. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Ideas are just that: ideas. But apply some critical analysis and an idea becomes a plan. Mix the plan with some thought and then the plan becomes a goal. But there is still a missing element. What will be the catalyst?

For that matter...what is a catalyst?

It is movement. It is decision. It is responsibility. It is action. It is result. It is measurement. It is success even if you fail.

Vision is key. It is important to look around your environment. Maybe even more important to take the time, be patient, and absorb. Then push, push...push. Quick, quick...quick. Hurry, hurry...hurry.

Then stop. Take a breath. Take another one. In deep and out deep. Think of what you want. Imagine the tangibles that make up the warmth and beauty of life. See it. Find it. Build it. Become it. Live it.

My manuscript is under review. I pitched it to a famous Maritime writer. He asked for some sample chapters. It shocked me at first to be honest. To be face-to-face with a stage in life and recognize it for what it is.

I sent him some chapters. He wrote back literally minutes after what it would have taken him to read the samples. He asked for the manuscript. Great voice he said. Strong stuff. I want to see if it sustains its punch and spirit. I like it he said.

The pins spin faster and faster. Each seems heavier and heavier. Each seems more real. Each is an idea that grows in merit. Each is an idea that burns with potential.

The ideas flash through my mind as I grasp each pin in between the stall from hand to hand. Business plan for the urban music artist. Promotion for the book. Brand designs for clothing and shoes. Standing in front of a growing audience and mentally preparing a speech.

Still they come.

The pin slips from my head and joins the madness. It passes through the rotation and I feel its heat. It sears my soul and then I feel the branded mark it left behind as it passes from hand to the next.

Then I realize. It is the one that has been burning all along. It is the one that is now breathing in the opportunity to become more than an idea. It burns for the chance to become real. It burns to move from dream to waking life. Soon. Oh so very soon. Just be patient. Soon my story will be laid out for the world to read. Some might judge. Some might critique. Let them. At least they will have to read it to do so. I only hope that it falls into the hands of the hopeful. The dreamer. The romantic. I only hope you will all relate to a life lived above ground with dreams of living in the clouds.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

"It's bitter baby and its very sweet. I'm on a roller-coaster but I'm on my feet. Take me to your river let me on your shore. I'll be coming back baby...I'll be coming back for more." - Anthony Keidis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers

A Breath in Transition

I took a break from work today and walked down to the harbourfront. I sat on some wooden stairs, stared out at the Atlantic Ocean, and thought about my life. I thought back to the days when part of my work involved cleaning up a beach. I sat on a driftwood log back then and contemplated my life while I looked out at the Pacific Ocean. Two different coasts. Two different occupations. Two different stages in life. Yet I still wonder about the same thing: where is my life headed?

Sometimes, we all need to put our life into perspective. I did today. I only know one thing for sure: I keep coming back to the same thing time and time again. Here you go and may you enjoy.

What does it mean to live? It was not that many years ago that I thought it meant drugs and booze and partying. Back then I wanted to do nothing more than obliterate the night and sleep in until way past morning. Then one morning after a crazy night of excessive drugs and booze and partying, I woke up in a hospital bed. Things changed. I scrapped everything and started over in another country. Travel was the goal. I headed off to my next stage in life.

Some years after that stage, I thought living involved travel, challenges, excitement, daring acts of rebellion, and more drugs and booze and parties. I spent my days on a chairlift with a snowboard strapped to my feet for almost half a decade. I dropped perfectly good cliffs for fun. Life was full of debauchery and hazy memories. I lost a friend. Things changed again. I decided an education was necessary in order to progress. I scrapped everything and started over on the opposite side of the country. University was the goal. I headed off to my next stage in life.

I traveled across the country and settled down on the Canadian east coast. Books, papers, team meetings, and exams were my existence. I traveled some more. I still partied some more. There were still hazy nights and foggy memories. I lost a friend again. I traveled some more again. I saw New York, Newfoundland, Vancouver, all of the Maritimes, and stood in front of the Canadian Rockies again. I even floated in the warm waters of the Caribbean while holding a beer in my hand.

Now, I am only a mere nine courses away from the completion of my degree. I was recruited for a great job while still in school. I have an amazing and most incredible woman in my life. I am blessed with the most astounding people that I proudly call my friends. Yet…am I living?

I get up in the wee hours of morning. I shower, shave, eat and run for the bus. I work, head to the gym, eat and sleep. Get up, rinse and repeat. My life is not boring. Only boring people get bored. But it is missing that zing…that jazz. The only thing that ignites my passion is this. Writing. So, I ask my self, “Self? Why are you not working harder on publishing your book? Why would you work so hard to write it and then let it gather dust?”

I do not have that answer. It is not that I am afraid of rejection or criticism. Bah, I say to that, bah. Still my book gathers dust.

So, once again, what does it mean to live? I always ask this question when I am in transition between this life stage and the upcoming life stage. I yearn to break out of my environment and at the same time I know that it is not possible. I must wait. I must be patient. Yet I must still continue to grow. I must still continue to develop. I must still continue to live.

So now I must wait patiently for my next stage in life. Soon I will have a degree in hand and that degree will offer so many possibilities and opportunities. The options are endless: teach in Japan, work on a cruise ship, stay in Nova Scotia, head back to the west coast; the list could go on. But, yet, wait; hold on just one cotton-picking minute, just whoa daddie whoa. Stop.

Living to me is writing. Writing is my life. Yet there was no mention of being a writer in that endless list of opportunities. Have I forgotten that along my quest? Have I forgotten that my pen and thoughts have brought me to this stage in life? That indeed, my writing has brought me through all stages in life – have I forgotten that? Maybe it is because I have not placed pen to paper or fingers to keyboard in quite some time. Maybe. Maybe it is time to do so again. Maybe it is time to not only chase down that dream but also to wrangle it to the ground, truss it up and show it that I mean business. Maybe.

So, I sat on the stairs, took in the sun and all its glory, and thought about all of this. I know that time waits for no man…but would it wait for me to go after my true and only dream? Just until I graduate. Just until then. Then the world is mine to do whatever I feel to do. But I still need to live and breathe in this transition stage.

Until we meet again my friends. Until we meet again.

“If I lay here…if I just lay here. Would you lie with me and just forget the world? Forget what we’re told…before we get too old.” – Snow Patrol

Old City Memories

I was raised in a ghetto in the oldest city of North America.

I grew up in a small complex of Lego-constructed homes connected together in myriad groups and units of three-sometimes-four-or-five rows. It was a small and private community kept under watchful eye by its residents. We knew our own kind. It was not a place to be at any time of the day, evening or night, unless you were with someone who lived there. Unannounced strangers quickly regretted entering our comfort space.

Up the hill from that ghetto was an orphanage. I say was because it is now torn down and only an empty field remains where it once stood. This orphanage was infamous in the memory of my homeland. Evil once dwelled within its walls and preyed upon the young and innocent under the deceitful veil of the name of the Lord. This notorious orphanage even had a movie produced about it called The Boys of St. Vincent. I ran away from home one rainy night when I was eight years old and made it as far as that building: it loomed in the chill misty night air and served a haunting vision to me. The thought of living there scared me straight. Unfortunately, many decades ago, before I was even born, that dreadful abomination was reality for my uncles. They lost childhood in darkened corners and unspeakable nightmares that remain silent to this day.

Down the hill from the ghetto and the empty field is a pond that annually hosts North America's oldest sporting event. I almost drowned in that pond during that same tender age of eight years old. I can still feel the icy grasp of water dragging me out to darker depths of inevitable death. I fought against the current that day and won…unlike a childhood friend who fell in that same pond only years before I had. He had been in a wheelchair. He never had a chance to fight the current. I think what saddens me more than both these memories is the fact that my best friend actually did die on the small narrow road that borders Quidi Vidi pond. She was sitting in the backseat of a vehicle that lost control and collided with an unmoving telephone pole. That is all I will say about her for now. It would be impossible to capture her spirit in a random collection of sentences. You will know who she is when my book is published.

Behind this pond sits an age-old fishing village affectionately called the Gut by locals. It houses the oldest cottage in North America called the Mallard Cottage. This area is full of history and the smell of fish which I was never really fond of. As children we walked along the shores of Quidi Vidi and fed mallard ducks pieces of stale bread. It was a very surreal experience growing up in that element of history.

If you followed the bay surrounding the gut up, down, and around the corner, you would find the historical monument Cabot Tower situated on the historical Signal Hill. You may recall an earlier attention to the history of this area from Salt of the Earth. At the base of Signal Hill is a small pond that city resident’s refer to as Dead Man’s Pond. Rumour has it that during the days of war, dead soldiers were stuffed in barrels and thrown off the side of Signal Hill. The barrels and the bodies inside bounced and careened down the hill and landed with a splash into the pond. Apparently, the pond is bottomless, and so the barrels eventually found a way out to the harbour surrounding St. John’s. Scary to think of all the souls locked in barrels. Makes you wonder what would have happened if a soldier was only wounded and unconscious instead of actually dead. I shudder to think. Cabot Tower and Signal Hill are iconic in St. John’s because both are lit up at night and can be seen from so many directions. It is such a beautiful sight but then again, I may be a tad bit biased.

Follow the waterfront down from Signal Hill until you go far, up, and beyond a long winding hill that swoops past a small anachronous town known as Shea Heights. Shea Heights is a smattering of small houses with junked cars and old kitchen sinks littering the front yard. But, whatever you do, just don’t stop to take pictures. As tough as my ghetto was, anyone from Shea Heights was always tougher. They don’t make people of that mentality anymore. Tough, rugged, ocean people. My kind of people.

Up the road from Shea Heights is the area known as Cape Spear and the most North Easterly point in North America. It is the spot where this continent first sees the sunset rise over the Atlantic Ocean and such a beautiful scene it is. It is littered with old army bunkers and remnants from the war years gone past.

I returned home to St. John’s two summers ago for the first time in over 12 years. I stood on a cliff bluff in Cape Spear as the rain pounded down all around me. It was surreal. The day was chill and foggy as most days can be in Newfoundland. But I didn’t care. I was home again. I could breathe the fresh air with certainty that it flew on the wings of the salt of the earth. But I also knew something else with certainty: I had outgrown my homeland. I was a stranger in the town I was born and raised. I may never be able to live there again…and that saddens me more than anything else in this world. To be from a place that is so welcoming but yet I don’t feel welcomed. I sit back and think about it now, and I wonder if St. John’s had outgrown me; or if I had outgrown St. John’s.

St. John’s is full of nooks and crannies and ghosts that walk the city streets. It is full of culture to tantalize the eye and a community of old generous souls. For those who are from Newfoundland, I say it will always be there waiting for your return. For those who have visited it will always be a drunken memory and an unforgettable hangover. For those who have never been…well, what the heck are you waiting for? Get out there m’ son and see the oldest rock in North America. Meet strangers that become best friends. Drink, eat, and be merry. Then drink again. Enjoy the fruit of my people as they enjoy your company. When you get there…tell them you were sent by one of their own.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

“You’ll have to excuse me...I’m not at my best;
I’ve been gone for a month...I’ve been drunk since I left;
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death;
I’m so sick from the drink...I need home for a rest;
Take me home” – Spirit of the West

Personal Survival Guide

What makes a happy life? Is it friends and family, money and esteem, or is it excitement and travel? Is it love? What is the missing ingredient to making a day worth exploring and a life worth living?

In my opinion, a happy life is linear with an understanding of self. It is linear with questioning personal standards and coding life actions by upholding those standards. Do you take the time to reflect on your words before a thought becomes an action? Do you take the time to reflect on your direction and exemplify your goals toward the higher purpose of being a more caring and compassionate person? Would you not agree that our eventual and higher purpose is to be happy: to live a good and just life?

The following are my thoughts on what it means to be happy and to live a virtuous life. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Day in and night out, I consistently state an internal motto to cope with situations in order to bypass unexpected scenarios. When frustration rears its ugly head and nips at my mental, it can be so easy to nip back and loose a verbal assault of anger and incipient insults. This internal reaction occurs for a second or two when I am confronted by ugly frustrations - in the past, I would automatically sputter a regrettable reply. Nowadays, I choose to breathe deep internally and release an external reflection opposed to a reactive action.

I have a secret to share with everyone but I will only promise to tell it if you promise not to keep it a secret. Most people are afraid to tell secrets because secrets can be a formula for success over an obstacle to personal development and knowledge. But withholding valuable and simplistic wisdom does not enable anyone to succeed in this life. However, before I devolve my secret it is important to understand what I hold priceless in life.

Ethics: yes, ethics. Ethics are the code of non-contradictory moral principles that I use to judge my decisions and actions. For example, I believe dishonesty is wrong and therefore will not lie even if it means saving my own ass. To progress that thought a little further: I have refined my virtues as a step above my ethical principles because virtues are moral practices that must be reflected upon daily. Virtues are the credo in life that enable me to make ethical decisions because my virtues have trained my mental capacities to already know what to do before I have to do. It essentially comes down to who judges me after this life has expired and not who judges me during my time on this mortal plane.

So, with that thought in mind, here's my secret: I have come to see over the past six years of my life that it is critical to apply patience in your life. The only end result anger has ever supplied is to hurt another human either physically or mentally - and that is not the end result to which we need aspire. Human beings have an unlimited capacity for compassion and love for other fellow human beings - we all know what it means to feel pure joy and love flood our souls. We also know what it means to feel pain or suffering - we know it is unnecessary as well. Yet why does it come down to us having to choose between pain and love? Why is it that we incessantly choose to pile the former upon others instead of the latter? Why is pain so readily available in our lives when happiness is so hard to come upon?

I encourage you to reflect on your thoughts before those thoughts become an action. I encourage you to value patience as a virtue because it will allow you to bypass previously coded reactions. Patience enables us to recognize the triggers that transform an individual from a sane person into a sputtering-frothy-spittle-producing-ball-of-rage. Patience offers the ability to not only recognize the triggers that set us off but specifically recognize who we are after the frustration has passed - to see that we held our mental stability while everyone else lost theirs. Patience offers us the opportunity to gain composure not to lose composure.

Patience is not easy to come by. It takes practice and training of your mental to achieve a moment of clarity in the heat of battle. Patience means biting your tongue instead of lashing out. Patience means loving your enemy and finding their good points versus their bad. Tough, I know, and it is one aspect of patience that I am learning every single day. It can be so easy to forget who you are and what you want; and it can be so hard to hold your voice and listen to reason. It is not simple; in no way, shape, or form is it simple. It is not meant to be. But you must at least attempt before you even give up on an idea.

Virtues such as patience help us grow and develop into a higher form of being - a form of being higher than surface level frustrations; higher than surface level insignificances. Personally, through the practice of patience on a consistent day in and night out basis, I have come to see that my character has evolved oh so quickly. Patience allows me to see my past grievances for what they are: simple mistakes that I made before and now I do my best to clear my thoughts before those mistakes happen again.

We learn from mistakes. We learn from our indiscretions. We learn from other people. Through it all we learn how to segue knowledge into wisdom. It is through wisdom that we evolve. Think about it. That is all I can ask. Tell me if you agree. Tell me if you disagree. Tell me a time when patience saved you from making a horrible mistake or loosing an unnecessary scathing response. Even better: tell me sometime down the road that frustration was nipping at you and instead of nipping back, well; tell me you remembered my words. Tell me that those words made a world of distance and in that one second of reflection - tell me you felt an evolution taking place. Tell me in that one second that you felt happiness enter your soul. Tell me it made you smile. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"The strongest of all warriors are these two - Time and Patience." - Leo Tolstoy

Thankful Thoughts

I walked home in a wet and rainy Alberta autumn last night and thought about my life. I revisited the times when a seemingly impenetrable wall was broken down only to be replaced by an even bigger obstacle. I reflected on days when I only ate Boost and Jell-o in order to keep my body alive and fed with basic nutrients. The rains fell harder and the winds intensified.

Then I smiled.

You see, nothing can dampen my spirit: not the elements, no matter how torturous they may seem nor the haunted memories of what was seemingly eons ago. I have seen the darkest of eves, I have faced the darkest of demons, and I have journeyed into the darkest canyons of soul.
It comes down to my love of life. It comes down to gathering minutes and seconds from my days and weeks. It comes down to filtering through those times and finding small trinkets of happiness and gratitude. It comes down to thankful thoughts that I am here to experience everyday like it is my first footstep on earth.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I give thanks for the woman I call Mother. She holds me when my head is heavy and my neck is oh so tired from carrying the weight on my shoulders. She faces her fears and believes it is all for a reason – that this too will eventually pass. She is my strength. She is a reason for becoming something more than I ever thought possible. For her I am thankful.

I give thanks for the innocence of children. How they can find the purity in a soft breeze or the mischief in a falling leaf. They giggle and dance amongst the seconds of youth. They remind me there is no need to hurry because there will always be enough time. For them I am thankful.

I give thanks for my friends that call and write to say they love me or to harass because of my occasional lapses in conversation. They bring me so much strength and power with their words and yet some tell me they need to hear my thoughts of peace, passion, and progress. They say how my words permit them to fade away into personal reflection on individuality and life direction. For them I am thankful.

I give thanks for my travels to mountains of grandeur with peaks of untouchable heights. I marvel at the clouds that dip in homage to the earthly magnificence of beauty and grace. I leave my footprint on the world in places I have seen before and envision leaving more footprints on white sandy beaches with crystal blue waves. For this I am thankful.

I give thanks for nights spent before a roaring bonfire with companions who share stories of similar mirth and wonder. I remember chords of music drifting softly into the nighttime air and mingling with a collection of frozen breath and warm dreams. For this I am thankful.

I give thanks for her. I never knew what love was meant to feel like or how it would taste on my lips. I never knew it would come when least expected or from an island so far away yet oh so close. She brings such happiness and she brings such tidings of faith that we will make it the life we always desired. Her smile illuminates the lonely corners of a remembered nightmare and touches the young boy who was left behind in the dark. Together our laughter becomes music and I believe even the angels stop to listen to our harmony and bask in our light. For her I am thankful.

I give thanks for life. For basic simplicities such as falling asleep and greeting my dreams in the night. Or waking in the morning and giving thanks for another day and another chance. For breathing in one more day and for the opportunity to breath in so many more. For this I am thankful.

How have you given thanks today? For the stranger who held the door with a strong hand and a kind smile? For the loved one who held you close and kissed you goodbye? Have you given thanks for life? Please take some time, no matter where you are no matter what you may be doing, just take a few seconds to collect a short list of thanks. Take the time to be the reason why someone else gives thanks one day. I give thanks for you all. Continue on and follow the road to happiness. In the end it will all lead to salvation. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

“If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies in yourself.” – Minquass Indian Proverb