Tucson has plenty of residents, but it turned out to be a ghost town nonetheless.
As you may recall, I left off last Tuesday night complaining about the lack of entertainment options in Tucson. As you may recall, I wrote about how the dreary downtown, a very loud, historic hotel room (that preserved its 1920s feel by not having tvs), combined with a rock concert being held in the hotel bar, led to a miserable time for me last Tuesday night. Unable to deal with the noise, I finally asked to be switched to a quieter room, wrote a quick blog post, and shut my eyes to go to bed.
And then things got much more interesting.
I kept hearing noises in my new room (and not just the ones from the rock concert). I knew it was probably nothing, but as I lay there, I remembered that as I was walking toward my newly assigned room, the shape of the walls seemed to shift as I looked down the hallway. As I kept hearing little banging noises in my historic hotel room, I finally got up and turned on the lights.
I notice The new room had a very creepy feeling I couldn't fully explain. The Victorian armchair directly beside the bed looked like something out of the Amityville movie. The sink was on the opposite side of the room from the bathroom and seemed likely to turn itself on at any moment. And the noises, both inside the room and from the street directly outside, wouldn't stop, and I was losing the ability to distinguish between them. After about half an hour of trying to talk myself out of it, once the rock concert stopped, I finally broke down and asked if I could go back to my original, non-creepy room.
I blamed it on the street noise.
I crawled into bed and almost immediately went to sleep. I heard a lot of yelling that night (someone repeatedly yelling "F- you, Hotel Congress"), but I mostly slept through it, assuming it was rowdy concert-goers not wanting to go home. I wondered why no one was calling security or the police about it considering how long it went on, but I was too tired to let it bother me too much.
The next morning, I had a few extra minutes after I woke up, so I googled "Hotel Congress" and "haunted" just to see if anyone else had ever had a weird experience on the second floor there, were both of my rooms were located.
Sure enough, the second floor is widely reputed to be haunted, owing to a shooting that took place many years ago in Room 242, just down the hall from where I stayed. And as I type this, it just occurred to me that all that yelling I heard through the night might not have been about the concert. In fact, I wonder if anyone else heard it at all.
I had no idea of any of of these legends until the morning after I experienced whatever it was I did. I still don't know, or want to know, what phenomenon is going on that floor.
But it's safe to say I won't be rushing back.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Sleepless in Tucson
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
The better part of me
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I never see
...
It's not easy
To be me
Superman
-Five for Fighting
It's almost midnight at the Arizona hotel room where I've been sentenced to spend the night, which means its almost two in the morning according to my internal time clock. This is my fourth consecutive week traveling away from home as part of my mission to save the world from the powers of evil, but frankly, I would almost consider letting evil win a few rounds if I could just get a couple good nights' sleep in return.
Tonight, my room is directly above the bar and a rock band is playing. Worse yet, my historic room doesn't even have a tv I can use to drown out the constant, pounding noise.
Hotels are in the business of providing travelers a good nights rest. I would love to hear the logic of the hotel manager who thought hiring a rock band to play in their lobby on a Tuesday night until 2 a.m. helps accomplish that goal. Whoever had that brilliant idea should be drug out into the street and shot. Or even worse, be forced to spend a night in a lower-floor room of the hotel they manage.
I would walk the streets for a while just to escape, but I've already done three loops of the downtown Tucson streets and there aren't any available diversions for a lone traveler (other than perhaps being mugged by one of multiple local wandering vagrants or hooligans), even if I didn't have to be up before seven in the morning. There isn't even a bar within walking distance where I can watch ESPN.
I'll be happy to go home tomorrow.
I'd be happier if society didn't make life miserable for those most trying to help it. Teachers make almost nothing, and states across the Union are trying to take away what small perks they ever had. Police officers and firefighters don't do much better. Prosecutors in my office haven't had a raise in four years and get only about a third of the salary of the attorneys who, as I once did, shuffle thousands of dollars back and forth between billion-dollar corporations in hyper-technical disputes that are ultimately meaningless.
I don't have the energy to do justice to a full debate on whether society should pay its heroes substantially more than its janitors, but suffice to say, it doesn't have to be this way.
And my hotel room doesn't have to be this noisy.
At my wits end, I just walked to the reception desk to ask about other available rooms and inquire as to the logic of the hotel providing beds for guests to sleep while simultaneously providing noise that would prevent even those clinically dead from resting in peace.
The receptionist gave me another room on the same floor that turned out to be only 30 paces away from my original. I was less than assured when I immediately saw a package of earplugs sitting on the dresser, but it is at least slightly quieter than the first one, which might as well have been inside the hole of the lead singer's guitar.
I'm tempted to complain about the idiocy of this whole arrangement to the incompetent hotel manager tomorrow, but I doubt I would get anywhere.
Besides, who am I to complain?
The band probably makes more than I do.
I'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
The better part of me
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I never see
...
It's not easy
To be me
Superman
-Five for Fighting
It's almost midnight at the Arizona hotel room where I've been sentenced to spend the night, which means its almost two in the morning according to my internal time clock. This is my fourth consecutive week traveling away from home as part of my mission to save the world from the powers of evil, but frankly, I would almost consider letting evil win a few rounds if I could just get a couple good nights' sleep in return.
Tonight, my room is directly above the bar and a rock band is playing. Worse yet, my historic room doesn't even have a tv I can use to drown out the constant, pounding noise.
Hotels are in the business of providing travelers a good nights rest. I would love to hear the logic of the hotel manager who thought hiring a rock band to play in their lobby on a Tuesday night until 2 a.m. helps accomplish that goal. Whoever had that brilliant idea should be drug out into the street and shot. Or even worse, be forced to spend a night in a lower-floor room of the hotel they manage.
I would walk the streets for a while just to escape, but I've already done three loops of the downtown Tucson streets and there aren't any available diversions for a lone traveler (other than perhaps being mugged by one of multiple local wandering vagrants or hooligans), even if I didn't have to be up before seven in the morning. There isn't even a bar within walking distance where I can watch ESPN.
I'll be happy to go home tomorrow.
I'd be happier if society didn't make life miserable for those most trying to help it. Teachers make almost nothing, and states across the Union are trying to take away what small perks they ever had. Police officers and firefighters don't do much better. Prosecutors in my office haven't had a raise in four years and get only about a third of the salary of the attorneys who, as I once did, shuffle thousands of dollars back and forth between billion-dollar corporations in hyper-technical disputes that are ultimately meaningless.
I don't have the energy to do justice to a full debate on whether society should pay its heroes substantially more than its janitors, but suffice to say, it doesn't have to be this way.
And my hotel room doesn't have to be this noisy.
At my wits end, I just walked to the reception desk to ask about other available rooms and inquire as to the logic of the hotel providing beds for guests to sleep while simultaneously providing noise that would prevent even those clinically dead from resting in peace.
The receptionist gave me another room on the same floor that turned out to be only 30 paces away from my original. I was less than assured when I immediately saw a package of earplugs sitting on the dresser, but it is at least slightly quieter than the first one, which might as well have been inside the hole of the lead singer's guitar.
I'm tempted to complain about the idiocy of this whole arrangement to the incompetent hotel manager tomorrow, but I doubt I would get anywhere.
Besides, who am I to complain?
The band probably makes more than I do.
Monday, March 28, 2011
They love me in Denmark
Other than the U.S. and Australia, want to guess the country from which the most viewers have read this blog?
It's Iran!
No, not really.
It's actually Denmark, as my blog title indicates. And it isn't even close. Canada, where I thought I had friends, came in a distant fourth. Sadly, Iran isn't actually in the top ten, but surprisingly, it's still one spot ahead of Mexico. I guess I might not need those Spanish classes after all.
To what do I owe my surprising popularity in a country I've never been too, have no friends or relatives, and whose people I often mistakenly confuse with the Dutch? I have no idea.
But I'll take it!
I've always loved the Danish. It's one of the all-time underrated pastries. Scones are dry, bagels are boring, and doughnuts are bulky, but absolutely no one turns down a cheese danish. I've never understood why they are generally limited to hotel continental breakfast buffets. Danishes are a seriously underutilized breakfast food.
So, needless to say, I was thrilled to find out that danishes love me as well, even if I'm a bit confused as to how they surf the Internet.
Of course, it is at least possible that at some of my hits from Denmark come from people rather that pastries. That would be even better news, except for the fact that anyone actually reading this from Denmark probably has already heard more pastry jokes than they care to remember and are no doubt offended to the point of no return.
But this is not my intent. Danish jokes are undoubtedly in bad taste. And by now, even I realize they've grown stale. So, no more.
Seriously, I'm thrilled when anyone reads this silly blog and grateful that someone found it across the Atlantic and apparently shared it with some friends. Either that, or someone over there decided to play with my head by logging onto the site from every computer they could find. But either way, Denmark now has a special place in my heart.
I'd love to know how this happened, though. I don't have a single contact there, and, as far as I know, I've never written anything of particular relevant to the Danish state. I know several people in Canada, but hardly anyone reads me from up there, even though they don't have a lot of other options-- it's been too cold for anyone up there to leave their house for the last four months.
Denmark, in contrast, has my back. I'm sure that if I ever actually get to meet some people from Denmark, I will like them. Especially if they read my blog.
Which they probably will.
To learn more about Denmark, Andrew Smith's third-most passionate fan base, click here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denmark
It's Iran!
No, not really.
It's actually Denmark, as my blog title indicates. And it isn't even close. Canada, where I thought I had friends, came in a distant fourth. Sadly, Iran isn't actually in the top ten, but surprisingly, it's still one spot ahead of Mexico. I guess I might not need those Spanish classes after all.
To what do I owe my surprising popularity in a country I've never been too, have no friends or relatives, and whose people I often mistakenly confuse with the Dutch? I have no idea.
But I'll take it!
I've always loved the Danish. It's one of the all-time underrated pastries. Scones are dry, bagels are boring, and doughnuts are bulky, but absolutely no one turns down a cheese danish. I've never understood why they are generally limited to hotel continental breakfast buffets. Danishes are a seriously underutilized breakfast food.
So, needless to say, I was thrilled to find out that danishes love me as well, even if I'm a bit confused as to how they surf the Internet.
Of course, it is at least possible that at some of my hits from Denmark come from people rather that pastries. That would be even better news, except for the fact that anyone actually reading this from Denmark probably has already heard more pastry jokes than they care to remember and are no doubt offended to the point of no return.
But this is not my intent. Danish jokes are undoubtedly in bad taste. And by now, even I realize they've grown stale. So, no more.
Seriously, I'm thrilled when anyone reads this silly blog and grateful that someone found it across the Atlantic and apparently shared it with some friends. Either that, or someone over there decided to play with my head by logging onto the site from every computer they could find. But either way, Denmark now has a special place in my heart.
I'd love to know how this happened, though. I don't have a single contact there, and, as far as I know, I've never written anything of particular relevant to the Danish state. I know several people in Canada, but hardly anyone reads me from up there, even though they don't have a lot of other options-- it's been too cold for anyone up there to leave their house for the last four months.
Denmark, in contrast, has my back. I'm sure that if I ever actually get to meet some people from Denmark, I will like them. Especially if they read my blog.
Which they probably will.
To learn more about Denmark, Andrew Smith's third-most passionate fan base, click here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denmark
Monday, March 21, 2011
Random Thoughts
It's Monday. It's late. I can't sleep. What better time for a fresh round of random thoughts? As always, real thoughts, really random:
I think I saw a popular local writer at Trader Joe's yesterday. What's the appropriate response when you see someone who may or may not be famous? You can't just go up and ask them, can you? This is why there should be a law making famous people wear name tags at all times for the rest of our benefits.
If someone wearing a costume is disguised, is someone wearing normal clothes considered "guised?"
Every other time that I tell someone I'm originally from Alabama, I hear in response either: "you sure don't sound like it" or some lame joke involving a fake Southern accent. No one would do that kind of thing if I were from, say, China, because that would obviously be offensive. So, what's the difference?
Has anyone else realized that Daylight Savings Time doesn't actually save anything? It doesn't change the amount of daylight we get, it just pushes the light from the morning to the evening. Whoever coined the name was just lying to us.
The other day someone asked me if I knew where I'd spend eternity if I died today. He was pretty surprised when I told him I was already dead.
Last week, I flipped by American Idol and saw some guy singing a Bon Jovi song to a very unhappy looking Steven Tyler. Isn't that like wearing a "coca cola" tee shirt in hopes of impressing your bosses at the Pepsi Company?
What we're doing in Libya would have been much easier if we would have done it two weeks ago. I'm just saying.
Speaking of which, can the world please agree of a unified spelling of Qaddafi/Gaddafi/Kaddafi? I've never seen the Q, K, and G used interchangeably before and don't think a homicidal madman deserves to be the first guy to pull it off.
Why is it that in Tennessee I can buy bananas year round from Costa Rica and pineapples year round from Hawaii, but no one sells crawfish, even during the height of their season, because they only live near the Gulf Coast?
By the way, I now decree that "Andrew" may also be spelled starting with an E, Q or X.
Why does the U.S. have a Midwest but not a Mideast? And if St. Louis, Missouri is the Gateway to the West, does that make East St. Louis, Illinois the Gateway to the East? If so, why would anyone ever move East?
With Japan in the mess that it's in, does Fox have to pull all of the Simpsons episodes involving Homer screwing up at the nuclear plant?
Speaking of which, every time I think I'm unlucky, I need to think of every Japanese person 75 or older who've lived there since birth.
Why is it that the songs that get stuck in my head are never ones that I really liked in the first place?
There are three kinds of people in the world: those who can count and those who can't.
That's all for now.
I'll be back soon.
Xndrew.
I think I saw a popular local writer at Trader Joe's yesterday. What's the appropriate response when you see someone who may or may not be famous? You can't just go up and ask them, can you? This is why there should be a law making famous people wear name tags at all times for the rest of our benefits.
If someone wearing a costume is disguised, is someone wearing normal clothes considered "guised?"
Every other time that I tell someone I'm originally from Alabama, I hear in response either: "you sure don't sound like it" or some lame joke involving a fake Southern accent. No one would do that kind of thing if I were from, say, China, because that would obviously be offensive. So, what's the difference?
Has anyone else realized that Daylight Savings Time doesn't actually save anything? It doesn't change the amount of daylight we get, it just pushes the light from the morning to the evening. Whoever coined the name was just lying to us.
The other day someone asked me if I knew where I'd spend eternity if I died today. He was pretty surprised when I told him I was already dead.
Last week, I flipped by American Idol and saw some guy singing a Bon Jovi song to a very unhappy looking Steven Tyler. Isn't that like wearing a "coca cola" tee shirt in hopes of impressing your bosses at the Pepsi Company?
What we're doing in Libya would have been much easier if we would have done it two weeks ago. I'm just saying.
Speaking of which, can the world please agree of a unified spelling of Qaddafi/Gaddafi/Kaddafi? I've never seen the Q, K, and G used interchangeably before and don't think a homicidal madman deserves to be the first guy to pull it off.
Why is it that in Tennessee I can buy bananas year round from Costa Rica and pineapples year round from Hawaii, but no one sells crawfish, even during the height of their season, because they only live near the Gulf Coast?
By the way, I now decree that "Andrew" may also be spelled starting with an E, Q or X.
Why does the U.S. have a Midwest but not a Mideast? And if St. Louis, Missouri is the Gateway to the West, does that make East St. Louis, Illinois the Gateway to the East? If so, why would anyone ever move East?
With Japan in the mess that it's in, does Fox have to pull all of the Simpsons episodes involving Homer screwing up at the nuclear plant?
Speaking of which, every time I think I'm unlucky, I need to think of every Japanese person 75 or older who've lived there since birth.
Why is it that the songs that get stuck in my head are never ones that I really liked in the first place?
There are three kinds of people in the world: those who can count and those who can't.
That's all for now.
I'll be back soon.
Xndrew.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Exciting News
So, last week I wrote about following one's dreams, or something like that. It's one of those things that's easy to write, but tough to actually do anything about.
But when I wrote that all that sentimental, head-in-the-clouds-type stuff, I wasn't just speaking hypothetically, like I usually am when thinking unattainable thoughts. I had something in the works. I'm sneaky that way.
I'm thrilled to announce that the blog is moving up in the world. Or at least part of the blog is. While my pointlessly random attempts at humor and thoughts on life and spirituality will be staying right here, those sports posts that half of you consistently tune out have a new home. As of today, I have an arrangement with Bleacher Report, the fourth most popular sports website in the United States, to be the new home of all my sports blogging.
This is good on several fronts. The hardest thing about this space has been figuring out how to balance my desire to mix in some sports-related posts, given that my sports topics are the only thing that half of you read, but they completely bore everyone else. It's been much harder than I had imagined trying to figure out how to write humor columns, politics, sports posts and life observations all in one consistent voice.
Now, I don't have to. The sports posts go on Bleacher Report and everything else stays here. Having two different sites also means I'll be blogging twice as often, and being associated with BR means I suddenly have an exponentially larger audience, so maybe I can finally get some long-awaited hate mail.
Of course, I'm thrilled about the added exposure Bleacher Report provides. I'm on the verge of having credibility. But for all of our sakes, I'm going to try really hard to never quite get there. Life is much more free when you have no expectations to uphold.
Anyway, for those so inclined, my first sports column, recapping Alabama's basketball season, is posted here:
http://bleacherreport.com/articles/627395-alabamas-2010-11-basketball-season-officially-a-success-with-win-over-georgia
I promise not to make a habit of cross-referencing every sports article on this site. But for my first one, I would appreciate the page views, even if you don't actually read the piece.
God bless you all. Thanks for reading, and pushing me one step closer to my dreams.
But when I wrote that all that sentimental, head-in-the-clouds-type stuff, I wasn't just speaking hypothetically, like I usually am when thinking unattainable thoughts. I had something in the works. I'm sneaky that way.
I'm thrilled to announce that the blog is moving up in the world. Or at least part of the blog is. While my pointlessly random attempts at humor and thoughts on life and spirituality will be staying right here, those sports posts that half of you consistently tune out have a new home. As of today, I have an arrangement with Bleacher Report, the fourth most popular sports website in the United States, to be the new home of all my sports blogging.
This is good on several fronts. The hardest thing about this space has been figuring out how to balance my desire to mix in some sports-related posts, given that my sports topics are the only thing that half of you read, but they completely bore everyone else. It's been much harder than I had imagined trying to figure out how to write humor columns, politics, sports posts and life observations all in one consistent voice.
Now, I don't have to. The sports posts go on Bleacher Report and everything else stays here. Having two different sites also means I'll be blogging twice as often, and being associated with BR means I suddenly have an exponentially larger audience, so maybe I can finally get some long-awaited hate mail.
Of course, I'm thrilled about the added exposure Bleacher Report provides. I'm on the verge of having credibility. But for all of our sakes, I'm going to try really hard to never quite get there. Life is much more free when you have no expectations to uphold.
Anyway, for those so inclined, my first sports column, recapping Alabama's basketball season, is posted here:
http://bleacherreport.com/articles/627395-alabamas-2010-11-basketball-season-officially-a-success-with-win-over-georgia
I promise not to make a habit of cross-referencing every sports article on this site. But for my first one, I would appreciate the page views, even if you don't actually read the piece.
God bless you all. Thanks for reading, and pushing me one step closer to my dreams.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
I hate February
February is the worst month of year and it isn't even close.
The weather is cold, the days are short, it doesn't contain a real holiday, and nothing interesting happens in it other than the Super Bowl, which almost always disappoints with boring football and uninspired commercials. And don't even get me started on the horrors of Valentine's Day.
I know. January is cold too. And the weather is equally miserable on the warm side in August, which also lacks a real holiday. But January at least has two holidays, the NFL playoffs, and the tail end of the holiday season. August, at least, has daylight, and no begrudges you a summer vacation if you just can't take the brutal heat. In February, your boss still expects you to work extra to compensate for the lost productivity of the holiday season, and it's too cold to go anywhere anyway.
February just sucks. And as I type this I'm reminded that February sucks for an additional reason: it is wayyyyyyy too hard to spell. It has that unnecessary and largely unpronounced "r" as its fourth letter, inserted just to spite all of us. We can't even write about it without it causing aggravation.
Honestly, the month's only redeeming factor is that it only has 28 days. Whoever decided that the rest of the months should have 30 or 31, while February was so awful it should be limited to 28, obviously realized how horrible this month is. But they didn't do enough to STOP it.
Thankfully, it's almost over for this year. But once it ends Monday at midnight, it will still be out there, lurking, laughing under its cold wintery breath until it returns in early 2012.
So I suggest we go a step further than making February the shortest month of the year: we should eliminate it altogether. Really, wouldn't the world be a much better place if we had 11 months with 33 or 34 days each and just got rid of February?
I'm sure someone out there would argue that if we skipped February, March would suddenly just take its place as the month filled with cold weather and short days, and it would be just as bad. But that's ridiculous. For one thing, March is much easier to spell.
Besides, I'm pretty sure these skeptics are wrong. You can't believe everything you read on the internet, you know. And if by some weird stretch of logic they happened to be technically correct, we could still solve the problem by adding 28 days to January.
This would be much better, but it might cause problems for those only get paid at the end of the month. So, with this group in mind (which includes myself, now that I think about it), I offer the following compromise that should please everyone: shorten February to 1 day.
And get rid of that first "R" while we're at it.
The weather is cold, the days are short, it doesn't contain a real holiday, and nothing interesting happens in it other than the Super Bowl, which almost always disappoints with boring football and uninspired commercials. And don't even get me started on the horrors of Valentine's Day.
I know. January is cold too. And the weather is equally miserable on the warm side in August, which also lacks a real holiday. But January at least has two holidays, the NFL playoffs, and the tail end of the holiday season. August, at least, has daylight, and no begrudges you a summer vacation if you just can't take the brutal heat. In February, your boss still expects you to work extra to compensate for the lost productivity of the holiday season, and it's too cold to go anywhere anyway.
February just sucks. And as I type this I'm reminded that February sucks for an additional reason: it is wayyyyyyy too hard to spell. It has that unnecessary and largely unpronounced "r" as its fourth letter, inserted just to spite all of us. We can't even write about it without it causing aggravation.
Honestly, the month's only redeeming factor is that it only has 28 days. Whoever decided that the rest of the months should have 30 or 31, while February was so awful it should be limited to 28, obviously realized how horrible this month is. But they didn't do enough to STOP it.
Thankfully, it's almost over for this year. But once it ends Monday at midnight, it will still be out there, lurking, laughing under its cold wintery breath until it returns in early 2012.
So I suggest we go a step further than making February the shortest month of the year: we should eliminate it altogether. Really, wouldn't the world be a much better place if we had 11 months with 33 or 34 days each and just got rid of February?
I'm sure someone out there would argue that if we skipped February, March would suddenly just take its place as the month filled with cold weather and short days, and it would be just as bad. But that's ridiculous. For one thing, March is much easier to spell.
Besides, I'm pretty sure these skeptics are wrong. You can't believe everything you read on the internet, you know. And if by some weird stretch of logic they happened to be technically correct, we could still solve the problem by adding 28 days to January.
This would be much better, but it might cause problems for those only get paid at the end of the month. So, with this group in mind (which includes myself, now that I think about it), I offer the following compromise that should please everyone: shorten February to 1 day.
And get rid of that first "R" while we're at it.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Chris Jericho told me it was time to blog again
Welcome back.
It's nice to be out of my self-imposed three-month blogging exile.
I never meant to be away this long.
December got busy with Christmas shopping, and by the endless array of holiday social gatherings and all the usual things. Then the first few weeks of January was spent recovering from December and compensating for all the life obligations that got shunned over Christmas. By late January, I wanted to blog again, but it had been too long to come back with just a routine observation or two complaining about my newest co-worker or a puzzling bumper sticker I saw. I had to come back with something big. But inspiration escaped me. I felt under-equipped to do something big, so I did nothing at all.
Such is life. Our dreams disappear slowly through steady, incremental neglect. If the things we want can't be immediately achieved, we often just try to forget we ever wanted them instead of moving labouriously in their direction. The story of why I stopped blogging is the story of why many of our dreams don't come true. But it's not the story in which I want to live.
I read a lot over the break. In between volumnes of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, I picked up what I expected to be a mindless guilty pleasure: the auto-biography of pro-wrestler/rock star/game show host/VH1 pop-culture commentator Chris Jericho. He's always amused me, and I was in need of something light to bridge me to the next series of Tolkein's epic battles. But in reading the backstory of how a skinny kid from a broken home in rural Canada became famous, it struck me not just how hard he worked, but his sense of joy while doing it, even through the awful parts. The hard work was worth it, because the goal, whether attained or not, was the purpose he envisioned for his life.
His tale reminded me that most dreams only come true through hard work. And if I settle for a comfortable but unfulfilling life doing something else, work will always feel like work. My current job pays the bills. It may continue to do so until the day I pass from this world. But it isn't my purpose. So while I continue to do what I have to in order to meet life's obligations, joy comes in working toward a bigger dream.
My ship will never come in if I don't bother to build a pier.
I'll see you soon. Very, very soon.
It's nice to be out of my self-imposed three-month blogging exile.
I never meant to be away this long.
December got busy with Christmas shopping, and by the endless array of holiday social gatherings and all the usual things. Then the first few weeks of January was spent recovering from December and compensating for all the life obligations that got shunned over Christmas. By late January, I wanted to blog again, but it had been too long to come back with just a routine observation or two complaining about my newest co-worker or a puzzling bumper sticker I saw. I had to come back with something big. But inspiration escaped me. I felt under-equipped to do something big, so I did nothing at all.
Such is life. Our dreams disappear slowly through steady, incremental neglect. If the things we want can't be immediately achieved, we often just try to forget we ever wanted them instead of moving labouriously in their direction. The story of why I stopped blogging is the story of why many of our dreams don't come true. But it's not the story in which I want to live.
I read a lot over the break. In between volumnes of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, I picked up what I expected to be a mindless guilty pleasure: the auto-biography of pro-wrestler/rock star/game show host/VH1 pop-culture commentator Chris Jericho. He's always amused me, and I was in need of something light to bridge me to the next series of Tolkein's epic battles. But in reading the backstory of how a skinny kid from a broken home in rural Canada became famous, it struck me not just how hard he worked, but his sense of joy while doing it, even through the awful parts. The hard work was worth it, because the goal, whether attained or not, was the purpose he envisioned for his life.
His tale reminded me that most dreams only come true through hard work. And if I settle for a comfortable but unfulfilling life doing something else, work will always feel like work. My current job pays the bills. It may continue to do so until the day I pass from this world. But it isn't my purpose. So while I continue to do what I have to in order to meet life's obligations, joy comes in working toward a bigger dream.
My ship will never come in if I don't bother to build a pier.
I'll see you soon. Very, very soon.
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