Category Archives: Uncategorized

Time Capsules

A moment in time. March 31, 2012.

There is one truth I am sure of as I grow older: some things you just can’t understand at a younger age.

It’s not that you are dumb or the things you feel are not true or real – there are just some things that take time to understand, and time is not something that you can manufacture, or learn from a textbook, or garner from YouTube videos. Some things only become clear after many years have passed and you look backwards, into the time capsules of life, and the events and experiences you see there get processed through all of that time – and ONLY then – do those events and experiences reveal their true nature and beauty.

So it’s ironic that for some, the moment this clarity arrives – so too, does death.  For some, it never arrives at all.

Another random moment. April 1, 2012

Somewhere In Between

My 30’s are winding down. This year I turned 36, which is neither old nor young, but somewhere in between. And somewhere in between (from my experience) is often the hardest place to be in. Hard because you are neither here nor there. You are neither looking ahead at the endless possibilities of the future, nor are you reflecting back on the entirety of your life. You are usually traipsing along,working your shifts, keeping kids alive, regretting your past, nervous about your future, and extremely unsure about your present.

I’m not sure I have anything good to say about these years. The first 10 years of parenting has been exhausting. Three daughters in (almost 11, 9 and 6) and I feel spent. The day to day is enjoyable most of the time, but I often feel like I am riding a short roller-coaster, knowing the end of the ride is just minutes away, trying to hold on to the exhilaration of the loops and turns without thinking too much that the ride will end before I have barely understood that it started. A lot of the time, I am just holding on and watching the world fly by, attempting to take it all in – but unsure I am doing a good job at whatever job it is I’m supposed to be doing while hurtling through space on this little giant blue pearl.

Two Sisters before the 3rd. April 20, 2012.

I often hear people lament, “where has the time gone?” and this sentiment is only truly understood after years and years have slipped through our fingers, time being one of the few things you can’t truly replace. Once it is gone, it is gone. Our memories (and photography) the only link to the past – the time capsules we go back to time and again. And I stare at these photos, and I remember the day. The wind. The smell of the flowering plant above them. The shadows on the ground. The anticipation of our third daughter coming within the next month. And looming over my oldest, just a month later, a seizure that would shape our lives for the next 6 years. These moments, the time capsules, nobody really cares – except me. Nobody really mourns the moment’s death – except those who experienced them.

We are told to live in the present – but living in the present means forgetting the past, and the past is when we were alive. I mean, sure, we are alive now – but to only focus on the present means we miss out on the clarity that is only gained when we look backwards, through the looking glass, into the shadows.

Just another day, buried in stuffies. May 1, 2012.

It’s not that I focus on the end. Really. I mean it. Day to day, I’m not thinking about death and the end of it all. But when I stop and consider where I am at and where I have come from, I can’t help but pause and consider… the end.

The quick slip into nothing. The frozen sleep which never ends. It’s inevitable, so they say.

I just want to live a full life. That’s always been my goal. A full and complete life, full of adventure and laughter. Full of friendships and selflessness. A life that is worth living. I gave up on the dream of being remembered long ago, but all I hope is that my fingerprints – the invisible effect of my life’s work – are on those around me whom I love and have served, and the qualities I have worked to attain over the years are passed down, or passed on to them.

Caution. Trail ends. May 3, 2012.

Exodus: part 1

I have not written publicly about these things as of yet. I have hardly talked about them publicly. It has been hard to find the right words, or if not the “right” words, the words that I feel do justice to what I have been through and what I feel about these things. But the time has come to at least begin to publicly explain my personal exodus from the church and organized religion in general. This, I am sure, comes as a shock to some people – and to others they have but assumed it was true. I feel that for even myself, it is hard to summarize what has happened as an “exodus from the church and organized religion” – but in fact, that is what it is. So I will try to use words to explain what has transpired, why, and how I feel now. Please have grace as you read (if you read) these words. I am not claiming absolute truth (although that may be some people’s main problem with my words… not enough claims of absolute truth), but what I am trying to do is make sense of my experiences – mainly to see if where I am at is a legitimate place, or if I am just scared and running away. Because running away is not the same as an exodus. One is caused by external forces, the other is a personal choice. We will see which it has been: an exodus or an escape; or maybe both.

SouthEast 60th Ave

Welcome.  There was a time when I thought blogs were worthless.  I would try to have a blog and fail; try again and fail again.  Eventually, my blog become a collection of poems that I posted about twice a year.  So I decided to turn that into a poetry blog, which means, once again, I’m trying my hand at a blog.


Because I need to write.  For me. Not for you, for me. Sure, this is a public blog and you might run across it by chance and read what I write (the chances of that happening are about 1 in 6,023,837,238 – or however many web sites there are in the world), but it’s more about me getting these thoughts out of my head and onto something.  Since I can’t write very much by hand any more (it is literally hard to write more than a page because I am so accustomed to typing) this is the best way for me to process what is in my head and what is going on in my life.

So begins SouthEast 60th Ave.  The street in Portland where I lived for two years – where my youngest daughter was born – where I rekindled my love for my wife – and where I began to ask the question: What am I doing with my life?

Again, this blog is more for me than you – but perhaps in our most honest, brutal, revealing states we speak best to each other.  So bookmark this page, come back often, and comment – share your thoughts.