Choices

I recently made a drastic career change. I had been working towards it for years, almost from the very beginning of my entering the workforce after college. Last month, it finally paid off. I was offered a spot in an academy class with a respected law enforcement agency. It was a no brainer at the time, I had been feeling unchallenged and overqualified for years.

However, lately I’ve been wondering if choice is a big thing. Are there right choices and wrong choices, or are they just varying degrees of good and not so good? We make small choices almost every second of the day without even realizing it and they have a small impact on the trajectory of our lives. But what about the big ones? Marriage, children, a new career…the list can go on. Is there a right and a wrong when it comes to these huge decisions?

When I received the offer letter and with it the wage that was somewhat lower than I was used to (albeit only for the 21 week academy), I had to pump the brakes and think about it. After chatting with a few very smart and influential people in my life (yes, mom you’re one of them) it still seemed like the only choice was to accept.

I was excited but realistically cautious about the life change I was about to endure. With the few minor job changes and promotions I have gone through I knew that this one would be a challenge. I was aware that it would be almost the exact opposite of the business environment from which I was coming. A paramilitary structure, classroom academics and physical fitness training would all be part of the new job. At least I would have the three month academy of regular hours and weekends off to transition, I thought out loud to my girlfriend. We would plan camping trips and weekend getaways to make sure we enjoyed the summer before the guarantee of a few unpredictable years.

Curveball: orientation was a few days before the official start date. Aside from being overloaded with information and expectations, we were informed that the academy would be a little different than expected. We would have a two week period of classroom academy followed by 9 weeks of on the job training with rotating shifts and mid-week days off. So much for the summer packed full of weekend activities.

I was disappointed, but what could I do? For the first time I felt that I was working towards a career. I was aware that changes would have to be made, but it still hurt that I had to disappoint the most important person in my life…already.

A few days into the academy, and I was right it was completely different and very challenging to adjust to, I was questioning my decision (almost by the minute). No weekends off for years? When would I see my girlfriend, my friends? I already had to cancel plans and sell concert tickets and Red Sox tickets for this summer. Would I be happier coasting through with an unsatisfying job to be able to enjoy the freedom of weekends spent with loved ones and friends? These thoughts were swirling, coupled with the nerves I had about performing the actual job. Doubts seemed to outweigh the benefits, to mask the ambition and drive that had taken me through countless application processes and landed me here.

In those tough moments it seemed like I may have made the wrong decision, I wasn’t happy as I had expected and I was going to have to make big sacrifices. How could that be the right choice? Well, I’ll tell you that now, only a few weeks later, I am feeling a little more optimistic. Yes, things are going to change and adjustments will have to be made but there wasn’t really a choice to be made after all. Thinking back and second guessing only makes the process more difficult. It’s time to put one foot in front of the other, not look over my shoulder, and work hard to make the most out of the opportunity given me.

Choices can be proven wrong or detrimental, but usually not right away. It will take time and reflection to know for sure if a good decision was made. One thing I have learned in life so far is that if a big decision seems like the easy way, then it’s probably not the best choice. Nobody makes all the right choices and the right choices may not seem too attractive at first glance. Life is made to build our character, especially when we are young. Choices may be right or wrong but they are both ultimately a part of our journey.

How to Break a Habit

Everyone has a few bad habits. I for example, bite my nails. It’s not a nervous habit, just something that has been programmed into my brain and manifests as an action I engage in methodically. There are varying degrees of bad habits obviously and some of them evolve into greater issues. Some of them need to be broken. The very nature of a habit is that is has been done with such regularity that it becomes a part of our operating system. We do it without thinking about it, essentially.

It is when negative consequences of those habits begin to cause issues that we realize we may need to change them. It’s kind of like trying to implement new policy where one has already been in place for years, it’s slow and meets much resistance. You know that expression, “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?” It’s kind of like that (only the new trick is learning to undo an old trick), it takes time, energy and patience. But it can be done. Here is how.

The first step is recognizing that the habit is causing some kind of issue. If you don’t believe that the habit is bad, you won’t be able to effectively change or stop it. Take some time to think about the consequences that arise from the action itself (for example: biting my nails is probably not good for my teeth, it leaves my nails looking jagged and uneven, etc.). If that proves difficult, try looking at your habit from another persons’ perspective. What about it might bother others(I still can’t hear this word without picturing Jin from Lost uttering the phrase in his Korean accent)? Once you have recognized the negatives and decided that it is best to change the habit, you can move on to step 2.

The second step starts with another first. In order to break the habit you must first understand how and why it started. There must be a positive (or at least an attraction) in there somewhere that drew you to the action. I probably first started biting my nails so I wouldn’t have to go get the nail clippers and then get rid of the mess afterward (wow that sounds like a weak reason). From there it snowballed into a regular occurrence that became second nature. Think about why the action first began and what made it a repeatable offense. Once you have identified the negative and positive reasons from where the habit originated, you can start the hardest step: actually not doing it anymore.

One important thing to always keep in mind: whatever the habit, you can live without it and will be better off without it. Remember that. Write it down.

Think of some ways to diminish the value of the habit. Make a list of the negative results to look at when you find yourself biting your nails (or whatever it may be). Trash talk it, make it seem stupid. Whatever works to ingrain the notion that the action is invaluable. This will invariably take some time and some getting used to.

Give yourself a little bit of leeway in halting the bad habit, but not too much. It is a gradual process, and some slip ups are inevitable. If you draw a hard line and try to go cold turkey, when you do revert (it will happen tough guy) there will be an unnecessary amount of guilt and anger toward yourself which isn’t helpful. Be firm and confident that you can overcome your habit but not too strict so as to drive yourself crazy with unrealistic expectations.

Setting goals can be an asset. Sometimes, it is helpful to wean yourself off of the habit, much like quitting cigarettes. Allow yourself a certain allotment of the habit per week, reducing the frequency until it is eliminated completely. Obviously in some circumstances, depending on the habit and its consequences, this graduated process doesn’t quite work. If your habit is shoplifting you should probably do your best to stop right away.

This is a general and simplified solution and it should be understood that breaking a habit isn’t easy. It requires concentration and dedication beyond the basic resolution to quit doing something. So, whattaya say old dog? Want to unlearn an old trick?

Life on Mars

I recently read a CNN article stating that the Mars rover Curiosity had found some kind of mineral deposits present in a rock formation. The rover drilled into a rock sample that scientists believe was possibly once a lake bed. I am no scientist and won’t pretend to understand the chemistry behind the findings, but apparently this means that there was once water on Mars (check out the article found at the link below). This in turn suggests that Mars was once sustainable for organic life. NASA is in no way suggesting that there was once life on Mars, but that can’t stop us from speculating.  

What if there was once a race of beings living on Mars? Beings much like humans, but with differences in physical makeup, developed to sustain life in whatever weather and climate existed on the Red Planet.  It would obviously have to have been long ago, before Earthlings cultivated the ability to spy on their home. In fact, they would have had to have been completely wiped off of Mars by that time.

Depictions of extra-terrestrials in today’s entertainment industry are almost always of hostile and advanced creatures sent to Earth to take our planet. If life ever existed on Mars, they clearly didn’t come to our planet and try to seize it for their own. I imagine they would have been a peaceful race struggling with much the same things we do today. They could have been primitive creatures, living in caves and lean-to shelters, feeding from vegetation. I think they would have been far more advanced, however (otherwise, what fun is this exercise).

It boggles the mind to think that there could have been an unknown existence, another story of the evolution of a race of beings. It changes some perspective here on Earth, our perception of the progression of time. Discoveries, inventions, advancements that we made could have already been made on another planet, long before we even existed. That’s some Back to the Future type stuff. Heavy, as Doc Brown would say (I swear I don’t plan these BTTF references, they just keep surfacing).

It is possible that these creatures, let’s call them Marsians, for lack of a better term and to avoid repetition, had to deal with different circumstances than we did. Mars is obviously a different planet with a different climate now, but in my limited scientific opinion, I would imagine that life on a Mars that supported bodies of water would have looked a little like Earth. Rivers and lakes, vegetation that fed off of them, and probably stretches of desert sand and rock. Who knows what happened to the planet to transform it into its current state of barren, cold redness. NASA claims that radiation levels on Mars, taken by the rover Curiosity, are survivable for humans. So, one of my initial thoughts of an advanced Marsian race wiping themselves off the planet with nuclear weapons is probably shot.

Maybe they just used way too much hairspray and destroyed their environment, turning it from a plush life giving habitat, into what it is today. Over millions of years, the volatile weather patterns on its surface destroyed any clues of civilization left behind (let’s hope that’s not our future).

If NASA can’t figure it out, maybe we’ll never know what happened on Mars. But that unknown sure makes it more fun. It spawns incredible feats in scientific exploration, some entertaining film and television, and of course intriguing, Pulitzer Prize caliber blog posts.            

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CNN's NASA: Yes, Mars could have hosted life

NASA's All About Mars

Mars Radiation

Men and Sports

What is it with boys and sports? It could be a pick-up basketball game or game 7 of the World Series, we’d treat each with the same intensity. When men watch sports, we often offer our criticism as if the coaches have a direct line to our couches. Fandom takes on a new element in fantasy sports, where we manage a team of pro athletes (yes we know they don’t actually play for us). Why do men dedicate so much time and energy to an entity that is almost entirely out of our control?

Here I will insert a necessary disclaimer: some women love sports too, and God bless you all for it. Consider yourselves a part of our brotherhood of fans, someone has to wear the pink hats after all.

Just about every young boy plays sports. It’s a part of our culture. It teaches teamwork and the value of friendship. It also allows them to run around screaming and kicking or hitting things for a few hours, a necessary release for kids as well as parents. As kids grow up, sports are a huge part of the social circles in middle and high school. Everyone attends the games and those who perform well are popular. This isn’t the sole motivating factor by any means, but it helps.

Let’s take a stroll backward in time, oh how about a million years? Back to the times of the hunter-gatherer. Men were relied upon to provide food and sustenance for themselves and their family units. Moving forward on the timeline, Native Americans hunted in groups with more advanced tools. The best hunter was the alpha male. Flash forward to a couple hundred years ago and men no longer had to rely on their own two hands for food, so they invented games where their intrinsic competitive nature could be satisfied.

Sports in our culture are a way to allow our innate competitive nature to surface. They involve physical strength as well as mental capacity. I think this is why men take sports so seriously, they closely mirror our ancestors’ fight for survival. Our instincts kick in. Just ask my college roommate Dave, one of the only serious fights we ever had was over a pick-up basketball game. We laugh about it now, but it just shows how much passion we pour into our athletic endeavors. They are important to us.         

Now, I will admit that professional sports are entertainment. Athletes are not heroes when they’re on the field, they are performers. They make way too much money and receive way too much attention. I know these things on a practical level. Still, I watch hours of sports a week (much to the chagrin of my girlfriend), juggle several fantasy sports teams, and spend money on tickets and merchandise. Why? That competitive nature surfaces again. It satisfies a thirst for contest. Dave and I often banter back and forth about our competing fantasy baseball teams (we haven’t fought over it yet though).

So, to answer the opening question, boys love sports. They allow us to engage in (usually) friendly competition and utilize our physical as well as mental capabilities. They’re entertainment sure, but so much more engaging than sitting on the couch or in a movie theater. Ladies, I know our fascination with sports may seem ridiculous but that’s how we feel about the Kardashians or Cosmo quizzes.

Well, I’ve got a big day ahead of me. Have to set my fantasy lineup for the day, read some of the Terry Francona book sitting next to me (thanks mom) and then spend the afternoon basking in the sports temple that is Fenway Park. Go Sox.       

A Day We'll Never Forget

It was the most terrifying period of time in my life. Fifteen to twenty minutes of complete unknown. What had happened? How many were hurt? Was there more to come? One thing felt certain. My safety was at risk, possibly gone. With that realization I put my life in God’s hands and waited.

About twenty minutes prior, I had received a call from an employee. He was in the lobby of the Prudential building in Boston, our place of work. He had been told that no one was being allowed into the building and that he should evacuate. Unaware of any danger, I waited for an alarm to signal a fire emergency or a drill of some kind. Seconds later another employee called to ask if I had heard the bangs or felt the building shake. I hadn’t. He had.

I called building security and they informed me that they didn’t have any information and that I should wait to hear from police. Strange, I thought. I made my way over to the Boylston Street side of the building to check on the second employee. He pointed out to me, from the 9th floor window, where he had seen plumes of smoke emerge from the street level shortly after the booms. As it clicked that he was pointing at a heavily populated area near the finish line of the Boston Marathon, my heart sank. I immediately knew what had happened. I knew how many people were down there. I had been in that area to take in the festivities at about 1pm, less than two hours before.

With a knot in my stomach and a quickened heart rate, I went back to my computer and began to check news outlets, hoping that I wouldn’t find the terrible news I anticipated. There wasn’t any information right away, but searching the radio dial confirmed my fears. Two explosions.

A gruff voice came over the loudspeaker, “The Boston Police are advising that building occupants shelter in place as a result of criminal activity taking place on Boylston Street.” Bombs. My heart rate spiked, my stomach dropped. I quietly said a prayer and braced for whatever was next. I tried to occupy myself by continuing my daily routine but I couldn’t concentrate.

Someone nervously entered to ask if I had heard from my third employee. My heart dropped again. I had let her leave around 2pm to cheer on her daughter-in-law who was running in the marathon. I called her phone and received no answer. I sent her a text message asking to let us know that she was okay. No response.

The next hour was a whirl of phone calls and texts from people looking for information and confirmation of the safety of my staff and I. The voice over the loudspeaker would periodically repeat the same general message as before. No new information from him. Plenty from the radio. Plenty from the internet. None from the missing employee.

It’s tough to describe the pit that sits in your stomach in a time like this. Only on 9/11 have I felt anything close, but even then I was safely hundreds of miles away. On Monday, I was mere yards away (and up). Obviously it pales in comparison to those who were down on the street level of Boylston and those that were in the Twin Towers. Still, I have never truly feared as I did on Monday.

Good news finally came as we heard that our co-worker had posted on Facebook that she and her family were safe. Exactly three hours after the bombs erupted we were finally told we had been given the okay to vacate the building (utilizing a non-Boylston street exit). The radio news coverage had been reporting that public transportation was being amended and that certain streets were shut down. Speculation swirled in those hours and we were all obviously concerned that there could be more to come out there on the streets of Boston. The next trash can to explode could be the one on the way home.

As I walked out of the building, taking back streets and winding my way toward the closest operating T stop I observed the somber scene of the city. People were clearly rattled and looking for answers, but mostly looking for safety and the comfort of family. I made my way past the intersection of Mass Ave and Boylston Street, a route I normally take to work. Boylston Street had been cordoned off with police tape. Law enforcement officials of all kinds were standing ready.

I walked with a brisk pace away from the scene and headed towards Kenmore Station where I would normally catch a bus back home. Not thinking about anything but getting home safely, I turned left onto Commonwealth Avenue. The second to last turn of the marathon course. My phone buzzed and I looked down at the words of my girlfriend, “Just stay off of the marathon course, there could be more explosives.” “Definitely,” I assured her, not wanting to cause her any more worry (sorry Laura).

My pace further quickened and I couldn’t help but stare at every trash can and post office box that I passed. I was literally bracing for an explosion. Every major gathering point that I passed had a mass of uniformed officers patrolling. The entire walk people were wandering about, some clearly rattled and confused. Some clearly intoxicated from the earlier Patriot’s Day activities (for those of you not familiar with this Massachusetts holiday, the only morning game in baseball is played at Fenway Park and many people enjoy the day consuming copious amounts of beer). I couldn’t quite get a grip on whether these people were unafraid of the attacks, oblivious, or were just having a difficult time getting home.

When I did finally catch a train, walk the mile and a half from the closest open stop to my apartment, I took a deep breath and finally felt some semblance of safety. The news coverage was surreal. I walk those stretches of road so often. This actually happened and it happened where I live and work. I learned from the video footage and photographs on the TV screen that I had been standing right across from the sight of the second bombing only an hour and 50 minutes before the explosion shook that very ground.

I had never truly felt unsafe in the city of Boston. Never felt that fear was an emotion that could take over at any moment. I imagine that neither did any of those spectators and runners who were in danger. This account is not meant as a plea for an end to the evils that seem to be surfacing more and more frequently in our society. Not meant as a statement of concern over the level of safety in Boston. Evil exists and always has. I just mean to share my experience. I was scared, however I do not remain so. We as a people can’t afford to hold on to that fear or evil will prevail.

I have a new appreciation for my adopted home city, a new sense of pride in my fellow Bostonians. Pray for the victims and their families. For the recovery of those injured, both physically and mentally.

As the President said this morning, “If they sought to intimidate us, to terrorize us, it should be pretty clear by now that they picked the wrong city to do it. Not here in Boston.” 

  

Greed or Ambition?

Where does the line fall between greed and ambition? What separates a successful individual we study in history books from a man scorned for his voracity? Well obviously, it’s the decisions that both of those groups make. There are vultures on Wall Street who chose to cut corners and violate regulations to gain wealth and notoriety, but there are even more folks who worked hard within the rules to build success. Those were choices made, the easy road or the honest one.

I want to delve a little deeper into the issue, really create a conundrum. I want to explore the internal struggle of the men and women mentioned above. For some, I’m sure there isn’t much of a struggle. To them, the benefit greatly outweighs the risk and it’s not a tough decision. For most (hopefully), there is a much greater internal debate. I’m not just talking about the Wall Street example here, I want to include anyone and everyone. Consider situations of choice between good and corrupt as well as the struggles of those who are simply struggling.

Let me give you an example. There is a man, let’s call him Ned, who really does not like his job. He is educated, motivated, works hard and has goals set for himself. Still, try as he might he just can’t seem to break into a better occupational situation for himself. Application after application, there is still no interest. He begins to feel hopeless and trapped. He truly struggles through his everyday situation, knowing that he is capable of much more. This is just the beginning of an internal self-examination.

Ned’s faith tells him that he should be thankful for the job that he has and to work hard and be the best man he can be (but not by joining the Army). Society tells him that in order to be thought of as a success, he must earn more and do something more valuable. History tells him that it is possible. Yet, his status remains unchanged. At this point, the human psyche begins to run wild.

Shawn Carter is a high school dropout who sold drugs as a young man to support himself. He worked incredibly hard to launch a music career, start a record label and clothing line and is now estimated to be worth $500 million. You might recognize him by his well-known alias, Jay-Z.

Andrew Carnegie was a poor Scottish immigrant who worked in a factory at age 13 to help support his family. By the time he reached middle age, he was a wealthy man with investments in the railroad and steel industries. Doubtless he was helped by the demands of war and a little bit of luck, but he was said to have been relentless in his work ethic and pursuit of knowledge (he also dedicated mass amounts of time and money to numerous charitable endeavors).

So Ned might well wonder, what separates him from the two “rags to riches” examples above? He did well in school, went to college and works hard every day. Yet, he wants more for himself. He wants to think of himself as a success. That might mean different things for different people, however. For one it could mean simply having a job he or she is proud of and a family to love and support. For another it might mean making some kind of Forbes list. But no matter the goal or the motivation, the same struggle exists when one isn’t where he wants to be.

Does this make all men inherently greedy? Wanting more than he or she has. Should we be happy with what we’ve got if that includes health and a roof? Can we learn to be truly happy with our situation even if we often yearn for a better career?

According to Merriam-Webster, these thoughts don’t necessarily make one greedy. Greed is defined as the wanting of more than is necessary, more than one needs. Now it can be argued as to whether one needs to have a job that they enjoy or at least one from which they feel some sense of pride or accomplishment. I believe that this is indeed an important part of true happiness.

Sure, we can learn to appreciate the positives of any job but we will always want to know what it’s like to be satisfied with what we do. Don’t feel guilty for wanting more than you have. Feel guilty when you start to want more than you need. Then think about those who just want contentment.

Ned doesn’t need $500 million. When he finds himself in a rewarding career he’ll feel like ten Andrew Carnegies.


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Wikipedia was used to compile the Jay-Z and Andrew Carnegie bios.

Where is the love?

here is a loud conversation going on behind me, toward the back of the bus. Two men are blabbering on as if the other 50 passengers can’t hear everything they are saying. The subject and content are, to put it mildly, distasteful. I try to focus on the book sitting open in my lap and disregard the ignorance spewing from their mouths. Try as I might, different scenarios begin to play out in my mind. First I stand up and calmly put them down with an intelligent and flawless statement, they have no choice but to be quiet. I acknowledge that the outcome of that scenario is more likely to result in some kind of altercation and so my mind wanders further. I won’t go into too much detail about the second scenario, but the two men end up in enough pain to force an end to their conversation.


In reality, nobody says anything to the men for the remainder of the ride and we all arrive at our destinations without injury. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one on that bus ride envisioning violent action, but nobody said a word. We all have moments or experiences when we feel anger and a desire to turn that fury into violence. Most of us, however, choose to overlook the source of our frustration and take the higher road. Our patience is stronger than our rage.


What is it then, that makes some people take the other path? There are those to whom violence is the answer to frustration. I will go ahead and spoil the end of this post by saying that I don’t have an answer. I don’t know why some people lash out with fists when others would choose to run or talk. I don’t know why they walk into schools and office buildings hell bent on destruction. The sad reality is that it happens. There is a disconnect between those who can control the naturally occurring human emotion that is anger and those who allow it to transform into violence.


Michael Vick can be used as an example. He fought dogs against each other and tortured and even killed those that underperformed. Where was his conscience to tell him that was wrong? What happened in his life that stunted the development of that right/wrong compass?


Sure video games, movies and TV have become increasingly violent and in more realistically graphic ways. But there are so many young people who grow up with that exposure and can still function in society without acting like the Allstate mayhem guy. So, we’ll put that on the back burner for now(definitely not endorsing young people’s exposure to violent entertainment).


Following the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School, there has been a focus on the mental health awareness in our country. My sister and her husband nearly purchased a house in Newtown recently (before the Sandy Hook shooting). My heart broke as I watched the news coverage this December, picturing my unborn niece or nephew lying on the floor of that school, or the love of my life, a guidance counselor. Still, it wasn’t a chemical or psychological imbalance that made the young man walk into that school. The majority of those with mental disabilities don’t turn to violence.

It could be related to upbringing and lessons learned or not learned early in life. It could be the influence of where and how the psyche is developed. It could be a genetic trait passed on between generations. Most likely it is a combination of some or all of these.  As we know the most violent people who have surfaced in our society lately haven’t come from rough neighborhoods. They grew up in relative ease, in middle class families with means. No matter where you grow up, however, psychological damage can be sustained.


There needs to be a concentrated effort to study the lives of violent people and to identify the common factors which may determine a person’s tendency for violence. What kinds of events lead to the degeneration of the conscience? Or do violent people never develop a conscience? Or do they just ignore it when it’s telling them that something is wrong? Obviously the fear of punishment and the negative emotions that go along with hurting others are not enough to stop the desire for violent action.


How do we stop the violence? Sorry, but I did warn you, I don’t have an answer.

The Anatomy of a Run

(A work of realistic fiction)

Sitting on the couch on a Saturday morning an infomercial for P90X comes on the TV...

You put down the Cheetos. Hmm, the sun is out. Maybe you should go for a run.

Weather.com app says it 37 degrees. You put on your one pair of running pants and a hoodie. You look like Rocky. You feel like Rocky. You’re going to own this run. You’re going like five miles.

You step out the front door onto the porch. You cue up the workout playlist and do approximately 10 seconds of stretching.

Strides 1,2,3...

Oh man you’re not Rocky, you’re muscles are tight and your joints crack. You’re already tired. Shit, maybe you’ll only go like 2 miles. You’re a realist after all. You begin to think that maybe you don’t even look like Rocky.

You hear birds chirping and turn onto a beautiful riverside road. It is nice to just be outside, you feel like you should do this more often. It definitely beats running on a treadmill.

Strides 500,501,502...

Hell yeah, you are the man. You haven’t run in like two weeks and you’re crushing this run. You must be a super-human athlete. You could have been an olympian. You hurdle a few park benches, do some pullups on a tree branch.

You skip four songs until “Gonna Fly Now” comes on. You run hard through that one and then even harder when R. Kelly’s “World’s Greatest” follows.

Strides 2021,2022,2023...

Suddenly, bam. Uh oh, you might puke. Your hammie is so tight all of a sudden. The U2 song that you hate and keep forgetting to take off the workout playlist comes on as if to taunt you. Your pace slows considerably. Breathing becomes labored.

Oh shit, you’re like two miles from home and running out of steam. Better turn around here. Why are these shoes so heavy? You must keep going.  

Suddenly people are passing you on the left. You hate them all. You curse the inventor of Cheetos and that damn cheetah in their ads.

Why are you so lazy? Your heel begins to shoot bolts of pain up through your spine. You think about all the people you know who seemingly never work out and stay in great shape.

The cramp in your side screams along with the Katy Perry song that only you know you bought from iTunes. You reach a crosswalk and decide that walking would probably be beneficial. You then shame yourself into sprinting up the next hill. You cannot go on. You stop and walk again.

(Slower) Strides 3589,3590,3591...

Oh man, why did you go to that buffet last night? You’re so fat and slow. You couldn’t even get through 3 miles. How could you have let yourself get to this point? You make a resolution to get jacked for the summer.

Your building finally appears in the distance. You open the door to your apartment. You try to talk yourself into doing push ups or crunches or something. Instead, you vow to hit the gym tomorrow.  

You fill a big glass with cold water. You glance over at the table and see the bag of Cheetos sitting where you left them. You decide you must finish the bag while your metabolism is spiked. Can’t have that temptation in the house if you’re going to get jacked. Is it too early for a beer?

It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's...a Meteor??

I’m a fan of disaster movies. Yes, I try to see most of the Oscar worthy films each year and I like to think I have good taste when it comes to cinema. Still, I enjoy a good Michael Bay-esque huge budget apocalyptic robots, aliens or meteorites disaster film. I have a weakness, okay, we all have them. 

With that off my chest, I have another confession. Not only do I enjoy these movies but they stir a kind of excitement within. As the hero runs around helping people and battling whatever force is hell bent on planetary destruction, I realize that I want to be that guy. The thought of being in that situation rouses my sense of adventure.

Well, really the only scenario where that’s going to happen is if we are somehow under attack (otherwise, my life consists of going to work and typing on this laptop). It’s not that I wish for some kind of catastrophe to befall us all so that I can be entertained and live out my fantasy. When the Mayan calendar ended, I wasn’t looking out my window with fingers crossed hoping for the opportunity. I just think that if some kind of Armageddon were to occur, it might be as exciting as a Michael Bay movie. Surely I’m not the only one.


Well, that theory has been debunked. A meteor came crashing through the earth’s atmosphere yesterday morning, causing some minor damage in central Russia. Let me say that again because I probably (hopefully) will never be able to repeat it…a meteor crashed into the earth. There was a sonic boom resulting from the chunk of space rock entering the atmosphere faster than the speed of sound, windows blew out and debris littered the area. As Mike Krumboltz points out in his Yahoo! New blog, the scene resembled the disaster film “Cloverfield.” 

As I scan through the video footage (on the same blog) that has already been spread all over the internet, I realize how wrong my assumption was. There’s no feeling of excitement welling up in my chest as I watch this real footage. A fireball streaking across the sky, a blinding flash and a concussive blast smashing windows is just plain scary when you’re not seated in a theater. Thankfully nobody has been reported dead as a result (although CNN is reporting that at least 1,000 people suffered injuries, mostly from falling glass). When I first saw the report this morning, my jaw involuntarily dropped, and the only thing I could say was “no way.” No exhilaration, no entertainment, just uneasiness. 

Who says the next one won’t hit the building I’m sitting in right now? There is also an asteroid rocketing past our planet at an uncomfortable speed and proximity, but is apparently unrelated to the meteor. If that’s true (which is hard for me to believe) then that makes this scenario all the more frightening. An asteroid and a meteor on the same day? Eerie. In a video interview on CNN, Bill Nye explains how humans are aware of about 1% of all the asteroids that are out there. That’s frightening, and he went on to say that an asteroid the size of our closely orbiting friend, if it struck earth, could level a major city. He also repeatedly stated that we should all be looking up at the sky.

I know I’ll be keeping one eye raised. It’s an awakening experience to think about how feeble we are in the grand scheme of things. To hear about how we could easily be wiped off the planet with no warning. The disaster flicks are purely fictional but scenarios like that could actually become reality. There’s nothing adventurous about that. But then again, what did Captain Hook say? “To die would be a great adventure.”


Value life today, folks. This planet is a gift.

Mike Krumboltz's Yahoo! News Blog
CNN's Bill Nye asteroid interview

The Four Seasons

As I shovel out and survey the mass of snow here in New England dumped by a historic blizzard named after a cartoon fish, I can’t help but think about the progression of the seasons. I’ve lived in New England for the entirety of my life but I can remember on family vacations to Florida in February thinking “why can’t it just always be this warm?” I’m not even close to being a meteorologist so I won’t try to get into low pressure systems and dew points, but why do people live in the cold? It’s a question worth asking ourselves.

Some people say, “I’m moving to Florida someday.” Some people actually do it, because they truly hate the cold, but most people just bear it. Maybe it has to do with finances or the stresses of actually picking up and moving your entire life. As I have gotten older I have learned to appreciate each of the seasons for what they are, yes even winter (maybe it’s just a defense mechanism for when I’m walking to the bus and its 5 degrees and snowing down my jacket).

The seasons balance each other out, they are a perfect metaphor for the ups and downs of life. We endure the uncomfortable and less desirable winter months because we know they give way to the beauty and warmth of spring and summer. We wouldn’t be able to appreciate each season if not for the others.

Let’s begin with summer. In most regions of the country summer is hot and humid. At first, we in the Northeast are so excited for the change from cold to warmth that we welcome the humidity with short sleeves and trips to the beach. We can hang out outdoors and bask in the sunshine. By August, we are hunkered down in the air conditioning trying not to move for fear of breaking a sweat (I’ve found that sticking my head in the freezer can provide temporary relief). We quickly become sick of the heat and we begin to pine for the relief of cooler temperatures. 

Then like a sliver that finally relents and leaves its unwelcome habitat in your skin, autumn breaks. The air is once again comfortable enough to venture outdoors and spend time picking apples and peeping leaves (this phrase always creeps me out, it sounds like I’m spying on the leaves through their bedroom window). A light jacket and a cup of pumpkin spiced coffee, admittedly this is my favorite time of year (and not just because there is an excuse to try all of the pumpkin flavored beers). But alas, it is also the shortest and we all know what comes next. 

At first, winter isn’t so bad. We welcome her with the celebration of Christmas and then the New Year, and we think “hmm, maybe it’ll be okay this year.” Skip ahead to March, there’s been snow on the ground for two months and you have run out of things in your house to fix, books to read, and even Netflix is tapped. Your skin is so dry it cracks as you reach for the remote. This is when you think, “I’m moving to Florida.” Just as you think about raising that ice skate blade to your throat, you hear the weatherman say those magic words “60 degrees.”

The first day of warm weather in the spring season is a joyous occasion. People are wearing short sleeves and sunglasses, skateboarding and bike riding, sunbathing in the park. Sure it’s barely warm enough to thaw the frozen pond, but it’s warm. Soon it’s not just warm, but the flowers start to bloom and the tree buds explode, it’s colorful and it smells great all the time. It’s magical compared to that inconsiderate b*&#$ winter. And then the magic fades as the heat becomes unbearable again and the cycle starts all over.

Can you imagine living in a place where the temperature rarely fluctuated? Every day was 73 degrees and sunny? Sounds awesome to us New Englanders in February, but how long would it really be paradise? Not long would be my guess. We would begin to long for some kind of change in weather, maybe even miss snow a little. That’s because each season, with its peaks and valleys, makes us appreciate the other three.

If we didn’t have to endure the cold and snow of winter, would those few months when the warmth creeps in and the flowers bloom be so glorious? They wouldn’t. There wouldn’t be any transition in the plant life if the temperature never altered, no bloom, no color, no smell. If we didn’t have the blaring heat of summer would we appreciate the cooling breeze and crisp mornings of the fall season? Nope. Once again, the leaves wouldn’t change and all that colorful leaf peeping (shudder) wouldn’t exist. The extremes of the seasons really help us tolerate their opposites. When we have one of those perfect weather days, we absolutely love it. It’s a spectacle and not just the norm. 

I think I’d rather shovel and ice my head than not appreciate a beautiful day. It builds character, right? Wish me luck, I’m going outside.     

The Tattoo Age

I remember the days when you crossed the street at the sight of a guy covered with tattoos walking toward you on the sidewalk. If you had a tattoo you were likely grouped with the likes of biker gangs, inmates, or strippers. Maybe I was just way more judgmental than the average young man. Don’t worry, this perspective has changed in my eyes and the stigma that accompanied tattoos has seemingly shifted. Today I would venture a guess that about 30% of those between 18 and 30 have tattoos. It’s an accepted form of expression. Folks, we’ve entered “The Tattoo Age.”

Make no mistake, I support it and am even among that suspected 30% (but you’ll only see mine at the beach).

When I was 18 I decided that I wanted to get an ear pierced. It was partly because everyone was listening to hip-hop music at the time and for some reason, even in a small suburban town in Connecticut, I wanted to be a tad gangster. It was also partly because I could do it, it was an expression of my independence. Thankfully, that phase didn’t last long and earrings can be removed just as quickly as they are put in. Tattoos, however, are a different story.

I thought long and hard before deciding to permanently mark my skin with ink. A few ideas came and passed and after a hefty price quote for an intricate crest design in college, I decided I would have to wait until I actually had some kind of income. By the time I was gainfully employed, I had finally developed an idea that didn’t sour after a few months. After approving the artist’s sketch of what it would look like, it was made permanent. As I noted above, part of my plan was to make sure that it was easily concealable so that it could be hidden from view if desired (it’s on my back, get your mind out of the gutter).

When I see these young artsy folks walking around with colorful and intricate ink all over their arms and legs and necks and hands, I think about how that stuff will never go away (and how they afford what must have cost thousands of dollars). I respect the desire for self-expression and I even admire the uniqueness of some of the designs I have seen, but when you’re 80 what are your grandchildren going to say about that blue and purple flowered arm sleeve? 

I’m curious to see what the future holds for my tattooed generation. I can picture what a walk through the Boston Common will look like when I’m 50. On a 95 degree August day in 2037, all the middle aged men are walking around with long pants and long sleeve shirts buttoned up to the neck. The youths have rebelled against their parents, wearing shorts, tank tops and clean, unmarked skin. There isn’t a tattoo parlor for 30 square miles as they only exist in retirement homes and suburban neighborhoods. Nationally, those who invested in the tattoo removal industry are millionaires. Retired NBA and NFL players are rarely seen outside of their homes for fear of embarrassing their own children. The now middle aged cast of Jersey Shore has been secluded on the abandoned Alcatraz Island where they can be free to show off their tattoos wearing tank tops and tanning. Tours are still available to observe them in their natural habitat (okay that may be a stretch).

Or maybe I’m way off and everyone will have tattoos everywhere. Ink will become scarce and an underground smuggling system will emerge rivaling the drug trade. Your affluence will be expressed by the quantity and intricacy of your ink. Could go either way I suppose. ;) 

No matter how the future of tattoos plays out, the fact remains that today they are trending (if you can call a permanent body marking a trend). With the young adult demographic they are an accepted form of self-expression. Hopefully, those in the elder demographics are also beginning to look past the artwork on someone’s body before passing judgment. Will this time go down in history books along with the “Gilded Age,” or “The Enlightenment?” Doubtful, but the “Tattoo Age” is upon us. 

Remember kids, think before you ink.           

The Self Made Man

Abraham Lincoln. When most people hear this name I would imagine they think of our 16th President, the man who pulled a nation through Civil War and essentially ended slavery. Maybe you think of Daniel Day-Lewis and Steven Spielberg. I won’t pretend that this post isn’t partially driven by the success of the recent movie about the legendary man. I would like to focus not on his accomplishments so much, but more on how he was able to put himself in a position to make them happen. 

Abraham Lincoln was born to a poor farm family in Kentucky. He lived in a series of small cabins with his family in the woods of the Midwest and spent only a small amount  of time in a classroom  in his youth. He learned to read and write with help from his step-mother and became literate through self-perseverance. He had a rough childhood, his father wasn’t exactly a warm and supportive man, especially after his mother passed away when he was just a boy. If not for the love of his stepmother, he may have been lost in a world of grief and anger.

Can you imagine what kinds of sorrow he must have experienced? A life of hard labor as a young man, a father hardened by the work he had to endure just to keep his family alive, and then losing his mother? Of course, death was more common in the early 1800’s, many common ailments we endure today often resulted in death back then. Even so, I imagine that a young man’s loss would have the same impact then as it does today. Many historians agree that Abe probably battled depression throughout his life, enduring bouts of sadness and despair.

Abe never let his struggles keep him down for long. He was determined to make something of himself, and he left home shortly after he came of age. He found work where he could, as a clerk in a general store, working his way up to postmaster, doubling as a land surveyor, all the while educating himself in law and politics. He gained notoriety and eventually threw his hat into the political ring and was elected a member of the Illinois House of Representatives on his second try (Basler, Roy P.).

In the midst of his growing success came the news of the death of his sister. Another tragedy that must have deeply saddened and troubled the young man. But onward he pushed and after a stall in his political career, he began to practice law in Springfield, Illinois. He couldn’t stay out of the ring for long, however, and he was soon back in the Illinois House of Representatives. He was then elected to Congress and from there, as we know, he was chosen to move into the biggest house on Pennsylvania Avenue (Basler, Roy P.).

Wow. Inspiring to say the least. A young man comes from the woods of Kentucky, escapes his most likely fate of a life of farming rocky soil, educates himself and busts his hump all the way into the White House. He started with no money and no means, often struggling to pay debts. He was no doubt filled with resentment, working hard and long hours, battling the pangs of depression and sorrow from years of loss. Yet, he persevered.

Think about what it would take today for someone to come from a farm in Illinois with no education and end up the most important man in the country. It would be the equivalent of President Obama having only attended kindergarten. It’s simply not possible. Were people dumber back then? No that can’t be true, we elected Arnold and Jesse “The Body.” Are there just too many distractions nowadays? No that can’t be true either, we have the answers to everything at our fingertips (I just found the names of Jesse Ventura’s wife and kids on my phone). So how did Abe Lincoln do it?

Simply put, he was one of a kind. Now I know that 1850 was much different than 2013, that argument is not lost on me. Everything is more complicated and technological. Becoming the POTUS now is a completely different endeavor. But that shouldn’t take away from what Abraham Lincoln endured to change his future and even our own. He is a model of success that every man, woman and child should admire.


I think we all have times when we feel like  life has given us the short end of the stick. At those moments we should think of this example and remember that our fate is largely in our own hands. Of course there are outside factors and other people who influence us along the way, but what we put into life with our own hard work has the greatest importance.      
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Basler, Roy P. “Timeline of Abraham Lincoln’s Political Career.” Timeline of Abraham Lincoln’s Political Career. N.p., 2012. Web. 24 Jan. 2013.