Promise to Remember

It has been such a decade. A decade of change, one of growth, and even better… one remembered. After years and years of broken promises to myself, I was tired of all the regular hangovers and living a lie. It was a decade ago when I finally owned my shortcomings with alcohol and committed to a life more fulfilling.

Rather than mentioning a list of academic, personal, and professional accomplishments of the past ten sober years, I think the smiles and the hairdos tell of a far more spirited story. Turning 60 this year was certainly another milestone and is probably a good reason to begin that proverbial bucket list. But instead of following the standard rules, I think I’ll make it enjoyable and use my bucket to collect smiles—lots of them.

Days remembered. Days sober.

Looking back, my last decade was filled with the most incredible blessings, honesty, friendships, and ordinary days that were so much grander than just everyday ordinary. Sobriety is such an essential part of who I am today. It defines me, provides focus, and fills my soul each waking morning. Aside from today being a milestone, I don’t think about it much anymore. And thankfully, I don’t need to, but I’m always aware.

With that said, I revisited those thoughts and sentiments from my first 365-day anniversary that I wrote nine years ago. I’ve shared those below. Much love to each of you as you journey along your memorable path.

Gary

Chasing the Dream and Remembering It

December 30, 2010 - 2010 is nearly over, and with nothing more than clichés to come up with, the time just flew by. With that, it was a remarkable year for me, and I continue to place one foot in front of the next to move with a forward momentum. I'm not sure how else to do it. I continue my push to absorb life along with all of its riches. At least those that are within my reach. And for those that aren't, I work at getting myself closer.

One year ago, I had sincere concerns about my addictive nature and my health. Always being one in control, it was tough to confess to myself that my alcohol addiction had taken control of my long, personally controlled life. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, it wasn't me who was in control. I was scared and doubted that I'd be able to recover. It was time for "me" to make a change in "my" life.

I needed to find a focus. I needed to find me. I needed to believe. I needed to be alive. And, I needed to be sober. 

One day at a time was a huge challenge, and there were days when I wasn't sure I'd make it drink-free. Three hundred and sixty-five days later, I'm one year sober ...and still one day at a time. I'll always be, but I'm up for that challenge. With my decision of a year ago, I'm happier and more at peace with myself than I could ever be. I knew that I had to make a change. I had way too many things yet to do in my life, more goals to attempt, more people to meet, more love to share, more art to live, and another day to celebrate, followed by another, then another, and another. 

Many years ago, I watched as my father crossed the same path in his life. With a strong dedication and belief, he too beat his addictions. And although he died at a young age, his life was made so much fuller because of his taking control of those things that controlled him. 

I can do nothing more than to be true to myself.  With that, I'm another step closer to wherever it is that I'm headed. I don't have a road map or even a schedule... I'm just following my life path and today I'm challenged by it, I revel in it, and more importantly... today, I can see it.

This isn't meant to be "my" personal soapbox or preaching. It just isn't. That's not me. What this is, is an honest recount of where I've been and a true celebration of love, thank yous, and joys for today. 

Life moves forward. Embrace it, love it, and allow it to capture you in its moment.
Peace, health, and joy.

A moment. One decade later.

How to Create a Forest

Heidi’s first Christmas.

The spirit of Christmas has always filled my heart with hope and love. Becoming a grandfather this year added more zest to my life than I could have ever imagined. I love that child. She fills my soul.

This year, I started a new holiday tradition... all to celebrate Heidi. Each year, our decorations will include a live Christmas tree. Once all the presents are unwrapped and the holidays are complete, I’ll plant each year’s Christmas tree around the ranch.

I look forward to Heidi and me walking around to see all of her trees. Maybe, we’ll even decorate a few each year with glittery jingles, homemade ornaments, and blinking lights. Then the two of us can sit together, celebrate another new year, and watch Heidi’s trees reach just a little closer to the stars than they did the year before.

I love helping Santa.

I hope the holidays fill your soul with love and happiness. Neither requires a fancy ribbon, and they are absolutely the greatest gift you will ever give or receive.

As a side note, since this was the first year of my new holiday tradition, I began this year by purchasing three trees. I couldn't help myself. They were all just too perfect. And technically, one is a rosemary bush tree... a large, beautiful, and fragrant rosemary bush Christmas tree. And c'mon... honestly, how could Heidi and I begin her forest with just one tree?

Merry Christmas, love, and goodness.

A Wish for the World

Christmas Eve is here. Here is Ocho Rios, Jamaica. Instead of preparing my traditional fare of holiday aromas and deliciousness for the family, I'm sitting in a relaxing leather chair with dark wood armrests, atop the crow's nest of the M.S. Zuiderdam.

The room is filled with plenty of suntanned faces I've never seen before. With a joyful announcement from the bar at the other end of the room that two-for-one happy hour specials are now in effect, several faces look even happier than they had minutes ago. I, too, am happy.... and sober. My tall glass of iced water is sweating on the wet and wrinkled cocktail napkin beneath it. In six days, I'll be toasting my 7th anniversary of sobriety. I may even get fancy on that day by adding a lemon slice to my water glass.

From the looks of the room, as we leave the port and head in the direction of the sunset, tall sweating glasses of iced water are the only thing that don't quite qualify for the two-for-one festivity. Seems they're even void of the complementary bowl of mixed nuts. Still, with the singing laughter coming from the bar, I raise my glass with a festive cheer and a smile that is all mine.

Bon Voyage, Merry Christmas, and Peace for a world that could use more than its share of two-for-one servings of love as we close out this year and begin 2017. Do whatever you can to make a difference in someone's day, even if only to share an eye-to-eye smile with a stranger. Open your arms... the world could use a hug. Love to all.

Reflecting on the Visual Storytellers

In preparation for writing this reflection, I took some time to reflect on what this course has meant to me as an instructor. In short and technically, the course was truly not much different than most other courses. It was as simple as: complete assignments to earn credit.

I saw the girl with the flag, and I knew I had to tell her story.

Since each of my students was asked to cover the same event, I requested one thing from each of them from the start of the semester… to just share their story. During those few weeks before the race, they were to explore numerous processes through several assignments that were meant to challenge them to step outside of their comfort zone. They were also encouraged to take a different look at those things commonly around them.

Upon the UCI Road World Championships arriving in Richmond, I encouraged them to take what they learned in the weeks prior and capture the international event through their individual vision and stories.

What most of them delivered was a collection of shared light, texture, motion, and spirit. They shared Richmond and VCU. They shared friends and strangers, days turning into night, and on occasion, nights into days. They shared emotions, and color, and life in the spotlight, but also the ever-important life of those behind the scenes and far, far away from the stage. They shared the quiet, the loud, and the heart of an urban environment. They shared the details of the beauty often hidden behind the grit. They shared the energy of the world, all taking place in a town that each of us calls home. These are just a sampling of the things that I have seen through the incredible and honest work of my students.

When I proposed the concept for this course last spring, it seemed like an interesting and fun idea. On paper, it was simple. Capture and document the event using a mobile device solely. Technically, that was the assignment. What they delivered, however, was far more than I could have ever imagined. The photographs and words they shared during the six-week course are a genuine and remarkable reflection of their passion for creating. It was also a reflection of themselves.

What gives them strength? Maybe a spiritual power, or maybe the thousands of hours they have put into their honing their skills and stamina. And as a result, the real race may just be another trial session for them.

There was a remarkable visual story shared with the world during this course, and each of my students was the storyteller.

I am grateful for such a rewarding opportunity to be involved in this project. Thank you to VCU, to VCU ALT Lab, to the VCU Robertson School of Media and Culture, and especially to my students. For me to say that I am proud of what was accomplished during this course would be an absolute understatement.

In the end, we each leave behind a story. Without it, how will we ever share where we've been? Keep your eyes open as you continue to capture and tell your own story.

Look for the good in your day.. Then share it.

Threads of Love and Patches

He and Patches

Well-loved

I've spent a good portion of today picking up remnants throughout the house.

Patches is a part of our family and one of Zero's favorite playmates. Patches is truly living up to his name these days. He is missing several toes on one paw. Another paw is missing altogether and his stubby tail is split in numerous places. He has a busted nose, several missing whiskers, a limp leg, and lots of facial scars. It's real important that you speak up and very clearly when you talk to Patches because he's also missing an entire ear. Gone. What was at one time his lasso or a fancy adornment of some kind that he held with his right paw, now displays like some sort of major artery ribbon flowing out from his wrist. Yep, this is the arm that is totally missing a paw. Once again... gone.

A plus for Patches is that his squeaker still holds a great tune. Zero tests it often when he frequently and triumphantly runs throughout the house tooting continually his favorite song du jour like some master blues harmonica player. Zero's grand performance generally concludes with his big chest raised high while he tosses Patches from side to side with his climactic one-two, one-two high step big march finale. Epic pretty much sums it up.

Zero greeted me this morning as I toweled off from my shower. Just as quickly as he darted in to check on me, he hurriedly turned around and left. Before I was able to finish drying off and hang the towel, he raced back into the bathroom with his friend. Laying Patches at my feet, Zero then sat patiently with his big eyes staring straight at mine. With a quick toss of Patches to the next room, a flash of high-energy adrenaline and excitement followed the path of the airborne Patches.

Waiting Patches

I've picked up plenty of red threads today. This tells me that Patches' days may be numbered. We've had a who's who cast of lovable likes to Patches over the years. Some have had longer stays than others, but they have all been dearly loved. Once their stuffing makes an appearance though, Zero and I together say farewell as I tuck them deep into the trash can to avoid any miraculous escapes.

There's a far greater tale here than one of a pup and his worn out, thread shedding toy. The truer picture is what all of those single threads represent. Threads are like single strands of love that help to create the fabric. This pup loves happiness. He loves each day ....every day... and the entire day. He loves the simplest of moments, he loves smiles and laughter and pleasing others, he loves being loved AND more importantly than anything else... Zero loves, loves, loves to love back.

Perhaps we can all learn a little something from a few tattered threads. Peace, and goodness, and a life of days filled with loose threads and worn out Patches.

Threads of love

Swaying Hugs and a Road Song

Frost on the Windshield

The recent snowfall painted a serene backdrop for my lengthy road trip to offer a final goodbye to someone that I’ve known most of my adult life. It seems I’ve lost count, but I know that I’ve attended far more memorial services in the past few years than I have in my entire lifetime. “It’s that circle of life thing”, a friend reminded me. His reply seemed far too casual… maybe even a bit too basic. And as much as I would like to think differently, he was absolutely right.

The calm of the distant drive had a soundtrack, but with little volume. Sometimes there was no volume at all. Instead I tuned to the noises of the moment… the wind, the road, and my thoughts as mile markers passed by as if to keep time.

As mournful as expectations were, the day was instead a celebration. I rekindled with faces I’d not seen in years. Those reunions were often followed by hugs. Long ones. The ones that make you sway back and forth in one another’s arms for what seems like forever… those welcomed kind of forevers. The day was filled with plenty of shared words of comfort. Smiling strangers offered personal accounts, memories, and stories of a man that we each knew just a little bit differently than the other. I laughed far more than I cried. At times, laughing loud enough that people sitting in pews in front of me would look back with a smile. Seems everyone did.

The return home soundtrack was not much different than the one from hours earlier. Loosening my necktie, I turned south on the rural two-lane route. Smiling, I waved back to the oncoming driver with four raised fingers from the top of my steering wheel. My right hand reached for the dial on the dash to raise the volume on the stereo. A mile or so later, I raised it even more. Each of those familiar lyrics was a longtime friend of mine. I sang the words to every song while reflections of miles passed behind me in the mirror, each seemingly humming the very same song.