Only Kim

Before it was 7 I’d gotten texts from my brother and Helen.

In the next fifteen minutes one from my sister and one from Kim’s friend Kim (like I have to make it clear that it wasn’t from Kim herself).

Maryann posted a “Girl Power” picture on my Facebook timeline.

Jodelle and Bill came to visit yesterday. Kevin came last week.

Folks at my CocoaHeads meeting were just so nice last night.

Susan hung the valentines in the garden.

I’m surrounded by love and support and I appreciate every one of you.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but in a way it makes me miss Kim even more.

People always supported Kim and me separately and together on this day. It meant so much to us and means so much to me.

But today was the day that Kim and I would look at each other and nod, “I know”. And we knew that the other knew.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years all felt different without Kim with me.

But Daniel, you say, I didn’t know that Washington’s Birthday was so important to you?

Today, Elena is dead eleven years.

I flash back eleven years and Kim and I are in the hospital room standing together looking at the body of our dead six-year old daughter waiting for the priest to arrive.

I flash forward to six months ago watching that same priest say last rights over Kim in her hospital bed.

For ten years Kim and I marked this day together.

Some years were harder than others. No year was easy. But each year we had each other.

I never traveled this time of year.

Kim called February our month of eating cookies.

I baked a lot of cookies.

People gave us recipes.

I didn’t bake fast enough.

Kim would come home from Heinen’s. “Look,” she’d say, holding up a package.

“What did you get?” I’d asked.

“Homemade cookies from Heinen’s.”

“They’re not homemade,” I’d object.

“Heinen’s homemade them,” she’d say opening the package. “Want one?”

And we’d stand in the kitchen and eat cookies together.

Over time our month of eating cookies began in January and ended in March. Later it didn’t really end in March, it just slowed down.

This year I decided to break that tradition.

We’d go to breakfast together each year on this day. After the first couple of years, Kim didn’t like to have people over.

We’d have them over in a week for Elena’s birthday.

Maggie and I decided to have family over for Elena’s birthday again this year. Colored pancakes, sausage, and bacon.

Some traditions continue. Some don’t.

After breakfast I would drop Kim back at the house and go to Elena’s grave. The last couple of years Kim would go with me.

Maggie and Elena’s birthdays were just about six months apart. Six months and a day.

Kim’s mom would always celebrate the half birthday of the one whose birthday it wasn’t with a little gift. A nice gesture that coupled the two girls and their birthdays together.

The anniversaries of Kim and Elena’s death are six months and a day apart. Elena is dead eleven years today. Kim is dead six months tomorrow.

Their deaths are coupled in so many ways.

Kim was the only person on this earth who felt the loss of Elena the way I did and do.

I’m not saying other people didn’t love Elena. I’m not saying other people don’t miss Elena.

I’m saying Elena’s mom and dad stood by her dead body eleven years ago today. It was a shared experience we could have done without. It’s a shared experience that was communicated in a nod and a touch.

We came out of that room and sat with all four of Elena’s grandparents who had come immediately to the hospital.

Washington’s Birthday. Elena’s favorite president.

I’m not going out for breakfast today.

On Elena’s birthday I’ll meet Kim’s parents for breakfast after mass. Kim’s mom and Kim used to go every year then meet me for breakfast. The last few years Kim’s dad has joined them.

Then I’d drop Kim off at the house and go to Elena’s grave. The last couple of years Kim said, “I’ll go too.”

Two breakfasts in two weeks. Two visits to Elena’s grave.

So no breakfast today. I’ll head over to the grave site in a little bit.

I’m not ready to go yet.

Today is about Elena but I find myself missing Kim so much more than I can explain.

I know I’m surrounded by love and support. I really do appreciate you more than I can say. I know I’m whining and not noticing the good around me.

But I’m on my way to visit the grave of my daughter on the eleventh anniversary of her death.

This year I’ll go alone.

Kim is already there.

Waiting for me.

Right next to Elena.

Published in: on February 22, 2017 at 7:57 am  Comments (1)  

Signs

This morning I saw the sun rise.

I took it as a sign that today was going to be great.

I know people who see signs everywhere.

They ask for a sign and they see it.

I don’t worry about them. I don’t question them. I don’t think they are silly or wrong.

These people are happy and going about their lives. They just are thinking about someone or something and want something in their environment to chime in.

I worry about the people who wait for a sign and don’t do things because they haven’t gotten the sign yet.

It’s kind of like a study about pessimists and optimists where they were given a newspaper and told to find some item. In the newspaper was a large ad that told them where to find the thing they were looking for.

The optimists saw the ad and found the item. The pessimists didn’t.

The sign was there for both to see.

Some saw it. Some didn’t.

All day long I get up from my chair and I head somewhere. I may head down the hall to the bathroom, to the kitchen for a snack, to the backroom to get something, upstairs for a minute, or to the dining room to grab the checkbook.

If I stand up around five o’clock, Annabelle pops out of her chair and follows me.

She takes it as a sign that I’m about to feed her.

She runs and stands by the stairs to the basement because we keep her food on the landing. If I pause at the landing she then runs to the kitchen and stands over her bowl. I don’t know if she’s waiting for me or helping me figure out where to bring the food. Impatient, she runs back to her food bag then back to her bowl to make sure I understand.

I’ve stood up all day but when I stand up near five o’clock, that’s a sign.

Last night I stood outside a moment after taking the garbage out.

The sky was so clear.

The stars just popped.

This morning I watched the sunrise as I made my coffee.

The sun rises every day.

It’s a big freaking sign.

It’s why it’s so important that we notice it.

It asks, “what are you waiting for?”

It reminds us of the empty day ahead of us that welcomes us to accomplish our dreams.

After something sad or tragic happens we don’t notice the sun rise.

We dismiss it as something that happens every day.

We think that there will be other sun rises.

There will be.

We might not be there to see them.

And even if we are, think of the days that just went by without us embracing them.

Annabelle’s morning routine is different.

She doesn’t wait for a sign.

She jumps at the back door until I let her back in and she runs to where her food bag is.

I follow her and scoop a cup of food and turn to see her running to her bowl.

I close up the food bag and she runs back to me – just making sure I haven’t forgotten.

She gets excited twice a day, every day.

I know people who don’t.

They’re waiting for a sign.

The signs are there.

There were weeks when I didn’t see them.

This morning I saw the sun rise.

Published in: on February 20, 2017 at 7:39 am  Leave a Comment  

Just One

I tell Maggie I’m off to meet the boys.

She rolls her eyes. Their ages span from late fifties to late eighties. The mean is probably eighty. So I guess she’s right.

When I got there, only one was there.

He’s not so much the leader as he is the center of gravity. I look at him and remember that I’ve known him since he was my age.

He runs through the group. One can’t make it because he can’t drive anymore. The guy who usually drives him can’t make it because he has a funeral. Another doesn’t come much anymore. The last one might be working.

Not really meeting the boys this morning. There’s just one. Just Bob.

We talk about politics like always. We talk about the news. He has facts and figures at his fingertips that just astound me. He tells me how many people have been killed since 1970 in the US. He talks about how many people have been killed already this year in Chicago. He then uses it in an argument about our current and planned immigration bans.

We’ve been discussing the news now and then since Reagan’s first term.

Finally, the line drops down so there’s only one person waiting. I stand and get in line. Bob doesn’t want anything. He’s got his coffee and he’s already had another cup today.

With one person ahead of me I get served in just under five minutes. While waiting for them to pour a cup of drip coffee for here, I look back over at Bob. He’s reading a newspaper.

He’s always reading. Always learning something new. Always has a story to tell you about something he read.

I sit back down. I check that he’s sure he doesn’t want anything. He waves me off.

He’s ok.

I gesture at his Smithsonian magazine on the table between us. There’s a giant Cambodian Buddha on the cover.

Bob tells me he read an article about Einstein and space time theories.

Not in this issue he tells me, pointing to the magazine between us. He has a bunch of back issues stacked up at home.

Me too, I tell him. That’s why I finally unsubscribed. I love the magazine but I wasn’t reading it.

National Geographic too, he tells me.

Yeah. Me too.

So he tells me about a mental model from the article of how space is bent. The metaphor uses a bowling ball on a trampoline.

Nice.

Bob pauses, looks up, and asks, “are you dating?”

“No,” I say, “I thought I might try it but it didn’t really work out.”

Bob nods.

He doesn’t ask why.

He wouldn’t pry anyway but there’s something in the way he doesn’t ask.

This isn’t a question about me. This is a question about him. Not that he’s wondering about dating. But it’s about him.

His wife of sixty-plus years died a little over a year ago.

“I miss the two of us sitting and talking,” he says. He looks to me to see if I know what he means.

I do.

I nod. “Me too.”

Sitting with him and talking is good. But it’s not the same for him and it’s not the same for me.

I lean forward, “especially,” I say, “especially, now. I would love for her to help me make sense of this world.”

He nods but you can see his thoughts have shifted again.

“And cooking,” he says. “I miss cooking for two.”

“Yeah,” I say. I miss that too. Really it’s not that I miss cooking for two so much as I miss cooking for Kim. She appreciated it and always helped out. It was coupled with the time we would talk to each other.

She’d go to the refrigerator and cupboards for ingredients. We’d stand in the kitchen a few feet from each other. She’d cut with her knife on her cutting board. I’d cut with my knife on my board. I’d go to the stove to cook.

Cooking for one. One cooking.

Bob brought me back from my thoughts telling me that there were only really a few people left connected to Sue: her sister, their son, their daughter, and their grand-daughter.

The daughter lives close. I asked about the son.

He lives far away.

“Did you ever visit?” I ask.

No, Bob says. He and Sue were going to drive out there.

They had a trip planned that included side trips and stop-overs. He mentioned the Carl Sandburg house. That’s so Bob and Sue.

I look at him. I know it’s not a trip he’ll ever take. Not now that it’s just him.

I look at him again. I don’t think of me. This is his story, not mine.

Published in: on February 18, 2017 at 2:11 pm  Leave a Comment  

Date Night

You’d never believe it from the way she acts, but Kim and I took Annabelle to two different trainers.

I may not be remembering this right but I think the first trainer gave us our money back.

Dog training is partly about training the dog but mostly about training the owners. The second place we took her was much better at training us. The second place was much more like the place we’d trained Tara when Kim and I first got married.

The first place had a bunch of exercises we didn’t really understand. The one I remember the most was a Zen exercise for the dog. You held treats in your closed fists on either side of the dog. When the dog ignored the treats and looked at you, you gave the dog one of the treats.

The dog had to not want the treat to get the treat.

More accurately, the dog had to be able to “see beyond the treat” to get it.

Annabelle is not an enlightened sort of dog.

She didn’t see beyond the treat as lose interest and glare at us til we stopped teasing her.

Probably my assessment of her is unfair. It’s not that Annabelle isn’t an enlightened dog. It’s more that she’s a dog. She thinks like a dog. She acts like a dog. What else should we expect or want?

I was thinking back to this time last night as I hung out at home with Annabelle.

Maggie had to work at the mall.

Annabelle and I were spending Valentines Day evening together.

I’d eaten through most of the gift Maggie gave me – a family size bag of peanut M&Ms and thought I should eat something more substantial. I heated up the last of the Cinnamon Beef Soup I made last week and Annabelle and I had dinner.

We cleaned up. Maybe not so much “we”, but that’s ok, she’s a dog. We headed into the living room to watch the Cavs game.

At half time I wandered into the kitchen to make popcorn and Annabelle followed me. We split the batch and then we cleaned up. That’s the same “we” as before.

We headed back into the living room for the second half. Annabelle settled into her chair and I returned to the couch.

Valentines Day and I was completely content being at home with my puppy.

It reminded me of before I was married. There was a long stretch where I met women where we just weren’t right for each other.

Something had to change.

Either I had to change or they did.

I figure I have more of a chance of teaching my dog to help me clean up after dinner than I do getting other people to change.

So I changed. And I got happier with who I was becoming. It’s still a process. I’m not saying I’m happy, but I’m happier.

And I got comfortable being alone.

And like that Zen dog-biscuit thing, once I was happy being alone I was able to not be alone.

I thought of that last night because everyone had worried that I’d be miserable on my first Valentines Day alone.

I was fine.

Just me and the puppy, hanging out, watching the Cavs.

Not that I don’t miss Kim. Of course, I do.

Not that she wasn’t the best thing to ever happen to me. Of course, she was.

But, just as that time before we were married, this has nothing to do with other people. This has to do with me.

I’m back to being happier with who I am becoming. It’s still a process. I’m not saying I’m happy, but I’m happier.

I’m comfortable being alone.

The thing that Kim and I didn’t like about the Zen dog-biscuit thing is that you are teaching the dog to ignore the hand with the biscuit because you know she’ll be given one.

If I open my hand and it’s empty, Annabelle can’t say “where the heck is my biscuit.” She’s got to be happy with me using that hand to scratch her ears or pat her head.

It can’t be about the biscuit.

You don’t ignore the hand and look at the person because that’s how you get the biscuit.

You ignore the hand with the biscuit because you don’t care if you get one or not.

You have to feel complete sitting there without the biscuit.

 

 

Published in: on February 15, 2017 at 1:22 pm  Comments (1)  

Hearts

Each year one of my neighbors does something so sweet that perfectly captures the spirit of Valentines Day in an expression of generous love.

So often Valentines Day is filled with selfishness and agendas. The gift is used as a weapon or as something to be evaluated to see if it is sufficient.

We lose track of the person we’re giving it to and what we can do to make them feel loved and cared for.

Maggie brought me a bag of peanut M & Ms. I gave her a nice tea ball. Two simple gifts that were more about the person receiving the gift than the giver.

My sister texted me a heart emoji to start my day.

Perfect. What more do I need.

One friend texted to make sure I was ok on Valentines Day.

I was. I am. But I really appreciate him asking.

Another friend texted that her wish was that Kim sends me a sign today.

Again, perfect. I imagine that the child next to me at the coffee shop who rolled her eyes back at something her friend said was just that sign.

Kim and I seldom exchanged anything but cards on Valentines Day. We made each other cards that captured something we were thinking about.

Last year she gave me something.

It was small, thoughtful, personal, and was something that she had to think about and do. It said so much about her and what she thought of me and our future together that I am still moved a year later.

She really was something. I know I’ve said this before – Kim was pretty great when I met her – she was getting better and better.

So is it hard being without her this Valentines Day?

Of course.

But not because it’s Valentines Day.

It’s hard because it’s Tuesday.

I miss her every Tuesday.

And Wednesday. And Thursday. And – well, you get it.

Anyway back to our neighbor.

Every year Susan and her son make hearts for Elena and hang them in trees at the end of our street in Elena and Jan’s garden.

This is the tenth year that they’ve done it.

Yes, Elena will be dead eleven years this coming week.

I woke up this morning and walked down the street and took pictures of the hearts.

This was the one part of being alone on Valentines Day that was really hard.

Kim and I always talked about these hearts and what a beautiful gift it is each year.

One year there won’t be hearts on the tree and that’s OK.

For ten years there’s been this wonderful tribute.

It’s a stunning display of unselfish love.

It demonstrates to everyone who drives by, the power of the love we express on Valentines Day.

It serves as an example of the gift of love we can give each other.

We can give this gift of love on Valentines Day.

And on Wednesday. And on Thursday. And on – well, you get it.

 

 

 

Published in: on February 14, 2017 at 3:44 pm  Leave a Comment  

Closing Loops

Kevin and I had breakfast this morning before he hit the road.

We were talking about someone and I said that they were unforgiving. Once they felt wronged they would never forgive the other person and would never speak with them again.

“You’re that way too,” Kevin said. He brought up a discussion we’d had about three different people who had cheated in three different marriages. It’s something I’m black and white about.

In those cases it wasn’t really up to me to forgive or not to forgive. They hadn’t cheated on me. One had cheated on a friend of mine and two were friends of mine.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t forgiven them so much as that I never felt the same way about the friendship again. I don’t think I was unforgiving so much as wary. I had less time and patience for them.

I think it is partially around forgiveness but more about choosing to spend time with people who I should spend time with. I don’t mean only spending time with people who can benefit me and I don’t mean spending time only with people who make me feel better.

I’m still trying to understand what I mean.

Maybe I’m trying to make it sound less selfish than it is. I don’t think I’m driven by selfishness – but, then again, I’m the wrong person to ask.

When Kim died I decided to spend more time in the gym. I thought I’d hire a personal trainer to jump-start the effort. It’s an indulgence I never would have considered but it seemed important that I start to get back into shape and perhaps this is what I needed to get there.

A friend of Kim’s recommended someone she liked so I contacted him.

I didn’t hear back for a while.

I contacted him again.

He got back to me and we went back and forth with me trying to set something up and him being very difficult to pin down.

Finally, I wrote him and said “no thank you.”

I told him that as much as I wanted to work with him, it was more important to me right now to be standing on solid ground. If I couldn’t get answers from him while he was trying to court my business, how could I depend on him being responsive once we were working together.

He was an open loop.

He was something I had to keep revisiting to see where we were and what we’d do next.

I closed the loop.

Then I went to the gym six or seven days a week on my own.

I loved it. I still love it.

I’m sure I would have loved working with him but I couldn’t have an open loop.

Sometime’s it’s really hard to see these open loops and it’s even harder to walk away from them. It’s something to check on regularly and that’s kind of comforting. But at some point you realize how much energy you’re putting into this thing.

Year’s ago when I was applying to work at the last radio station I would ever be on-air at, I sent in my audition tape and resume along with a cover letter.

I called the program director regularly to ask if he’d listened to my tape yet.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t unusual in that business.

Each time I’d call he said, “sorry, not yet.”

One day I said, “you know what, thank you but don’t bother.”

You can’t just say this as a ploy – you have to mean it. You have to be ready to really say it isn’t worth the trouble.

“Steve told me you were different,” I continued, mentioning the name of the guy who’d convinced me to apply at the station in the first place. “This is the same as every other station.”

“Thank you for taking all of my calls,” I said, meaning it, “but I’m not interested any more.”

We chatted a few more minutes and then I hung up.

A half hour later my phone rang, “did you listen to my tape yet?”

It was him. He hired me. I enjoyed working for him for a while.

Anyway, I’ve been working on closing my open loops. I’ve beaten my email inbox down to six messages and will have it back down to zero by tonight. No open loops there.

I’m spending the next hour paying bills and closing off all of those loops.

I’m capturing my to-do’s in Omni Focus. I find that helps me knock them off one at a time. I expect those loops will be closed by the weekend.

Maggie reminded me of some personal loops I need to close.

Perhaps this applies to those people that Kevin thinks I haven’t forgiven. It’s not so much that I haven’t forgiven them that I don’t want to have open loops around the things that upset me. I want to resolve them somehow and move on.

There’s a huge comfort in closing open loops. It helps me see what I have left to do and what I can enjoy once I’m done.

 

Published in: on February 13, 2017 at 12:24 pm  Leave a Comment  

Not Sorry

I know I’ve told this story before, but when Maggie was little, Kim came home one night to find Maggie sitting at the top of the stairs.

“What happened,” Kim asked me.

“She’s in time out,” I said.

“Shouldn’t she be in bed?” Kim asked.

“Yeah, as soon as she apologizes.”

Kim went up to talk to Maggie and then came back downstairs.

I looked up. Kim was laughing.

“What?” I asked.

“She says you told her she could get out of time out when she apologizes,” Kim said.

“That was part of it,” I said.

“I know,” Kim said, “Maggie says she can tell you she’s sorry – but she can’t mean  it.”

With Kim’s help, Maggie and I worked things out.

I’ve noticed lately that I say “I’m sorry” a lot.

I mean it, but it isn’t always the right thing to say.

Sometimes I say “I’m sorry” when someone shares a story and I mean to say that I’m sorry for what they’re going through.

I am sorry for them but I’m not sure that that’s the best response. “I’m sorry” is more about me than it is about them.

Sometimes I say “I’m sorry” when I do something I shouldn’t. Again it is a genuine apology but I’m not sure that it really makes amends.

I’ve been thinking lately that many times when I say “I’m sorry” what I really mean is “thank you”.

It’s odd to conflate those two.

When someone shares a story with me that demonstrates how something I said has resonated with them enough to tell me something painful and personal – I am sorry for them but I’m also grateful that they shared.

I’m not sure yet but the right answer might be “thank you”.

Published in: on February 12, 2017 at 10:27 am  Comments (1)  

Trigger Warning

There’s been a backlash against the move to include trigger warnings in syllabi for college classes.

As with so many things, I can see both sides.

It can be jarring to an eighteen year old to be reading an assigned book only to find the protagonist suffers through something that was traumatic when it happened to them.

On the other hand, when studying issues of real life, these things are going to arise. The author included these incidents in the book precisely to jar and have impact on the reader.

I have a friend who says something like, “when we were kids we rode in the back of a station wagon with no seat belts wearing asbestos pajamas and we grew up ok.”

Probably while our parents smoked cigarettes with the windows up.

We’re currently in a time when so many regulations that were meant to protect us are being rolled back. I’m surprised that no-one’s thought to reverse the bans on cigarette advertising or smoking in restaurants.

But I digress.

Trigger warnings.

This morning I saw something on Facebook that reminded me of why I see both sides.

Someone I follow posted something nice about how important her sister is to her.

That’s a sweet sentiment.

The actual wording threw me.

The thing she posted was, “How do people make it through life without a sister?”

I still understand that the intention is sweet. She appreciates her sister so much and wants to express it.

But it changed my whole mood.

Maggie has had to make it through life without her sister Elena since she was ten years old.

Carolyn will have to live the rest of her life without her sister Kim. Kim called her all the time to check on her.

Even Jill, to whom Kim was a sister-in-law not a sister, has talked about all the times in the last six months that she really wanted to talk to Kim to get her advice.

How do people make it through life without a sister.

I imagine people will post things appreciative of their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, and wives for Valentines Day.

Someone will post “How do people make it through life without their one true love?”

How, indeed.

 

Published in: on February 11, 2017 at 9:15 am  Leave a Comment  

Inbounds

Yesterday I used a basketball metaphor about practicing and getting in position and waiting for someone to inbound the ball to you.

But you don’t always have to wait for someone else.

There was a video that went viral a few years ago of a high school basketball player looking to inbound the ball under his own basket.

As his teammates cut to get open, he looked for the best play and noticed that the man guarding him had turned his back to him.

The guy inbounding the ball noticed this opening and bounced the ball off the back of the guy who was supposed to be guarding him, stepped inbounds, caught the ball as it bounced off of his opponent’s back, turned, and scored the winning basket.

He looked to do things the usual way, saw an opportunity, and acted on it.

Just saying.

While I look around at the usual things, I’ve also been trying to look for opportunities where I don’t have to wait for an inbound pass.

This week I’ve been exploring what my new project will be now that I’ve finished my book. There are a couple of sections I already know I need to add to the current book, but I’ve been experimenting with a project for teaching kids to code and I’ve been nailing down how to turn my book into a series of videos.

If I see someone open, I’ll still pass to them. To me that’s teaching opportunities, articles, contracting, and speaking at conferences. But I’m also looking for new things to try.

Published in: on February 9, 2017 at 7:25 am  Leave a Comment  

The Past

The other night I sat watching the Cleveland Cavaliers playing the Washington Wizards.

With twelve seconds left the Wizards went ahead 118 to 117 after making a free throw.

Maybe you don’t care about sports – but this is relevant.

LeBron James takes the ball the entire length of the court. I’m thinking “slow it down; you’ll give them the ball with too much time left.”

LeBron doesn’t listen to me.

He never listens to me.

He dribbles the ball just past the free throw line, travels, and misses an easy layup.

That’s right. He gets a clear shot at the basket from inches away and misses.

That never happens.

I turn the television off. The Wizards are getting the ball back with almost no time left on the clock and they’re ahead by a point.

One of Kim’s friends from work texts me, “Wow”. She and I often text back and forth during Cavs games.

“Hmmm,” I think. Something happened or she would have texted something about she can’t believe that’s how they lost.

I turn the game back on to see a replay of Kevin Love inbounding the ball three quarters of the length of the court to LeBron who turns and shoots one of those impossible shots with virtually no time left on the clock and makes it.

So many lessons there.

Why did I turn off the game in the first place?

Because, when you miss a layup and give the team that’s ahead the ball with just a few seconds left, we all know how this is going to end.

Except it didn’t.

The Cavs went on to win in overtime.

They won without LeBron who fouled out. LeBron never fouls out. The Cavs never win without LeBron.

You never know.

Play til the end.

But every time this happened in the past it ended badly.

The past is the past. It happened. What did we learn from it. We can’t forget the past but we also can’t let it keep us from our future.

And then there’s the lesson of the final shot in regulation.

What gives you the strength to look at the basket from that far away and launch an impossible shot when you just missed the easiest shot in the game uncontested.

The past is the past.

It’s so hard not to be imprisoned by the moment you’re in or by the past.

LeBron said that they practice that shot. They prepare for it. He didn’t talk about the missed layup so much as the preparation that went into the attempt.

I live a life where my wife and daughter died. It defines and shapes me every day.

I don’t put it behind me.

I don’t forget it happened.

But I’m back taking those impossible shots.

I prepare for them. I practice things that give me a chance at succeeding. I move to an open spot and turn to see if someone is passing me the ball.

There is no shot clock in life. We don’t know how much time is left on the clock. We can’t wait to take that shot or time could expire.

Too much?

Maybe.

Hit me, I’m open.

Published in: on February 8, 2017 at 8:57 am  Leave a Comment