Gettin My Swagger on… 2

     I remember the first time I realized I had something special.  I was a floorman at one of the clubs I worked, in Dallas, and somebody told me, “You’re kind of hustler.”  I’d never thought of myself, that way.  I was just talking to people, and selling the products, I had to sell.  It never occurred to me that I was doing anything remarkable. Of course, when you tell people that you worked in a BYOB strip club, selling sparkling cider for $400 a bottle, they usually respond with varying degrees of disgust; but after the disgust subsides, even the most mortified have to admit that it’s an impressive feat to sell someone a $400 bottle of juice, without lying to him.  That’s where my swagger was born.  

     Swagger isn’t just about sales.  In fact, swagger isn’t mostly about sales.  Swagger is the quality that allows me to interact with ease.  I realized my swagger, while I worked in that environment.  I may never have realized it under different circumstances, but it didn’t come from there.  It came from me.  Swagger is why I didn’t fight.  It’s why I didn’t strut around, preening for attention.  I had nothing to prove.  My swagger allowed me the freedom to tell it like it is.  I never had to put on airs, or make any apologies for who I am.  I was just “doing me.”  So, you can imagine my dismay, having left my swagger behind.  It left me uncertain of who I was. 

     I have tried to leave the bar business, several times, but I kept going back because I didn’t know what else to do.  Who am I, if I’m not BFK?  The reason I defined myself by what I did was because I thought that was where my swagger came from.  My brother actually said to me, “What happened to you?  You were this big, impressive personality, and now you’re just vanilla.”  He, of course, said this to me, under the influence of Miller Light; but his words rang true.  I had lost my swagger.  I must have complained, a thousand times, that, while everyone wanted me to quit the industry, nobody had told me what I was supposed to do, next.  It was because I was supposed to “do me,” and get on with my life.  How hard is that?  Pretty damned hard, if you don’t feel like yourself.  So, I packed it in, and went back to the clubs, where I was, once again, the man with the silver tongue and the million dollar handshake.  It’s only now that I see the truth that I can still be me, without the clubs.  I simply have to apply my swagger to a world without strobe lights and fruit scented body spray.  Which brings me to the “how” of it all…

     On Sunday’s installment of the Inspired Revolution, we talked about “acting as if.”  Mama had a great analogy about going to the bank to pick up a check for $15,000, which I was very disappointed to hear was only a fiction.  However, the point she was making was that, sometimes, you’ve got to “fake it, til you make it.”  So, I should behave, as though my swagger was never lost.  Carry myself the way I would, if I was in full swagger.  Talk the same way… Stand the same way… Interact like BFK.  

     Swagger has many names.  Some people call it moxy.  Others refer to it as strut.  If you’re feeling particularly hood rat-y, you might call it stuntin.  The definition, however, is the same.  Swagger is confidence.  It’s the kind of confidence that gives someone the cool headedness to respond evenly to a volatile situation.  It also gives the same person a ruthlessness to deliberately take action in a situation where keeping the peace is, no longer, an option.  Swagger has discernment.  You never wonder how something will turn out, because you’ve already played through all the potential outcomes, and chosen your course of action.  This does not only apply in a night club setting. I would venture to say that I have need of that kind of discernment, on a regular basis.  It allows me to be decisive.  My swagger comes with strategy.  If we are called to be innocent as doves, and shrewd as serpents, then my swagger is my inner serpent.  Of course, during the process of swagger, you have to be careful not to let your serpent devour your dove.  Shrewdness without some innocence turns into darkness.

The American Nightmare

     So, the accepted standard is that we graduate from high school.  After that, we choose one of two directions.  Either, we go to college, or we go to work.  Some people try the former, and fail miserably.  Others have to choose the latter, because they don’t have the option of continued education(can’t afford it, grades weren’t good enough, …whatever…).  A very select few have meritted some level of financial aid, because they were, smart enough, studious enough, or had enough talent on the playing field, to justify a grant from the school or some other benefactor.  There is, of course, the option of applying for student loans, but I would advise against this course of acti0n, unless you are truly comitted to seeing your education through to metriculation.  Remember that a loan, federal or otherwise, is going to be called due, eventually.  If you find yourself paying off loans for a half-assed attempt at getting your Bachelor’s in Anatomy of a Frisbee or Philosophy of Modern Moronic Marvels, you might find yourself being kicked on, or around the posterior, by your own heels… That’s right… I said it… But I did it in a classy-ish way.  I, myself, am having a bit of an internal struggle with this issue, right now. 

     You see, I had a chance at college, straight out of high school.  I believe I’ve mentioned that, while it was a lot of fun, this was not the most productive semester.  No, I didn’t fail miserably, exactly… But that really depends on whose yard stick we’re measuring on.  If a student is capable of a 4.0 GPA, and only achieves a 2.8 GPA, I’d say his failure was pretty abismal.  Anyway, after leaving school, I went to work in a few different bars, night clubs, and eventually strip joints.  That wouldn’t pose a problem, except for the fact that I worked my way up in a very specialized side of the Hospitality Industry.  I can work in any bar, I apply at; but what if I want to stay out of the bar business?  If you’ve been paying attention to my blog and shows on The Real Life Radio Network, you already know that I have found the bar business to be a stronghold in my life.  When the going gets tough, the tough get going… Unless we’re talking about Keith, who will get his tough ass to the nearest strip joint, and apply for work.  Go figure… I’m the only guy, in the world, who, knowingly and willingly, puts himself in harms way, as a means of making himself feel safer.  What’s that definition of insanity, again?  Obviously, since I’ve mentioned it, I have no intention of going down that path, one more time.  Okay, Mama… You can exhale, now.  However, the idea that I should go to work at this bar or that club occurs to me, everytime I reach in my pocket.  My leg doesn’t feel anything like money, and I get the dirtiest looks, when I try to buy Diet Coke or Marlboro Lights with loose change… It’s even worse, when I offer pocket lint and a sheepish smile.  What was my point?  I’m sure, I had one when I started… Oh! Right!  So, I’ve decided that the appropriate next step for me is to go back to school, but how to pay for it is proving to be a difficult question to answer.  I might be wise to apply for student loans, at some point; but, again, if you’ve been paying attention to the goings on in my life, which I have shared here and on the Inspired Revolution, then you know that I have certain other obligations that have to be met, before I can apply for anything. 

     I thought about taking a few classes at the local community college, and getting the basics out of the way(I decided to pretend like my one semester, at Kilgore, never happened).  In fact, I will definitely be doing that, when I finally enroll… It could save me a few thousand dollars in tuition.  If I do really well there, I might become one of those special few, who merits a grant or a scholarship of some kind.  After all, mine was a misspent youth, and I should’ve been one of those, nearly ten years ago.  

     I’m not really sure where I changed direction, but the point is that we leave high school, and have to figure our lives out, from there.  We don’t exactly have a reset button, and nobody’s interested in the idea of a “do over.”  So how can we sort it out, when things fall apart?  It’s no wonder, that so many of us are confused or lost… We were thrown into the proverbial deep end, and told to learn to swim.  I love it when people from the generations before us, complain about how we lack direction… we’re unmotivated… we’re overindulged, lazy…we have a sense of entitlement.  I want to ask if they remember who has the compass… or the map, for that matter.  Don’t get me wrong.  When I am completely worthless, and accomplish nothing, for three days, I have to take responsibility  for it.  When I go out into the world, and act like an idiot, I know who to blame.  But when a whole generation is looking around us, trying to figure out what to do next… When we have to move home, with mom and dad, because the world is kicking our butts… When we can’t seem to get it together for longer than fifteen minutes out of the day( those 15 minutes are, by the way, collective and not consecutive)… When you notice that we are entertaining ourselves to the point of escape, and you can’t figure out why… Remember that the precedents were set by our parents and grandparents.  The whole sense of entitlement that everyone is so quick to point out, in our generation, started a good, long while before our time.  I will admit, again, to a digression from the point, but I’ve found the “generational gap” to be a hot button issue for me.  I’ve had a great, many conversations about it with my parents, and we don’t really struggle over the difference, anymore.  I just wish the rest of y’all would follow suit, and we could be done with that point of tension. 

     So, the truth is that the American Dream doesn’t really exist, anymore.  At least, not in the form it was pitched to us in.  After high school or college is finished, we are still left to figure out the next step.  Enter the work force, obviously… Except that we’re in recession, and jobs are hard to find.  If you’re lucky enough to have a family business to go into, or if you are, like myself, in possession of an entrepreneurial spirit, then you, at least, have that.  But let me tell you about how that entrepreneurial spirit can back fire, and leave you burned.  We are, all of us, stuck at this point, where we can’t go back, but there is no forward… We’re stuck between a rock and a sucky place… And that’s not just my generation!  We’re all in this boat, together.  We’re all living the American Nightmare.  I can’t wait to wake up.  Can you?

An Update For Everyone… Or For Anyone Who Was Wondering

     I haven’t posted, in a few days.  Mostly, because I usually use Mama’s laptop, and she has been having to use it as her primary computer, since the untimely demise of her Mac.  We hope to have her back on it in a couple of weeks, at the longest… We’ll have to see what the good people at Apple have to say about the state of her beloved instrument.  That is not, however, the only reason for my absence.  It’s the spring time, and I, for lack of a better term, am in heat.  Being in heat is an unfortunate thing, when your circumstances are like mine.  I live with my parents, don’t have a car, and couldn’t drive if I had one.  The State of Texas has got me over the barrel for some unpaid tickets, and I can’t renew my driver’s license, until I get them paid.  That, coupled with a DWI, earned in October of 2008, has left me at the mercy of the patience of those who love me… I can’t go out, and get a normal job, because I can’t guarantee I’ll be there, on time, every day.  And, if that wasn’t enough, businesses aren’t keen on hiring guys with expired licenses, tattoos, and very limited work history, outside of the strip joint.  Oh, yeah!  I’m the complete package… Anybody want to hire a leg breaker?  That was a joke.  Do not call the proper authorities.  I’m not contracting myself out to loan sharks.  So, in as much as I’ve changed my attitudes, and as much as God has been working in my heart and my life, I really just want to go out, chasing girls… Pretty girls… The kind of girls that wouldn’t typically give a guy like me the time of day…  That’s how I like to roll, baby!  During more fruitful times, I’d get a small group of friends together, and do a bit of bar hopping.  Bar tabs were never a problem, because I kept a lot of cash, on hand… And I could always go make more.    There’s a real, misleading sense of freedom in working for tips.  You’ll blow your whole wad, thinking that you can always get more… Then, the country goes into recession.  If you’re really good, you can continue to make pretty good money, because it’s all about your mouthpiece.  If you can say the right things, and provide a level of service that leaves your customer feeling warm and fuzzy; or if you can give him the illusion of being important, you can make a good living in the bar business, in spite of the economic woes that everyone else is having.  But the business is a wild, cruel animal.  Make one wrong move, and she’ll eat you up, pass you through her digestive tract, and deposit you somewhere that you will, surely, become decorations on the bottom of somebody’s over priced shoes.  That, however, is not the point of this mornings rant; though, I assure you  that I’ll be giving you a detailed accounting of the dos and don’ts of the Gentlemen’s Club business, at some point.  It’s really too much fun, not to share… A guaranteed laugh.  The point of this morning’s rant was about how I have not been giving my VERY best effort, everyday.  In fact, my average effort is somewhere between sixty and eighty percent.  I’ve been pouting and surly, and I’ve been feeling sorry for myself.  I’d love to blame someone else, but they don’t seem too interested in falling on that sword… So, I am starting anew, once again, this morning.  I’ve made myself a list.  It’s not a long list, but it’s got some important items on it.  The most important of these is my dog needing to be bathed.  If you’ve ever seen a mastiff being bathed, you’ll understand why this has to be scheduled.  Not only does his bath require a lot of effort, but the clean up from his bath is a huge task(He sheds more hair, in one day, than I have on my entire body!). 

     So, I hope to add another post, this afternoon; but, until then, I leave you all with this thought…  If a fat man wrestles with his mastiff on the driveway, in his cut off shorts and sleeveless shirt, while cold water sprays all over the pair; and nobody’s around to see it, is it still funny?

The Stars At Night Are Big And Bright…. You Know The Rest!

     Everything’s bigger in Texas.  The state of Texas is big, and we put a lot of stock in being big.  Our ranches are big. There are big cities, big athletes, big companies, big ideas, big personalities… our women even have big hair.  We celebrate our inherent bigness (that’s right, he just wrote the word “bigness”) in all of our endeavors.  We, also, have our own way of doing most things.  Barbecue, Tex-Mex food, country music, and football are all parts of our culture that we have done in a way, specific to Texas.  Texas even has it’s own beers.  We are the only state in the union, who could secede, and survive as our own country.  Did you ever notice that Texans have an accent, all our own?(Mine is particularly evident, after several Shiner Bocks or too many hours without sleep.)  But the Texan tradition, I love most of all, is that Texans are polite and respectful.  Even in our metropolitan areas(Austin, Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio to name a few), we are polite and respectful.  Texans are polite and respectful, even when we interact with people we dislike or have a distaste for.  Dadgummit!  We’re even polite and respectful, when we are distasteful, vulgar, or crude.  We still say things like “Yes sir,” “Thank you ma’am,” and “Howdy!” (“Howdy” is Texan for “How do you do?”), and we mean it. 

     I am a Texan.  I was born in Kansas, to a wonderful native, Texan woman, and was raised in true Texan fashion.  We got back here, as quickly as the Good Lord would allow.  I have been taught, my whole life, that attitude is everything.  We can disagree, vehemently, but we will still treat each other with the respect we are due, respectively( see what I did there?).  I don’t believe that we do any of this to uphold an image, which I was, also, trained to protect.  I believe we behave, the way we do, because it’s the right way to treat people.  I’ve been to other places, and experienced that, even on the rare occasions when politeness is displayed, a certain tension is present, during social interaction.  People seem to have to force the smallest kindnesses.  I appreciate the effort, but am more impressed by the ease, with which we do it, here.  I have lived and traveled all over this great state, and one theme remains constant.  Texans are polite and respectful. 

     Now, I told you all of that, so I could tell you this.  I am a lousy Texan, when it comes to politeness.  Oh, I treat most people with the same politeness and respect as the rest of my  bretheren, but I am impatient, hot headed, sarcastic, and biting.  I’m, also, a bit of an instigator; but that’s a story for another day.  When I am not in the mood to be polite, I just don’t bother.  I’m pretty blunt… Rough around the edges, really.  I serve the truth, straight, naked, without the sugared rim or the lime.  My mother, Laurie, who is the biggest influence in my life, has been calling me down for this, since shortly after I started talking.  When I was little, it was more about sharing more than was appropriate(a five year old, who gives you a complete family history upon introduction, can be off putting).  As I got older, it became more about telling people what I(or anyone else, for that matter) really thought about them, their choices, their lifestyles, or their opinions.  Now that I am an adult, the problem has been, somewhat, exacerbated, even further.  I don’t talk just to hear my head rattle, anymore.  In fact, I’m not a huge fan of the sound of my own voice.  I was disappointed, not to have been blessed with a  deeper voice(I was hoping to be a bass, not a tener/ baratone combination).  But I do, however, share my opinion with an alarming freedom.  I have mentioned, in all of my forums, including the social site for The Real Life Radio Network, that I am impulsive.  I lack the filter that tells me something doesn’t need to be said(my language filter works pretty well, though).  I enjoy getting a reaction from people, which is another one of my flaws(VERY un-Texanly of me).  I’ve never, fully, understood what purpose my verbal reckless abandon serves… Only that there is a purpose to be served. 

     Seth A. Bailey is my friend.  We have never met.  My mother had friended him on Facebook; and was reading some of his writing to me, which led me to give his page a good look.  It deserves to be said that Seth has a mastery of the English language that gives me pause.  The man can put a sentence together!  He is, also, one of the most foul mouthed authors, I’ve ever read.  He has a mouth like a pirate… A pirate with Tourrettes Syndrome… Tourettes Syndrome with the occurance of coprolalia.  I think we were fated to be friends.  I am certain, however, that we should never be turned loose on Boy’s Town, together. That could spell disaster!  When I said “fated,” I meant I believe that God has purposed a meeting between Seth and I so that I might impact his life, he might impact mine, or, a crazy idea… That we might impact each other’s lives.  Seth, being Agnostic, may not agree with my theory, but I am sure that two, highly intelligent men, sharing as many common personality traits(I think Seth might, secretly, be the lost Zieber boy.  Stolen, in the night by gypsy thieves, and sold to the Bailey family for a bottle of brandy and a box of cigars… good cigars) as I’ve realized we share, have been designed to do great things… Or to bring about the appocalypse, but I digress…  Seth, is the Author of And The Rain Came Down, a book I am most anxious to sink my teeth into.  Also, in all of his strategic use of the “F” word(welcome back to elementary school, boys and girls), Seth has shown a respect to my mother, as well as, in my experience, with any other women, he interacts with.  He is polite and respectful, in true Texas style. 

     Seth, in my estimation, is a smarter, darker, possibly funnier(time will tell) version of myself.  We may be flip sides of the same coin.  While I can be pretty self depricating, Seth has turned it into an art form, of which, he is certainly a master.  While I am fully capable of being vulgar or obscene(a fact I’ve always been fairly proud of), he has an innate talent for working four letter words into a sentence in a way that looks as if they were made specifically to serve his purposes.  If I am an angry young man, Seth is a virtual atom bomb of seething rage.  This is one of the things I like best about the man.  He’s honest about his anger, which is, largely, turned inward.  I don’t know why, but this is another one of those things we have in common.  Is it a symptom of some illness, a fatal character flaw, or is it the impetus that inspires us?  Maybe it’s what makes us tick, makes us interesting, leads us to improve.  Afterall, not everyone works to improve themselves out of a sense of responsiblity.  Actually, based on my previous experience, most of us improve ourselves in an effort to prove someone wrong, or to prove something to ourselves… Perhaps we want to prove we’re not as screwed up as everyone thinks we are.  Or maybe we’re trying to throw our success in the faces of those who counted us unimpressive, uninteresting, or unworthy of their approval.   At any rate, we do seem to share the trait of being tempestuous, mercurial personalities, as well as reasonably dynamic, in nature.  Now that I think about it… Seth may not be angrier than I am.  It’s entirely possible that he’s just more honest about it.  I will say that, either way you choose to look at the situation, we are definitely walking similar roads.  We, probably, started from different places… I know that nearly all of my pains and obstacles are self inflicted, and I would not presume to speak for Seth, on this point.  Another point where we appear to be on the same page is our humor.  It’s dark, it’s gritty, it’s funny because it’s true(sometimes).  But, again, I feel like I might be overmatched.  I can make people laugh, but when I read some of his work… It suffices to say that it makes my sides ache.  It is my hope that I can talk with him, soon, about some form of collaborative effort.  The planning of  which,  I am still working on.

     So, while I continue my effort to figure out what this life has to offer a rebelious, intelligent, inspiration hungry man in his, now, late twenties. I will leave you with this thought:  I’d rather be a fence post in Texas, than the king of _____________!

Order Up!

     I’ve just finished up with my radio shows for today.  We discussed order on The Long View, and I revisited it on The Longer View, when I shared how I wanted to apply the principle to my own life.  Bear in mind that I am NOT practiced or skilled in this area.  However, I, being a reasonably intelligent person, was able to come up with a short list of four points where I can categorize and prioritize all of my business. 

1.  Home-  This item is, probably the most troublesome on my list.  I like for things to be nice around the house, but I hate to
           clean.  Specifically, I don’t like to devote any of my time to the task of cleaning.  I do include cooking as a part of
           the job of caring for the home, which is something I enjoy, very much.  However, cooking is followed by cleaning… Can
           you see where this is going?

2.  Business-  I love this part of my schedule.  I have always enjoyed business.  It employs the parts of my brain that are social and
               analytical.  I am a pretty charismatic guy, and business gives me the opportunity to be shiny.  As of late, my business
               has, also, engaged my creativity by a much larger margin.  I’m, no longer, solving problems and putting out fires, all
               the time.  I get to write and speak, and it’s been very rewarding.

3.  Relationships-  I struggle with my relationships, because I spend so much of my time focusing on other things.  For a social guy,
                    I spend an inordinate amount of my time in an introverted state.  I tend to keep my own council, and, although I
                    love the people I have relationships with, I find myself not giving them enough time to be heard.  I have to give
                    a portion of each day to maintaining and growing these relationships.  The truth is, I have a number of
                    friendships that have lost a lot of their value.  I have grown, and they have not grown with me.  So, part of the
                    maintenance of my relationships is about deciding whether or not a relationship is important or worth pursuing any
                    further.

4.  Personal Pursuits-  This may be my favorite part of the new order I’m applying to my life.  Left to my own devices, I would spend
                        my whole life in the pursuit of my own, personal endeavors.  I like to be with other people, but I love to
                        read, write, watch interesting television, and I love to learn new things.  I think my mother is a lot like
                        this, too.  We have pretty similar personalities, and our temperaments are nearly identical.  I feel like it’s
                        important to give our personal pursuits an adequate portion of our time, but it is equally important not to
                        spend all of our time in introspection. 

     These categories will, of course, be broken down into a daily schedule that I am in the process of architecturing with the help of my mother.  I’ve asked for her help because she gives me excellent advice that is, surprisingly, unbiased; and because she has to have a certain amount of input on my schedule, being that she is the creator of the Real Life Radio Network project, of which I am a part.  As the RLRN grows, it will be an increasingly larger demand on both our lives, and we have to address its, already, considerable demands before it grows too large to be managed.  I am enlisting your help, now, to hold me accountable for my progress.  I don’t mean to say that you are my “babysitters,” only that it keeps me honest to have people asking me questions about my progress, as I’m sure you’ll be doing.  So, here’s to order, progress, and the resolve to do it the right way.

Liar Liar Pant’s on Fire! (Why don’t we just go get a tattoo?)

     I have always prided myself on being honest.  I’m an honest guy.  Honest to a fault.  I don’t lie.  The truth has, always, been my strongest ally.  Except for the fact that I lie every day.  I lie to myself.  Oh, I’ll tell anybody else the cold, hard truth.  But I will go out of my way to tell myself things that are not true.  Every time I pretend I don’t feel a loss, every time I say a failure wasn’t disappointing, every time I act like your approval doesn’t really matter to me, I’m lying to myself.  My aim is not to deceive anyone, or to mislead them.  I, simply, want my reality to be more palatable.  I just want to be OK.  This is unfortunate because, with every lie I tell myself, it gets a little harder to deal with the fact that I’m not OK.  I delude myself into believing that everything is as it should be, until I reach a checkpoint in life.  Then, I see the way things really are.  I’m fat, undereducated, unprepared for life’s challenges, and I can’t find anywhere to hide from the harsh reality that I have wasted so much time.  Youth, truly, is wasted on the young.  We’re all doing the same thing.  We’re telling ourselves the same lies.  There are a few variations, but they’re the same, over all.  We’re telling ourselves that we are well equipped, and that we’ve got the world by whatever appendage we feel comfortable naming.  But the truth is that we don’t.  At best we’ve got a tiger by the tail… And the tiger’s pissed!  Very few people, from nine to ninety-nine, have anywhere near as much power or control in their lives as they keep telling themselves.  Over three billion people (roughly, half of the world’s population) are living on less than $2.50 a day.  At least 80% of humanity is living on less than $10 per day, http://www.globalissues.org/article/26/poverty-facts-and-stats.  And for that, we’re giving up our quality of life?  I don’t know anyone, working, fulltime, in America, who has any real quality of life, to speak of.  Oh, sure, everybody has that one or two things that give them a little pleasure… A little relief from the war zone that we call the job market; but that’s not quality of life.  That’s escape.  So, the truth is that we are living to work.  Even if we’re telling ourselves that we’re working to live, the math tells the tale.    So, what’s the point?  Why should we continue to tell ourselves the lies that keep us in chains?  Should we do it for the economy?  Should we work ourselves to death, so we can buy Affliction or Ed Hardy T-shirts?  By the way, y’all look ridiculous!  I paid less money for more ink that is permanently embedded in my skin… And, my artist is better!   You can find him, and view his work at www.myspace.com/sickboy_13.  Go see him, and save yourself a truck load of money and embarrassment!  At least you won’t see some other goofball with the exact same art work, every time you step out your door.  Sorry… That rant has been a LONG time coming.  So, if we think we’re working ourselves into an early grave for some bigger purpose, we’re lying to ourselves, yet again.  Everything we do is for one of three reasons: stuff, sex, or approval.  I don’t mean to sound like a gripey, cynical jerk; but the truth is most people make their decisions based on some combination of those criteria.  There’s no judgement here… I’ve done it, too!  I swear there has to be some conspiracy to keep the majority of the population working unsatisfactory jobs, so they can blow unsatisfactory paychecks on unsatisfactory crap!  I’ve strayed WAY off the point!  Please forgive my digression, while I find my way back to the topic.  I am tired of lying to myself, and I’ve decided to stop.  This isn’t easy for me.  It may take me two or three hundred tries, so bear with me.  It’s, just, sad to wake up in the morning, wash your face, look at yourself in the mirror, and tell yourself the truth.  The truth can have a broad range.  I may start, tomorrow, with, “We’ve got a long way to go, brother,” and end up the week saying, “You are a fat loser, and I hope you trip down the stairs, when you go for your coffee!  I hope your coffee is cold and bitter, and I hope you’re out of cream!  I hope you don’t have any cigarettes, and you’re too broke to buy more!  When, you try to bum one, I hope everybody tells you that you’re a fat loser; and you should go get your own!!!!”  I’ve discovered that my mirror conversations can get really mean.  This may be a big part of why I started lying to myself, in the first place.

Prepared for Preparation

     Here, in the good ol’ DFW, we’ve been talking a lot about preparation.  I struggle, significantly, with the whole concept of preparation; and have been thinking about where that disconnect is.  I value the art of preparation, and I know my fellow Expert Mentor Hosts do, as well.  However, I’ve seen, in myself and others, a tendency to resist the act of preparation.  Why do we do this?  I talked, a little bit, about this in my entry, yesterday.  One possibility is that we believe we are too smart, too talented to bother with such mundane practices as preparation.  Maybe it’s about a lack of confidence.  I have, often, avoided things that made me feel insecure, or any situation that   might leave me too vulnerable.  As I’ve said, before… I do not like to be exposed.  Or, perhaps, it goes back to the same, recurring theme that I see everywhere I look.  We, as a society, have an unconscionable sense of entitlement.  I  believe that, for most of us, the reason for our resistance is one of three possible causes: arrogance, avoidance, or entitlement.  This theory is accompanied by, both, good news and bad.  The good news is that all three of these causes are one hundred percent fixable.  I’m sorry.  I hate to say “fixable.”  It implies that we need someone to fix us, but we are responsible for “fixing” ourselves.  The bad news is that, sadly, the process of overcoming any of the three underlying causes of our resistance will be uncomfortable, possibly painful, but will, without a doubt, suck… a lot.  For me, all three conditions are part of my resistance to preparation.  I am arrogant, I do practice avoidance, and I, definitely, have problems with entitlement.  The best way for me to correct my thinking is to grit my teeth, and push through the pain.  I have a very high pain tolerance(figuratively and literally).  It’s not, really, the best way; but it’s the best way for me… Bare in mind that I am NOT a licenced psychologist.  For anyone else, I might suggest recognizing a cause of resistance, isolating it, and addressing the problem, head on.  Now that I think of it… I should follow my own advice. 

     In any case, I have to remember that my mission isn’t about me.  Actually, it takes a lot of the pressure off.  It’s not my mission.  It’s His mission.  So, I can’t blow it.  He isn’t weak, afraid, arrogant, or a screw up.  So, that leaves me with one, very simple, responsibility.  I will give my best effort, and I’ll trust God for the rest.  After that, none of my personal junk is pertinent.  It doesn’t slow me down for a second.  I am a tool…. wait… I am an instrument, through which, He can accomplish whatever tasks He sees fit.  This makes it easier for me to prepare myself for all the little things, and all the big things, he has in store for me.  My shortcomings will not stop the mission.

Wisdom Shopper

     I am, constantly, leaning on my own understanding.  This is a mistake.  I sabotage myself, by believing I am smarter than I am.  Don’t get me wrong… I’m still pretty convinced that I’m smarter than the average bear, but I’ve realized that it isn’t enough to be smart.  Even the degree of savvy I worked so hard to attain isn’t enough to lean on.  What I really need is some higher thinking.  I’m not talking about the, ever popular, concept of “taking my mind up,” and on that note, I’d like to take a little aside.  That is the most ridiculous concept I’ve ever heard of.  We, as human beings, are totally incapacitated to “take our minds up.”   The thought that we can do this ourselves is, both, ludicrous and vain!  What I’m looking for is some uncommon sense, which calls for silence.  My silence… If I want wisdom in my life, I’m going to need to shut up, and listen for a change.  This is not my strong suit.  I’m really a lot better at talking…  Talking and writing… Okay.  So, my best skills are talking and writing.  If you need a good anecdote or an observational joke, I’m your guy; but in the wisdom department, I’m just another shopper.  Sadly, as a wisdom shopper, I leave a lot to be desired.  A big portion of my time is spent rebelling against the instructions, given to me by any mentor willing to invest his or her time in my potential.  It’s not a disrespect thing.  I don’t presume to ask, “Who do you think you are?”  It’s a lot more like, “Who do you think you’re talking to?  Have you not heard, who I am?”  Like I said, I find myself being a little too impressed with my own intelligence. 

     The only way, I know, to combat my ego is to recognize where it’s burned me, in past endeavors.  If I catch myself thinking I’m too smart to prepare, in detail, for an engagement, I try to recall memories of opportunities lost to lack of preparation.  I’ve tried to justify this behavior, by saying I love the rush of doing things by the seat of my pants; but how great is the rush when I fall on my face?  I can value a failure as a  learning experience, but how many times can I “learn” that preparation is key to success.  It’s important to remember that the definition of insanity is to continue performing the same action, and expecting different results.  I am not insane, so why would I continue to “wing it,” when I know it is more likely than not, that I will fail to achieve success.  The answer is that I am willful, unwise, and overindulgent….  Which is why I am still a wisdom shopper.

The Road To Ridiculous

     I always wanted to change the world.  Now, I only want to change myself.  I’m unhappy with a lot of things about me.  I would list them, but I’m pretty sure I’d lose my audience, somewhere around the third volume.  So, it suffices to say that I am a work in progress.  I need some major improvements, but we’re building on “good bones.” 

     I used to wonder why I wasn’t more dynamic with peers. 

     “Why don’t they like me, Mom?”  I must’ve asked this question a thousand times, and she would always reply with, “Keith David, they just need time to catch up.  They don’t have the depth or maturity to ‘get’ you, yet.”  I always thought this sounded kind of mothery, but it would do to appease my 9, 10, 11-year-old ego.  However, by the time we got to high school, I was sure I had waited quite long enough.  It was obvious to me that they were never going to catch up, or that I was some kind of freak who was waiting on an event that fate had never planned for.  So, I changed for them. 

     Play to your audience.  The first thing to go would be my vocabulary.  I dumbed down my speech, and added in a lot of patterned phrases.  Yes, a 14-year-old is capable of doing this, deliberately.  I, also, made sure to use enough profanity that I would sound a lot tougher than I felt.  The next thing I had to work on was a senseless sort of rebellion.  I’ve always questioned authority, and had a healthy disregard for the rules; but this was different.  This was high school.  It wasn’t enough to be quietly disobedient.  I had to rage against the establishment!  That’s what the people want!  I’d like to add, at this time, that I never fully accomplished the task of raging.  I was just a little too happy with the idea of authority figures liking me, but I did manage to be openly mischievous on a regular basis.  In fact, I still enjoy the benefits of being the child with “something up his sleeve.”  I am told, pretty frequently that I’ve got a look like “the cat that ate the canary.”  It’s one of those little pleasures that sustains me when I’m feeling a little too tame.

     I think that part of me bought into the facade I had built.  I was always better at being the “bad boy” or the “rebel,” but I really started to believe in this character who was intentionally off-color.  I started to realize how much I liked to mess with people.  It became my great pleasure to convince new people that I was this calloused, rude, combative guy; only to flip the switch on them later.  Most people start out as the nice guy, but I had to work with what I was provided.  This character carried me through for a number of years, past high school, through college(a short-lived experiment in PARTY!!!), and into my early twenties.

     At some point, probably after I started working in my first gentlemen’s club, it stopped being enough to be a likeable guy with a slightly rebellious nature.  It was then that I started selling out.  I don’t like violence, but fighting is kind of a badge of honor in that environment.  So, I started to develop a reputation as a scrapper.  This wasn’t difficult.  Being short and fat, I was, often, underestimated; but I’m quite a bit quicker than I appear to be, and surprisingly strong.  I was, actually, pretty ruthless.  It would seem that I had a lot of unresolved anger to work out. 

     I, also, have a deep respect for women.  I worked in a strip joint.  Do I have to elaborate, further?  It isn’t that we disrespected women, but how do you show respect to someone who won’t respect herself.  After the first few months of observing girls being dropped off at work, in their cars, by boyfriends who were going back to apartment, paid for by their working girlfriends, to pass the time with loser buddies; I started to realize that I was dealing with the most abject of human short-comings.  If you don’t believe that you deserve better, you will not aspire to anything more than the status quo.  I remember my mother asking me about the girls who were working their ways through college. 

     “That’s a myth,” I told her.  “They don’t really exist.” 

      That statement was an exaggeration; but, the truth is, the adult entertainment industry is, mostly, populated by women who never hope to do any better.  My estimation is that, maybe, 1 in every 20 girls is trying to pay her way through school.  The rest are single mothers (I admire these women for their willingness to sacrifice for their children); and, sadly, a large portion of the girls are being motivated by something else.  Something more sinister.  Pimps, controlling boyfriends, abusive childhoods, and drug addictions are all factors that can contribute to some of these young women entering a business that robs all of its participants of their youths, innocence, and, sometimes, their futures.

     If I had not been pushed to decide what was, truly, important to me; I may never have gotten out of that chapter of my life while I was still breathing.  Thankfully, I had a group of people who still remembered the bright, articulate boy who had, previously, inhabited the body where a jaded, sad, angry man had taken up residence.  I’m, slowly, taking back ownership of my own life.  It comes in small decisions, at first.  Then, in larger waves of improvement.  And I, after all this time and so much disappointment, have begun to feel like a real boy, again.  Though, I know the transformation is far from complete.

Success

     In preparing this entry, I encountered an unbelievable block.  I could NOT put down anything that was acceptable to me.  I had, first, intended to continue my own story; but found myself unable to share any pertinent details.  Then, I thought I would write about music; specifically, I wanted to share a few of my favorite songs.  I planned to share how the music impacted me, despite the presence of suggestive ideas and offensive lyrics.  I, now, understand what the problem was. I’ve been waiting to be moved.   To be inspired to write something meaningful. 

     As children, we are conditioned to define success by how much we acquire.  How much money do we have? How many possessions have we accrued?  How many people look upon us with envy?  Did we get married, and have children?  Raise a family?  As I grew up. I realized that I measured success on a different ruler.  I wanted approval and acceptance.  Of course, that hasn’t really changed.  I still like to get the well-earned pat on the back, and the phrase ” Attaboy!” is like music to my ears.  But what is the real definition of success?  I like to think success can be, more accurately, defined by happiness.  Did you get what you wanted?  Was it really what you thought it would be?  Are you satisfied with your achievement?  It sounds hokey and ridiculous, but I’ll use this quote anyway.  “Life is not about the number of breaths you take, but it’s about the number of moments that take your breath away.”

     My mother started her “Search And Destroy Mission”(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6vwNX3Ic-I) a little over eighteen months ago.  The purpose was to bring her issues with God, as they related to the church, straight to the source.  During this mission, she asked for a number of things, including(but not limited to) an undeniable relationship with an undeniable God, the ability to extend a portion of the grace she had received to others, and the courage to transparently and unapologetically liver her faith out loud.  After today’s launch of The Real Life Radio Network, she received an e-mail from an old friend that gave her cause to review the video she’d made about the “Search And Destroy Mission.”  When she called me over to look at what had amazed her, it hit me… God will always give us what we ask for.  I don’t mean to say that we should close our eyes, and hope real hard to get what we want.  We, often, ask for one thing; and demonstrate a desire for another.  If we express an authentic desire for something, both through word and deed, He will give it to us.   I don’t make that statement lightly, because the sword cuts both ways.  If you want it; and you pursue it, you’re going to get it.  You’ll also get the consequences that come with your decision.  Good or bad, they’re yours to deal with.

     Success can be defined as the result of a desire and the sacrifices made in the course of pursuing that desire.  Success is a consequence of a well planned, well executed set of goals to achieve a desired outcome.