Patton's smarter than me

"In fact, the only thing that can truly destroy a comedian – or any artist – is paying attention to benchmarks like “20” and “30” and “40”, or any new set of tens. Turning away from your age, and from the loss of life, is the deepest sort of fear and childishness. There’s nothing creepier than the new generation of twenty-somethings who act like giggly twelve year-olds. And there’s nothing sadder than someone over forty still acting like they’re home from college freshman year, trying to shock their parents over Thanksgiving dinner by declaring they’re an atheist."

-- Patton Oswalt

Patton Oswalt is my favorite comedian because he's the funniest guy who stands on a stage with a microphone. Hands down. But he's also one of my favorite personas because he's just... smart. Well-read, observant, tuned in and just. fucking. smart. 

Fuck you, Dane Cook, Carlos Mencia and all the other  mundane, generic scam artists who pass themselves off as comedians. You're neither funny, nor smart. 

See, there's just one story and everyone's the star...

See there's just one story
And everyone's the star
And it goes like this...

No one will ever love you
For everything you are 

And so you build up layers of deception
And you leave out things to alter the perceptions
Of the ones you love
Who would never love you back
If they knew all about you
Every solitary fact

-- Song for Caden, "Synecdoche, New York"

You think that people have it figured out. Everyone except for you. You're the only one who feels so horribly confused or lost. 

Except that's not remotely true. In fact, the more you get to know people - even the people you know really well - it becomes more clear that they are just as lost, confused and conflicted as you. I have some friends who are very dear to me, and I swear, spending time with them never ceases to put some of my own issues into perspective. These are people who are confident, secure, successful, incredibly smart. Generous, kind, wonderful people, who I adore. And, yet, they're total messes in so many ways. 

I'm not sure if that should make me MORE or LESS sad. There's a certain comfort in knowing that other people are just as fucked up as you are, each in their own, terribly unique, ways. But then there's also the question - why can't we all get our shit together?

No Parking: Special Event

I got a friend whose goal in life

Was to one day go down on Madonna
That's all he wanted, That was all

To one day go down on Madonna

And when my friend was thirty-four 

He got his wish in Rome one night
He got to go down on Madonna
In Rome one night in some hotel
And ever since he's been depressed
'Cause life is shit from here on in
And all our friends just shake their heads
And say too soon, too soon, too soon
He went down on Madonna too soon
Too young, too young, too soon, too soon

There are some events that are once in a lifetime deals. The above lyrics from Dan Bern's "Tiger Woods" is a playful tweaking of such an event, used to cast a light on how transitory, temporary great experiences can be. Who doesn't know the feeling of peaking too early? I had one of those last week, and no, it didn't involve going down on Madonna. I'm not sure WHO would really yearn for that anymore, but in Dan Bern's defense, the song's a good 15 years old. 

My once-in-a-lifetime event was getting to go to the Academy Awards, which was somehow more enjoyable an experience by virtue of no longer being part of Hollywood. If I would've done this 5 years ago, I would've held a private sadness at the thought that it wasn't ever going to be me in those front 20 rows. Rather, I was just a schmuck paying $10 for a beer while watching Sean Penn power by on his way to a umpteenth cigarette break. But since I stepped out of that world, I've been able to let go of so many of those obsessions and ambitions, and in all honesty, not feel bad about it beyond sometimes the aching thought of the years that I missed out on. So it was just fun to put on the wide-eyed fan cap and enjoy the big, broad absurdity of it all.

And it is patently absurd, although when you're actually there (past the spotlight glare of the red carpet with the shouting photographers, screaming fans and oceans of red), it's a strangely intimate affair. It's not a giant theater, and even though millions of people are watching the show, when you're in the room you're struck by the overwhelming sense of a high school theater production. Just with a really, really big prop budget. Granted, it's all very well orchestrated, but there's definitely a humanness to the preceedings when you're on the other side of the picture tube. 

There's a certain excitement, of course, to watching the show in the room itself. Our seats were solid though not spectacular. It was on the first level, so I could listen in on Richard Jenkins chatting with an old friend (he's more like an average joe than an actor, to be sure), but we were definitely in the back. Which gave a perfect perspective to walk out the doors as Seal and Heidi Klum walk in. Why were they there, incidentally? I wonder if he's in the academy from a nomination or something... 

The most enjoyable sequences were hanging out in the lobby bar, eavesdropping on conversations, watching Robin Wright Penn head in opposite directions of her soon-to-be-feted husband, seeing Viola Davis hanging out with friends to commiserate over her loss, and introducing myself to Peter Gabriel. I tried to rein in the adoring fan bit, and didn't want to lead with, "Dude, I love "Sledgehammer!". So I commented that his music just seems to get better with each year, and that I'd spent much of the last year listening obessively to "Father/Son". Which is true. He was polite, gracious, and eager to get back to talking to his girlfriend. But it felt good to introduce myself to at least one major name. A surreal moment was watching Brangelina stroll up to the bar, the crowd parting like the red sea, and then everyone in eyesight just not-so-subtly shifting to stare at them. Brad and Angelina acting like nothing was odd about any of this. Well, props to them.

Miley Cyrus. I don't understand why she's famous, but she's a relatively pretty girl in person. I suppose she'll mature and end up fairly attractive like the other Disney stars before her (et. al Britney, Hillary Duff, etc.). Women in general at the Oscars are fairly scary, with an overabundance of make-up, surgery, Botox and dresses that scarily blur the line between evening down and slut-whore. At least the famous people can pull off tacky without looking like skanks. Not so much with lots of the other women there.

The Governor's Ball was a delight, with free-flowing champagne and wine, and a spot near the door to watch the celebrities stroll past the paparazzi. Anne Hathaway trips on the stairs as someone steps on her train, and I gently move for her elbow (she didn't really need the help). She gives me one of those bemused looks of, "Ooh, that was almost a bad one". An amusing moment. She is pretty stunning in person. 

Others, not so much. Remember Bridget Fonda? Well, not many people do, and it might because she looks like total ass (married to Danny Elfman, who was nominated). Kevin Kline bumps me heading into the ball. I love that guy, and damn, he's actually really tall. Phoebe Cates still looks great, and was wearing red, by the way, which is a color that boys of a certain age will perpetually associate with her. Anthony Hopkins, dragging along a woman my age; you fucking cliche goofball. And what's with the fucking earring? What, you think you're Harrison Ford or something? Christopher Walken, not looking so good. The chick from "Slumdog", gorgeous in person, and still not making me believe her character.

We shared a table with Michael Shannon, who was nominated for Best Supporting Actor. A nice enough guy, though he definitely had the full on, "I'm an actor" thing going on. His theater actor wife was very nice, and more concerned about getting back to their 8 month old baby than sticking around the party, which is a humanizing experience. Shannon was sweet to bring both his mother and step-mother, who was a nice lady from Chicago, though perhaps overly irritated by her son being beat by an iconic performance by a beloved dead-guy. Uh, I hate to break it to you, Ma'am, but for four men, it was an "honor to be nominated" kind of night. The food was decadent though unspectacular, but P. (my patron for the night) and I had our eyes on the clock, because the Oscars were only part 1 of an epic night.

It's well-known by those who know me that I'm a little bit of a Prince freak. A white boy from Wisconsin who danced in his basement to "When Doves Cry" when he was 8, has been through the ups and downs of fandom with our most mercurial of musical superstars. But seeing him live - especially when up close - is as close to musical nirvana as anyone will ever get. Trust me on that. And Prince announced a post-Oscar aftershow, just blocks from the awards. Damned if I was going to miss that. 

Moreover, I had introduced my friend V. to Prince's live music on our trip to Twentynine Palms. He's since been obsessed with seeing him live, and he was so determined to pull it off, that he stood on the curb for 6 hours to get us tickets. One of the sweetest things I've ever seen out of a friend, even though V. never seems to believe he's as good of a friend as he really is. Another friend got cold feet at the last minute, not willing to stand on line, but V. stood for half a day on a dirty Hollywood street with a bunch of strangers to see a musician that he had barely given any thought of prior to a month ago. P and I roll up at about 11:30, concerned about the ealier text messages that there are no tickets being sold - it's just a door charge - but the friendly Prince fans let us into line (we were only 10 people back), even though they'd been there all day. 

In pure Prince fashion (meaning, heavily disorganized and running late), we don't go inside until 12:30, and stand just at the left hand corner of the stage. Perfect. And in even more typical Prince fashion, he doesn't stroll onto stage until 1:15, and then proceeds to... tear it up. It was cover night in Prince's house, and we were treated to three Stones tunes, a blistering version of "Come Together" that would make Paul McCartney blink real hard, and a fun version of the Cars "Let's Go". I mean, the Cars??? Prince only played 5 of his own songs, and definitely seemed more into playing the Time's "Jungle Love" and "The Bird", which had the entire audience bouncing up and down, doing a 25 year old dance. Amazing. I think he's just kind of bored with his own catalogue, and as much as that pisses off the old-school, obsessive fans, I say it's all good. C'mon, wouldn't you get tired of your own music after 32 years too? Cut the man some slack, and he puts on the most amazing, captivating live show around.

V. couldn't get enough from P's exit, throwing his guitar on the ground and yelling, "Don't mess with me! I got too many hits!". It's a well-worn line for Prince fans, almost a nervous tic of his of sorts, but to V., he had clearly just seen the coolest guy on earth stroll off stage right, even though he left us without the second encore. But it was past 4 in the morning, and an amazing day needed to come to an end, even if none of us wanted it to. 

And when my friend was thirty-four 

He got his wish in Rome one night
He got to go down on Madonna
In Rome one night in some hotel
And ever since he's been depressed
'Cause life is shit from here on in

Here's hoping the song is wrong.

One of the lucky ones

February, 2009. 

Will this be the month that we'll look back on and realize that, "wow... yeah. America really hit the crapper THAT month?". Or was it October of '08? December? Hard to say. 

But there's no question that things are getting much worse before they get better, despite Obama's best intentions and earnest efforts. My ex still can't find work, and is at the end of her proverbial rope. We put our condo on the market, and amazingly, got an offer in 6 days. There are some people out there with money, but not many. Now fingers crossed that the deal holds. No guarantees in this world.

Further, it feels like a day doesn't go by where I don't hear about someone I personally know getting laid off. Two weeks ago it was good friends, married, a baby due in May. Both got laid off on the same day. Yesterday, it was the boyfriend of my closest co-worker.

And today it was my co-workers. A lot of them. We're an amazingly profitable company ($60+m in '08) with 300 employees, but even we can't weather the storm. 50 workers were fired, downsized, eliminated, let go, shown the door, today. Whatever euphamism you want to throw out there. It doesn't change the fact that 50 people were marched into rooms, told "it's the economy, stupid" and shown the door. 50 more people sucking up California unemployment in a state that's nearly bankrupt. 50 less people to accomplish the "mission critical" job that we've been tasked to do in a major re-invention year for our business. 

I've been on my new team for 3 weeks. For the second time in 3 months (since we downsized 10% only 2 months ago, when I was in an awkward "transition" period), I danced through the raindrops. In pretty eerie fashion though. I am one of two "product managers" in my department. I've been a product manager all of 3 weeks. My counterpart's been with the company 9 years, but she happens to work out of Connectticut in a sweetheart deal she was able to get a few years ago; we've managed to operate with a lot of conference calls and email. And she's a sweetheart, and competent, and likely an asset to the company (though I didn't work with her long enough to really know). But... guess who got fired?

It wasn't me. 

Maybe it's being cynical to just presume that geography was the deciding factor. I am well-liked at the company, so it could've been a real view of potential, value or something like that. That'd be nice to think, and I actually thanked my department head for keeping me on the team, and he seemed to really appreciate that, and also said that he thought highly of me. So on a very grim day, that was a nice emotional boost for me, and probably somewhat cathartic for him. 

It's all headlines until it's you. Until it's the person in the cube next to you. The husband who can't find work. The ex-wife who can't get an interview. The father who's forced into early retirement. The sister who can't get a job out of college because there are no jobs to be had. 

It's going to get worse before it gets better. A lot worse.

Where have you gone, Crash?

There is a difference between true actors and true movie stars. Sometimes they come together in the same package as in the case of Brando or DeNiro, but often they don't. Steve McQueen was a charismatic movie star, but would you look to him for depth, nuance or complexity? Not really. Harrison Ford had his moments as an actor ("Mosquito Coast", "Witness", "Working Girl"), but mostly he falls into the latter category. Though these days, I'm not sure he falls anywhere. 

Due to my age, I became a movie fan in the era of Kevin Costner. Watching him seduce Sean Young in the back of a limo in opened up delicious possibilities, while the earnest nobility of Elliot Ness made Connery's death that much more painful. But post-"Waterworld", Kevin Costner's become a punchline and a punching bag, much of which he's brought upon himself due to his rather naked sense of self-importance ("The Postman", which couldn't even be redeemed by a deliriously illogical cameo by Tom Petty), and woeful career choices ("3000 Miles to Graceland" could've easily been called "120 Minutes  of Pulp Fiction-lite Hell"). 

None of which changes the fact that from about 1987, starting with "No Way Out" through at least "The Bodyguard" in 1992, he pretty much owned Hollywood. Women loved him, and men wanted to be him. I was in the latter category, and unlike stars like Pitt and Cruise, he had a masculinty that men weren't threatened by. Similar to McQueen, he seemed like a "real man", a Miller Lite commercial without the cheesiness. When he brazenly, directly stated that, "I believe in the cock, the pussy... and long, deep wet kisses that last three days", he made women melt, and men take notes. 

No, Costner's not a great actor, and is often not even very good. Though he's had revelations, such as the quiet complexity of "A Perfect World", and Crash Davis is a master class of aging regret and masculine seduction. But he's always been a movie star first and actor second, which is part of why he's gotten second, third and fourth chances after a litany of box office failures. He made a lot of people a lot of money over the years, and "Dances With Wolves" bought him some respect and freedom, despite winning a truckload of Oscars above the more deserving "Goodfellas". Which, in its own way, was the start of the backlash - he was TOO big, and people knew that, and with the benefit of very short hindsight, it was clear that the noble and grand, though conventional storytellng of "Wolves" couldn't hold a candle to the artistry of Scorsese's pulsing, breathing crime epic. When "Waterworld" ushered in the modern era of mega-budgeted "failures", though it's conveniently forgotten (or, more accurately, ignored) that the man-with-gills ridiculousness actually made money.  Truly, the only thing we like more than building up and worshipping celebrities is tearing them to pieces. 

Which is what makes his complete, utter inability to find an interesting, quality movie so depressing. A few decent reviews got me to spend the evening with "Mr. Brooks", which is a miserable, almost comically cliche serial killer movie, populated with has-beens (Demi Moore) and pathetic never-will-bes (Dane Cook). All apologies to William Hurt, who gets a free pass for any of the shite he routinely appears in because, well, he's William Hurt. Costner feigns tortured soul complexity, but aside from one genuinely emotional scene, it's all a cheap fabrication to go along with the even cheaper plotting and overdone sets. 

Will no one of actual talent deign to work with this guy anymore? Costner's had moments over the years, from the underrated and fairly exceptional "Open Range", and he showed that used-up, booze-soaked charm again in "The Upside of Anger", but though he has movie-star charm to spare, no one seems willing or able to tap it. He hasn't acted with anyone relevant in the zeitgeist in years. Though he appeared against Jennifer Aniston, she was at low ebb, and Costner's doomed to star against B and C talents like Ashton Kutcher and Dane Cook rather than Matt Damon or even Shia LaBeaouf. The biggest name in his next movie is Samantha Mathis. When you ask, "Who?!", my answer is, "Exactly". 

I'm wondering if Kevin Costner has another great movie in him, or just a movie that will again connect with audiences. He and Prince (my musical god) have that trait in common: they owned the '80s, and though there's still potential for greatness, it feels destined to remain unrealized. Though Prince has genuine briliance and talent, Costner may have been more a construct of an era, a time that has passed him - and us - by.

So here's to Crash Davis. Would love to see him standing in the rain again, heading up to Annie Savoy's porch, ready to win her heart and to serve as our stand-ins for the lives we'll never lead, the women we'll never fuck, and the men we'll never quite be. 

New Turns, New Roads

Benjamin Button said that life is defined by those moments of opportunity, and the question is how someone reacts to them. Do you take this path, or another? Or stay on the same path? Sometimes the paths you take create waves in the lives of others. My wife needed another path, and it sent my own life into a tailspin, and forever changed the tenor, texture and shape of our son's. How his will develop in the long run is another question. 

My professional life the last three years, having left Hollywood for the fast-paced, fast-rising world of the Internet has been a study in movement. Each year has brought on new challenges, and new opportunities. After a great 2008 (professionally, at least), my initiative was eliminated due to corporate priorities and restructuring, that left me driftless and confused. 

I need a new challenge, I need fresh ideas and that learning curve that's going to take me to the next level. At the same time, I'm reticent to change, and am generally fearful of strong shifts in my life. That's part of why I didn't leave the company when I had a chance a year ago (which turned out to be a remarkably smart move, given the economy and other factors). 

Yesterday I was offered a job on another team within our company. Flattering to be thought of. Great new skills to be learned, central to the company's mission, and developing talents that must be considered core to the overall structure of Internet content sites. Pretty key. Yet, again, it's change. The comfortable stability of my team, of my knowledge base, the reassurance of strong management. Those will be lost in the short term, at least, in favor of the unknown.

The unknown frequently scares me, but I need to learn to embrace it with more open, excited arms. 

Twentynine Palms, CA

Bet you haven't heard of that town, have you?

Let me tell you a bit about it. It has not one, but TWO, military buzz cut barbers. Four tattoo parlors on the main drag. Military bar 5 miles away. Bar and grill called "Stumps", where when the bartender asks if Stacy is ready to sing karaoke, gets the response, "FUCK YEAH!!!". 

My friend V and I rented a house in the middle of this absolute nowhere. I wasn't involved in the process, and when I learned how much we were paying (on the drive out), I have to admit that I stopped for a moment and said to myself, "what the fuck are we doing?". The house is distantly in the middle of nowhere from town, and given the town I just described... this is the middle of nowhere. 2 miles on a dirt road, with no houses in earshot, save for another rental owned by the same person across the road. We were a bit perplexed about the fences around the property (robbers? late night danger?) but when you see coyotes wandering around, you start to get the logic.

Why'd we come here? I'm not sure why V did, although he has a thirst for new experiences, and the great thing about him is that while he likes the high life and pretention, he can seem pretty comfortable just about anywhere. For me, I had the opportunity to spend New Years with old friends (who I have spent most of the past 12 years ringing in the New Year with) at the house of one of the two creators of South Park, but while that sounds conceptually "fun", I just couldn't be bothered. It sounded like a trial, spending my night with a collection of people I don't know, and those that I do... I don't really know anymore. That couldn't have been more clear than on the drive out, sending a text to N. to wish him a Happy New Year, and getting a perky response back that "Hey, we're going to XXX... If you're not doing anything, you should join us!". This is a guy I spent endless years celebrating with, and I explicitly told him I wouldn't be around, but his response was that cheerful, "hey, I think I know you, dude. Here's where I am... feel free to stop by" kind of answer. Just not interested. 

Instead, I spent a laid back NYE under the stars, followed by days in the Joshua Tree desert. Finding the remains of a broken down shack owned by a California state representative, which was creepy, fascinating and utterly compelling in every way. Me and V found registers from the US Office of Representatives, Plaques from the US Senate, and a burned out bed. Absolutely riveting. There's a movie there. 

We've also watched a bunch of great movies (V was enamored with Citzen Kane, which he's never seen, though The Exorcist and Talk Radio went over a bit more questioningly) and today spent the day climbing the gigantic rocks of Joshua Tree, where one wrong slip could've left us with either a broken leg or worse. It was grandiose and gorgeous, along with a tremendous physical challenge. Spent much of the time wondering if we were going to be able to get off the mountain, and genuinely questioning if there was a path of out of there that wouldn't kill us. There's a message there, I'm sure.

V passed out early though, as I am ironically the only one doing any drinking. I'm getting drunk and sitting under the stars, next to a gigantic fire beside the hot tub. While I'm not a desert guy at all, this has been austere and absolutely captivating. I wish it wasn't ending, maybe because that means returning to my life and figuring out what it all means. The endless disappointments and frustrations, the fear of being alone forever, of getting out of a failed marriage. 

I wish I could stay longer. 

Cute animals need a good talking to

Yes, my blog has become as navel-gazing and myopic as the worst of them. But for those who stumble across my blog, and if you dug into it, you'd know that my real intention isn't to garner readers, but to simply house a personal diary.

And, going into the holidays, I'm feeling as misanthropic and depressed as I have ever found myself. But enough of that bullshit.

Sometimes you just need to laugh, especially at this time of year, and this person's blog might be the consistently funniest shit I've seen in ages. Go here to see why penguins are evil, cuteness is to be suspected at all costs, and laugh your ass off.

Everybody Loves a Happy Ending

In my previous life, I worked as a reader for Hollywood production companies. This supported me while I tried to achieve my big screenwriting break, which never came, despite how close I often seemed to come.

But as a reader, I was rather in demand, one of the few people in town who, not only made a living at it, but could do it through only two companies in my later years. That was pretty impressive from a freelance perspective. It afforded me the ability to get married, get a mortgage, have a child. Pretty decent for a freelance life, though I'm thrilled not to do it anymore.

Anyway, in all those years of critiquing scripts and books, doing notes on projects, and being a low-level critic, there was one project that I loved more than all the rest: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I did countless notes on early drafts of the script, written by Robin Swicord (Little Women). But it spent ages in development hell, starting and stopping, with millions spent on the most expensive writers in Hollywood, even though Swicord's script was the most beautiful thing I've ever read. It seemed destined never to be made.

When David Fincher eventually attached himself, it was mystifying. Eric Roth (Forrest Gump) as the new writer made sense, but in conjunction with Fincher... huh? But now Brad Pitt was involved, and... it was getting made!

So after 10 years, I saw the film. I won't say much about it, though I did love it. It lived up to the expectations, and left me often in tears. The production was sumptuous and beautiful, and it created a love story that's difficult to pull off in film. Truly, a great love story is not easy, and Fincher of all people pulled it off without too much sentimentality, which Roth is easily guilty of.

But what is more interesting tonight is how the themes of time passing, irreversible, really meshes with my life. I stood on the Paramount lot, surrounded by gorgeous Christmas lights and a fifty foot Christmas tree - the epitome of Hollywood glamour - and was easily reminded of the days I used to have in this industry, which I let go of. Whether out of failure, or exhaustion, or frustration, or the sheer lack of enjoyment... all of those are factors. But, movies are in my DNA, and they are part of me, but these experiences are now few and far between. The only reason I was there is because I still work for Kennedy/Marshall on the side, just because I need the cash with my ex's employment problems. I literally need the money. It's not because I'm important or somehow valued... I'm just on the standard list. Granted, K/M is one of the best companies in Hollywood with a reputation for quality, so it's a great list to be on once a year, but still, it was easy to see just how outside it all I am.

And, for the most part, I'm happy with that. Hollywood's a shitty place, no question. But at the same time, there are those moments, where you see that time can't be reversed, that you have opportunities that pass or are taken advantage of, and then they are gone. That's what Benjamin Button is about, and it couldn't have been more evident if there was a neon sign pointing to it.

Incidentally, there was an absolutely stunning redhead at the premiere. Beige boots, straight hair, probably 5'5. I was captivated by her. If I had balls - which I clearly don't - I would've gone up to her and told her that she was beautiful, and that I'd love to take her for a drink. I even thought of it, though she spent the entire night with a couple of guys. Not exactly an opportunity to approach someone. But at the end of the night, she walked off alone, not with the guys. I could've chased her down, regardless of the fact that she was probably too young for me. But I wish I had the courage for that kind of thing.

Just like the movie said, there are opportunities that arrive, and you take them or you don't. This one I didn't.

But after 10 years, I'm glad that someone took the opportunity to make that movie.

Heights and Fears

No, not the name of a Keane album, which I believe was "Hopes and Fears".

Today my department had a team building event at a ropes challenge course, where you do trust exercises, leadership building, teamwork and the confrontation of fears. I expected it to be fun, but I didn't expect it to be meaningful. It was both, but the latter was perhaps more notable than the former.

It started with a game in a circle where we had to reach for bandanas dropped outside the circle, but we couldn't touch the ground between the circle and the object. You needed to figure out how to leverage body weight across great distances to retrieve the bandanas, which led to team-building dynamics and a real sense of accomplishment. This was followed by a severe rock-wall climb, perhaps the first of my life, and holy shit, that's an upper-body workout. When they tell you not to rely on your arms... believe them. They can't last as long as your legs.

Next was a climb to a horizontal telephone pole 40 feet high, with two teammates coming from opposite directions and needing to cross each other to get to the other side. It requires creativity and trust, and my teammate and I cleverly decided to go over and under rather than around, and did it without falling (anyone who fell was kept 100% safe by belay ropes at all times).

This was followed by the biggest leap of faith, literally. Climbing to a 50 foot platform, only 2 feet long, 6 inches wide, the pole wobbling insanely beneath you. Then you had to leap to a ring that was 6 feet away. Not a long distance, but at 50 feet, it takes tremendous courage. It was a remarkable experience, though I'm a bit disappointed that others went to the "Manmaker" - the same thing, except no platform, just the top of a telephone pole - but I had thought we were getting a chance to do both. I wanted to do each, so felt like I didn't fully push myself to the end. But the day's highlight was a woman who reports to me, a sweet, wonderful 30 year-old Asian girl with a terrible fear of heights, who went to the top, and managed to jump off. She missed the ring, but that wasn't the point at all. With tears pouring down her face, she stood on the edge of that platform for 5 minutes, getting the courage, and then... doing it. She felt like a failure, but she was the hero of the day - and everyone saw it. It took the most for her to accomplish what she did, and she was a total rockstar.

Interestingly, the moderator asked us all to assign to that challenge an idea that they wanted to work towards - something they want to improve in their lives. So the quiet introverts on our team said they wanted to "be more outgoing and direct", etc. At first, I asked if we could keep our mission private, but then revealed what it was for me: to adapt and learn to be okay with being alone.

It's getting harder, rather than easier. The months of insane busy-ness in my free nights have faded away, and life has returned to its regular routine, but as a solo rather than a partner. It's lonely, without question, and learning to be okay with that is a constant challenge.

Amazingly, at the top of that pole, the wood shaking, my legs shaking, wondering if I could do it, that thought actually was a crystallizing moment. Powerfully leaping for that ring, into the void, hoping for the best.

My hands latched onto the ring, holding tight.