my careless contagion

A Scientific American article here purports that much of the "mindfulness" trending in our culture is perhaps not what people need. Yes, mindfulness can help one recover more quickly from a bad experience or lend clarity to the future, but intense experiences — good and bad — do more to define us than anything else.  Why do I care about this? I'm 41 years old. Am I not defined yet? Well, I made a pretty big midlife U-turn, which caused me to wonder who I was exactly. What is my new life supposed to look like? In short, yes, I need some defining.  When I was in high school, I remember reading an article about a girl from my school who went to Europe. She said her favorite part of the trip was touring a WWII concentration camp. I thought that sounded ridiculous. What a sad experience, I thought! But, you know what, that experience and the intensity of it, is what helped define this young woman. What I saw as horrible was pure gold to her.  There are many times wh...

When is a haircut more than a haircut? It's not really a joke. But if it was, the punchline would be, "When you go to Randy's barbershop."  Randy is the only barber in town. There are salons, but do I look like a salon guy? Randy is a John Wayne character (indeed, much of the memorabilia in his shop is John Wayne-related, and the movie he was playing when I last went featured — you guessed it — John Wayne), and he epitomizes the town I live in (tough, no-nonsense, get outta my way, ya fruit loop). His shop is full of funny, kitschy stuff, lots of war stuff, mementos. He has a framed copy of a letter to the editor from the local newspaper praising him for saving the letter writer's life; you see Randy spotted a suspicious growth on the man's neck. It turned out to be cancer. He's a hero, according to the clipping. An unsung hero. But when I walk into Randy's shop, I cower. For me, all his signs say, "Don't fuck up my day, boy."  Why...

161 miles. That was my total for the year. When I was struggling to deal with my life at the beginning of 2018, I decided I wanted to keep track of something positive during the year. So, I decided to keep track of the miles I ran. I started out really strong in January, which is amazing because I'm sure the weather was crap. I ran 23 miles that month. The first half of the year was also strong, but with the sale of my house and with a 13-credit-hour load at school, I wasn't able to keep up that pace. Finally, in December, I finished with only two miles for a total of 161 for the year. That's not phenomenal, but it makes me realize that positive change is incremental. It makes me realize that a mile or two here really adds up. I didn't add in all the miles hiking, and I'm sure I forgot to write down a few miles, so the actual expenditure of energy is much higher than the 161 miles. I also realized I hate running long distances, so those two-, three-, and four...

I wonder about that girl who touched my life in so many ways. When we started talking, she was so strong and so brave. She made me smile on the inside and the outside in so many ways. I loved talking to her more than anything else. I thought we'd go on like that. I hoped we'd go on like that. But we didn't go on like that. Sadness crept into our conversations. I noticed it slowly at first. We both talked about our personal sadness. I imagined myself holding her tight, never letting go. That's all I wanted to do. I wanted her to know that she was loved and everything would be okay. If she cried in my arms, I would kiss her neck and whisper, "I love you, and I always will." I couldn't be what I wanted to be for her. I couldn't be anything. If there was a sideline to her life, I wasn't even there. I was further away than that; I couldn't even watch, much less partake. My hands were tied. I watched helplessly as the wolves surrounded he...