Thursday, August 30, 2007

Memoirs of a Dreamer

When I was a kid, I dreamed of being a spy. I spent countless hours reading Encyclopedia Brown novels. I was mesmerized by recon gear and once even thought about becoming a Navy SEAL. I ordered my official GI Joe dog tags that arrived engraved with my name and address. I went so far as to start a neighborhood detective agency for all things gone missing. RSS as it was called; Railhead Secret Service was based at the back of our one acre lot in Railhead Estates. Our offices were in the penthouse suite of the treehouse I built with my dad, brother and friends. We never had one client. My brother Zac and I would scour the neighborhood on our bikes to find anything suspicious to examine. Missing animals, damaged mailboxes, littered trash, we viewed anything and everything as a potential case that would lead to international intrigue where we would prevail as heroes. My imagination was fueled by books and stories of kid capers and the film Cloak and Dagger where a kid becomes embroiled in a spy ring concealing national secrets within a video game cartridge. I dreamed of traveling on multiple passports with multiple identities as a spy out to preserve the greater good of humanity.

Leaving elementary school and moving on to Junior High, I never stopped living in my little world of intrigue. Although I played soccer from the first grade, basketball for a couple of years, and little league baseball, I had not a speck of athletic talent. It was really unfortunate although I never really enjoyed playing anyway and remained in my own little imagination bubble. I borrowed an old Smith-Corona typewriter from my grandmother and began writing random stories. I wrote on paper the entire story of the film The Heavenly Kid because I had memorized every word. I started writing stories about my dreams of being a spy or a bad-ass detective.

I piddled and built model ships and random things in my garage like a coaster “bus” as my dad called it. It was a monstrosity of a coaster car. I had planned to use it as a recon vehicle full of uber cool gadgets. It didn't coast, never stood a chance, the threaded rod I used for axles bowed and buckled under the intense weight of the 2x6 frame. But it was a valiant albeit frustrating effort! I wanted so badly to build my own go cart, but never got around to starting, which is probably a good thing. I tried to make my own putting green in the backyard with the old green Lawn Boy, that didn't work. I rode my old red Honda three-wheeler for hours and hours and still have battle scars from a few of my exploits and daredevil tactics exploring the undeveloped wooded hills and fields near my house. Trout fishing trips to Blue River were my favorites. Not because I loved trout fishing, but because I spent most of the day exploring the river, falls, and caves picking up old relics of who knows what that had been carried by the river and playing the early version of Survivorman or a spy behind enemy lines. Wow, I really was a dork.

As time passed, I dreamed of moving on, growing up faster, being an adult. I could not wait to go to college. I spent my high school years dreaming of moving on to college, and although I had a great time I always thought of it as a temporary gig. When I finally went to college, I had abandoned my passion for spilling my dreams onto paper. I never once thought of majoring in Journalism. Honestly, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. I still find myself thinking what I want to be when I grow up (although a multi-millionaire tops the list). My early college years were full of beer and parties and having fun (and the occasional class). My tenure at OU saw many major changes and I managed to make my way through plenty of the major degree programs: engineering, architecture, film, communications, construction, pre-med. Nothing caught my attention as THE one. In the end, I settled with Construction Science and eventually graduated with a total of 213 combined hours. I like to think of it as a well rounded and robustly diverse Bachelor of Science.

Only now as I type away at this rambling blog post do I remember the passions of my youth. Perhaps when they say our first instincts are correct, that really means we dip way back into our past to find our true calling. At the very least, I prepared myself decades in advance to enjoy the Bourne film trilogy and if I could go back and apply what I know now, I could’ve built a kick ass treehouse! Perhaps I will have the pleasure of building a masterpiece for my kids one day!

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

The Human Spirit

Ever feel like you’re not living up to your full potential? Know there is something else in your life that is drawing you in? Well take a number and wait in line. Is there such a thing as pure fulfillment? I think it is a side stitch we try so badly to ignore. As humans, we aspire to be something better, finding new talents, abilities, and strengths. We KNOW we are not being utilized to our full potential. Only we just keep thinking tomorrow will bring some new found revelation that we must finally use these gifts and claim our mark on this earth. We have all been raised to believe these innate feelings are called “entrepreneurialism”. Bullshit. In this age of capitalism and dog-eat-dog battles over being the newest and most desirable “item” du jour only to make a few bucks, we have lost sight of the true human spirit. I find myself drawn to those who seem to find peace and virtue using those traits for the greater good. The greater good is not necessarily being a martyr for a particular cause. It’s simply letting the human spirit reign over your actions. Believe me, this is no sermon, for I am the last person who should lecture or preach. But what I do understand clearly, this life is about more than just you and I. It’s about all of us.

David Freeman is a fellow thirtysomething. He will tell you tête-à-tête he exudes a certain amount of pretension in his life. He will tell you he has the snobbish tendencies of a sheltered suburbanite. He will tell you he is compelled by his Type-A personality to be the center of attention. Curiously, I have no problem with any of those characteristics. Not because he happens to be the Executive Pastor at the First United Methodist Church we attend, but because he is human. No, no, don’t think I’m turning right-wing evangelical here (1-20-09!)…I truly feel admiration for this man who does for others that which would not be done by the common man. I have only known David for a couple of years and in that time I have come to one very simple conclusion. He does what he does, not because it was a calling, but because he wants to and because he chooses to utilize his entrepreneurial spirit. Although I am sure he felt the calling of the ministry, his character predetermined him to become a person to best fill the shoes of a champion of the cause, where cause has many meanings. It takes an un-Godly (pardon the pun) amount of character to stand before a congregation and speak the ugly truth about the ills of the world and gently (oh so gently) compel the flock before him to think outside of their wealthy bubble. Never does he speak harshly, never does he condemn. He instills compassion and virtue in a world full of very little with a sugarless coating. Even I was compelled to succumb to the calling and spend a week in Mexico this October for an adult mission trip. Unfortunately, this will be the second year in a row I have been unable to partake. My “meaningless consumer driven life” has prevailed due to conflicting work schedules.

Those who know me know that I am far from spiritual and “religious”, which adds a bit of irony to this post. I’m not trying to pretend I have some overwhelming need to spread the "good news"; I’m just another dude with a healthy dose of the human spirit. We all have needs. We all have wants. We all have regrets. And yes, we all have the drive for fulfillment. It’s just that we sometimes forget it’s about more than just us. Luckily, David is there, not to remind us, but to show us. I think about that every day. Someday I may actually do something about it.

Monday, August 13, 2007

A Personal Hiking Experience

If only I could show you pictures, you too would laugh. I spent the weekend at my buddy Gabe's camp in the Ozark National Forest. It is a beautiful setting in the Boston Mountains with a small cabin and two nice spring-fed creeks (seasonally fed anyway). To the physical setting you add a group of guys, ATV's, a couple of tractors, a keg of beer, and camp chairs for perching in the few pools of cold water that have endured the August heat. It goes something like this...we strap the keg on the back of an ATV, load up a 10lb suckling pig, 6 bags of charcoal, a box of crab legs and head to the chest deep pool of ice cold water to marinate and bond.

Now marinating and bonding are a ritual at the camp but this time, fueled by the addition of a full size keg (and 20 bags of ice) there is very interesting conversation. Mostly degrading each other with stories of bonding rituals past and trying hard to decide how best to cook the pig. Good thing we brought back up burgers!

Well into the aforementioned ritual bonding, I decided to expend some of my energy and hike downstream for a distance with as much pace as I could muster. Then I would turn around, hiking a different route back to the keg, recharge, then head upstream with the same intent. It started great, pace was good, handy walking stick useful, simple route with minimal obstacles...it was actually exhilarating. I turned, wandered back through the opposite side of the creek bed with slightly more obstacles and managed to keep the same pace. I had two nasty little spills, both times glad that no one could see the graceful slide on algae coated slate or the rotting tree trunk give way...my handy walking stick was the only casualty, splintered by the force of my body sliding into the pool below a small waterfall.

Once back to the base camp, I recharged, caught my breath (which took longer than a minute) and headed upstream. At first, the pace was on track with the first two legs...I have to admit it was pretty fast for me and my hefty stance. But at the end, I was spent. No more. My tech amphibians were full of rocks, my heart was beating out of my chest, my handy stick was lost...but something funny actually happened. I found a sort of high that I have never experienced. Perhaps it was the flood of endorphins, but I really enjoyed beating the hell out of myself on those rocks. So today, after a day of recuperation and soreness (ok, two days) I find myself anxiously awaiting the next time. I have a new goal. I want to push myself into a new phase of physical activity. It is now my goal to run the rocky trail from the camp up the mountain to the gate...I think it is slightly over a mile, but uphill most of the way with an elevation change of about 400'. Any bets on whether I can do it? Perhaps by publicly stating my intention, the motivation will not wain. And if so, I will always have the memory of finding my new endorphin high to motivate me! Wish me luck.

Construction in the Desert

Just a little sample of what I do day in and day out. It's not glamorous by any means, but I thought you might enjoy seeing the fruits of my labor and travels to Arizona.


Of course I don't physically build anything myself...that credit goes to the scores of peeps that work in the scorching heat to build a Bali-esque retail resort. I prefer the air-conditioning!