Summer in April: A Father's Story

It was hot, sunny, and clear in the City today, a perfect day for soccer. That both of the teams my kids play on lost is immaterial. That's one of the things team sports gives a kid, the experience of loss. It hurts, but you have to go on. There are some good things to draw from a loss. It isn't the end of the world. Therefore, today was a perfect day for all of us.

There's another game next week, next month, next year. Competition in sports is always intense. The older and bigger you get, the harder it becomes. But today, for the first time, my 10-year-old told me, "I do get competitive in games." She was responding to someone's comment that she has started to learn how to throw her weight around, use her body to knock into other players when that is what's called for.

"Thunderfoot," her nickname, is perfect. She has an awesome kick.

As for her 14-year-old brother, other parents call him "The Gazelle," for the way he glides over the pitch, seemingly in the right place at the right time, over and over. Playing defense, he must have stolen the ball and reversed its course 20 times today, several times almost resulting in goals for his team as a result.

I am sunburned tonight. I'm also ill, a frequent problem these weeks, but nothing to be concerned about.

Mainly I am a proud Dad. With absolutely no worries or doubts. My life is perfect just as it is. I certainly know much more about loss than gain. Both have their virtues. My loss is not your gain. My loss is my gain.

I sense good things coming for me -- new people, new opportunities, new success.

Those who lose me, however, by their choice, that will be their loss. So be it.

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My Earth Day Hero: A Human Butterfly

Julia Butterfly Hill is best known as the young woman who sat high in a redwood tree she called Luna for over two years in the late 1990s in order to protest logging in Northern California's last remaining old-growth forests.

The wonderful environmental writer Jane Kay published an interview with Julia on sfgate.com today that reminded me of the many reasons she will always be one of the most inspirational people I've ever had the pleasure to work with.

First, if you are given to dismissing every tree-hugger as an out-of-touch, middle-class narcissist, you need to get to know a bit more about Julia Hill. You need to know that even the loggers who at first despised and resented her for threatening their careers came to deeply respect and even protect her -- and Luna -- from harm.

Knowing her ability to convert hostility into love, it is no surprise to me that she has become a world famous speaker and environmental activist, who inspires many others to action on behalf of our dwindling common resources both by her example and by her words.

Yet, at the same time, inside this lovely, dynamic woman, is -- as she herself told Jane Kay -- a loner, an "introvert."

I served as an adviser to Julia and one of her organizations early in this decade, and over the course of several retreats, got to know her well enough to recognize a common lost soul, searching for meaning in a world often uncommonly harsh, wasteful, and short-sighted.

Despite her fame and prominence, Julia walks lighter on the earth than anyone I know, or have ever known, at least in the developed world. Her personal carbon footprint is tiny; she brings her own plates and utensils with her to restaurants, for example, she doesn't own a car, and she wastes precious few resources of any kind.

There's also an elusive spirit to her that her chosen middle name, Butterfly, captures perfectly. I wonder whether anyone can honestly claim to know her on the deepest, most intimate of levels. I tend to doubt it.

Partly due to this reason, she is a great writer. I've commended her memoir of her 738 days in the tree to all of the students taking my writing courses over recent years, and it remains the perfect book to use to introduce new generations to the importance of taking a personal stand in defense of the global ecology that ultimately sustains all life.

For these and many other reasons, I dedicate this Earth Day to my elusive friend and enduring hero, Julia Butterfly Hill. My own world feels warmer, knowing that she is out there fighting on behalf of all of us -- even when that means that she is in fact all alone somewhere, very, very quiet, seeking nothing but a respite from the noise surrounding her.

Much like a butterfly.

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Nice One

That birthday was far nicer and less of an emotional roller-coaster than I'd expected as the day dawned.

It wasn't a particularly nice day in San Francisco. A freezing wind knifed through the city, chilling us to the bone. As we walked the dogs around Holly Park, the smaller of them was literally blown sideways at one point by a gust.

My close friend called and suggested lunch. We are healing a misunderstanding, a simple mistaken impression, but these things can take time, particularly when there are other issues bundled up with them.

The kids are great to me. The big ones called and emailed; the little ones brought presents and a cake.

But probably the biggest surprise was the impact of social media. Facebook tells your friends when it's your birthday, and all day long, people posted greetings on my "Wall," sent me emails, and/or wished me well via g-chat.

There was a languid, natural pace to all of this. Just another little message every now and again, much as might happen if we shared a village, and bumped into one another in the normal course of our day.

As I've become slowly more active on Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter, I've begun to deeply appreciate what these services provide -- company.

It is an age, generally, of greater isolation, alienation, and loneliness than is healthy for human beings. Yesterday, thanks to social networking sites, I escaped those feelings, and ended the day instead feeling bathed in love and affection.

It probably doesn't get better than that, and why should it?

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That Very Next, Precious Breath

Birthdays.

Never a favorite occasion. As I've now published over 20 posts for every year I've been alive (!) on this very blog, you might imagine I'd have at least a small portion of my life at least purportedly, marginally well-covered.

Rather, I'm struck by how great the gap between life and memoir has become. Life devolves into a second by second affair. Your breath going in and out. It's between you and the air.

Pressing through that air can become a challenge sometimes. There's gravity, inertia, all sorts of forces at work.

People require their own power plants. We consume energy at a frightful rate. We pollute, we waste. All in our quest for -- what is it again? That something we are seeking?

Is it peace, balance, security, love, faith, connection?

The other day I watched a bird hanging high overhead. It didn't seem to be moving at all, just gliding in place, still, surveying all that lay below. Then I detected a quiver, ever so slightly, as the bird betrayed its dependence on the wind.

The Japanese have a verse of Haiku: For every leaf a breeze. I think's that's it.

I'm going to celebrate my birthday by seeking a fresh breeze.

Then I'll return to writing, which these days seems to be the main energy force keeping me from giving in.

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What Cats Sense

Monday, melancholy Monday.

I was in one of those sad moods this morning, mourning actually, something that shouldn't have ended the way it did.

Misunderstandings and missed opportunities often define how our lives progress. Sometimes, it seems when we are just on the verge of a breakthrough, just about to articulate a wondrous truth, some force of the universe enters like a blinding meteor to wipe out our plan, throw us for a loop, leaving us to grasp at the meaning of it all.

As if there were any meaning whatsoever of it all!

Oliver sensed my sadness and also my loneliness. I don't know why, exactly, I went down to sit in the backyard, alone, with my sunglasses on, in case anyone should see me, hiding what would be all too painfully obvious about my condition.

Thankfully, no humans showed up. People only make me cry. But Oliver did. Cats never make me cry, unless they are the long-haired variety. I am allergic to those guys. Oliver, acting on instinct, decided to keep me company for a while, as he took his time navigating around the yard, sniffing each and every recent change as if he were an inspector for the City.

Several times he passed near enough to me that I could touch him, gently rubbing his head and his neck. That is the mammal to mammal contact I desperately needed today. He provided it.

When he finally exited the property, headed south, he turned his head back to look at me one more time, as if to say, "You okay dude?"

I was okay. I was able to talk, shake hands, communicate, do the business I do all the rest of this day, courtesy of this lovely cat.

Thank you, Oliver!

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I Don't Belong Here

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice when I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell I'm doing here?
I don't belong here

She's running out again
She's running out
She runs runs runs

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
I don't belong here

Happy Holiday

Happy Easter. Happy Passover. Happy Beautiful Little Grandson Luca!

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