Here we are, still facing the same direction – forward – and still filled to the brim, more feeling than ever.

Every shiny thing that caught my eye along the way, every little battle I fought within me, every battle I fought without, every little thing…

All that amounts to nothing. Just little things.

Because it always came down to the one person, the one truth against which all others withered and superfluously slid away.

They still do.

Take me away.

I wouldn’t say I have anger management issues. But I feel like sometimes I have anger issues. I don’t know exactly when I started to experience rage, but I believe it’s become something of a problem sometime between 2003 and 2007. I think it’s when I ran out of patience.

You have anger management problems when you can’t control how you act when you are angry. I don’t think I have a problem with control. The problem is the feeling. I get ragey. I get palpitations, my ears turn red, my heart thuds so hard I feel like I sway back and forth to the raw beat of it. I think I DO see red. I get dizzy.

I’m not sure if this is healthy. I’m not sure if I have a condition. It’s a little bit frightening sometimes.

Yet I wouldn’t say that I react badly in the face of rage. I may spew invective, throw up a few unmistakable hand signals, or interject a choice piece of profanity or two, but I have never hit anyone (okay, maybe shoved, but that’s another story and I did apologise profusely for it afterwards and it was only one time oh I’m so sorry). Hmm. Well, I have punched a wall. With both hands. And kicked a hole in a wall.

Okay.

Fine.

Maybe I have anger management issues as well.

The Data

Anyway, going back to the emotion (anger), I felt It today at lunch, when I was standing in the lunch line with a colleague and two people cut in front of us. I felt It last week when a colleague was treated rudely by a counterparty. I felt It at the Swing Out Sister concert, before SOS came out to play. I felt It when I was telling my driver to turn left and he turned right. I felt It when a waiter ignored my parents at a restaurant. I felt It when a motorcycle was trying to act like a car on South Super. I am feeling it now just thinking about the… that… are doing. These are just some of the more recent random ones I recall off the top of my head.

The Theory

An Older Wiser once asked me (for conversations’ sake) what made me angry. If I recall correctly, I said “I think oppression makes me angry”. Now I KNOW it does. So after a little bit of soul-searching, I think I’ve finally gotten down to The Seven Things that Make Me Angry. These are the following:

• Oppression
• Injustice (helplessness and the feeling of no recourse)
• Seeing people being treated badly
• Bad service
• Incompetence
• Rudeness
• Extreme arrogance

This is a list of honesty, one that claims no consistency. I’m just being frank. I could rant until Betsy and Bessie make their way to the front door and let themselves in, but I won’t; this isn’t the place for it (I believe that would be my Bubble Gum Blog). No, here is where I do some introspection on the roots of my anger, note a measure of growth (is it really growth?) in myself, and identify the things I really need to fix.

Origins?

I can only speculate as to where this rage was birthed. I believe that my temper has always been latent in me – planted by my genetic (the distant Spanish part) and social (the Cavite part) origins.

It wasn’t until I moved back, however, and began to face the harsh realities of the working (or non-working) life that the Beast came alive. I mean, here I’ve come, from a place where oppression is seen as a bad thing (even though it’s not been totally eradicated), there is recourse for most people, most things work, most people are polite, and most places provide good service (if they don’t, you tell the manager and you don’t tip your server) – to a place that offers an abundance of The Seven Things that Make Me Angry. Patience, the virtue, has worn quite thin.

That said, I’ve discovered a thing or seven (again!) about me and anger and how I handle it.

Analysis and Observations

1. If I see something afoot, more often than not, I will speak up about it. I didn’t do this very much before. I would kind of seethe inwardly and bitch about it afterwards, thinking of all of the things I could have or should have said or done. But now, I say something.
2. And what I say, well… I try my best to make it proportionate of how sure I am about the situation. For instance, if I’m positive I’m right, I will Unleash the Beast on your punky ass. If I’m not so sure, I try to keep my cool or at least grit my teeth enough to say something of a more inquisitive/fact-finding-mission-type remark (i.e. “excuse me, there’s a line”).
3. I think I tone things down when I’m unsure, and I think I have refrained from speaking up before, because of fear. I have, I believe, flown off the handle for something I really shouldn’t have. Maling akala. I was all up in the Kool-Aid and I didn’t know what flavor it was. Back in the day, I was afraid of what people would think of me if I did that. Now, while I still do fear that, I’m more afraid of busting it out on someone who doesn’t deserve it.
4. I find that in the more properly confrontational of situations, I tend to be eloquent when I UtB. No profanity. Man in the Indian resto in London is a case in point. I’m elegant in some cases, schoolmarmy in others. I have been known to strike fear into the hearts of erring adolescent students.
5. As much as I hate to admit it, and as much as I try not to be, I, too, am rude sometimes when I get ragey. Well, when I get frustrated at least. This is wrong.
6. Finally, I’ve got two outs – first, if I’m wrong, I’ll apologise. If I’ve gone all batty, and in the final throes of battle, I find out I was wrong, I’ll make sure I was wrong, and then apologise.
7. Second, as a trap door of sorts – a twist and turn, if you will – I laugh. It’s all one big piss-take. I will take the piss. Maybe not of the persons involved, but of the whole, entire, absurd situation. So if I’ve told someone off, and they’ve made excuses, and when all’s said and done both parties are unclear as to what just happened or whether one had won or not – after all this – I smile. I smile a very mysterious (I’d like to think, because it’s quite a mystery to me as well) smile, and I laugh inwardly. It’s all very funny, really. We take ourselves entirely too seriously sometimes.

Moving Forward

Okay, all well and good. But clearly, I’ve been bad and I need to be good.

• I need to restore at least a measure of that patience upon which I once prided myself (perhaps, however, a lot of it was weakness masquerading as patience). This applies most especially to me visibly losing my temper with people who can’t help it. (Refer to driver example under Data above.)
• I must never be rude to people, no matter how vexing they can get. Older Wiser once said that her mama once said, “it’s nice to be important, but it’s important to be nice”. Amen to that.
• I must never engage in the type of behavior that I so woefully rue.

By Way of A Long and Winding Conclusion

So I’ve grown some. But I’m still a long way off. Back towards patience, back to the middle way. I never want to be consumed by rage and hate. I’d rather die than let that happen. But I’d also rather die than see people pushed around or treated badly and let it pass.

There’s the rub, though. A part of me feels that the way of peace, the way that, say, Jesus taught, was me before the Beast came alive. That I’ve lost something precious now that I’ve turned into a raging bitch. God is the only judge of man – who am I to judge if people cut in line? What are rules anyway, but the constructs of man?

On the other hand, that Little Voice inside Me would nag incessantly if I stood by and let someone cut in the lunch line, or in the bathroom line. Small beans, but… it’s the principle of the thing. We who have more must step up for those to whom less has been given. We just need a little more patience, a little more kindness.

At the same time, though, if there is no line, I’ll be the first one in, elbows flying (Mercury Drug case in point). And my road behavior is a little bit of a different thing – I confess I’m a bit of a monster on the road. But I use my indicator lights, and I give way to those who use their indicator lights to signal their intention to change lanes. If you don’t signal, though, watch out you poor bastard because I’m not letting you in. And depending on my mood, yes, I am going to take the exit lane and cut back into traffic.

Sigh. I’m no saint, and I’m not aiming to be saintly. Just good. And maybe not so angry so much. (I do sound like I’m schizo sometimes, though…)

The Secret Weapon vs. Anger and Bad Things

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don’t lie

***

Opening Credits: Don’t Know What to Say – Ric Segreto (HAHAHA)

Waking up: I’ll Be Doggone – The Temptations and Diana Ross & The Supremes

First Day at High School: Two More Years – Bloc Party

Falling in Love: Susanna Hoffs – Now and Then

Fight Song: Con Te Partiro – Andrea Boccelli (Hahaha I’d like to think of this as a Closer-type fight scene, like slow-mo and very surreal and almost numinous…)

Breaking up: Stay – Cueshe

Prom: Shook – Shawn Desman (ah yeah. pimpin’)

Life: Barabare – Sergio Mendes (huh?)

Mental Breakdown: Most of the Time – Bob Dylan (wow)

Driving: Hard To Beat – Hard-Fi (this is getting freaky already)

Flashback: Symphony No. 5 – Rondo-Finale. Allegro-Allegro iocoso. Frisch. – Mahler

Getting Back together: Symphony No. 5 – Trauermarsch. In gemessenem Schritt.Streng.Wie ein Kondukt (HAHAHAHAHA SO GOOD)

Wedding: Just Friends – David Tau (FREAKY!!!)

Birth of Child: Se Me Olvido Todo Al Verte – Alejandro Sanz (huh?)

Final Battle: Gaya ng Noon – 6 Cycle Mind (fighting for love?)

Death Scene: Gift of Tongues – Chicosci (not exactly how I imagined it…)

Funeral song: How Can You Mend A Broken Heart – Bee Gees (perfect)

End Credits: Ye Me Le – Sergio Mendes & Brasil 66

End Credits 2: I’m Gonna Make You Love Me – The Temptations and Diana Ross & The Supremes

(OKAY you got me I added the “End Credits 2″ one, but it is SO GOOD it’s so true, I mean there’s more than one end credit song… and then there are the after credits scenes… “Every breath I take/And each and every step I make/Brings me closer baby, closer to you//And with each beat of my heart/For every day we’re apart/I’ll hunger for every wasted hour” and then “Look out now/Cos I’m gonna get you/I’m gonna make you love me/Yes I will”. HELLO.)

Bitter disappointments, bitter cold nights. I spent a lot of time brooding, as teenagers do. When I got older, I began to “contemplate”. The term to use was “reflect”. But it was all the same thing, really. Little did I know that I was on the hunt for Truth and Beauty.

Some people are surprised when you speak to them. They seem a bit shocked at your smile. Sometimes, they just sort of sit, dumbfounded. Most of the time, they smile back, their eyes a-crinkle. You share a few words about the weather with strangers, exchange a few awkward phrases with the kid in the class who’s reading The Shadow Rising too, smile a quick thank-you to the old wrinkled woman who’s just sold you a piece of candy for a buck.

Don’t piss on peoples’ dreams, don’t piss on their realities.

Because there is something truly beautiful in the ground-up heart of youth, on the blackened brow of the hopeless, beneath the stained souls of the broken. More beautiful than pristine white banners fluttering proudly against a clear blue sky from shining marble towers.

It’s hope.

Not just any hope, though. Hope that’s borne from the ashes of burnt up dreams, hope that’s seen the bottom, hope that’s ever been on the outside looking in, hope and… happiness. When you realize that it’s okay, that it’s you – you’re right here and right now, and it’s okay.

I’ve found that that kind of hope and happiness is embodied in four solid pieces of music that I knew growing older (I would never presume to count as a grown-up at this stage…) that speak to kindred hearts. Anthems or not, I am willing to bet that these songs have inspired an old heart, stayed the hand of a young one, sparked the fire of one that had thought it had ceased to even know how to beat. Sadly, I’m also willing to bet there are at least as many people who wouldn’t, and couldn’t carry on.

I remember feeling low / I remember losing hope / I remember all the feelings and the day they stopped / We are all innocent / One day / You’ll have to let it go / One day / You stand up on your own
Innocent – Our Lady Peace

It’s amazing / With the blink of an eye you finally see the light / It’s amazing / When the moment arrives that you know you’ll be alright / It’s amazing / And I’m saying a prayer for the desperate hearts tonight
Amazing – Aerosmith

Walk on / What you got they can’t deny it / Can’t sell it or buy it / Walk on / Walk on / Stay safe tonight / And I know it aches / And your heart it breaks / You can only take so much
Walk On – U2

And the timeless classic…

And when the night is cloudy / There is still a light that shines on me / Shine until tomorrow / Let it be

I believe in love.

* * *

For two amazing people that I have never met…

Zoe Belle – may you have found happiness at last

RJ – thank you for your dream

…the citizens of Fringeville and surrounding areas – come, gone and still in my life – with whom I’ve had the privilege of sharing smiley moments…

…and a whole nation of amazing person.

The citizens of Bazakistan – Our own little world.

* * *

“Remember… The light at the end of the tunnel may be you. Good night, folks.”

It’s important to remember, though. So, from the recycle bin of my mind, I unearth and commemorate my favorite posts from Exploding Starfish and Eclectic Outlet. Here are the Top Five(ish) Lists:
Exploding Starfish <explodingstarfish.blogspot.com>

1. Back Office Antics series with “Joe”: “J, you’re just like this lady on the newspaper”,
2. Back Office Antics series with “Joe”: “You could be a… a manager one day”
3. 4 pesos change (My first glimpse into the real world Philippines)
4. Getting pulled over at Edsa cor Shaw… and crying (Eye-opener on traffic rules and charity)
5. Comment: When I gently lay the exploded starfish down and bid it farewell in 2005, someone commented and said he’d miss Exploding Starfish. “The humor,” he said, “don’t forget the humor.” I thought only M and A read my blog, and maybe a few more other people. It was good to know that someone else did – some random person – and appreciated it.

Eclectic Outlet <theadventureape.blogspot.com>

1. The frolicking bears on Alpine slopes
2. Ivete Sangalo and Alejandro Sanz tribute (I may redo this one because they are SO GOOD and this time I can embed songs)
3. Tribute to King Bhumibol Andulyadej
4. Annotated song list of New Juan Bond
5. In general, the call-and-answer series of posting. Highly amusing and a little incredible.

It’s too bad I can’t remember any more. If anyone out there does, help a sister out and remind me.

Love is like a tornado? Life is like a tornado. Get sucked in the vortex that swallows you whole, ripped up and torn apart and swirling until you find youself in Oz for a few weeks’ vacation then spit back down into the high grass of Kansas only to find you’ve left a shiny red shoe behind somewhere and your dog’s writing you post cards from Acapulco.

Compartmental meltdown shifts into gear only to hear the drip of thirsty water on yards upon yards of thought-ends and thought-beginnings. Where you were brave before you now only hear a door swinging on its hinges as courage turns ’round and flips you the bird.

Haven’t you heard? These are the city limits in the heat of a broken sun. You can’t cross this line – you shelved your brain years ago, don’t you know? Where you feel lacking now is hacking away at the carefully constructed edifice of optimism that used to spire high in the sky, higher than the burning live wire sticking out of the noon-day sun. But what’s a few questions you feel you can’t answer? What does it matter when the burnt-up rubber of your screeching tires sits smoldering still under the ultraviolet rays, penetrating your days like prying fingers searching for the map of your heart. Where it is you really want to go, what it is you really want to do.

So you strap up the soul of your shoes and grab a stick to find your dog who has by now learned to speak Spanish with the margarita beauties in a far-off place. And in the gamut of emotions, or not, have you learned to pick up that pretty pen and again put words to paper. Trouble multiplied ten thousand times and sprinkled on the wind, so that even though there was enough of that in your storehouse, you decided to get more, and douse the fires that licked at the sides of the walls of your U-Haul.

And for what? Can you get past this strap, this last checkpoint? Won’t there be another one waiting in the hills, beyond the border, past the skies through which you’ll fly just to get a hint of which way you should be going? As you hang on a thread and sway, the clock – tick tock – keeps its time. The anger, the hurt and frustration… these are but words to be mentioned that pale against the brightness of the feelings themselves and intentions that shine so brightly when you hold them up to the sky but when you put them in your pocket, they die and the brilliant hues that revealed themselves before – they snap shut and stay mum, and they speak no more.

But in the long corridor that leads to the end of the hallway where we must make our turn, do you think that we can tear and burn all the chains that bind me to my leaden past? The ones that keep me a prisoner of myself and my defenses? Do you think if you take my hand and carry me past the door of brass, as I flounder here, heavy in heart – do you think you can carry me and drag me down that hall until we both fall exhausted… but free? If you extend your hand do you think you can command a life out of the ghost that is me? Tick tock – again that clock, and here we are huddled and muddled and wet and bedraggled, frayed ’round the edges, but…

Faith.

That gets us through this tornado.

Not knowing where to go or how to get there and whether you will get there alive.

Faith that keeps you riding that bloody skywave, no matter how high it goes and how giddy you get when you look down.

These judgments, however, are clearly only my humble opinion. I don’t claim to offer any authoritative criticism whatsoever. It’s funny though, what people have to say about musical performances. Some people are experts, others amateurs. Some people just judge based on emotion. Some don’t offer any sort of productive feedback at all. Me – I can only base things on what I like, really.

So here are my two cents on five performances of the 3rd movement of Bruch’s Violin Concerto in G Minor presented on YouTube. I try not to read the comments until I’m well into the performance, so I can get my own impressions. I find that I tend to agree with the general gist of some comments, though others I am keenly against. Furthermore, I am in no way, shape or form claiming that I can play even close to 1/1000 as well as how these people play – I just know what I like to see and hear. And, maybe to some extent (I say guiltily), I like what adheres a little more closely to the breathtaking and masterful Itzhak Perlman (with the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by Andre Previn) recording I grew up with. Either way, I’ve tried to take these pieces on their own merit. The sample is taken from YouTube (which is the easiest access I have to many videos/recordings in one sitting) and is in no way, shape or form random. I just picked the ones that I found were nice to hear and see. So much for the disclaimer.

Without further ado…

Alice and a Community Orchestra. Our first soloist is a young lady named Alice, who was in 8th grade at the time of the recording. A community orchestra… tries… to back her up. For all the clamorous noise the orchestra makes (it sounds like what an orchestra made entirely of me would sound like), Alice carries the performance. Flat entry, and rough round some edges (like some of the double stops), with a few tempo issues (rushing in some places more than my ear likes to hear), but I find that despite her youth she seems to project the kind of emotion that goes with the piece. I feel like it borders on arrogance, though, but that could just be me. Of course, if I were her and I were forced to perform with an orchestra like that, I’d have rolled my eyes to last Tuesday. (“Hungry cow orchestra”!!! It’s SO TRUE! Listen for the brass section…)

My last word: The girl’s got potential.

Yang Xi and the Raleigh Symphony Orchestra . The problem with this, I think is the recording. Yang Xi’s violin comes in too soft. But from what I hear, I quite like his tone and tempo, where he pauses and sways just so at the right places (“play like you breathe” someone advised a violin YouTuber). For what it’s worth, I also like that he doesn’t overexpress. The performance doesn’t strike me, though.

My last word: Good, but doesn’t grab.

Menuhin and orchestra conducted by Ferenc Fricsay. Lord Menuhin is as solid as a rock. The rich tones that float from his instrument have that good, old-fashioned timbre, and his tempo, while I feel is rushed in some places, is an inhale-exhale that fits the song most of the time. You might expect a bit more constancy from Menuhin, though, in terms of technique. Meanwhile, he is as grave and staid as you’d expect from a lord outwardly, but his emotions come out in his music; the movement, the strength and the tenderness of the piece don’t show on his face as much as in the notes that emanate from his instrument.

My last word: Solid.

Kyung Wha Chung and the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by Andre Previn. Holy wow. A unique performance like raw soul and teeth set on edge. This is the first agitated interpretation I have ever seen or heard of this piece, like it won’t really let you get comfortable in your chair. But the expression in her movements and on her face fit the temporal interpretation to a tee, and as much as you feel like you’re not in your own skin you really have to keep your eyes peeled and your ears open so you don’t miss a single delightful jump Korean violinist Kyung Wha Chung puts on the piece. Great dynamics. She crouches on a whisper and jumps on a shout. It’s a cookie-cutter buster, and technically wonderful too – tone, timbre, everything. She rocked the passage just right at around the 3:30 mark. I don’t have any complaints about tempo because this is a clear personal take on the piece. Kudos to Previn and the orchestra for keeping well in pace with their soloist! (And yes, Previn does remind me of Austin Powers…)

My last word: Wow – a performance that kept me on the edge of my seat and took me for a proper ride.

Silvia Marcovici. I have to be honest. I didn’t watch this because the thumbnail did not interest me at all – not sexy enough a thumbnail, with the generic-looking woman in a clip that might have been recorded in the 80′s. But when I let it load and play, I said – okay, this is it. Unfortunately, the video doesn’t start from the beginning, and spends a few minutes at the end in applause, but it gives me enough to go on. This Romanian violinist left me breathless. She hit the nail on the head in the technical aspect. Timbre and tone were vibrant off of good, solid wood. All of this was already a given, really. Her pace, to me, was perfect (and I’ve just now discovered that I’m quite the stickler for tempo, at least when I’m listening to other people play) as she lunged and swayed on enough sweetness with which to fill a pot of honey. She and her orchestra blended as one. Her expression cradled and pushed and danced this piece all the way through to the end, with a bit of gravity here, the tender furrow of a brow there, the dip and the flourish pounding the final notes into the air to hang, suspended until they dissolved among the applause of the audience.

My last word: Winner.

So I end this, then, with a little bit more on Silvia Marcovici, and the performance about which I so shamelessly raved:

On my way out, I happened upon a colleague sitting at a registration table in front of another meeting room. There was clearly something going on, and I was curious. A press conference? For the release of the Inflation Report for the 4th Quarter of 2007, you say? Oh! Well. I’ll have a little sit-in and see what these things are like! I knew I’d be at work ’till 7 anyway, to wait for the traffic cops to stop paying attention to the last digit of my plate number.

Unfortunately, the two big cheeses were stuck in a Monetary Board meeting and couldn’t come up to the press con as they usually do. The venerable Managing Director of the MPSS, whom I quite admire, conducted the press con instead. I must say, the woman did a fine job as per usual.

One notable aspect of her manner of presenting is the speed at which she delivers thoughts. I was telling my seat-mate, dear Mr. DL, that listening to MD CTA was like looking at a Monet. Chock-a-block full of information, her mile-a-minute presentation didn’t give you much room to dwell on details. You had to get an impression of the entire thing to know what was going on. Never mind trying to take detailed notes – by the time you jotted two letters down, she was on to the next six words.

The room was full of press people. Folks as eclectic as they come. All intent on hearing the latest from the proverbial horse’s mouth about where prices were expected to go and where the economy was headed. After her punch-packing report on inflation and its outlook, she asked the full room whether there were any questions. There were none – a bit shocked, I asked dear Mr. DL whether it was standard fare. Well, the Gov and Deputy Gov weren’t there as they should have been, so of course his answer was “no”.

We dallied a bit, and I saw a handful of press folk swarm around MD CTA. So, no questions while everyone had ears pressed against the air in front of the meeting room, but questions after. And dear Mr. DL said, yes. Typical. They’re asking about exchange rate. I shuffled closer all mouse-like and overheard CTA say, like a rock, “…well we’re not prophetic, we make mistakes, we may change our assumptions.” Steady on course, things to learn here. How to handle the press.

I took a pit stop on my way out, and washed up in the marble-ous restrooms of the Executive Business Center before I made my leisurely way back to my office. As I approached the EBC exit, I spied MD CTA flanked by several press folk. I walked briskly by and, as I recall, heard her saying “…definitely less than 50″. Now I’m not entirely sure to what she was referring. But I had a good idea.

I suppose that’s why they’re called the press.

At any rate, the whole thing got me thinking… about information and behavior. But that’s for another time, another blog.

The other three links on that first Google results page are most definitely not me. I don’t have a friend named China and I am not a parek (whatever that may mean). I most certainly am not a 58-year-old Safeway cashier in Honolulu and Hilo who is now dead.

So, having embarked upon this voyage of self-discovery, I have… discovered what I am and what I am not. I’ve also learned (or affirmed) the following:

1. I’m dated (to say the least).
2. I haven’t done much to merit distinction online apart from saying “We saw a movie last Sunday.”

Of course I’m defensive – what’s an online search anyway? I really get into the cop-out justification with talk of how Google searches actually work, and how… Well, I trail off. Because at the end of the day, that’s really all the tired words add up to: a cop-out.

The real question I should be asking myself is after all these years, what have I accomplished? Like really accomplished?

I do a quick search in my brain – the little bits of memory wedged in between the crates that’ve moved about the attic of my mind. Among the uncountable oddities I find up there, I can’t muster even one itty bitty bit of rolled-up scroll that ever merited a proper fanfare and left a lasting impact. Nothing.

I may find myself waist-deep in life not having done a thing. A real thing.

In a juvenile moment years ago, I said (without actually understanding it, I think) that regret about something you did may, in the end, be better than regret about something you didn’t do. At least by acting you made a decision. Not doing anything, now that… I suppose may be the way to go in some situations. But I’ve found that more often that not, status quo is one of the ingredients of disaster. Letting life happen to you instead of happening to life. What a mistake. What an awful, awful mistake. God gave us this life to do something with, not to bury in the ground.

A wise woman told me recently that we make decisions the best we can based on what we know, and that once we decide, we have to own it. We have to know that what we’re doing is right and trust ourselves to make the right decisions. Any decisions we make that have… unfavorable… outcomes we charge to experience. We learn from them and move on.

So what’s the point? Not so much to have my name show up on a Google search page for things I’ve done recently that I actually worked for… things that meant the world to me (would be nice, but no…). It’s about much more than that.

In View from the Top, Mike Myers tells his class of flight attendants that there is a dollar taped to the bottom of each of their chairs. He instructs the students that these dollars are theirs–they just have to get them. Everyone gets out of his seat, finds that dollar and sits back down. The moral of the story?

You gotta get off your ass to make a buck.

And so the buck stops here. Asses come unglued from chairs, no more living life like a sinking stone, no more letting life pass busily by.

To do something – no, not just do – to work for something, to want something enough to fight for it and to fight so hard for it that it does come to pass – to make even just one person’s life that much better, and better if many – that’s the point.

And, possibly, to find a clearer, more accurate and more sensible gage of my life’s progress than Googling myself.