“Everything dies, baby that’s a fact But maybe everything that dies some day comes back. Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty And meet me tonight in Atlantic City.”
Bruce Springsteen, Atlantic City
Last Friday I made the 60 mile pilgrimage from Philadelphia to the Atlantic City, New Jersey to present my writing workshop “Learn to Write like No One is Reading” at New Jersey Educators Convention.
The workshop, a culmination of strategies and experiences I’ve accumulated over the last 15 years of teaching, explores how teachers can use storytelling as an instructional practice to deepen student learning while helping students further embrace the writing process.
The workshop was well received by the audience. They actively participate, smiled, laughed at my jokes and from what I could tell, left with at least one new strategy to use in their classrooms.
For the last few months I’ve been making presentations at various professional learning seminars. And I’ve come to really enjoy talking literacy and helping educators facilitate classrooms that promote writing and storytelling so to inspire their students to become better writers.
But if I’m being purely honest — the real reason I went to Atlantic City last week to present a writing workshop was a purely selfish one.
The Real Reason
In September of 2013 an MRI revealed that I had suffered significant brain damage.
However there was no clear catalyst — a car crash or a fall — to warrant such loss of brain matter so quickly.
In October of 2013, after the Director of Neurology at Jefferson University Hospital examined my MRI he acknowledged majority of my cerebellum had died, suggested I start testing for every known debilitating and fatal disease and then asked if I had long-term disability insurance.
“I can’t predict what will happen to your brain,” he paused and looked over at the MRI still displayed on his computer screen, “but if you can somehow acquire long-term disability insurance I think you should.”
The Silver Lining
During its annual Convention, the New Jersey Educators Association has a no-physical-required, no-questions-asked open enrollment period for its long term disability insurance.
The only caveat was you have to enroll in person at the Convention in Atlantic City.
So in November of 2013, as mom drove the 60 some miles to Atlantic City, we outlined my plan — enroll in long-term disability insurance and brave on long enough for the paper work to process so that when I when inevitability lose the ability to speak or see or lose muscle function and can no longer work, my family would’t be so financially burdened.
When mom dropped me off outside the Convention Center, I told her to circle around the block because I wasn’t going to be long. I guess because when your life is undergoing a massive reconstruction sometimes you have no choice but to work as fast as you can.
I mazed through the Convention floor until I found the Prudential Insurance booth where I asked a few questions, looked at a few charts, enrolled in the long-term disability program, hustled back the way I came, walked out of the Convention Center, into the cold November sunlight and waited for mom to pick me up and take me home.
“The purpose of a pilgrimage is about setting aside a long period of time in which the only focus is to be the matters of the soul. Many believe a pilgrimage is about going away but it isn’t; it is about coming home. Those who choose to go on pilgrimage have already ventured away from themselves; and now set out in a longing to journey back to who they are.”
L.M. Browning, Seasons of Contemplation: A Book of Midnight Meditations
Last Friday I selfishly trekked 60 miles from the Philadelphia suburbans to the Atlantic City Convention Center.
In a way, I found something redemptive in those hard-earned miles. And though skirting pot holes and grinding through traffic can not repair the damage in my brain, it did remind me that somehow I’m still very much alive and that I still have a story to tell.
After a three year fight with the infamous steroid Prednisone — I’m proudly standing in the middle of the ring and raising my arms in victory.
In July of 2014 my rheumatologist prescribed a moderately high daily dosage of 35 milligrams of Prednisone to relieve my chronic inflammation and joint pain caused by the autoimmune disorder — sarcoidosis.
The morning after taking my first dosage I felt awful. Like frat party hung over awful. Nausea, headache, hot flashes, exhaustion.
Then, 48 hours later, while vacationing at the New Jersey shore I felt like Superman. Tossing the football around with my sons, swimming in the ocean, riding waves like I had never been sick.
Prednisone is not a cure. It’s a mask. A contradiction. It reduces inflammation and it improves the immediate quality of life while silently and slowly destroying bones and organs.
For the last 3 years I have struggled to reduce my dependency on Prednisone. Following my rheumatologist’s instructions I began slowly weening off the drug— 5 milligrams at a time. I worked down to 10 milligrams a day but every time I dropped below 10 the pain and inflammation would return and intensify.
My rheumatologist explained that I should prepare to for a life sentence with Prednisone.
While on Prednisone, I gained about 20 pounds. When I broke a bone in my foot, it took nearly 5 months to heal — tripling the amount of time it should have taken to heal. And though I was never diagnosed with depression, I did endure long bouts helplessness and loneliness which I believe was triggered on my dependency on a drug that was murdering months of my life away.
Over Labor Day weekend, my good friend Casey challenged me to a two-week vegan challenge.
At first I balked.
How could I, a life long carnivore, give up t-bones and hot wings? It wasn’t me. I wasn’t a vegan. I don’t wear sandals. I don’t hug trees.
I sent him a text saying I would think about it.
And I did.
I sent another text explaining that I would try to slowly ween off meat and dairy — one meal at a time.
Then I thought about it more. I thought about my future-self bloated, ripe with diabetes, brittle-boned and blind. I thought about my children. About playing football on the beach again. I thought about how helpless I felt. And I thought about dying young.
So in a flicker of bravery I said fuck it. Two weeks of no dairy, no meat. Cold turkey. Let’s do this.
Casey also told me to watch the documentary, “What the Health“, an unflinching look at how the meat and dairy industries are sleeping with the government and how meat and dairy foods trigger so many autoimmune and inflammation issues.
So I watched it. At first I was skeptical and even a bit naive. Why would my government, the one I Pledge Allegiance to every morning, lie about the importance of milk? Humans need milk. Milk does a body good. Right?
Understand, I’m not a doctor. I’m just a guy with a blog and autoimmune disorder who’s trying to live his best life. But if you’re struggling with inflammation or an autoimmune illness I would recommend looking at your diet. You may realize the food you’re fueling your body with is actually the stoking the fire of your illness.
After smashing through the two weeks, feasting on only plant based foods, something happened.
I felt good. Like really good. Like how I felt during the first few weeks on Prednisone. I was feeling so good I decided to abstain from Prednisone for one day to see what would happen. I did. And I felt great. Then one day without medication turned into two. Then a week without Prednisone passed. Then another week. And suddenly I was living a Prednisone-free life.
When I decided to forego my medication I did not consult my doctor. I made a simple, conscious decision to improve my own health.
I’m learning that the most unsatisfying thing is to be a spectator to your own life.
I’ve been vegan for 8 weeks. I’ve been Prednisone-free for almost 6 weeks. I wish I could tell you that it’s been a hard lifestyle change but it really hasn’t. Sure I miss bacon and cheeseburgers and bacon cheeseburgers but don’t miss the pain. I don’t miss the dependency. I don’t miss being a spectator.
I’ve lost 10 pounds in 6 weeks. My inflammation and joint pain have completely disappeared. And most importantly I no longer feel helpless. I have gained control over my health. I’m now in the ring, proactive in my fight, which is the most crucial step for anyone living with a chronic illness.
I’m not symptom free. Sarcoidosis caused irreversible brain damage that effect my balance and vision but since converting to veganism I’ve found a fighting spirit I thought I had lost.
I just think if you can find a reason to fight — and there’s always reason to fight — if you can make changes, if you can find the courage to roll up your sleeves and trade punches with your illness you’ll learn you’re a hell of a lot tougher then you ever thought you were.
And you may realize that you were the champion your life so desperately needed all along.
Be well (Eat well),
I want to thank my friend Casey for challenging me. I owe you brother. I guess some times we all need a push to find our better selves.
It was this week, last year that I published The Day I Learned I Could No Longer Jump ( or learning to fly). It was one of the greatest leaps I ever took.
Any writer who tells you they’re not worried about how their work will be perceived is lying.
Look dear reader, I want you to like my work. Scratch that — I want you to love my work.
I want you to read each post twice and share it three times.
I want you to think about me as you’re buttering your morning bagel or waiting for the elevator doors to open.
I want to make you laugh and cry. Give you chills and rock your soul and make you turn over the wonder and magic and mystery of your own life.
But in order to accomplish those Herculean things I need to be honest, authentic and share my story. I need to tell you things I’ve yet to tell my wife. That’s our agreement. And that’s why, sometimes, writing is incredibly hard.
In the quiet hours of life, I often think about my twelve weeks at the St. Lawrence Rehabilitation Center. About the new truths I learned. About how I learned I could no longer jump. About how quickly years of the personal definitions of me being a man strong and athletic crumbled to the cold linoleum floor on a gray December afternoon when an unassuming physical therapist asked me to jump.
What I tried to capture in The Day I Learned I Could No Longer Jump was the raw embarrassment and shame and sadness I felt in those rehab sessions.
What I didn’t tell you in that story was how scared I was.
The fall and winter of 2013 was the most terrifying stretch in my life. It wasn’t the thought of dying, which did hang heavy in those days, it was a fear of redefining myself. My brain was damaged and the doctors didn’t know why. But the scariest part was digesting the news that parts of me could only now be found in photo albums and in flickering reels of memory.
Take your parents or grandparents. Great people I’m sure. But they’re set in their ways. They detest change. They’ve got their favorite chair, their eternal pair of slippers. They’ve been buying the same toothpaste for 30 years. They’re comfortable. They resist to change. And it drives you crazy but they’re too advanced to redefine themselves. So you smile and accept it.
I knew that my season of physical rehabilitation was crucial. I knew I had to let go of who I was — an athlete, coach and begin the painful and confusing task of redefining myself as a writer — before it was too late.
Redefining yourself is not easy. It’s scary. You’re not a kid but you fear judgement and criticism the way you did in high school. And sometimes redefining yourself becomes dangerous work. Drugs, alcohol and other destructive habits become your new definitions.
But I’ve learned that if you redefine yourself positively and purposefully you can tap new potentials.
When you write your new definitions you find new ways to in be strong and empowered and your life is suddenly swirling with exciting possibilities. You discover new energies. New angles. You begin to realize your potential.
Aside from William Faulker, any writer will claim that editing while writing is a literary sin. You write and write and write then edit. They are separate adventures. But this is life. You can’t write, enjoy a cup of coffee, take a breath then edit your past. We must write and edit at the same time. You must redefine yourself as you go. And it’s unnatural. It’s hard. It’s really fucking hard.
But dear reader, it might just be the most important thing you ever do.
The Day I Learned I Could No Longer Jump ( or learning to fly)
Six months after being diagnosed with cerebellar degeneration, six months after a neurologist examined an MRI of my brain, leveled his eyes, cleared his throat and said to me, “you should be dead or in a hospital bed” I’m staring at my physical therapist, Denise, and she’s daring me to jump...
We don’t have to engage in grand, heroic actions to participate in the process of change. — Howard Zinn
Morning routines are all the rage. They set the tone and increase optimal achievement throughout the day.
According to the ultra successful like Oprah and Tony Robbins — ice baths, hot yoga, soul-cleansing meditation, marathon journal sessions and frolics up a mountainside at sun rise are just a few things you’ll need to do before breakfast in order to be more successful, happier.
But what if an elaborate morning routine is simply not realistic?
What if you’re a working parent who, along with getting yourself together, have to wake up the kids and pack lunches and make breakfast and brush teeth and wipe butts and study for the looming tests and break up fist-fights in the hallway?
Proponents may suggest, “How about waking up earlier?”
Um…how about no.
I wake up at 5:15 every weekday, 6:30 on weekends. I get to bed around 10:30–11 during the week. And on the weekends, I often collapse on the couch by 9.
So if waking up earlier is simply not an option how can we — the breakfast-builders, lunch-makers, teeth-brushers, butt-wipers, teachers and referees of the household get our day started right?
Since I have only about an hour each morning before I leave for work, here’s what I do…
Every morning, for the last 45 days I have practiced a three point reflection.
It’s nothing elaborate.
As I’m having coffee I scratch down three things I am grateful for.
Here’s what it a page looks like…
Some mornings the three points come quick and my reflection takes less than a minute. Other days I have to sit longer and reflect deeper until I find 3 things I’m grateful for. But even on mornings of longer reflection, the practice is completed within 3–4 minutes.
It’s a simple habit which requires no special journal or pen. Just a legal tablet or notebook. But in 45 days I’m realizing the positive effects the practice having on my mental health.
Here’s what I learned…
My first thoughts of the day are positive
It’s so easy to wake up on a Monday morning and think negatively about the day ahead and about all the things you have to do before you limp back into bed at night. The 3 point reflection requires you to develop positive thoughts before the chaos of the day begins which helps you embrace and welcome the impending day.
I get to have me time
Parenting gives you little time to yourself. But as a parent you need to find time for yourself. You need to be constructively selfish. By doing so, by taking care of yourself, even if it’s only a few minutes, you will have more patience and energy for others.
I’m more present throughout the day
Identifying good moments each morning has trained me to look for good moments and appreciate good moments as I encounter them throughout the day. The daily chaos often distracts us from finding meaningful moments that we should acknowledge and celebrate. The simple 3 point reflection allows you to celebrate those moments which in turn inspires you to find more of those moments as the day stretches on.
I’m learning humility
It’s so easy to complain. It’s so easy to take your life for granted — to forget that you have electricity and running water and food in the refrigerator. It takes only a few minutes a day to recognize all of the luxuries you take for granted and how humbling it is to have such luxuries.
I just feel happier
Happiness and gratitude are a package deal. You can not be happy and ungrateful at the same time. Learn gratitude and you’ll find real happiness. The 3 point reflection is a daily emotional inventory that allows you to acknowledge things in your life that make you happy. It’s also a daily reminder that you need to give the present day your best effort so tomorrow, when you sit down to reflect, you will have three moments worth writing about.
Daily life is dizzying. Sometimes I feel all I do is run, run, run and sometimes it seems impossible to find a moment’s peace. But finding those quiet moments in the day are crucial for your mental health. It’s those quiet moments that help you to slow down, gain perspective, better yourself and realize that despite the impending chaos of the waiting day there are at least three things to be grateful for.
Given my deteriorating health, maybe a few pints and a plate of fried pickles was not the most constructive response, but sometimes nothing soothes a fractured soul like the warm panel walls, a friendly jukebox and the comfort foods of a corner bar.
I remember sitting with my wife and parents and two brothers, talking through the details of my appointment in low, weighty voices.
We had drinks and ate deep fried vegetables and to snap the tension, someone would say something funny and we’d laugh, but not too loud. Because, now was not the time for laughing loud. Now was the time to make sense of bad news.
I remember the hallow clinks of pint glasses and finding things to do with my hands– bending coasters, tearing bar napkins into confetti–and feeling helpless and powerless. Like sitting in the last pew at my own funeral.
For awhile I believed there was nothing I could do. It was final–I was stricken with some rare disease. Period. And I remember believing how utterly unfair it was.
If our language confirms what we believe, relying on the phrase “it’s not fair…” cements our belief in the world’s oldest lie, which according to the novel The Alchemist is:
At a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That’s the world’s greatest lie.”– from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
A few years ago, a student suggested that I start a blog.
Because sometimes you say interesting things in class.
Not to go all Hollywood here, but in serious ways this blog, saved my life.
Because I’ve learned that it’s not the bad news that matters, it’s our response that does.
Our self-victimization vexes others to where they will lose patience and tune us out. Their previous pity sours to apathy.
By bemoaning our bad news, we empower our bad news. We waste vital energy needed to command a positive response to conquer such bad news.
And plus, self-victimizers with their bloated bellies of self-pity and self-delusions make for terrible drinking partners.
Jon Westenberg is a marketing executive, creative director, entrepreneur and writer from Sydney, Australia . Jon has over 100k readers on medium.com and has been featured in Time, The San Francisco Chronicle, Entrepreneur and over 40 other publications.
He is passionate about marketing, technology, creativity, helping people and occasionally geeks out over a good cup of coffee.
I highly recommend reading anything Jon writes. He is poignant, honest and is surgical with the obscenities.
What I like most about Jon is that he simply wants to help people. He wants to help creatives, writers and entrepreneurs recognize the creative power and magic that lies in them.
Who is Jon Westenberg?
I’m a writer, an entrepreneur and a guy who has a lot of big dreams about helping people. When I’m asked what I do for a living, I tend to answer with – whatever I’m passionate about at any given moment!
Your mother was a high school teacher. What was the most important lesson you learned from her?
My Mum was a high school teacher, but she was also my teacher, because she home-schooled myself and each of my 6 brothers! The most important lesson I learned from her wasn’t academic however…it was a life lesson. She taught me that starting your own business and living life on your own times is a great thing to do.
Describe your high school self in one word? Why?
Creative. Because that’s what I spent all of my time in high school doing – just creating whatever I could get my hands on!
Along with being an entrepreneur, you’re also a writer. Have you always been a writer? When did writing become so important to you? What writing advice do you think novice writers should hear?
I have always been a writer. When I was a kid, I had a pretty bad speech issue that meant most folks couldn’t understand me. It was very distressing for me, and I used to write all the time as my only real outlet and my only way of feeling like I could communicate. My advice to young writers is this…don’t be scared to publish work that isn’t the greatest piece of writing in the history of humankind. Just get your work out there. It’s truly the only way to improve.
Do you have a book in your library that you wish you had written?
I honestly don’t. Because if there’s a book I have enjoyed, I’d rather somebody else have written it so that I can selfishly enjoy it without the stress of writing it…
I often tell my students that at the core of every work of literature is an argument, and the work is the writer’s attempt to prove their argument. And it’s this argument that makes the work interesting. I think that concept also applies to people as well. So Mr. Westenberg, what’s your argument?
My argument is that just because one way of living is widely accepted as being “Right” does not make it so for everyone.
I want to thank Jon for his time and insight. I follow him on medium.com and at creatomic.org and recommend you do the same.
Using Snapchat isn’t easy, but it’s rewarding. There’s a lot of fun stuff that can be done right now, if you put your audience first, you’re prepared to talk and you don’t mind getting yourself out there.
I think we need to spend more time — and more resources — on learning and telling better stories. In our personal lives, careers, businesses and social circles. Storytelling is a skill that many people don’t have anymore, but it’s all because we don’t study and teach and learn it.
Right now, I want to say thank you to the libraries and the librarians who have played a massive part in the lives of millions, and who we forget more and more as we spend our time online, rather than offline.
I constantly struggle against the urge to fuck up. I constantly struggle against the worst version of myself, knowing that no matter how hard I try to do anything, there’s always a part of me rooting for failure.
For me, it wasn’t long ago that the end of the year meant partying like a rock star deep into the suburban night followed by long, lazy stretches on the couch, burning afternoons away and watching an endless string of romantic comedies on TBS.
But now, I’m proud to announce I’m a responsible adult (of sorts). And though I still like a good party ( and a good rom-com), the end of the year serves as a better time for reflection instead of hangovers.( Plus, dading and hangovers don’t mix.)
On a national and global scale, 2016 was pretty awful. A year spiked with terrorism, racial tensions, celebrity deaths, political tomfoolery left us in a state of disillusionment and wondering if that REM song from the 80’s was about to be right ( Is this the end of the world as we know it? And do we feel fine?) Yet from a writing perspective, this much maligned year offered a wealth of material.
Though a terrible year for humanity (and I feel kind of douchy saying this), 2016 was my best year as a writer. In fact in 2016, I actually began announcing myself as a (dramatic throat clear) writer as I wrote and published 78 blog posts and WoFo had over 11,000 visitors and over 27,000 page views
But here’s something–the writer’s life is not as sexy as I thought it would be. It’s a hard life. A daily grind. One that requires much sacrifice. Early mornings, late nights and the will power to turn off the TV ( goodbye rom-coms). And most of what I write you’ll never see. Why? Because it stinks. Because most 500 word blog posts begin as 1,700 word scrabbles of run-ons, tangents and general old-man-in-a-bathrobe incoherence that I must work and shape and polish before it meets your eyes
I also learned that to uncover good, authentic material, a writer must be willing to probe themselves with questions. A writer must have the nerve (and maybe a slice of schizophrenia) to constantly interview themselves.
And asking questions is something adults simply don’t do naturally well.
My children ask questions ALL THE TIME. Questions do not intimidate them (neither does timeout or the threat of sending all their Christmas gifts back to the North Pole).
But adults, well, we fear questions. We fear the vulnerability and shame that comes with not knowing.
But if my writing in 2016 has taught me anything it’s that questions are more important than answers. That answers are finite. They are subjected to limitations. Hard, unbounded questions spark creativity and fuel the relentless pursuit of passion, of truth.
So with that, I thought it would be fitting, in this year-end post, to conduct a little Q&A with myself.
What were the things I was most proud of in 2016?
Being named my school district’s Teacher of the Year
Having to evict our tenet from our rental property and then having to spend upwards of $5K and the last two weeks in August cleaning and repairing the mess that he kindly left us. “8 Lessons from a First Time Landlord”
The worst performance review I ever received as a teacher (Yes, in the same year I was awarded Teacher of the Year. As an English teacher, I have to admit, I love the irony of it all).
What are some things I need ( and want to) work on in 2017?
Exhibiting daily gratitude.
Avoid the seduction of the smart phone when I’m in the company of real, living people.
What were some of my favorite reads of 2016?
Tools of Titans byTim Ferriss– a massive text packed full of insights, wisdom and strategies from highly successful people. This is more of a resource then a natural read. However, it’s an awesome book to have at your disposal when you’re in need of some guidance.
The Daily Stoic by Ryan Holiday– Reading one page from this book is now part of my morning routine. Each page offers a stoic thought for the given calendar date. The reading is simple, quick but the ideas are deep and stimulating and linger with you throughout your day.
Home is Fucking Burning by Dan Marshall– I picked this book up in bookstore on a whim. I read the first chapter standing in the aisle. Midway through the first chapter I was LOLing. By the end of the same chapter I was fighting tears. This nonfiction narrative about a son’s efforts to care for his dying father. It is funny and heart-wrenching and chuck full of obscenity ( hence the title).
Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen– Ok, of course I’m biased. In 2016 I wrote 3 posts about the Boss, was featured on Blogness on the Edge of Town (the foremost Bruce blog on the internet) and was a 3 time guest on the Set Lust Bruce podcast. Nevertheless, Springsteen’s autobiography is an exceptional read. His musical lyricism bleeds into his prose as Bruce covers all aspect of his life. From growing up in the blue collar town of Freehold, New Jersey to his fractured relationship with his father to juggling fame and family life, Born to Run offers an intimate look into the life of one of rock’s greatest legends.
Linchpin by Seth Godin– I was turned on to Seth Godin and his blog in 2016. Seth writes mainly about how to run and manage a successful business, yet his writings have a certain universal wisdom to them. Like The Daily Stoic, Seth’s writings are short and simple yet packed with powerful, life-affirming ideas.
What were some of the important lessons I learned and wrote about in 2016?
Achieving happiness takes tremendous effort. And sustaining real happiness is back-breaking, knuckle-splitting, hate-yourself-for-ever-being-born work. “The Only Way to Find Happiness”
Stories are our best (and only) defense against the permanence of death. “To Robbinsville, New Jersey” (This is my most viewed and most important post of the year)
Witnessing my children collect their own stories is an absolute thrill and further punctuates the magic of life. “Why Stories Matter”
What new idea has got me all jazzed up for 2017?
I’ve never been a new years resolution guy. In fact, I tend to chuckle at those fool-hearted souls who assume that by merely flipping a calendar their life will somehow magically improve. But after some solid thought, I do want to make a resolution for 2017. And not a long winded resolution that I’ll most likely abandon by half time of the Superbowl but one that is simple and easy to remember. And because I want to parlay the progress I made in 2016.
So for 2017 my resolution will be to commit to just one word. A word that will provide my life with focus. A word that will proved perspective. A word I can rally around when I want to sink into the couch and watch The Bridget Jones Diaries.
My word for 2017 is ownership.
I chose ownership because I like its flexibility. It can be applied to all areas of my life. Writing, marriage, parenting, health, personal hygiene.
Furthermore, I’ve seen how many adults fail to accept ownership of their lives and become addictive excuse can be. I don’t want to become that kind of adult. I want to take ownership, for better or worse, of my life.
What is one goal you have for WoFo in 2017?
I want to hear from you (dear reader)!
I will admit, I’m still a novice at this blogging business. There are some days when I stare into my computer screen, feel a hot flame of panic rip up my chest and convince myself that I can’t write another post. But after I calm myself down (usually over a bowl of cereal), take a walk, surf the interwebs for a few hours until I find something worthy to write about. Something I want to share with you.
But now it’s your turn. I would very much love to hear about your WoFo experience.
What did you particularly enjoy on WoFo in 2016? Not enjoy?
Where and when did you find yourself reading the blog?
What would you like to see more of?
Feel free to leave on message on this post our to send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org
Any final words?
Writing about personal things on a public forum is scary business. When I started WoFo I took a leap of faith and had no idea where I was going to land. I’m truly grateful for everyone who made the leap with me. Thank you for your support, for spending time with me and allowing my stories to find a place in your life.
I wish you and yours a healthy and fulfilling 2017.
PS… 20 years ago, on December 30, 1996, I was lucky enough to score a date with Cindy.
She picked me up at my parents house in her light blue Grand Am. We went to the movies, saw Jerry McGuire, checked out a Christmas light show and found ourselves sitting nervously in my parents driveway playing with the radio dial, making small talk and afraid to make eye contact.
Now there is a great deal of things I’m unsure of, but I somehow knew in that eternal moment, with unflinching certainty, that I did not need to go on another first date for the rest of my life. We were 16 then. We are 36 now. And even then I just knew.
A lot has happened in those 20 years. Too much to write in this post script but that first date 20 years ago changed my life, sealed my fate. A life, a fate I can only describe in one word…lucky.