Cliffed Out

time to retire Cliffed Out

2008-06-14T00:23:00.002-06:00

Although I haven't spent that much time working out this blog, I think that it's time to find a new one to cultivate. The last year has been a hard one. The last month has been the hardest I've experienced in my life. Coming out the other end, I've learned a great many things about who I am, who I have been and who I want to be. There have never been multiple paths from which to pick in following my life's journey. There is only one path and that is my life. The only obstacles that I have to block my way is the ignorance and distrustful nature of myself. Instead of spending my years in pursuit of new choices, it is time for me to take a hard look at what I have before me an within me. These are the tools and materials from which I am built and it is time that I put them to use.

I believe that there will be a new blog, but not with this name. Cliffed Out is defeatist. It examines life as having blind paths and limited choices. I am opening my eyes and looking about me as if for the first time.

following the River

2008-06-11T10:35:00.002-06:00

It's strange to find myself in the midst of a personal crisis and wonder how I got there- to look back upon my journey through life in search for answers. It is as if I finally looked up from the path directly in front of me and look about me in amazement. No matter how great the man or woman, we all are all traveling through life for the first time. In the age of today, it has been so easy to hurl my way through the years. I have often been filled with a sense that time was quickly passing but I kept my gaze firmly ahead of me and soldiered on.

About 10 years ago, an ex-girlfriend of mine took me canoing down the Hocking River in Southeast Ohio. The river was low so we frequently encountered rocky outcroppings and shallow riverbeds. When the trip ended, she said that it had been a test to see how compatible we were. The two of us sat in the canoe, one paddling the other guiding the way. Half way downriver, we had switched. She said that people reveal their personalities when they guide and when they steer. When a guide comes upon a challenging stretch of river, he/she has two choices- find an opening and tell the steerer to power forward or to slow the canoe and find the best route through the rapids. The compatibility test is to see which sort of guide we are and how willing we are to listen to a guide whose philosophy is different. That day, I discovered that I preferred to powered through the rapids. Recently, I have discovered that I have been treating the obstacles in my life in the same fashion. Now, I find myself adrift an unsure of how I got here.

I am 36 and have just begun to look around me. It frightens me to realize how much older I have gotten yet still behave as if I were 20. Though I have collected Things, worked jobs of responsibility, shared the life and love of another and experienced many cultures and perspectives in my life, I've never looked around and, more importantly, I never befriended my constant companion- myself. This week, I realized how little I liked myself. Though, I know I have a good heart and mean well, I have been juking or powering past the parts of me that are hardest to accept. The result has been a lifetime of dissonance and frustration.

Self-imposed, clinical analysis led me to label myself A.D.D. or manic-depressive, but I doubt that my problems could ever be solved with drugs. Drugs enable me to avoid myself. They don't lead to acceptance and understanding of myself. My mind cannot settle because I haven't taken the time to listen. The solution has always been 'more' - more games, more rock music, more experiences, more stimulation, more exercise, more impulsiveness. I drown out the noise by creating more noise.

For the last week, I have begun the process of meditation and relaxation. For the first time in my life, I have sunk my paddle into the river and slowed the canoe. It's time to look around and see where I am and who this stranger is that's been shadowing my my whole life. I'm no longer focused on getting further down the river in search of a goal that offers me nothing save the truth that my journey is over.

It is a Good Day

2008-06-10T14:29:00.002-06:00

What a beautiful day it is here. I can't get enough of this blue, Colorado sky. The air is so clean. Today is one of those days that makes you wonder how you could ever be depressed about anything.

I feel better than I have in ages.

A remarkable journey

2008-06-09T09:40:00.000-06:00

The last few weeks have been the most difficult of my life. They are also the most important. For the first time in my life, I have begun to understand myself and begin the process of being the person I have always wanted to be.

I am a great fan of Joseph Campbell. I loved his perspective on life. He spoke of mythology as being representative of life- pitiless and terrorless. He was never a pessimist, though. He spoke of the importance that people follow their bliss on the path to spirituality. I had always thought of spirituality in terms of organized religions, but today it feels like a recognition and acceptance of who you are and what you need. The problems of focus, frustration and restlessness have always stormed inside my head. My impulse was to always lean into that storm and fight against it. I have slowly been coming to the understanding that instead of fighting, I need to step back from them and see them as they are, understand they are a part of me and find the means to quiet their howling tones.

I have never been one to accept control of my own path. I saw the path as this twisting adversary that kept trying to throw me from it or throw me off cliffs. I never learned to look about me and find the way it speaks to me and give me signs of where I might be. A path wants to be taken, but I have too suspicious of its intentions to follow it. It is and exhausting way to live and carries me no further forward.

I believe that I'm am now prepared to stop fighting and begin the journey again.

gazing upon a Granite rim against Blue sky

2008-05-12T12:03:00.000-06:00

I awoke on Saturday morning filled with great anticipation of the day's hike. I attempted to sit up but was unable. My body lay bruised and tattered. I glanced about me and found that I was lost. I lay upon a narrow ledge. Above me, a cliff edge cleaved sharp against the blue sky. Below lay the remainder of the cliff face. Somewhere in the past- I knew not how long- I had blundered beyond the end of this path.

As I look skyward, I can see no notches for my fingers to find purchase. Below, I cannot the discern the distance to the bottom. I am not broken, but my next choice is unclear. It must be made soon. I do not know how much time I have or whether my my partner along the path has noticed my absence. Her eagerness had led her ahead of me and I am afraid she has taken a new path and will be either unable or unwilling to retrace her st

I lie upon a narrow ledge and I do not know how long it will support my weight. My anxiety only adds to the burden it bears.

It is a beautiful day, though. The air is crisp and I feel it burn my lungs as I take a long, deep breath and hold it.

retracing my Steps

2008-03-04T05:38:00.000-07:00

Last week I parted ways with my New York driver's license. Eight months after moving here, I finally committed to the fact that I am no longer a New Yorker. The cool, foreign license that baffled and amazed Fort Collins bartenders has been replaced with a driver's license that looks like it was manufactured on a Mac in 1991. Somebody needs to send the Colorado D.M.V. a couple true type fonts and a lesson on ugly. The shaggy-haired man that grinned beneath the slick hologram of my old license has been replaced with a short-haired, thirty-something whose hair has begun to show a slightly-thinning look that strikes fear in the heart one who cannot fathom that time continues to roll forward even if he isn't paying very good attention to it.

My job is crazy-busy but I am learning (and re-learning) video production and loving nearly every moment of it. Adobe After Effects and the Avid video editing system have become my new obsessions and the recipient of much swearing. This spring I am going to N.A.B. for the first time in my life and, in an incredible twist, my job is paying me to go.

There are a great many tales to tell including my pilgrimage to Red Rocks Amphitheater and the art of working in a whitewashed town.

Hopefully, I have found my way back to the main trail...

I got yer 1080p, right Here!

2007-08-15T14:05:00.000-06:00

Life is moving quickly in my neck of the woods. The dog days of summer are upon us and our things have arrived. Boxes choke the rooms and halls of our new home as I attempt to re-assemble pre-fab furniture. It's like Christmas to live without things for months then suddenly have them before you. We have a lot of shit.

Now, the burden of Things has returned. We have to unpack it, place it, arrange it, re-wire it, stack it and, hopefully, use it. A part of me would rather have left it all at my parents' home and forget that I ever owned it. On the other hand, the sensation of having my stuff is familiar and comforting.

Still, the last few days have left me in a pissy mood. The most daunting task is the Entertainment center. The move from New York City left us without a television set and now it's time to buy a replacement. I am tired of lugging around 75-pound CRT sets and am making the plunge to LCD TV. Of course, that means the world of High Definition is upon me and a subsequent antiquation of nearly every piece of hardware that I own. Rather than the good ol' fashion world of RCA cables and speaker wire, I shall now wrangle with HDMI cables, component cables and optical audio cables. Plus, I have to consider my cable Internet service and whether any of my choices now will impact their use.

In other words, I am in hell.

Employed

2007-08-01T10:28:00.001-06:00

I got a job. I start today. Though I'm thrilled to be finally working, it's hard to say 'goodbye' to the non-working routines I've cultivated over the last few weeks. Fortunately, the new job is in video production so I might actually enjoy it. We'll see. Kat got a job too. She's going to work in the local, art museum world. Though the first couple weeks were rocky, it looks like we have a chance of really following our aspirations.

I'm half-expecting it to collapse at any moment.

Where o' Where Can I Be?

2007-07-22T22:25:00.000-06:00

I know I'm frigging blowing it with this new blog. The adjustment to a completely different rhythm has thrown me off my strict schedule of diatribes and belly-button examination. I'll get better... really.

Well, it's many weeks after my last post and it feels stupid to blog my second day in Fort Collins when so much water has flowed beneath this bridge. Despite the depression of suburban sprawl, Kat and I found that there are many fantastic places to eat, drink, exercise enjoy some semblance of Western life. In the northwestern areas of Fort Collins, we discovered the familiar signs of the Colorado we had known as children- dark, green house siding, split-wood fences, amber waves of grain, etc.

The first week of Fort Collins was the worst. With 2 cats and hotel bleeding our savings, Kat and I were anxious to find a place. Despite our easygoing outlook on life, we soon discovered that Fort Collins' rental market beats with the heart of a college town- leases run from August to July. Unfortunately, this was June. For the first couple days, we maintained a steady rotation of Internet searches via coffee houses and driving around town in search of "For Rent" signs. With a city map in hand, Kat highlighted roads in red ink so that we wouldn't retrace our steps. By the end of the week, we were approaching panic. By Sunday, I was convinced that our only choice would be to drive the 15 hours back to my parents and live in their basement until the end of July.

On the last Monday of June, landlords began returning our calls and by Wednesday, we had moved into our new home. It's a duplex. Our next door neighbor is an old woman and just outside of our bedroom window stands an apartment building which houses a couple families and, as we discovered at 3 A.M. on a Monday morning, college students who like to shake it all night long. Still, we have a yard, a garage, two bedrooms and a landlord who has assured us that he is going to build a privacy fence.

I've discovered that I have gained some disturbing habits since I moved West. Despite a lifetime reputation as a city boy, I have begun to garden. It's a potted garden, but respectable in it's aspirations. I've got tomatoes, lettuce, three kinds of peppers, sage, thyme, rosemary, basil, mint, chives, lemongrass- I can't fucking believe that I'm typing this with an undercurrent of pride. I fought with my parents over gardening the way most kids fight about going to the dentist. I hated it. Now, I'm out pruning lilacs and worrying about whether my lawn has enough water. Somebody, shoot me.

I have developed an overwhelming desire to get another tattoo, grow dreadlocks and purchase a longboard. I don't know why but everybody who looks cool has dreadlocks and at least a half dozen tattoos. I wasn't aware that so many attractive, blond women had decided to pursue this hair style. Unfortunately, nature might be catching up with me enough that I won't be able to fulfill this fantasy without a wig. A month and a half ago I didn't know what the hell a longboard was. I have been careful to avoid any sporting events that require me to balance on anything more-challenging than my size 13 feet. Now, I want to stand on a 40" board with wheels. I think that I'm having a hard time adjusting to the higher altitude. In a rare display of sensibility, I have agreed to hold off on that purchase until I get a job for both monetary and insurance purposes.

Hiking has become a new passion for me, too. Kat and I have been on 3 hikes since we moved here. The first was a mild, 4 mile hike to Horsetooth Falls. Two weeks ago found us braving the 5.8 mile loop around Grey Rock Mountain. Last weekend my ambition got the better of me when I convinced Kat to brave an 11 mile hike (and 2,000 foot altitude change) to Emmaline Lake near Comanche Peak. We managed the hike and loved the view, but I don't think we've quite adjusted to high-altitude hiking. At least 60% of the hike was me sucking wind.

I think I'm hooked, though.

First Impressions

2007-07-11T08:21:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, 20 June- 6:00 p.m.

After hours of rural farmlands, Kat and I arrive in Denver in time for Rush Hour. North of Denver, a woman in a Lexis blows by me in the fast lane and silently berates me for not driving at least 25 miles an hour over the speed limit, as mandated by Colorado law. I pull off the freeway so I can enjoy the smaller towns of Longmont and Loveland before making my final approach through the heart of Fort Collins.

The Sprawl- it's a radial grinder on my optimism. Cluster upon cluster of grey, townhouse-style homes blanket the landscape as ranches are exchanged for street names like Pine Grove Street, then Pine Grove Court, then Pine Grove Place. There are no groves of pine trees that I see. Waves of cars stream along newly-minted roads. Every few blocks I see. the re-arrangement of commercial chain stores. Wallgreens, Wal-Mart, Bed Bath and Beyond, Starbucks. Five blocks later it's- Bed Bath and Beyond, Starbucks, Wal-Mart, Wallgreens then a new sight- Wal-Mart, Starbucks, Wallgreens, Bed Bath and Beyond. It's cheap wallpaper that's trying to look random. As I enter Loveland's city limits, I am convinced that I've made a terrible mistake. Kat scratches my shoulders in a bid to calm and comfort my prickly demeanor.

Between Loveland and Fort Collins, we reach a respite- grass and wheat-covered hills roll before the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains. I pass a couple, hard-core bikers as they brave the rush-hour traffic to some distant finish line in their minds.

Then, the sprawl returns. Along College Street, I see that there's nothing to tell me that I'm in Colorado- the same, cookie-cutter homes, the same chain stores that have cluster-bombed nearly every city in America. Along Harmony Road, the story is worse. At the western end, a row of massive, Cottonwood trees are tagged for removal because some branches had fallen on the road and the City said they could pose "imminent danger". To the East, monolithic chains of movie theaters, coffee shops, and restaurants beckon to the engineering transplants of the corporate tech world- giant bungalows crowd this end with the labels of AMD, Intel and HP.

At the north end of Fort Collins, I drive back towards Highway 25 and the cluster of low-cost motels that will be my home for the next week. I approach a center-lane turnoff to a frontage road when a massive, blue-and-white pickup pulls up next to me. A big, crew-cut white boy with sunglasses barks at me from his perch that I couldn't drive. I was impeding his drag racing exhibition in the left lane. In my typical, New York demeanor, I leaned over, flipped him the bird and yelled at him to fuck off. I say it a second time, for emphasis. The truck speeds away and I notice that my wife has pressed herself against the back of the passenger seat in an attempt to extricate herself from the conflict.

It has been a long, fucking day.

Fortunately, it would get much better.

The Road to Fort Collins, CO

2007-07-08T16:38:00.000-06:00

Thursday, 14 June- 4:15 p.m.

The Master Timeline had me half-way to Ohio by this time, but reality has been a cruel bitch. Instead, I am frantically sweeping my empty apartment in a final push to get out of the City. Loading the 12' Penske truck with a one-bedroom apartment's worth of belongings felt like stuffing a 20 lb. Thanksgiving turkey into a vegetable crisper- you know the whole thing isn't going to fit. A third of our belongings are sitting in the trash or the 'giveaway' pile in the building's basement. We should have loaded the truck in order of the crap we wanted most. Instead, we are forced to abandon our dresser, box fans, air conditioner, numerous plants, bedsheets- Kat is too exhausted to cry. The City has taken it's pound of flesh.

Friday, 15 June- 2:30 a.m.

I sit in a parking lot called Highway 80. The strobing lights of a dozen police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances fill the window. Behind them lies a pickup truck on its side. The high-speed car chase and wipeout we witnessed feels like a dream. Maybe it was the 8 hours of night driving on the back of a 10 hour load-out. It doesn't help that we've got two cats shoehorned into the cab with us and neither of them have stepped outside of our New York apartment in nearly 2 years.

7:00 a.m.

Kat and I are belting out our personal renditions of Beatles tunes- loud and abrasive. We have watched the sun set and rise on this long drive and it is clear that the steady flow of caffeine, sugar and salty snacks has finally taken their toll. We pull over and take a 15 minute cat nap in a Pilot gas station parking lot.

8:00 p.m.

As the sun sets over the hills of Ohio, so do we depart. All I want to do now is get this truck to my parents and unloaded before I have to kill the cats. Kat is trying to refine her arcane, cat circus act as she removes and deposits two very disgruntled cats from their cat carriers while negotiating the pair of orchid plants at her feet. She's one ferret away from a Vegas gig.

Saturday, 16 June- 3:00 p.m.

My dad helps us unload the truck in what nearly turns out to be the opening of a piniata. Plastic bags of clothes cascade out the back as I roll up the door. Half an hour later, we have deposited everything we own in one room of my parents basement. 'That's odd,' I think, 'I thought I had more stuff.' Ohhhh, that's right... I did.

Tuesday, 19 June- 9:14 a.m.

Sam the Cat has officially had it with Kat's Vegas act. He's also had it with riding in cars. In a desperate attempt to escape our SUV, he dives for every dark corner and niche he can find. Finally, he crawls back into his carrier and doesn't move AT ALL for the next 12 hours.

8:30 p.m.

Kat and I are trolling the town of Salina, Kansas, also known as the small community huddled beneath the Great Granary. A couple of small bars line the town's main street. In one parking lot, I spot a black hooker negotiating a deal with a john. Two blocks later, Kat takes a picture of the town movie theater. She is so taken with the town's brick-and-neon look, she spontaneously sticks the camera out the passenger window and takes a pic. The flash goes off just as we recognize a police car in the opposite lane. Sirens go off, Kat lets off a cacophony of 'Oh shit' exclamations and I pull to the side of the road.

"Was that a strobe light or a camera flash," the cop asks us.

"A camera flash," I answer.

"'Cause, you know, if that was a strobe light then I would be taking you both down to the jail right now."

"Really," I ask.

The cop grasps his leather holster with both of his thumbs and says, "'Cause only emergency vehicles are allowed to use strobe lights."

So, that was Salina, Kansas.