Love gone....right!

As an advocate for wellness and seeking out the good in people to remedy sickness and dysfunction, pity has overtaken my triage room.  This post will have a lot of metaphors so apologies for the abstraction.  I am gaining the space, clarity, and companionship to realize I am a pretty good lover.  I may not be the best partner, but until I remedy my own restless heartaches, I will continue to need to get up, walk away, and drift around the proverbial relationship dinner table.  It is like if I cannot complete a meal.  It is as if I'd rather reach out and pick from the buffet of desserts, resisting the necessity to sit down have some fresh greens and patiently sip from a scolding cup of chicken noodle soup.  I with respect realize that the chef has plenty to contribute to this dinner, I have unfairly  to myself induced unnecessary suffering for experiences that really have been reasons to celebrate.

I am dreaming again, and my dreams remind me of my romantic heart, my compassionate ears, my courteous ethic to entertain, and my commitment to forgiveness.  As I have been asked to leave the relationship table or chosen to excuse myself, I forget to dignify the goodness that was shared while sitting, in favor of painfully and pitifully ruminating on the dysfunction and spoilage.  It does not take very long to get up from the relationship table, but it has taken me awhile to realize the time i spent grieving the separation isn't proportionate to the time celebrating the joy created during these relationships.  It has been cathartic and difficult to remind myself that the good outweighs infection.  The sickness is what I grieve and regret but clouds or cut short the celebration of what was enjoyed.

I can be a selfish lover.  I can be a delinquent lover.  I can be a misunderstood lover.  What I am slowly realizing is that each failure is helping me to discover my gifts.  I started loving genuinely and with a trust that was vulnerable.  This was many years ago as a young innocent young man.  That was tarnished and exploited.  I was emotionally abused, toyed with, and my love was disregarded by another restless young heart.

She is not to blame, but she did introduce me to the skills needed to protect myself from the pain, jealousy, disappointment, unfulfilled longing, loneliness, and vulnerability.  She helped me build a habit of leaving early from the dinner table, because her soup burned my lips, and her greens were bitter, possibly poisonous.  I have yet to come to a dinner setting with the commitment to eat what is served and learn to trust its sustenance.  I see my cycle and venturing into the past with Donald over the last couple of years has helped both of understand why we grew to have restless hearts.  We have been hurt too, but I realize the memory of the pain has stifled my ability to trust that the next setting can be different.  I am preparing myself to joyfully be willing to trust, risk being lonely, long restlessly, struggle with disappointment, overcome jealousy, and be hurt.

I'm not touched up...I come this furry

Not sure why this struck me but facades are critical to human advertising. The pictures I paint are interpreted, perceived, and believed. It is a lesson I feel I need to teach my daughters but feel overwhelmed. I think I am still dealing with this today. Facades are where my thoughts are. Who do I want the world to believe I am and what am I willing to do to construct an image that helps sell me? I think humility is coming to terms with modesty enough to trust that you will appreciate me for my insecurities as equally as my facades.

Critical Reciprocity

The beauty about failing in relationships is the void created by the absent partner.  During my divorce I encountered guilt like never before.  I encountered myself like never before. I encountered my ego like never before. And I encountered regret like never before.  I encountered faith like never before.  I encountered friendship like never before. And in reciprocity, I have adopted the theory that the way I do anything is the way I will do everything.  I am an oyster looking upon the moon as an example for how to create a pearl within myself.  I am learning to look within to find threats, isolating and packaging these harmful parts so they don't deteriorate me.  When I found my ex wife, I found a moon.  Her void put me on this path of reinvention, refinement, and healing.

Catalina is the catalyst that broke down the barriers and boundaries creating the necessary motivation and energy to harness my critic in this new found healing way.  I feel confident is saying that I will not do everything correctly but I will be correctively approaching everything I do.  So as I have recently encountered progress in my abilities to love, the critic in me has also identified opportunities for improvement.  In recent relationships after my marriage I have been trustworthy, honest, and committed, typically these are common sense.  But being trustworthy, honest, and committed is entirely different from being trusted, believed, and accepted.

I foolishly admit these are new qualities I have tasted.  They are qualities I have barely adopted and my inexperience with them or my previous functioning without them, my infidelity, has created self doubt and worse doubt from my new partners.  I guess it's fear that I might not know how to use them or that once broken always broken.  These are refinements that took losing my best friend to realize how important they are.  These are foundational components that to many seem simple and common sense but to the insecure and damage boy I evolved to be they were hard to adopt because it means being selfless and accountable.  It is a work in progress for me and it difficult being stereotyped for my past delinquency but my critic is harsh but fair.  My critic is a highly functioning and dignified quality that will not hesitate to judge.  I am proud of my growth towards being seen as trustworthy and I am not discouraged by the doubt.  Doubt has become a good calibrator for determining if the mistrust is mine or being projected.  I trust my critic will help me recognize the complicated sifting of doubt, helping me determine what is mine to own.  I trust me for the first time in a lifetime.

I have not replaced my critic.  My critic is the same critic that would prepare me for set of squats by calling me the worst vulgar terms I could think of.  The difference is that I have taken the void of Catalina and reminded myself of what didn't work.  I have gone back and asked her what didn't work.  In a way I feel like I have been able to understand how she wanted to be loved.  This is the beauty and adaptability I am seeing from my critic.  It is willing to adapt. It is willing to hear from those it hurts how it can become better.  Like the pearl it wraps threatening qualities in a way that becomes polished and forgiving appendages.  

My critic can still be devastating and intolerant, but it is adapting and improving, leaving behind pearls of wisdom.  Catalina Sanchez gave me such a phenomenal benchmark for how to love and my shortcomings for how not to love have helped me recognize where to improve.  It proves to me that my critic is a high performing engine that can adopt contemporary enhancements. The learner in me has helped my critic improve so it has better exhaust, smoother ride, and a subtler feedback system.

Dedicated to a close friend, former lover, and partner in parenting, I love you in a unique and sisterly way Catalina Patricia Sanchez.  I owe my manhood to you and your endured disappointment with me hopefully will not be in vein.

Choices...what gets to the soul?

My critic has a golden side...it doesn't let me quit.

Another Brother, Greg

Greg is my younger brother but the oldest of my siblings.  The mellow one on the left.  I spent most of my time as a child with him.  He was always with me and my dad.  He was a rambunctious little man.  He was a charmer, athletic, stubborn, happy, and risky.  I cherish our trips despite being a teenager when he was a kid and not being mature enough to know to play with him.  He grew up to be a cool kid.  He grew to be the cool kid in the stereotypical ways and deeper soulful ways.  I remember him being a sharp dresser, a clean look, a stylish appearance...I think he still demonstrates this.  He was an exceptionally hard worker.  He drilled constantly with my dad and had a confidence on the court that I never came close to achieving.  He would shoot like if it was the only and right thing to do.  I wonder how my involvement in his life has influenced him.

I was equally trying to maintain a stylish and trendy upkeep during our younger years, and lost opportunities to be a brother, in favor of a fan.  I remember even admiring and modeling myself after some of the traits he carried.  I gotta say my brother Greg is a cool cat.  I have not had the chance to share deeply with him and guess the stylish facade brings with it an elusive doorway to the soul.  I desire a deeper loving relationship with Greg and accept that we might be more good friends than those brothers who cry on shoulders.  I think Greg and I are more alike than different.  He has a temper as I have had.  He has his beliefs and his independent ways.  He can boil and be cool as the other side of the pillow, all this being said about man I don't really know.

I love him in way that has taught me to seize moments and make them lasting.  I tell him I love every time I see him.  I see the worry in his face as he struggles through the reality of being a single father.  I dream of having Saturday barbecues with our wives and little ones running around.  Our lives and our insecurities have created wonderful moments of brief yet inspiring visits that last only hours.  He is a rebel without even desiring to be one.  He is a charming boy running full throttle in a father's mindset.  I tread lightly saying this but I feel he has more shadow revealed than myself or Pete.  I see so much of my dad in him.  I have recently trusted that he is a scrapper.  He might be the most street intelligent out of the three of us.  He tells a funny story and laughs a good laugh.

There are regrets and guilt for being possibly being a reckless and insecure influence on Greg, but more significant is the longing to be a strong presence now.  I think pondering regret would only remind me of the sadness for who I was.  I am reminded of what I can do now, as a token of hope.  I am trying to be a concrete brother.  I am learning to love in way we were never shown, that maybe it might catch like wild fire and warm his heart and unleash more of the charisma that he has exemplified over the years.  He is my brother.  Happy Birthday Greg.

Crafty Caring Critic

The critic is a quality that has tormented me, motivated me, and polished me.  It brings great suffering to my learning, loving and interpreting.  This facade is the most interesting because it is the part of me that helps me improve.  My critic is necessary. It is not a part of me that can be excluded.  I'm seeing a change, a softening of my critic.  I think this means approaching my critic not with criticism but with feedback wrapped in compassion.

Shadow & Ego Lense

Early on in my childhood the shame and worry of failure conceived the critic.  I think I began to judge myself, push myself, and fear mistakes out of trying to succeed and behave.  The irony is that the fear created shame and the shame caused hesitation.  In learning hesitation only delays the absorption and experiences needed to build confidence and trust.  Punishment also plays a significant role in the development of my critic.  Because aptitude was measured with achievement I began to protect myself from the harsh effects of criticism by creating an internal judge who could be more critical than societal judges.  Societal judges being parents, teachers, peers, and coaches.  The critic grew to be more and more severe as I encountered more and more insecurities.

What inspired my critic to be so harsh and severe?  I grew up in a culture with shame and embarrassment.  Being latino, was at times, seen as a disadvantage or unfortunate burden, especially identifying as lower middle class.  This bread insecurity and comparison into my personality.  I had disciplined and punishing parenting, although loving I would consider it conservative.  My family often focused on improving mistakes and not breaking the rules.  I felt pushed, punished, and expected to fit systems.  This environment motivated me to criticize myself, discourage myself from experimenting, and hate losing.

I learned to only do the the things I excelled at.  As I got older the critic grew darker and more committed to helping me be the best.  It helped me to adapt to systems, feed off of scarcity, and take advantage without appearing to do so.  I know being little, underdeveloped, and poor didn't help.  I think my critic never had the chance to fail gracefully and in contrast tortured myself into competency.

I learned to lie to myself as a strategy for motivation.  When I say lie to myself, I like to think of the worst possible friend, and that was my subconscious.  In adolescents, sports were my go to activities.  I started working out in my 6th to 7th grade summer.  I put to bed the child and introduced the professional.  My dad and I created a workout schedule that I followed loosely.  Regardless I was training.  The most difficult realization I have made this round of introspection is body image.  I can now remember beginning to compare and observe my progress around this time.  I was always little and the younger athlete on my teams because of my August birthdate.  I always felt like I had to work harder and convince myself I wasn't ready, good enough, and there was more to practice.

Remember the worst possible friend I mentioned earlier.  Well he stuck around despite my aging.  That little voice in the back of my head that feeds me shitty thoughts, believing he is just trying to prepare me for the worst so I'm not surprised and let down, is alive and thriving in my psyche.  This is the part of me I am working to change.  When I would practice this voice would invoke the worst possible names it could to motivate me with anger.  When in love he would convince me that I wasn't good enough or remind me of the little I had to offer.  In learning he would start me off with how lazy I was with reading, continue with how forgetful I was, and finish it off with a few shortcuts and pity parties.

My ego has been a functional and effective motivator, but not very graceful.  I have created self suffering in the form of pity, shame, guilt and regret.  I have punished myself continually for my failures. I work diligently on being better and improving.  As a result I can say I made it a long way with dysfunctional sidekick.  My ego along with my shadow have left a legacy of torment, and surprisingly currently not disrupting my direction change towards a more graceful perspective.

True Self

What does it look like to fail gracefully?  I think it would include more encouragement than dissapointment.  I think had my family put an emphasis on what I was doing well could have helped me feel more confident with approaching the challenges causing me to fail.  Failing gracefully looks more like the measurement of progress versus collection of errors.  

I am softening my critic.  I have grace and appreciation for the progress it has made.  With the use of trust my critic is softening.  I am resisting the urge to judge myself in favor of understanding myself.  When I fail I first recognize that I made an attempt and that is something to reward.  This has allowed myself to forgive my shortcomings and recognize the opportunity to learn from them.  This has allowed me to finally see progress after so long being forced to focus on failure.  I think for this process it is important to note that writing this paragraph brought me to tears, big crocodile ones, and with them peace.  This is a young transition I'm in but so much more efficient.  Donald and I talked about not being fast, be fluid, and fluid is fast.  Well being graceful is being fluid and the changes in me may not be fast but they will be fluid.

The difficult with my critic is that it is the framework for how how I treat those I love.  It has been the default response mechanism for me.  It has been the part of me that people grow to despise avoid and even divorce.  I won't quit on my critic.  If my critic has taught anything it has been that quitting is the trophy for failure.  It might be an internal enemy but it is my greatest asset.  It is what has always woke me up in the morning and it is the part of me that tells my hands to wipe the tears.  It is the part of me that convinces me the pain is just weakness leaving the body.  I love you critic, I just can't continue to function without giving you an overhaul. 

If my true self had a love song to my critic's ego and shadow it would sound like this.

Falling up

I am discovering me.  I am learning to soften myself.  Softening can be described as humbling, refining, purifying or maybe humanizing.  I have been trying to encounter my shadow for a few years.  This is easier said than done.  I have studied what the shadow can be, how it might reveal itself, and where I can look for it.  But as I approach the final stages of my counseling curriculum I am doing the work.  

I am asking the questions about myself that I asked after my divorce.  I am monitoring and collecting feedback from people who might love me, who I've failed, and who I trust.  I am going back to the basics. I am working on how I can identify with my shadow by identifying actions, behaviors,and emotions that have tarnished my relationships, perspectives, and beliefs.  I want to inspire change, because what I have learned from my love relationships is that a few core struggles linger and damage, leading me to consider that I may not have evolved like I thought.  I am cycling through another introspective phase.

I've collected a few qualities that are in need of immediate softening, I'll call these facades.  There are several areas of my self concept that need softening but I'll process these for now.  I am not a Jungian but I admire his use of shadow, ego, and true self.  I would like to hold these three qualities I am trying to soften in the light of the shadow, the ego , and the true self.  The first quality I find easy to identify is the critic.    Another is the romantic.  And lastly, to get me started down the path of softening, is the victim.  Each of these identified facades have played a significant role in my personality development over the last several years.

I am an expert learner as we all are.  I am disappointed when I make the same mistake twice.  This disappointment is teaching me to invoke my intrapersonal atonement.  This is building patience, sympathy, tolerance, and humility.  I want to be a person who breaks down stigmas, challenges the semantics of society to be more trusting, and I hope to have longer periods of love where I sigh no more.

Lumineers in luminating way

Peter Estrada

My youngest brother has a birthday today. There is something to be said for brotherhood. Its an unconditional unlike any other. There is a competition, a loyalty, a comfort, and maybe even a unique intimacy, regardless different from that of a close fiend or sister. Despite sharing families we have uniqueness that reminds me of humanities desire for variety. Peter is an amazing and talented man. Over the years I have seen him succeed at community leadership.

I have shared many fun nights filled with jokes, silliness, and depth.  I have seen his passion for improving communities, Latino communities.  He challenges me to voice my opinions and he reminds me how hard he has worked to establish his.  He can be a sad man too.  He has subtle ways of introversion.  He can deceive you with his smile making you believe all is right in the world.  But when I look into his eyes deep enough I can still see that gentle boy who has always been polite, kind hearted, and eager.  From the get go he has shined, but i see him still wondering with anxiousness and possibly fear what lies ahead.  I love this man.

I have guilt for not being the stellar brother that I think I could have been.  I wasn't a good example for how to treat women.  I wasn't a good example for restraining my drinking.  I didn't demonstrate how to be humble until late in the game.  I have regrets for being a role model that was shady and self serving.  There are times where I was too critical and demanding.  At times I might have been more of a delinquent friend than an older brother.  His love for me helps me forgive myself.  His love for me reveals how I can come to embracing my shadow.  

Staying in my reflective and healing attitude, I realize that being a brother is a relationship.  

I have work to do here too.   He has taught me about my gifts, the ones I couldn't recognize on my own.  His gift to me has been his constant reminder to believe in my gifts.  I have guilt and worry around the influence I have made on him, along with the influence he has thanked me for.  I trust the harm I have contributed might be small.  But I worry that sometimes I don't let him speak enough.  There are times where I think I teach too much.  There are times when I judge too much.  My gift to Peter this year will be to trust that he has the abilities and gifts to begin to speak more to me , teach more more to me, and have more influence on me.

I am judgmental of myself and as I grow in being a better brother for Petter I grow in compassion for me.  I have grown to have such a compassionate heart for him, and it leaves me believing I am capable of having the same compassion for myself.  Your gift Peter is a frugal yet profound one.  I promise to work and be critical of my role as a brother, my contribution as a family member, and my ethic as a friend.

I love you Peter Jonathan Estrada, It don't matter who is carrying who...He is my Brother!

Happy Birthday Mr Sam Cooke, You send me

Tuned in and Blacked out

This band isn't new but new to me.

I love how music teases my spirit...and leads me on!

Doctor give me the news

I find myself having to perform self triage.  I am healing a wound and realizing that there are times where I am the deliverer of injustice.  In many of my roles as a partner, father, or family member I am unfair and maybe brutally insensitive.  I see that this Dr. King day is a reminder to non-violently seek the metaphorical streets of Birmingham in my psyche, shadow, and ego.  I have been a racist and might still have lingering hate.  I for sure have prejudice.  I for sure am a biased man.  Let the love that inspired a king to endure the darkness that creates corruption fill my protest banners so I can be reminded to remain free at last.

To the victims of my brutality, I offer this attempt at progress to you.  Not so much for the forgivessness but the correction.  That others may not have to suffer the same consequences like you.  To the communities I have looked on with hate, I hope to continue to understand and grow my compassion for you.  May this act of accountability be enough to create an epidemic of improvement that shines bright like a diamond in the sky.

Like Diamonds

As I learn to love myself.  I can't help but remember my weekend with Donald.  It has been one of the most rewarding and cathartic weekends I can remember.  We got into his car after being picked up from the airport by his team sergeant (sharp dude).  We have a habit of collecting theme songs for our vacations together.  So we get in the car and this is playing.  Immediately Donald said, "no way", and I said, "bro, we are due for a chick song".  He voted for Bruno Mars, and Rihanna's song came on twice before we heard the popular Bruno Mars Song, "Locked out of Heaven".  Well after a drawn out struggle we had our song for trip.  So as I venture into this introspective series to share as much of my process as possible I will soundtrack my journey.  I have never really thought about a love song to myself but as I refocus my love towards healing me, this song makes complete sense.

Ron this is dedicated to you and our shadow in the most healthy narcissistic way.  Shine bright like a diamond!

Learning to Own it!

I have been reflecting more than usual. I am exiting a relationship that I don't want to end. Maybe appropriately God's way of letting me know I need to uncover more ways to improve myself. I feel numb. Things in life are close to surreal. Not the cool hippie surreal, but surreal with empty clarity. Loving and allowing myself to be loved is difficult for reasons I hope to discover and share here.  It's likely the insecurities I carry.  I'm considering which ones to share, but want to share all of them in some fashion.  I am finding more peace with every encountered flaw.  I am learning to ask for help. I am deepening my value for apologizing and being accountable.  I'm evaluating how I am a son, brother, father, friend, and especially lover.  I have so much ground to make up and so many areas to improve that I feel overwhelmed.  I have a good set of shortcomings to start with. I trust they'll lead to new ones, but I am excited that I am trying to find the process. So I've herd that in order to truly love another I must first love myself.  That inspired this poem and the new direction I am heading.  My failure to love in a healthy way has pinpointed where I need to start digging deeper.

Hey me, Love me!

When I call to you, of course after you've cried for me, I come.  Yes, I let you know I hear you and show you that I see you.  I move towards you.  So as I get closer I see your excitement and this makes me come harder.  Then what happens?

There is a line you have, I cross it and it makes your face change.  I call out to you again, reminding you that I am coming and will be with you soon.  This antagonizes you.  You begin to shift, your eyes start wondering, your cry turns into criticism, and your tears to sweat.  I lose my balance and bearing.  Then what happens?

You won't receive me.  I can see you have remembered your face in mine, and as I get closer you seem confused.  You look scared, like if I remind a part of you that I will end your desired suffering.  Your suffering has jealousy, and doesn't want any part of me.  I will not battle your suffering.  Then what happens?

Your suffering is operating machinery it is not capable of.  I have to sit and observe you're suffering hijack your intentions and drive you into obstacles.  Your suffering destroys itself, and this is what opens the hardness of your heart, the doorway to your spirit, my spirit.  The desire to suffer does not die easy, and the struggle to receive me, is eternal.  What happens next?

I learn to reach you with every crash your heart endures.  I seek you constantly finding vulnerabilities to seep through.  I am not infiltrating but fertilizing, healing, and cultivating the tissue around the damaged area, so it remains tender.  You don't receive, but I forgive you with triage, while your suffering celebrates the wreck.  What happens next?

You cry, I call, I come, and we start all over again.

- Ron Estrada

Hesitate...

Hesitation is one of those words that has some stigma attached to it.  In sports I was always told don't hesitate.  In spirit, I find that hesitation might open my perspective to something I may have whizzed by.  I have herd how hesitating has stopped accidents, equally hesitating has caused accidents.  I know for me it leans towards the negative pole.

I am interested in observing how hesitation works in love.  Just go after it.  Does that mean that going after it doesn't include hesitations.  In basketball there is the hesitation step, where you give the defender the impression that your letting up but then penetrate quickly right past them.  Is love a sport?  Is there room for hesitation in love?  I am not sure and I know fear is my primary motivator for having hesitation.  I am beginning to see that there are no truths when it comes to love.

Each decision to act or hesitate is only interpretable.  One thing I worry about is my regret around not taking action.  There are times when I build anxiety around events where I think I could have acted better.  These times make me wonder about how flexible hesitation can be, like a reversible jacket.  I still do believe that we make the current decision the best decision, but regret has been a teacher.  Regret has become a tool that is allowing me to reflect on my attitudes and values because I think I could have used a few hesitations and I know I could have benefited from a few "just go for its".  I don't have clarity on decision making or regret.  I just appreciate that hesitation is not necessarily a bad thing, and that its used side is equally as effective as its unused side.

I see how I have grown to value the mystical and the spiritual.  It fills the void between feeling affirmed and regretful.  I often tell myself things happen for a reason and the reason may never be revealed to me.  This might be where faith is born.  I like to think I have faith and really don't like describing it because my faith includes too much doubt to be understood by the typical dogmatic understanding of faith.  But this is where my faith thrives.  My ego likes to be in control and control is power.  I like to lead because the ego feels valued.  I have not gotten to the point where I know when my ego is complimenting me or undermining me.  In the realm of spirituality nothing seems to stay constant, therefore nothing is good or bad, but only interpretable.

So, I go today, asking my ego to allow me to recognize my spirit, so that we can make quality interpretations of decisions to come and be prepared to reflect on our decisions experienced.  I have a foolish and naive belief that, if I trust in my spirit, those hesitations that I worry about will fall between the spectrum of grace and regret, both leaving me fully prepared to learn.

In honor of my mother who teaches me to forgive, regret, and apologize.   Francesca I love you!

Happy Birthday Rigoberta

I've done this in the past, honoring a hero of mine.  I will be traveling to Guatemala this summer to support the indigenous communities of Guatemala.  Rigoberta has transformed the region iwth her human rights and social justice work for the poorest in Central America.  This is a tribute to her efforts.  Rigoberta is a wonderful example of naive passion.  She has demonstrating that being genuine in small persistent doses leads us to exactly where we are meant to be.  She helps me understand that our passions are intertwined with our perspectives.  What we are born to do isn't too different from what we are passionate about.  Putting them together is what life for me has become.

May I learn to love as Rigoberta loves.

The ego helps me lose faith..

but the people who connect with spirit reunite me.

My sister recently moved to Sweden and I didn't embrace the reality that my love, my life, and my blood is so far away.  I avoided her for the week she was preparing to leave, not intentionally but for a complex mix of reasons, none reasonable enough to overcome my regret I have for not being with my nephew and sister more .  My own fatigue with life kept me from reaching out to my sis.  I don't think I had the strength or courage to see her go.  I have been able to use the New Year energy to tap into the grief and joy.  The reflective period has allowed me to collect my thoughts and emotions around the transition my sister is encountering.  Like as if in turn, my longing for my sister has brought me here to this joy and sorrow around witnessing her grow into a woman.

I have not been as close to her as I would like to have been.  When she was younger I was too busy with peers, and we have not closed the gap since. We are 12 years apart, but I treated her as best I could. I gave purity when I could.  When I couldn't I gave her potent genuineness. When I failed her I gave her my shadow.  She has seen me at my worst and has grown to be courageous enough to call me on my shit.  We are not tight but we are not loosened either, we are just snug enough.

I can't ignore how I have failed her by releasing my harsh critic and callous tyrant.  I feel like this has tarnished the quality of our love.  I have always judged her.  I have always expected the most from her.  I have always punished her for her own shortcomings. I have yelled at her.  I have flared up and intimidated her.  I have crushed her spirit.  I have called her names.  I have invalidated her opinions.  I have belittled her courage.  I have ruined her perspective with toxic defenses.  Despite my abuse and destructiveness she appears to have always forgiven me.  I own this now that she is distant.

I admire that I've seen her struggle with emotions, relationships, and other life tangles. She has scared me, frustrated me, and annoyed me. Through all this, I loved her as deep as I have ever been able to love anyone.  I have felt like she has needed me for so long that this new woman she has become leaves me with a void.  I have held close and taken responsibility that might not have been mine to own.  I have defended her against things that might not have needed defending.  I have been stingy with her.  I have been jealous of her dependence on other besides me.  She doesn't need me like she used to, and my ego is learning that it is likely that she didn't need me as much as I wanted to think she did.  She is learning to guide herself and maybe she always has, its just now she becoming an expert.

This independence is irritating to my ego.  This is hurtful to the part of me that thrives on helping others.  My ego says, "How dare she learn to turn her back on me".  This egotistical perspective is real in me and is wounding to my self image.  I see her growing and how can this be hurtful, it shouldn't be hurtful.  It is and that is okay.  I am losing a responsibility and this deserves grief.  I have invested in her. To see her blogging, expressing her love for God openly, and traveling across the world to support her family is a joyous set of circumstances.  It is a beautiful reminder of her growth.  The shadow in me wants her back here dependent on me.  The spirit in me has compassion for my ego and realized I must grieve the transition from "Bra Bra" to "Brother".  The first being the name she called me as a little girl, the later being how I will need to adjust to being called.

I am not stuck in my ego.  My ego is a small part of my paradoxical self.  I am a contradiction.  I am a walking contradiction.  I am a battle between my ego and my spirit.  This morning I have been able to encounter the longing I have for my sister.  Today I am joyful in the direction she is moving and the womanhood she is developing.  I am proud of her strength and fortitude being demonstrated not because of me but without me.  She is a beautiful person.  She is a soft soul with loud heart.  She is a woman now.

5690milesfromhome Her Blog can be seen here!

The egotistical father

When dealing with my daughters, I notice myself forgetting the "both and" in preference of dualism.  I forget that they have insight more powerful than mine.  They have the child's guide, a wisdom needless of teaching.  I think my teaching might be undoing precious lessons already engrained.  Getting it right might need to be replaced with getting to know them.  How do I teach those important qualities in life that are hard to get across like fearlessness, audaciousness, and daringness?  How do I help them understand themselves?  What ends up happening is me teaching them what I think they should know, or worse me teaching them what I wished I would have learned.

I asked my daughters to dance with me to a fun song that came on while we were cleaning.  I started dancing and called them over.  They looked at me like if I was nuts.  I wanted them to join me.  I see them dancing all the time, I thought this would be easy for them.  It wasn't.  I came to the conclusion they already have in their mind and behaviors fear, displayed through shyness.  I know they can dance, so what was it about dancing with me that made them shy away? Well I asked my little one.  I got the response "I just didn't feel like it".  But this was not until later in the evening after a much more disappointing and tragic set of events.
There is a tragic part of this story that scares me to share.  But I am trying to be as genuine as I can with bringing my shadow into the light so I've decided to share.  This is embarrassing, it shows my vulnerability, insecurity, and weakness.  When I saw my daughters look at me like if I was a fool, an overwhelming defense came rushing from my stomach to my head.  I got full on angry.  Something loving and fun turned into a moment of defeat and disappointment.  I turned into a 4th grader in about ten seconds.  I raised my voice at my littlest daughter and said something as follows.  "How come you're looking at me as if I'm stupid.  I'm not afraid to be silly, but the way you look at makes me feel like an idiot. At least I have the courage to dance.  Look at you you're scared."  She turned white as a ghost and had that nervousness that I remember as child where the only thing to do was look off to side wearing a timid smirk.  I defended myself against my 10 year old daughter's shyness revealed as a condescending look.  She shut down quick and my understanding of the situation didn't get any better. 
After witnessing her sadness and even possibly fear, I continued.  I satisfied my ego's desire to be this movie like dad.  You know, the dad that can dance silly with his daughters, teaching them the cathartic value of rhythm and flow.  The motivation being more about me feeling like a good dad than me just wanting to dance with my daughters.  So I took it to an egotistical fiasco that might scar for life.  I started  investigating why I got the look and why they refused to dance.  I obviously got nothing from either daughter. This moved me from investigator to victim.  
I took the victim route.  I persisted, following my daughters into their room.  At this point my intentions to dance had morphed into this tragic flare up of my ego to protect the rejected and insecure father facade.  I broke out into an emotional expression of how important it is for them to learn to dance.  It became about how much I wanted them to be liberated from judgment.  It became about me wanting them to cherish their childhood moments with me.  It became about me wanting to have memorable silly moments to compliment the rough and stressful ones.  All of us in tears by now, my last guilt filled request was that if something happened to me that they would promise me to always try and dance with their children, even if they laugh at them.  I am far from the movie dad, far from the patient man I feel I need to be, but being a born again optimist, I realize that seeing me passionate about being a father might reveal the complexity and hazards of wanting what is best but not really knowing what that is. 
So what this means for me is that there is so much going on in my head, so much concerned analyzing, sometimes I use too many moments to mold them into the courageous women I'd like them to become.  I lose sight of what they are willing to accept. The key piece to this is the use of "I".  I rarely ask them what they'd like to learn.  It's what I think they need to learn.  I rarely ask them what they already know.  I spend so much of my time trying to teach, that I lose touch with the importance of learning.  I think I have learned that opportunities to teach have intruded my willingness to learn.  It is ironic that my love for them distorts my ability to empower them.  I wanted to dance with my daughters, but forgot the most important step of asking them if they felt like dancing.  I call myself an egotistical teacher because when my love is grounded in fear, I impose my lessons.  I look for what scares me and my ego moves to teach solutions.  My daughters might never know the importance of being liberated by dance, but if I push it on them they definitely will never know the true meaning of empowerment.
Elena and Veronica please forgive me.  There is no manual for being your dad, just this broken and fumbling boy who finds himself now a father.
Through him, with him, and in him.

Deployed

The act of deployment is to arrange in a position of readiness, or to move strategically or appropriately.  I had the fortunate opportunity to prepare for a deployment in tiny naive ways.  I also fulfilled a life long dream of visiting the special forces ecosystem.  I have read a lot of literature on the elite services and now I have an inside peek into some of the social structures that facilitate an elite military team.  I shared New Years with a brother.  A life long baseball teammate successfully achieved the ranks of the army's special forces.  I spent New Years with him before his first deployment as a green beret.  Deployment is a series of stressful transitions, inventories, letting go, and logistics all camouflaged in confidence, improvisation, and systematic habits.  

I admire this lifestyle and the dignity, devotion, and passion required to participate in these teams.  The men on these teams are experts in efficiency, productivity, stamina, creativity, and disguising fear.  The men are highly disciplined athletes who have detached themselves from complacency.  They are athletes who cannot lose because losing is death.  Mediocrity is only seen in their civilian clothes so they can blend in and also because their vanity is not in their appearance but in their ability.

I found myself feeling the awe of warrior energy.  I felt the courage spilling out of the lockers.  I smelt the grime of fears faced.  I saw the sparkle of diamonds in the sky.  I childishly drifted through the facilities with giddiness admiration.  I got to workout at their combat readiness training facility.  It was equal to taking cuts in the underground cages at Chavez Ravine.  There is no comparison to the professionalism exhibited by this environment.  It was fitness heaven.  I got to see the team room, cages of lockers for high tech devices, bags, gear, equipment, and personal items that resembled a real team locker room minus the pretty boy shit.  I was in heaven.  I forgot how invigorating it is to be part of a team of men.  The culture felt like home.  The facilities were an integrated storage space, fitness playground, and warrior living room.  The space felt like nothing else before.  I jokingly walked through and said this place could use an interior decorator.  Most of everything is purely functional.  Everything had character and if it didn't  it was new in packaging.  I mean everything had been used, was dirty, was marked, or was worn.  There were decorations that held only sentiment, no glamor or pomp.  There isn't room for cologne, mirrors, or luxury.  Each man had their style of storage, organization and preparedness.  It was inspiration to my desire to be simple yet character rich with strength. 

Deployment is acceptance of readiness.  This concept is rich with analogy.  The human experience is the soul on deployment.  The body a vehicle for patrolling the jungles and enemy streets of life's struggle.  Passionate people who live in principle and discipline are Gorilla soldiers of the soul.  Scowling the body for targets that influence terrorism, hate, and doubt.  Deployment is being placed in harms way so you can get even closer to it.

Most inspiring was my time with my brother.  I've seen him grow from a boy, to an adolescent, a young man, and now a man.  I watched him be silly with innocence pitching game winning performances throughout little league.  I hitched rides in early adolescence all around town, never driving the speed limit, and finding destinations that had us chasing excitement.  I filled with him many nights of dedicated hope, mentally preparing for high school baseball games, committing to state championships won, and dreaming dreams accomplished and still lingering.  We have always worked out together, we have always competed, and now we carry each other again into fatherhood.  He and I are diamonds in the sky of hope, possibly courage, and definitely risk. 

My brother from another mother and I haven't always been the stand up men we are destined to becoming.  Over the last couple decades our drunken binges, filled with tail chasing and dick measuring, have matured into intoxicating discussions about morality and manhood, sometimes politics.  This has been one of the most incredible shifts we have made.  We sit and discuss our hopes more, still eventually finding ourselves wrestling with insecurity and longing for trust and love.  I am fortunate to have companions on my path of manhood.  They drift in and out of my life with timely grace.

We opened our chest revealing our hearts.  I see myself in the brightness of his heart.  I see my fear in the shadows.  His fear for the well being of his wife, daughter and son reveal a concern I have never seen in him.  He describes the comfort found in is wife in a way he has never revealed about a woman.  I can now share my most vulnerable impasse because he has found the patience to withhold judgment.  I can see his dilemmas.  Dilemmas that in times past would have been hidden behind an arrogant handsome smile.  I can see a man who held so many insecurities transforming into a lion with scars once hidden.  I am excited to witness him love a woman truer than my judgement of him would have ever allowed me to believe.  We are wild ones.  He wilder ten fold, but cut from the same cloth, who are being harnessed by wisdom.  The reckless charisma and dexterity we have exploited over our early manhood is being saddled and ridden by angels.  We sit together now, still appreciating a few good drinks, still turning our heads at a beautiful woman, and still trying shake off the stigma we've earned by being a couple of arrogant shitheads.  We have spent most of our lives wanting to be seen and admired, now we both sneak away into solitude, without the overwhelming need to be seen by anyone, except maybe each other. This is creating space for us to reveal our souls, without shame.

We are soldiers in different armies but fighting the same battle against our own understandings of injustice.  I love this man and am grateful for his influence.  He has been deployed many times before but this weekend he helped me taste the angst that starts the process of warfare, for my first time.  I will take away from this special week an appreciation that despite the tenderness and encouragement released by each of us, he's still able to focus and orient to the calculated poised mindset needed to lead the worlds greatest warriors into battle.  

I have perspective!  Now, lets see how it inspires me.  I came alive and realized that living with devotion to minimal, yet strategic and functional necessities, feeds my soul.