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.