It’s been three months since one world ended and another began.
Dadgummit…makes me misty already…
He’s been with us for three months. I remember thinking three days was a big deal and then three weeks.
His personality is definitely emerging (as are his vocal talents) and…it’s just amazing.
Life just keeps barreling on.
Jenn started back at her job this week after taking off a whole year to aid in Nightstorm’s conception and to allow her a little more time with him.
I’m taking this and next week off from work to help a bit with the transition as well as furthering my own career transition out of the Navy in just a couple more months(!).
And this week we’re getting an idea of what it’s like to have someone else watch our kid for the day while we both work. Spoiler alert: it’s weird.
It’s good in that it’s her parents, so the boy is already getting some good multi-generational exposure in there, but still. To think that he’ll be spending the majority of his days now with people other than his parents.
Jenn felt the melancholy more than I did, at first, because she’s been with him all day everyday (with the exception of a couple date nights and a spa day) since he popped out of her very own body. And her body continues to nourish him, day in and day out – talk about an intimate bond…
But then, this morning I felt it, too. Getting him ready, putting him in the car seat, driving him to his grandparents’ house. A part of me wanted to call and cancel, to say that I’ll be spending time with my son today and everyday the rest of my vacation time. Thing is, it’s just not practical.
Even though I’m off from my day job, I’ve got to hustle a bit to ensure that my next step is ready and generating income. I mean, I’ll have income from the G.I. Bill when I go back to school at UH, but in trying to supplement that with the dream I’ve pursued since I was in middle school in trying to get published through crowdfunding; it’s taking a lot of work – work I can’t necessarily do with an adorable, yet needy, little/big munchkinboy hanging out with me. And then first full week of August I’m back in the office again anyway.
I don’t know about Jenn, but I think what I’m feeling is a sense of failure. Our family unit is unable to stay together throughout the day; Stormy has to be with someone other than his nuclear family because we can’t afford to be a single-income family.
But then I realize that this is actually the norm – the state of the American dream, I reckon. It’s how I was raised, by babysitters and daycare supervisors before I was in school and then afternoons after school, waiting to be picked up; during the summer months, too, until I was old enough to be a latchkey kid.
And for the first time I really understand what the debate about paid family leave is all about and I have a sudden urge to relocate to Iceland or Sweden.
Nevertheless I am grateful for in-laws who love their grandbaby and spending time with him, so for them it’s no chore.
I look forward to a time where it doesn’t have to be this way, but if grandma and grandpa can babysit so mom and dad can have lovey-dove fun time that’d be great.
Some days these next couple of weeks I will be staying home and looking after Stormy all day to get a feeling of what it may be like to work from home should my writing or video production career take off.
Sometimes when he starts getting fussy or needy and clingy I want to teach him independence and how to lay the ju-do smackdown on feelings and such. But then when my picking him up calms him, or when he flashes that precocious, half-smile my damn heart melts to gooey-gooey blood sauce confections.
Three months…where will he be in three years? In three decades?
Four years ago to the day my life was about to change in ways I never imagined.
I boarded the plane in Baltimore, had a six hour delay in Chicago, and at 11ish PM Friday, July 13, 2012, I set foot in Honolulu for the first time in 23 years.
When I was eight years old my family spent our summer vacation here for just shy of two weeks, I think. We landed in Honolulu, spent the night here, then flew to Maui the next day for a few days, then to the Big Island for a few days, then back to Oahu for the last few days before heading back East.
I have a handful of solid memories but mostly just impressions from that trip:
Marveling at the lava flow on Big Island.
Running around a golf course at midnight on Maui and helping bullfrogs learn to fly.
Sparrows flying into the rooftop restaurant on Oahu.
Being afraid that the roof of any of the inter-island Aloha airline planes we rode would come off like it did a few months before.
Chewing sugarcane for the first time.
Watching my first Indiana Jones movie – The Last Crusade – at a drive-in movie theater.
Marveling at the hula ladies…
Even then I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something magical about this place.
Twenty-seven years later, after four years of living here I still can’t.
The Aloha Spirit.
The verdant landscape.
The very earth itself brimming with life and vitality.
There’s just something magical, mystical; old yet fresh about this place.
While I’m not a fan of the population density on Oahu, I always feel like I’m back home whenever I return from a trip somewhere else (with the exception of The Big Island – I always feel like I’m going back home whenever I visit there).
Four years ago today, I had no idea what I was getting myself into; what with my assignment at a joint command, my first duty station usually reserved for no lower than E-5s, maybe an E-4 soon to be promoted, yet there I was, an E-3.
And little did I know how much of the world I was about to see.
I thought boot camp and “A” School busted open my worldview…
Cumulatively six months in Southeast Asia and the South Pacific.
A month and some change in Europe and then a couple months on a couple glaciers.
I feel as though I’ve certainly aged, but I also feel as though I’ve gotten a little younger somehow…
Started making real-life grown-up decisions on my own, being as far away as one can be from friends and family before you start going back around.
Knowing what I know now there are some things I wouldn’t have done, but I don’t really regret anything. It all goes into that worldview I was talking about before.
I’ve learned not to grasp things too tightly for too long, so I’ve learned to cherish the present moments even more.
Entering the service and giving up many freedoms have helped me appreciate and value freedom even more; I feel more a free man than I ever have.
I met my wife and my kid was born here.
Where will I be in four more years? No clue.
Probably still around. Maybe about to head elsewhere; who knows?
Until then I just keep doing what I do everyday: take it one day at a time.
Why do I continue on in traditions such as celebrating Christmas and Easter; or praying before meals, especially with Jenny?
Why do I pray for her and our son?
The fire I once possessed has long since gone out. Perhaps for longer than I realize.
My first real positive experience with Jesus was LIFE ’95 during Jacob Aranza’s sermon. I google him now and there’s some serious stuff not of a positive nature out there. I suppose that’s to be expected.
Anyway, it was toward the end, during the altar call-type thing, that I first felt forgiven. It was the first time I felt that any evil things I had done didn’t matter in terms of who I was as a human being.
Following that experience, I tried to get the most out of every time of worship. Anytime there was singing to God I tried my hardest to commune with the Almighty. Sometimes there was success, but most of the time, I suspect, it was emotional responses.
And actually, I suppose that’s what it was at the LIFE event: an intense emotional response. A response to some serious truth, but an emotional response nonetheless.
In his book No Man Is an Island, Thomas Merton says that if one is in step with the Spirit one doesn’t feel it. Illustrating the point with a marching formation, he points out that when troops are marching in step together they don’t come into contact with each other, thus not feeling each other. It’s when you get out of step that you feel it; that is to say, how one feels is not necessarily a good indicator of one’s relationship.
One thing I can say though, is the LIFE event changed how I experienced thunderstorms. I believed (and perhaps still do (we don’t get many thunderstorms where I live nowadays)) that God is closest to our plane of existence in thunderstorms. I mean, the idea is he’s omnipresent, but maybe within the cumulonimbus formations, the membrane between realities is stretched a little thinner. Just the power and might of the rushing wind, the flashing lightning bolts and explosive thunder…
Saying all that to say, I went from having a mortal fear of thunderstorms to eagerly looking forward to them. To this day I still have what some may consider an unhealthy desire to personally witness a tornado.
That fire I spoke of earlier…
At its core I think it’s a good thing. However, I took it, in response to the aforementioned emotional response, and figured I owed God something. Like, I needed to pay Him back or something for the wonderful way He made me feel.
And then, over time, it turned into the feeling a junkie gets when he does all the drugs to try and replicate that one feeling he had, the first time he smoked a joint or shot up. No matter what I did or tried, I couldn’t get that exact feeling back.
And there was that whole issue when my first girlfriend put it on God to break us up because, I reckon, she was afraid of hurting my feelings or something. I was angry, upset, pissed off at the Almighty. After that great thing He had done at LIFE, and all I had done in those few intervening years before high school graduation, how could He pull this shit? I was a vocal witness for Christ; I got into debates and discussions about faith; I wore provocative Christian t-shirts that spurred conversations; I listened to nothing but Contemporary Christian Music, taking in the Word of Life through modern music styles to help edify my soul and remember doctrine more easily (I think I still know the full rap by DC Talk for Jesus is Just Alright).
All that – all that – and He ostensibly took away the most precious relationship to me up to that point in my life.
Of course, from what I learned at church and in books is that I was guilty of idolatry, putting my ex up on a pedestal, wanting her more than I wanted God. Close friends and family warned me about balance (which made more sense). But what was the death stroke was the shame my sexual desire was shrouded in. I didn’t give up my virginity until after that experience, but my innocence was already taken from me at a very early age. And someone who should have protected me and helped me heal, instead swept it under the rug; it was never to be spoken of; it didn’t happen. It was a shameful thing to have happened and to bring it up was to only bring on more shame…so it was never spoken of until my mid-20s, in therapy.
That shame came from a faith rooted in fear, not love. It was the faith instilled in me, even when I had that life-changing experience.
I guess therapy was when I had the next real Jesus Experience.
Not to retread, but it was there I learned that I was enough. I came to see that I am lovable as I am. That’s what Jesus – or unconditional – love is all about. And as such, it’s a love with no demands or expectations. There’s nothing to pay back, there’s nothing to do in return.
Of course, there’s reciprocity. When someone loves you, you want to love them back. The root of desiring to repay, I think, springs from a guilty conscience. That mentality doesn’t believe one is worthy of that love; and maybe one isn’t (from a certain point of view), but one has it, and it wouldn’t be so freely given if the giver didn’t think the receiver was enough.
Reciprocity is different than paying back. You don’t have the compulsion to repay, but someone makes you feel good (i.e.: loved) and you want to make them feel the same way. What’s scary is that this principle is also at the root of vengeance.
So anyway – we’ve got LIFE ’95; therapy; when would be the next Jesus experience…?
I think it would actually be…meeting Jenny.
When Jesus was on earth, He was all about upending the System, bringing new light to old wisdom and new life to old souls. I was caught up thinking that marriage – finding a mate – was supposed to be a certain way. “Equally yoked” was a buzzword concept thrown around a lot in my formative spiritual years and, as such, was ingrained in my membrain (I know that’s not how you spell it).
As my first attempt at marriage fizzled, I put myself back out there. In spite of all relationship failures up to that point (and they are legion), and in spite of that ultimate relational fail, I was bound, determined, and sure that true love was out there waiting for me.
However, as fast and hard as I tried to run from the old way of thinking, “equally yoked” still prefaced every prospect. There was a lady or two I met who met the conventional meaning of being equally yoked but many more (with whom I felt more compatible) who did not; Jenn was among them.
And this wasn’t the first time this had happened.
When I was in college I dated a young lady who wasn’t conventionally equally yoked, yet upon reflection the relationship had the potential to be one of the best I ever had. But because of that conventional belief, I ended it. At the heart of it I was a coward and didn’t know what I had. Twelve, thirteen years later I resolved that if I ever found myself in that position again to not just abandon it, but to hang on as long as I could.
Though I am a quick study, I’m a slow learner. After a few dates with Jenn I knew in my gut that she was the one, yet convention still called…as well as fear of happiness. I called it off; but she didn’t. She still liked me and when I went off to Germany for a few weeks we stayed in contact.
It was one afternoon, after traipsing through the beautiful countryside, and then seeing a picture in ein alten Frau’s living room of two horses: a mare and a stallion standing together, looking into the distance…weird, I know, but it was in that picture – let’s say the spirit of the picture – that I saw us.
As soon as I could I skyped her and told her I loved her and that I wanted to be with her.
And then with her, it’s just been one Jesus experience after another. We take turns in pissing each other off, or disappointing each other to varying degrees, but everything is overshadowed by our love for each other. Most of the time we’re making each other smile and/or laugh.
And inherent in love, I believe, is commitment, faithfulness, and trustworthiness (to name a few). Such things I lacked in myself for a very long time because I couldn’t ascribe them to myself; I didn’t think I was worthy or sufficient.
But then learning that I am, I’ve slowly been able to develop these traits and cultivate them more and more, and thus, love more freely. Not perfectly, mind you; and I still screw it up more times than I get it right, but I’d like to think that now the majority of my actions come from a place of love instead of fear.
Now more than ever with Stormy in the picture – managing the love streams between child and spouse.
These have been my Jesus experiences so far – experiences of unconditional, unbridled love and self-realization. I reckon it’s facilitating such experiences for others by being an honest, loving human being that Jesus is getting at when He talks about the Great Commission. Not making a sales pitch for hellfire insurance, or getting people into the “feel-good-about-yourself-club” and making them follow a bunch of rules; but rather showing love, dignity, and respect to everyone; and insofar as we’re able, to aid them toward self-realization so that they know they, too, are worthy and sufficient, and that that’s something that’s worth keeping going in this broke-up, busted-ass world.
This is the tipping point, usually, where I’ve started a blog, pump out a handful of decent posts, then futz out.
Well, it’s about telling stories.
The last post is the video story of Jenny’s and my trip to the Big Island last summer. It was a lot of fun and I tried to convey that in the editing of the footage. If you haven’t already, check it out.
And then the preceding posts have been stories about our son, Nightstorm. I don’t feel like there’s much to say there in the way of interesting blog posts, suffice to say we’re still battling the wretched rash of his poor heinous anus (and I think we’re winning), and that he’s freaking huge compared to the size he was when he was born. I mean, geez. He eats, sleeps, poops/pees, repeat.
I think he’s starting to make eye contact now, though, and each day we’re learning a little more of his personality.
Jenn and I are trying to figure out how to make him join our program and not make everything all about him.
I mean, he’s a helpless little squirt, but he’s almost a month old now. Regardless of whether we’re starting to train him in certain behaviors, I think it’s good for us to start communicating with him now as we will when he’s a year old, two years, seven years, 18, and on and on and on. Sometimes it seems as though he’s testing us with little cries to see how fast one of us responds.
From the previous Storm-centric posts there has been much improvement. For me, in the aforementioned attitude shift, and we’ve had a few more visitors which I think has improved Jenn’s morale; not to mention that we’re learning ol’ Stormy better, too.
It would seem that every time something new surfaces which alarms either, if not both, of us, it’s something completely normal for newborns and infants. I’m also convinced that a significant amount of pediatrician visits are more for the parents’ state of mind than anything having physiologically to do with the baby.
So now, when something happens, we don’t immediately freak out; we google it, check multiple sources, and go from there. It’s a real mind over matter thing. Watching your progeny experience apparent distress and possible trauma only to find out its gas and all newborns deal with it for a while as their intestines figure out how to work. He may scream and wail, but unless other indicators are present, all you have to do is try and soothe him. Could be gas relief drops do the trick, or the sound of a running faucet, or holding him in a different position.
And to learn that the heinous anus isn’t uncommon was something of a relief, too.
Really, a lot of it is learning that we’re not the only ones who’ve gone through this stuff. I mean, humanity has teemed with staggering numbers for millennia before now, so of course we’re not the only ones; but it’s the specifics of the challenges we face, hearing from a friend how they went through the same thing; or reading an article or messages in a mommy forum, seeing them describe, word-for-word, how you’ve described your own child’s situation. Were it not comforting it’d be freakin’ eerie.
When you feel like you’re the only one facing something, when you feel isolated and all alone, that’s when despair and depression can set in. Whether you’re one of two new parents (or a single one for that matter), recovering from a drug addiction, or just trying to make it through the workday in a toxic environment.
It’s this incalculable value in community I’ve seen demonstrated time and again, moreso ever since leaving North Carolina, my home, six years ago. Cary will always hold special place in my heart, but now Hawaii is my home. It’s not just where Jenn and I hang our hats; it’s the friendships we’ve established here and the family she has that I’m a part of now.
Before I met Jenn, I never imagined I’d want to call Oahu home. It’s too crowded, traffic sucks, and everything is so freakin’ expensive (especially real estate). But then we met, we fell in love, and I’ve found that I miss this place whenever I travel elsewhere. We are considering relocation in the next few years, but we’ll see where we are as a family by then.
Huh – look at that. A blog post did manage to come out.
A couple other things I want to touch on…pursuing my dream of being a content creator; last summer I started up my production company and gave it a real go. Had a paying client and everything.
As you might imagine, though it worked, it wasn’t smooth at all. Many times I considered throwing in the towel. However, do you know that thing about when people tell you that if you quit something you wanted and the desire keeps coming back then it’s probably something you should pursue anyway? That’s what keeps happening here.
I keep coming back to producing videos, to writing, to filmmaking. I can now, truly say from experience, that failure is good – failure is great!
I delineated a ton of lessons from the experiences of my initial venture and am applying them now to PHAZON MEDIA! I did a lot of things right with The Bailey Adventure, but a lot of things wrong, too; things I wouldn’t have thought of had I not even tried it. So I tried it, succeeded on a level, failed on another, picked up the pieces and here we go again, a little wiser, a little braver, a little more daring.
Shucks, if it weren’t for all failures in my life I never would have moved to Ohio, gotten dumped, enlisted in the Navy*, wound up in Hawaii, and three years later be in a happy marriage with an adorable baby!
And each day still has a healthy amount of failures! Sometimes I cuss and fuss, but I always take time afterward to reflect and learn. I learn how to better communicate with Jenn; I learn how thoughtless I can be and then how I can be more thoughtful. I learn the veracity of the saying: “Bees are attracted to honey, not vinegar.” I learn to let love guide my actions more often than fear and suddenly the world seems a little less nasty; always broken and busted, but less nasty and a wee bit more beautiful.
So, in addition to learning how to husband and dad, I’m learning how to get my business going; I’m learning more about the creative process, about the daily life process. I learn to value and love my wife more as she believes I can handle all of this and I’m blown away when she lets me sleep through the night so I can be better prepared for my physical fitness test, or go off on some Saturday afternoon (today) not just to get the car looked at, but also to catch up on my writing. Not only that, but her willingness to go along with my decision to leave a secure job in the Navy to go back to school to pursue my lifelong dream of writing and filmmaking.
Okay – I’m rambling here, but I can never run out of ways to express how I love my wife. She ain’t perfect, far from a paragon of any kind, but dadgum, she’s perfect for me; somehow she thinks I’m perfect for her, too.
*still not an official spokesperson for the U.S. Navy, Dept. of the Navy, Dept. of the Defense, and all opinions and such don’t reflect them, etc.