Life Unraveled

In case you live under a rock (which sometimes doesn't seem such a bad place to call home), you have probably by now heard the news. President Obama came out in support of same-sex marriage, no pun intended of course. But rather than debate the timing, motives, or legitimacy of such an endorsement, I found myself recalling days of yore. More specifically, I thought about what it felt like growing up in the closet. I have often wanted to write about this subject. To be sure, I have alot to say, and will likely have more to say than whatever comes out in this blog post. So be it.  Tonight, I am remembering myself at 12 years old, praying to God every night that I would be more interested in the opposite sex. Trying to pray the gay away I suppose. Hoping to be normal, to be accepted, to not go to "hell". This is not an exaggeration. It was lodged into my nightly prayers, right there between praying for straight A's on my report card and praying for a new fa...

I'm so excited. And I just can't hide it. I'm about to lose control, and yes....I think I like it. What, pray tell, has me quoting that ancient Pointer Sisters ditty and doing my little 80's dance these days? Change , that's what, or at least the prospect of change. Or maybe the decision to make a change, or simply watching the unfolding of change. Either way, ch-ch-ch-changes have me smiling. Some would (accurately) say I am beaming. I hear it most every day at work now. "Paul, why are you so happy?" "Paul, why are you in such a good mood?" "Paul, stop smiling so much!" (What can I say? There are a few haters out there.) The reality is nothing has changed yet.  But somehow, everything has changed. The other day someone asked me if it was a hard decision to leave Starbucks after nearly nine years. My knee-jerk reaction was to let out a guffaw so loud and harsh it even startled me a little, followed by a resounding ...

The Dalai Lama is a cute, slight, bald whisp of a man. This is my first impression upon seeing His Holiness emerge from behind the curtain, taking center stage amidst a sea of applause and eager anticipation. I have little previous knowledge of the man, and in all honesty have no reason for being here except that when his visit was announced, it made perfect sense that i would be here. Glancing skyward at the huge Jumbotron screen looming over the proceedings, from my seat up high in the nosebleeds, I see him there in all his Dalai Lama-ness, complete with long, flowing maroon robe and matching visor wrapped around his brown, nearly hairless scalp. I cannot recall ever having seen this man before, but he is pretty much exactly as I envisioned. Oh, and one other thing. He is smiling. It's a mile-wide smile to be sure, but unlike any smile I think I have ever laid eyes on. He is grinning as if he has no reservations at all, this little old man in the maroon get-up, perfectly at ...

I did something big last week. I gave my notice at Starbucks. On the surface, this appears to be nothing too huge. After all, having been employed there nearly nine years, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Working in a coffee shop normally represents a transient position for most individuals, the one where you casually buy some time until the "right" job comes along. But not me. I made a career out of it. For me, it was the right job, and for a very long time. I can remember way back in 2003 being an avid Starbucks customer, with a pricey two-a-day habit forming rather quickly. I would stop in for my white chocolate mocha on the way to work (not every morning, just the ones where I wanted to feel really, really good) and then proceed to suck down some form of frothy blended beverage (usually caramel) after lunch. Though I didn't spend much time loafing around the stores, those few magic minutes I would spend at Starbucks became my favorite part of mo...

Inspiration is what's left after you let go.  It is everywhere.  And it is not just the cherry on top of the sundae;  it's the whole ice cream shop.  It is not the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box; it's the entire cardboard package, sailor logo and all.  Having searched high and low for a way to express my own intensely scattered observations on the subject of what inspiration means to me these days, this is the best I can come up with.  It is all around us.  Sure, true inspiration can come in those big dramatic 'a-ha!' moments of delightfully powerful life-changing insight, but it can also be as simple as that initial moment of sensory overload erupting from the first sip of strong, black coffee in the morning, the one that lights the fire of the brain and opens our eyes wide to a new day loaded with possibility.  More than anything, inspiration just seems to happen whe...

Another birthday is here.  Hello, 39.    How do I feel about this one?  Well, I'm not sure except to say that I don't feel like 39, whatever the "manual" says that particular age is supposed to feel like.  Truth is, I don't know what age I feel like, and I guess it doesn't matter much.  In a way, I feel happily sandwiched somewhere in between what the manual describes as young and old, a lovely blending of the two that just seems to go together seamlessly like peanut butter and jelly, or peanut butter and chocolate.  Or peanut butter and anything, really.  Mmm.  I do love peanut butter.  Always have, even as a small child.  I guess some things haven't changed much over the years.  But I digress.  Me being me, I have spent a large amount of time recently in awe of the aging process.  What can I say?  That's just me.  I like to analyze things, but not very scientific things.  Forget...

We all want to be liked. We might say we don't, but to varying degrees our behaviors often suggest otherwise. Time and again we are faced with people and situations that make us yearn to be like Sally Field at the podium on Oscar night circa 1985, proclaiming with astonished giddiness as she accepted her Best Actress trophy, "You LIKE me! You really LIKE me!!" The trouble starts when we cannot make such a proclamation. When we are unable to say this, we may wonder what we have done wrong, and what crime we might have committed (in this life or another) to have provoked such a negative response from another human being, searching the archives of our minds to figure out where or when it all went south. Even if there is not enough evidence found for our own conviction--and there typically never is--the best we can hope for is to repeat in our minds the one statement that, at least temporarily, seems destined to rescue us from the damage caused by someone's unjust d...