Tag: humor

Warm Smell of Colitas – 1973 to 1985

I am almost 13 years younger than my next oldest sibling. This soon will become relevant. My parents’ musical interests were solidly in the country category. Actually, in retrospect, I’m not really sure what my Mom’s musical tastes were, beyond those of my Dad. The vinyl in our home was curated by my Dad. The smell of a vinyl record still evokes nostalgic feelings of warmth, tying back to my earliest memories of my Dad’s record collection. He had an affinity for bluegrass, but the artists that stood out to me were the deceased artists. He loved artists like Jim Reeves and Patsy Cline, both of whom died young in plane crashes. Throw in some George Jones, Tammy Wynette, and Loretta Lynn, and you get the general idea of his musical tastes.

Hey, you don’t know me, but you don’t like me.

This, of course, meant that any contemporary music I listened to around my parents was created/performed by country artists of that time frame. I was born in 1973, so my earliest memories of contemporary music were artists like Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and Merle Haggard. I list these artists because I truly enjoyed the music. My country roots definitely fall into the rebellious, anti-establishment country of the day, with the Outlaw music of Cash, Jennings, and Nelson, along with the Bakersfield sound of Haggard and Buck Owens. The sounds were gritty, with the clang of a Fender Telecaster rattling behind some iconic songwriters and vocalists. Put Willie and Waylon together, and some true magic happened.

That was my dad’s contribution. During the early years of my childhood, there was one other person who influenced the music I would listen to and love to this day: my older brother. As mentioned, he is almost 13 years older than I am. He was my only sibling still at home during the first seven years of my life. He was also the one who would be left with the responsibility of babysitting his younger brother when our parents were otherwise engaged. He, too, loves music. Let’s just say that he didn’t listen to George Jones or Loretta Lynn very often. It was the mid-70s, and he was fighting his own rebellion against the world. As I remember it, as soon as the two of us were alone, the television went off and the stereo was turned on. I still smell the rich vinyl today as I write this. That, and well…a more pungent aroma.

Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air.

With my brother came the powerful guitars and vocals of Boston. To this day, I cannot hear “More Than a Feeling” without the hair standing up on the back of my neck. There was the prog rock sounds of Kansas and the operatic offerings of Queen. I was banging my head to “Bohemian Rhapsody” long before Wayne and Garth introduced it to the majority of my generation, as young adults in the early ’90s. However, none of those artists compared to the band that I would associate most with my childhood, the Eagles. There was one album that my brother would put on that would leave me riveted. Hearing the raspy voice of Don Henley sing about the warm smell of “colitas,” rising up through the air in “Hotel California” left me mesmerized. To this day, it’s one of the strongest connections I have with my brother.

The Eagles would follow me into my adult life. I would become intimately familiar with their entire catalog of work. As a young adult, I would disengage from contemporary music, which we’ll explore later. The Eagles however, came along with me. Their songs were the first I learned to play on guitar. I knew of no other band that could harmonize quite like they could. The songwriting was complex and a tiny bit cerebral. Later in life I realized that the dynamic songwriting relationship between Don Henley (introspective and cerebral) and Glenn Frey (energetic and in your face) was the source of much of that complexity. It was the source of their magic. To me, they are in the same company as McCartney/Lennon and Simon/Garfunkel. As we travel along, it would become apparent to me that I gravitated towards bands and songwriting collaborators. The group dynamic has created the most magical music for me.

After my brother moved out of our home, I often had to find ways to enjoy what would be on the car radio when my parents were driving or whatever artist would be appearing weekly on Hee Haw. Country artists like Kenny Rogers and Alabama were staples during the early 80s. At some point during this timeframe, I got my first cassette player. Being incredibly in touch with what 7-year-old boys would enjoy for music, my parents bought me my first cassette tapes. We’ll not spend too much time on this segment as those cassette tapes were a collection of television theme songs, and a light-hearted collection of 60s & 70s country/pop songs. Still, I would spend hours listening to the theme song from M.A.S.H. and Jeannie C. Riley’s 1968 chartbuster, “Harper Valley P.T.A.” I was 7, what did I know?

Fortunately for me, and those of you that are following along, my musical interests would broaden greatly. Next up, we’ll look how the mid 80s through early 90s treated me. These would be my most formidable years, from age 11, into my early 20s. This period would include the first music which was primarily curated by me. Today, it’s still an era that I find myself visiting from time to time, though I view it through a much different lens today.

Up next: Nothin’ But a Good Time

Cheese Puffs, Fire and En Vino Veritas

It’s Saturday night, the first day of February 2020.  We live in Phoenix, Arizona; smack dab in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.  While the rest of North America is shut in their homes, huddled around a fireplace and sheltering from the cold of a typical American winter, we saw a high temperature of 74 degrees Fahrenheit.  While the sun is engaged in a never-ending game of hide-and-go-seek with most of the country, she is our constant companion, bathing us in a warmth that becomes the seasonal envy of millions of people.  Torture, I know.

After the sunset this evening, which was a brilliant show of oranges, purples, and reds painted across the horizon, I suggested to my wife that we open a bottle of wine.  To this, she readily agreed.  I then made my way into the desert oasis that is our back yard, started a fire in our fire pit and sat down under the moonlight.  All of this, with the hopes that my wife would soon follow me and we would enjoy a semi-romantic suburban night as we enjoy the best of what the vine has to offer. Things didn’t transpire as I planned, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

As I endeavored into my first glass of wine, I heard my daughter come downstairs and begin a conversation with my wife.  This, in and of itself, was a scenario that has become more and more infrequent, as our daughter refuses to stop growing up and has entered her teenage years.  Straight away, it was apparent that my wife and daughter had taken advantage of some peculiar alignment of the stars.  They were laughing and conspired to spend an evening of ill-advised dinner choices and a new Netflix release.  As I sat alone with my thoughts outside, they were eating cheese puffs and giggling like they were sisters, not parent and child.

As I sat outside alone, watching the flames of my fire lapping at the mild desert night air, I realized that I was right where I needed to be, and my wife was exactly where she needed to be.  While I sat alone by the fire, I was the furthest from being lonely that I could be.  As much as I relish my opportunities to be a couple with my spouse, tonight was a night that I needed to remain on the periphery.  No dad or husband contributions were required this evening, other than recognizing the magic that was happening inside the house.  Yes, I sat alone, but every giggle and statement of nonsense inside the house filled me with a contentment that I seem to be constantly in search of.

As I finish my second glass of wine tonight, relocated from the fire to my study, I set to capture the magic of this evening in this prose.  Though the evening hasn’t taken the direction I originally had chartered, it has none the less drawn me closer to my wife.  I realize that there are times, where the best I can contribute to our family dynamic is to step back and watch the magic develop around me.  I am thankful for this night and for the desert oasis that lives inside my own home.

Inspiration, Authenticity, and 7th-Grade Math

Writing is hard.  To be specific, finding and harnessing the inspiration to write is hard.  Granted, when compared to the more challenging feats of mankind (e.g. building pyramids, quantum physics, 7th-grade math), the prior statement can sound rather silly.  None the less, creating strings and blocks of words that somehow might resonate with the reader of those words is challenging.  As an illustration, I may or may not have just spent three hours composing this said block of words.

The reasons why this feat can seem daunting are as numerous as the reasons 7th-grade math flummoxes me.  To my chagrin, as well as my wife’s, I am not independently wealthy.  Quite simply, to keep my belly full and to fund my girls’ Disney travel dependency, full-time employment is my lot in life.  Add in life’s other obligations like human social interaction, finding the right motivators for a teenager (pretty sure the formula is X=Y+M x 4.21 + nothing works, what am I doing?) and household chores, and there are limited hours left in a day to sit down and make pretty words.

These obligations also leave little time for life’s more enriching moments.  Reading is a writer’s best friend.  Few writers can lay claim to inventing meaningful and profound words.  By and large, we try to recycle the good ones we’ve read somewhere.  I’ve found that I write most freely when I am able to lose myself in some realm of profound thinking. I have learned that profound thought is hard for me to achieve without the presentation of challenging ideas or breathing in the world’s beauty through a writer’s prose. Reading is one of the cornerstones of my own, personal curation.

I also found myself laboring to meet a self-imposed threshold of blog posts.  I was forcing the act of writing, creating content for content’s sake.  Much of what I was writing, both here and on my travel blog, became mechanical and cold.  It often lacked the authenticity required for resonation, offering advice where no advice was solicited.  All of this in the hopes of increasing the readership of my work.  In an effort to reach more people, I altered my own voice.

Life certainly has a way of entrenching itself in front of one’s more admirable pursuits. It has been no different for me these past few months.  It happens in part due to circumstances beyond our control and in no less part due to things that are.  And while this is certainly true with my absence of writing of late, perhaps this retreat has been what I needed to re-learn how to harness that elusive inspiration. Even the most precise instrument requires occasional re-calibration.  So I set forth in an attempt at a more organic writing experience.  I hope you hang around for this next leg of my meandering musings.

 

 

Because I Said I Would – Aligning Our Words With Our Actions

As humans, we say great things.  We use great words that outline what we believe in and what we’ll do.  For instance, I believe the Designated Hitter has no place in baseball!  Certainly great words.  I say I believe in justice, equity and love.  Great things.  I’ve made promises to people.  Many I’ve kept, some I regrettably haven’t.  I tell my wife and daughter that I love them; an action more than it is feelings.  And yet, I’m not perfect on that front either.

Case in point: To love (as an action) my family, I must live.  To love my daughter, I must lead.  And yet, I sometimes come up short.  Recently, I’ve decided that I need to re-introduce exercise back into my daily routines.  I’m now 46.  I can’t eat like I used to anymore.  I can’t take youth for granted, because it no longer belongs to me.  I’ve put on considerable weight since my mid-thirties.  I have high blood pressure that is treated with pharmaceuticals.  I’m reminded often of my own mortality, something I didn’t think much about when I was younger.  Bottom line, I know that if I want to be around for my family, I have to take better care of myself.  I’ve told Shani and “S” this through the years, and I’ve taken some strides in that direction, but I haven’t followed through on some of those promises.

In my recent post What Makes A Man A Man?, I explored some basic criteria to address that question.  One of the principles discussed had to do with aligning our words with our actions.  To break it down to a single word…integrity.  Do we adhere to what we say we are?  This is one concept where I am reminded regularly that I have room for growth.

This is not a unique challenge.  I know many men, and women for that matter, that struggle with this challenge.  In fact, I know of no person whose words are always aligned with their actions.  Should we resign ourselves to the reality that perfection doesn’t exist?  Are there resources that can help us reach a truer alignment of our words with our actions?

A few years ago, Shani introduced me to a social movement that addresses this very topic.  She read about it while flying back home from a business trip and it resonated with her enough to immediately share it with me.  She soon incorporated it into the culture of the team she managed and encouraged me to learn more about it as well.  The movement is called because I said I would. The premise is that we are only as good as the promises we keep.  Brilliant, basic and undeniably true.  For Shani and I, it has been an indispensable resource in our personal growth.  We both encourage you to check it out.

So I continue to work on fulfilling the promises I’ve made.  Continue working on aligning my words with my actions.  Today our family is out enjoying a new active hobby we’re trying to incorporate into our own culture: kayaking.  I am going to continue pushing to build new healthy habits that align with my promises I’ve made to my family.  How successful I am is yet to be determined.  I’m certain there will be times that I struggle to fulfill these commitments.  But I know that I will never stop working on being the man I say I am.

Have you found yourself in situations where your words haven’t aligned with your actions?  How have you handled this?  Please feel free to share your own ideas and stories.  Make sure that that you hit follow to ensure you never miss a blog post.  Like us on Facebook as well!

 

 

Ode to the Sonoran Seasons

It’s now the middle of April in Phoenix, Arizona.  Born in a Phoenix suburb, with the exception of a seven-year respite in the cool pines of Northern Arizona, I’ve spent my entire life in the Sonoran Desert.  While living in Phoenix has its perks (I haven’t shoveled snow for nearly 30 years), we like to aggressively complain about the grueling Summer we experience in the Valley of the Sun.  I wrote the following, Ode to the Sonoran Seasons, last year and shared it on my Facebook feed. I feel it worthy of revision and introducing it to those that didn’t see it the first time around!

Ode to the Sonoran Seasons

It is April in the Sonoran Desert. Here, seasons don’t follow the typical Hallmark Channel depiction of traditional Northern Hemisphere quarterly orientation towards the sun. No, four rational progressions through the meteorological seasons are far too simplistic for those who dwell in the desert.  What follows is a more accurate description of our Sonoran hope and madness (Thank you, Roger Clyne).   

April through May: Pre-Hell

Our few weeks of what would constitute Summer somewhere else in the United States are finished and we usher in Pre-Hell. Pre-Hell will take us through Memorial Day.  Temperatures hover in the 90s, occasionally flirting with triple digits.  Your backyard swimming pool begins to look very tempting.  You falsely believe that the water is warm enough to jump in and enjoy a respite from the heat.  But no, the water is ice cold.  All at once you’re reminded of what is to come in the form of searing heat while the chlorinated water reminds you that two weeks ago, low temperatures were still in the 40s.  We know the next season, Hell, is laughing mercilessly at us, knowing nothing we do will stop the ever nearing oven. 

June through Mid-July: Hell

Theoretically, life should not exist when highs reach 118 degrees.  Defying all odds, we persist.  Hell is a six to eight week period when the rest of the nation experiences Summer. Common experiences include your shoes adhering to asphalt, 2nd degree burns on the palms of your hands…1st degree burns everywhere else, and the slow agony of a modified grieving process (denial, bargaining, depression, anger, anger, anger, fury, loss of total feeling, hallucinations and total combustion).  Some will wear the experience as a badge of courage (sick people) while others vow to never go through such experience again just to stay around to complain about it, year after year (stupid people, much like myself).  Sometime after the July 4th Independence Day celebrations, strange events begin occurring in the atmosphere.  Towering banks of clouds being to slowly become visible over the Superstition Mountains in the afternoons and the familiar yet all too out of place smell of rain can almost be detected.  A sign of relief perhaps?  No, our desert mistress is merely playing with our naive dispositions.  The reality is a much crueler affair.

Mid-July through Mid-September: Ha Ha, You Thought Hell Was Almost Over

This season is marked by the temporary nirvana of the cool relief of a Monsoon shower, followed by 10 straight days of Hell with the addition of humidity.   If you’re fortunate to have a backyard swimming pool, you’re saddened to know that all the benefits of the said pool are negated by the fact that the water is now like a warm bath on a horrid and humid August day.  We are encouraged though.  Society reminds us that the kids will return to school and soon will be planning their Halloween costumes.  What others experience as Fall is on the way.  Or is it?

Mid-September through October: I Give Up

The promise of college football and post-season baseball lose their luster quickly.  While the rest of the country is experiencing beautiful Autumn days picking apples and enjoying brisk October nights, our struggle continues.  You know relief is on the way, but you also realize that you’ll be trick or treating in shorts and flip flops.

November: Pre-Fall

November will usher in Pre-Fall.  Pre-Fall is our first glimpse at true weather relief.  The high temperatures fall back into the 70s and 80s and you can almost get excited for the upcoming holidays.  We hit the sweet spot with weather that others would generally call Summer. You look outside and you can almost imagine what others around the nation see when they look out their own windows; leaves changing colors.  Of course, that doesn’t really happen in the Sonoran Desert.  We don’t have too many deciduous trees (if only we could harness their intelligence and decide not to live here!).  The following seasons are brief if they appear at all and are more loosely structured.  Half of Canada has now moved to Phoenix, escaping the snow.

Novemberish: Fall

We eat turkey. It’s a 50/50 chance the air conditioning will be on in the house.

December through January: What Might Be Interpreted as Winter

Somewhere between December and January, if we’re lucky, we will experience 3 days of Winter.  I mean, it’s a mild Winter.  Like, I’ve seen ice before.  Once. Fortunately, this “harsh” cold rarely sticks around long.  It may even make a second appearance and we’ll throw some wood in the fireplace.

February through March: Spring

To be clear, we mainly know it’s Spring because Major League Baseball and a slew of Midwestern permafrosted visitors begin to mingle with the Canadians, to watch the Boys of Summer brush off the rust.  It truly is a magical time.  Having quickly forgotten the terrible experience we just went through, we begin to brag to everyone about how lovely the weather is.

The whole experience is surreal.  In April we start again, the dreadful anticipation of what is to come.  Yet we stay, unfortunate prisoners to the desert beauty.  All the while, swearing that this will be the last Summer we are going to put up with.

Life’s Number One, Guaranteed Life Hack -The Real “Secret” to Life

I want to let you in on something.  I have spent the greater part of my life in search of the ultimate life hacks.  I was in search of every possible drill down and shortcut available to give me an edge in achieving success and happiness.  After all, the media today pumps us full of articles like “The Ultimate Guide to Being Happy” and “How To Appear 6’4″ When You’re Only 5’9” (the latter I’ve read over and over again).  Promises to provide us with foolproof tips and tricks, as if someone was guarding these secret ideas until that very moment to share with us, if only we invest a few minutes to read their article.  It turns out, there is a secret life hack.  And I’m going to share that with you right now!

The secret is that there are no secrets.

That is right my friends, there are no secrets out there.  In life, there are no hacks and no shortcuts.  The knowledge needed to become the person you want to be is here for the taking.  It is not held under lock and key or stingily protected in secret by happy and successful people.  Everything we need is there if only we are honest and humble enough to accept that there are no hacks or shortcuts in our desire to figure life out.

It turns out, what we’ve been looking for has been hiding right under our noses the entire time.  With all the complexity that accompanies navigating today’s hectic world, we have become conditioned to believe that the “secrets” we seek must be equally complex.  And while there are certainly complex problems in today’s world that require equally complex thinking, there are certain fundamental truths about the human experience that have remained relatively unchanged throughout annals of history.  We have even assigned a specific word in the English language for these fundamental truths.  They are called maxims.

You surely have heard many maxims and likely don’t think much about their proverbial meaning.  For instance, there’s the one about the precocious avian creature who acquires the terrestrial annelid.  We better know it as the early bird gets the worm.  Of course, it’s not to be taken literally, unless perhaps your job is to hunt earthworms.  But the truth behind the principle is unwavering.  Most things worth achieving require a lot of hard work.  You reap what you sow.  You get what you give in life.  You want to be loved, you first must love others.  Want people to treat you with kindness? Treat others with kindness.  Simple principles for a complex world.  The secret is that there are no secrets.

It can’t be this easy, can it?  No, it’s not that easy. The simple acceptance of this premise alone is difficult for many of us. But embracing these fundamental truths is one of the cornerstones in building a foundation for achieving what you strive for.  It is merely the beginning chapter in curating a life.  And of course, not everyone’s curated life looks the same. Yet, the fundamental truths remain for all of us.  They are there for the taking.

I want to hear from you.  What are the maxims that you have embraced in your quest to be the best you?  Share your ideas by leaving a comment below!

 

 

You’re Wearing That? – How Little Acts of Service and Gratitude Promote Healthy Marriages

When you take a moment to think about how difficult it is for two human beings to live harmoniously with each other, it’s remarkable that all marriages do not end in divorce.  Occasionally, I remember exactly how much Shani loves me.  Seriously, she has to really love me to be able to take all of my quirks, peculiarities, and faults in an effortless stride.

Of course, the factors that make a successful marriage are innumerable.  What a successful marriage looks like will even vary from couple to couple.  And of course, the upkeep of a marriage takes the commitment of two people. All of these factors certainly cannot be explored in a 600-word blog post.   I will also never claim to be an expert in keeping a successful marriage.  In fact, the only thing I come close to being an expert in is napping.

What I am is a guy who tries hard to be a good husband.  I’ve somehow managed to stumble my way through mistakes and challenges with an amazing woman, to string together a decade-plus relationship, earning the privilege to keep trying to do it better tomorrow.  What I’ll share is some of those lessons I’ve learned along the way;  my observations. What I do to be a better partner with my spouse.

This week I was reminded of one of those lessons I’ve learned.  I was reminded of how much Shani loves me.  You might expect that there was some grand gesture made or maybe an expensive gift was given.  You would be wrong.  It was a small gesture, one that could easily go overlooked.  I had left a load of laundry in the dryer overnight.  This load contained almost every work appropriate shirt I owned.  The next morning, I retrieved a shirt from the dryer to wear to work.  Of course, it was well wrinkled from its overnight stay in the dryer.

I inspected the shirt.  Shani inspected the shirt.  I shrugged my shoulders and proclaimed it acceptable to wear that day.  Shani made it known that she disagreed with my assessment.  I was off to the shower. She was off to make her husband presentable to the public.  After my shower, I found the shirt freshly ironed.  She’ll tell you it was as much about maintaining her own professional image (we work for the same company) as it was in helping me maintain mine.  Regardless, it was an act of service that she didn’t need to perform.  It was an example of love being used as a verb.  And I was grateful.

This was the point where I applied one of those lessons I’ve learned about keeping our relationship healthy.  It wasn’t enough for me to recognize this little thing and feel gratitude, though that is definitely an important part of the equation.  The recognition and gratitude I felt wouldn’t mean much unless I carried out the final step in the process. I had to tell her.  It wasn’t enough to feel loved; she needed to know that I felt loved. Simple yes, but you would be surprised how many of us forget to complete this final measure.  It wasn’t hard.  All I had to do was tell her, “Thank you.”  I did that a couple of times that day.

Sometimes we can’t see the forest through the trees.  We start believing that the grand overtures are what keep our relationships afloat.  We forget that the little things are just as important, if not more so, as the flashy things.  It’s those little acts of service and the simple, genuine displays of appreciation that are the unsung heroes of our relationships.

Enough about me, what are your experiences with those little acts?  What have you learned along the way?  I welcome you to share your own stories by commenting below!

Who Are Your Others? – The Influential People in Our Lives

Do you have a person or people in your life that you draw inspiration from? Ones that leave their fingerprint on your very existence? I bet you do, even if you haven’t put a lot of thought into it. The obvious starting point for most of you would be your parents. I know my parents, besides contributing to the totality of my DNA and physiological dispositions, were the people who inspired me the most. But what about the others?

While there have been many in my life who have influenced the man I choose to be today, there are a few that hold a special place in the halls of the Museum of Rob. One such man was my Uncle Jim. The eldest of my mother’s siblings, it seemed like there was nothing Jim wasn’t able to do…and do it well at that. I know that no man is perfect, but as a child, I sure believed that he was (along with my father).

He had an incredible breadth of knowledge about the world. This was undoubtedly a result of his innate curiosity and dedication to being a life long learner. A Korean War veteran, a police officer, a world traveler, an accountant, a master cabinet maker, a writer…he could find common ground and carry on a respectable conversation with just about anyone he ever met. He was funny, interesting and he was a masterful storyteller. There are few people that I’ve met that I would describe as wise. He was wise.

My Uncle Jim continues to be an influence in my personal curation (except that you don’t want me doing your taxes or being anywhere near a circular saw), though he’s been gone for many years. I don’t believe I ever told him how much I looked up to him. I regret that today. If only I possessed the wisdom to know that I should have while I could still have a conversation with him.

I have a takeaway for you. Who are your others and if they’re still alive, have you told them how important they have been in your life? I encourage you to leave a comment about your others and challenge you to make sure they understand the influence they’ve had on you!

You Can’t Fire the Boss’s Kid – Using Humor to Help Keep Parenting In Perspective

Being a father is the most difficult endeavor I’ve yet to experience.  While it certainly is rewarding and I wouldn’t trade a moment for anything, it has equally provided me with the most frustrating moments of my life.  One of my most reliable coping mechanisms for that frustration, exhaustion and mental anguish involved in parenting is humor.  I’ve actually found it a valuable coping mechanism for many other of life’s challenges I’ve experienced.

For instance, a while back I searched for the humor in a frustrating moment in parenting.  Looking back, I can’t remember what my daughter had done to act as a catalyst for the mind musings.  It could have been one of the countless times that she totally neglected to take care of her household responsibilities.  It could have been the flooding of her bathroom floor to enable her to slip around like she was ice skating.  The calamities all run together at times. But I digress.

This particular attempt to diffuse the “Dad’s head is going to explode” episode with humor, I came to a realization that my day job’s work of managing a team of employees is noticeably similar to raising a child.  Here was my conclusion:

Raising a child is in essence like managing a semi-belligerant employee who is on a continuous performance improvement plan.  Except you can’t fire the employee, because they are the boss’s kid.  You are just stuck with them until they put in their 18 years and start drawing their college pension.

That’s all it took to diffuse whatever ill feeling I was experience at the time.  Some times, you just have to laugh.  Have you used humor in a similar way to help put things in perspective?  Tell me about your experiences!  Leave a comment below!

Who Is In Charge Here? – The Concept Behind The Curated Man

Merriam-Webster defines curator as “one who has the care and superintendence of something.”  Often, a curator is the title of one who oversees a collection, such as in a museum.  Many would argue that I belong in a museum; my body being the chief accuser. But, how does this contextually apply to this blog, The Curated Man?  Well, there has been one constant in my evolution as a human, a man.  There is one person who is ultimately responsible for the care and superintendence of me: me.

I chose the tile The Curated Man because…well, I’m a man.  The principle theory, of course, applies to all people, not just to men.  But, I am a man and my writing is filtered through a male lens.  I have no practical experience in being a woman and would never pretend to know what that experience is like; though I do try to think about the lenses others view life through.  Hence, The Curated Man was born.

I didn’t start life with the approach that I was curating myself.  In my teens, I struggled to focus on much past playing baseball, being in what could be loosely defined as a rock band and pretending to be cooler than I actually was.  In my twenties, I thought I had everything figured out, so why bother thinking of such profound concepts.  In my thirties, I realized I was wrong about nearly everything in my twenties and entered a brief period of self-pity and anger.  It wasn’t until I began my relationship with Shani and embarking on the parenting adventure, that I thought seriously about the concept of being the curator of myself and everything that it entails.

It would be too easy to say that meeting Shani caused a sudden and stark change in my acceptance of the gravity of the role I needed to play in my continued maturity.  It would be equally naive to say that the moment came when I became a father.  There are certainly correlations, but the connection to causation is sketchy.  No Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc arguments here. It was a process, one which I am still refining today.  Along the way, I’ve learned some simple yet sobering truths.  It has been equal parts pain and joy.  Most of all, it’s a journey which has just begun.

As I continue on this never-ending work, I invite you to join me.  Some days the words may be explorative and contemplative.  Other days may be light and riddled with humor and musings.  Maybe you’re on a similar journey.  Maybe you know someone else that is. Maybe you will share what you’ve learned through our own personal curation.  Maybe…just maybe, we’ll all get something out of the dialogue.  If you haven’t already, officially follow the blog.  If something resonates…hit like, share and tell me more about it.