About being 'youthful'

Early last month, the weather here in Georgia was as my mom would put it "mad cold" (yeah, she'd put it that way). It was pretty brisk for Georgia standards. Even in the dead of winter, it’s not unusual to enjoy temperatures in the mid 60’s. But for a strange string of days, the thermometer bobbed anywhere from 30 degrees to as low as 10 degrees Fahrenheit. So naturally, most comers and goers sensibly donned multiple layers of warm clothing to shield themselves from the frigged winter air.

Most, mind you, but not all.

One frosty Friday evening during this seemingly nation-wide cold spell, my father, a New York City resident, and I were talking about how we tend to notice people wearing shorts in the dead of winter. For most my life I looked upon such acts as—how should I put it—dumb. I saw it as a senseless attempt to try and force the season to a quicker conclusion all the while losing feeling in their frostbitten legs with each passing yard. I think I even wrote a poem about it.

I had issues, but I’m better now.

We talked about how each of us began to see shorts in the winter as a more youthful decision than an irrational one. Still, it was a choice we admired from afar with neither of us being brave enough to try it. My father went on to share a recent observation of a mature man exhibiting this youthful behavior and how it instantly inspired him. With me as his witness, he made a personal declaration saying "I'm going to do that one day." Laughingly, my father added "and it might be tomorrow."

Unfortunately, that Saturday in New York meant snow, and lots of it. So my father thought better of the idea. Declaration withstanding, he was disappointed.

That Sunday morning, I was preparing for church and found myself staring frustratingly at my limited wardrobe...again. I didn't know what to wear and felt like I didn't really have much to choose from besides. Suddenly, a thought of Friday’s conversation with my father sprang to mind. In the same instant, I noticed the one pair of summer shorts still hanging amongst the winter cloths and all at once it hit me—I'LL DO IT!

I figured one of us had to try the shorts idea at some point. So before my brain could catch up with my heart, I grabbed the shorts, thought through an outfit and readied myself for an experience. To my surprise, my wife wasn’t opposed to the idea. In fact, she was supportive. She was probably just a curious as my father and I had become about what people think and feel when putting themselves in a summer state of mind. And so, off to Church.

I honestly didn’t notice the cold right off. We were running around getting kids and things in the car so that we weren’t late for service. Maybe I was just too distracted to feel anything. It wasn’t actually until after Church when I really noticed the cold. But I was so deep into a liberating mindset that I truly wasn’t bothered by the 36 degree cold. In a sort of euphoric way, I felt at one with the world. Can’t really explain it, but somehow I did.

I sent a couple photos of my experience to my father, mother, sister and brother after we got home that afternoon. My father’s motivation level received quite a boost at the news and he was absolutely amped to make good on his declaration the following weekend come what may. And he did. Exactly one week later, he threw on his shorts, went out to the front yard of his Saint Albans home and shoveled the snow in 32 degree weather. The man.

In this, I learned a few things about being youthful; it is a state of mind not a fact of age; it is liberating in its defiance of logic; and it is certainly, contagiously, inspiring.

Thanks for the inspiration, Dad.

The guy in the mirror

I look in the mirror sometimes and find myself asking, who are you really? What are you into? Where did you come from?

What are you made of?

Surprisingly, I like that I'm at a point in my life where I'm really trying to find answers to those questions. Surprising because growing up in the Bronx, we kids prided ourselves on "keeping it real" and "staying true to ourselves." Questioning one's own identity was like a sign of weakness. But we had no idea who we were, where we were going, where we even came from. Most of us barely understood where we were in the world; the cultural richness of one of the five boroughs that comprised the famed New York City.

We were just kids trying to make our mark on the tiny piece of land that was our world. Our block. Our 'hood. But I'm not a kid anymore (well, for the most part I'm not).

Today, as a husband and a dad, my wife and daughter have bestowed upon me many flattering labels; wonderful, awesome, fun, so cool, creative, even the occasional 'brilliant.' For a long time it was hard for me to accept those bestowments. Then I began to appreciate the fact that these people undoubtedly know me better than anyone on the plant. Add to that the natural tendency we have to always be openly honest with each other—if I sucked for some reason at some thing, my 6-year-old daughter would politely make me aware. So all things considered, they probably know—and mean what they're talking about.

I believe it true for many people that we really do become the influences with which we surround ourselves. Think about how similar people can sometimes be to their closest friend or relative. Consider the demeanor of a kid that listens to nothing but Hip Hop, Country or Jazz. Whether consciously or subconsciously, be it friends, family, movies, co-workers, or music, like the old adage states, you are the company you keep.

So maybe in trying to figure out the guy in the mirror, I should consider that he's made up of a little of everything else that mirror reflects. My faith, my wife, my daughter, my son, my home, my profession, my Xbox (yeah, definitely my Xbox). I am a bit of all the influences with which I choose to surround myself.

And they are a bit of me.

Wait 'til you're 30

Okay, full disclosure here, I was definitely a kid that hated hearing the phrase "you'll understand when you're older." It was worse yet when someone hit me with a "you're too young to understand." Ouch. It was the Kryptonite of my youth that made powerless all my logic, made moot any argument. I had no counter attack in my repertory against "you'll understand when you're older."

Maybe it's because I wanted so badly to be seen as mature for my age; a cut above the average kid with the ability to fathom the complexities of life that would surely baffle any ordinary kid. Indeed, a superhero of the mind. Maybe.

Looking back now, I don't actually think I had a problem with the concept of understanding something when I'm older. I understood the notion of living and learning--that your collection of experiences increase with time giving new perspectives from which to view the matters of life. I got that and was more or less alright with the idea. What I think I really had a problem with was the idea of an indefinite wait.

Now if someone had told me "wait until you're 30," maybe I would have been encouraged by sight of a light at the end of the tunnel. More than likely I would have collapsed in a fit of impatience, but at least there would have been some sense of finality when the dust settled.

The fact is I learned and understood a lot by the time I turned 30. I don't believe there was any proverbial turning point in my life on my birthday. As was usual, there was no big celebration, no great gala and certainly no sudden angelic glow from the heavens just above my head. My wife, daughter and I baked a German Chocolate cake. It was a quite June day in 2008, but one that made me realize just how much I've come to understand in recent years about living, loving and laughing.

I find myself enjoying a lot more of life's offerings on this side of 30. I find myself more accepting of things and people that I struggled with when I was 14, 18 or 25. I've begun to understand the differences between the person and the decisions they make and how to love accordingly. Even the importance of humor has found new meaning in my life.

I've still got a ways to go, but I'm amazed daily at just how many of the things I've grown to appreciate and treasure I thought trivial a mere few years ago. Maybe 30 is the age of reason. Maybe I'm a late bloomer. Whatever the case, I'm glad I've discovered that the light at the tunnel's end actually does a pretty good job of illuminating the road ahead.

live, love, laugh