The More Things Change

As I continue to reconnect with some incredibly intriguing friends from my childhood, I'm finding out just how LITTLE we really changed on the inside. During childhood, I suppose it's part of the process to experiment with one's own identity and thus your outward demeanor. Trying a million new personas as we discover our own individuality. As we work our way through our school years, we make new friends, lose contact with old ones, have new relationships, move to new schools, get slapped by ex-girlfriends (::rubs his cheek::)...forever reinventing who we are in the process..at least we thought we were. I think no matter what color we change out hair color to (hahaha...it was green), no matter what music we stuck in our tape decks. No matter what reason we stopped drinking TAB soda for...perhaps our true nature existed long before we even realized we could TRY to alter it.

Sure...we all did some stupid stuff, and in the process, maybe we sent out the wrong message about ourselves to the people around us, but I think in the end, that the journey of trial and error helped us all realize that WHO we are on the inside...never really was the issue at all. Without those experiments in altering our demeanor...could we have really been able to flesh out the actual individual hidden under the disguise. Life doesn't come with an instruction manual, and each of us it seems, figured it all out for ourselves..ultimately adding to just how unique we've all become (besides...if there was a manual, it would be an awfully boring place to live).

I can recall a thousand stories about hundreds of people I use to know (I guess technically...I still do). People assumed lost from my life for countless reasons involving all manner of plot twists in the "game" of LIFE (maybe, whatever it was they needed to teach me, I learned the first time we met in life (just thought of another post)). However, each time I rediscover someone from my past, I seem to find that even if they've changed their demeanor a little...their nature is just as I remembered it. I guess we were, who we needed to be, long before we needed to be them.

Sometimes It Doesn't Need To Be The Same

Sometimes it just becomes all too easy to give in and walk the beaten path, follow the rules, become what your expected to be. However, there will always be those moments, those experiences, with those certain people, that will make your world a different place. They seem to effect your ability to stay inside the lines, make you see that sometimes it really may be better on the other side. If each choice we make creates our path through existence, could it be too much to for one to look back and see the other paths we could have chosen had we only seen from a different perspective. Would the pain be too much to bare, would the visions effect your reality in unforeseen ways, ways that could cause even more pain and trouble. If everything DOES happen for a reason...was it the RIGHT reason? Were the choices made then, really the best decision, or simply just the easiest?

Life seems to throw A LOT of curve balls, it will never leave you to an existence where you can't just hang on for the ride. Don't let those barriers prevent you from following the path you WANT to lead, and don't always allow your head to make all the decisions, because sometimes your heart is all too willing to disagree. I won't lie, life can be incredibly trying, and the issues each one of us face can seem debilitating at times. Think of them as trials and tests, a chance to face your demons, exposing themselves finally, so that they can be dealt with on your terms. If you turn away, if you allow the monster to dictate your actions, to mandate your life, then you have already lost.

Dreams Be Dreams

...well summer came along and then it was gone

and so was she but not from him

because he followed her just to let her know

her dreams are dreams

and all this living is so much harder then it seems

but girl don't let your dreams be dreams

you know this living is not so hard as it seems

don't let your

dreams be dreams

your dreams be dreams...


-Jack Johnson

The Innocence Of Inspiration Lost

Inspiration for the creative, is like the lifeblood of their existence. To lose touch with such a gift, is like going deaf or blind, and endless hollow feeling in the deepest parts of one's essence. No one seems to know why inspiration ebbs and flows, but it seems at least possible, to find it once it's lost.

For me, I always wanted to be an artist, to create amazing beauty with nothing more then my own imagination. I guess that's what made it so easy for my teachers to push me so hard in public school, down that path that I seemed almost destined to travel. I wanted to make that passion for color and shape a career, making it a very easy choice to pursue a degree in the Fine Arts.

College however did little to encourage that inspiration. My art became work, it became a constant series of trials designed to prepare me for a life of artistic compromise at the hands of corporate executives and fickle clients. Although I finished school with pride in my heart and the drive to succeed at that which I always strived to become, I had lost my innocence. Art was no longer my escape from reality, it was the bane of that reality. No longer was playing with color and shape a chance to express myself, it was a job, that although it paid the bills, it did little to help me find the quiet inside my mind.

I'd like to tell you that there's an easy fix, that a single event can simply open the flood gates, and all those unique thoughts that once motivated your creativity will come cascading back into your consciousness, but that would be a lie. I can tell you, that it will return, even if in short bursts, it will come to you, especially when you least expect it to. After all, it never really left, it only went on holiday. I've found that events in your life will trigger the ebbs and flows, while an illness can sap it from you, the trials of that experience can just as easily return them to you when it's over. The loss of a loved one can make a soul go numb with pain, but those memories you shared can bring forth new ideas and renewed motivation.

My advice, never give up on what inspires you to be creative. It was always there for you, be there for "it" when the inspiration returns to your veins. Sometimes it can be a struggle, almost like your forcing it, that's just the habit forming, tomorrow it could be second nature again.

For me, I tend to find my inspiration not in a crowded Art Department, developing next year's hot selling soccer ball, but in painting and drawing for others. This past Christmas, I did a piece for my unofficial brother-in-law as a gift. I took a few days of well deserve peace, and I was happier for it. I found my REAL imagination that week, not the formally educated and corporate influenced nonsense I'm forced to tap each and every day.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: Don't give up on it, it will be there when it's time.

It's All Relative

I find myself sitting at work just like every other weekday afternoon, quietly sitting in a room that once housed thousands of files and folders, now it contains some of the most talented people I've ever met. I find myself more comfortable within these four walls, then I do confined in my own apartment. I even had them paint the walls in neon colors to drown out the lack of windows (except the window in front of my desk, but that only looks out into a giant warehouse).

I sit at a desk littered with toys and strange trinkets which somehow despite their twisted forms, bring me peace and sense of ownership around my work space. While some of these objects resemble a child's playroom, others are hints at my past: like a Cat In The Hat maquette, which we used as a reference for designing items for the movie a few years back, a 4ft wide POS display hanging on the wall, which I designed for Sports Authority the other week, foam projectiles for use in our new backyard paintball game, and a pen I picked up at a booth at the Toy Fair in NYC last year.

The room smells of pizza, as the company rewards it's employees today for a record breaking February, and of ink toner as the multitude of printers in the room attempt to keep up with the work load we inflict upon them on a daily basis. The sound of buzzing computer CPU's is lost under the random shuffle of my Ipod playing through a set of speakers in the corner of the room, on a shelf intended for printer consumables.

Everyone is quiet, the typical lunch silence, as artists come and go on their way to run errands and meet lunch buddies. However, in this room, the artists can just as suddenly break out into a wiffle ball game, or a discussion on the works of Georgia O'Keefe. The open air office, despite being a sacrifice in privacy, provides a grand soap box with a very opinionated audience.

Strange that the people you work with, spend more time with you in a day, then any loved one at home. Yet, would you be friends if work hadn't forced you to cross paths? I take the time to look over the computer screens of the other artists to review their progress, although the sight of websites and flash motion jumping around on their screens only reinforces the need for people to take a minute or two break between projects and gather up their creativity for another round of mind numbing production. A situation I understand all to well.

Funny how Ipod shuffle seems to pick the most obscure stuff from your music library, I should probably get the Muppets Christmas album off their until December. Next to my desk on the floor is a pile of paintball gear that needs to find it's way into my car's trunk at some point, at least the spare gear is there for the rookies playing this weekend. It's so easy to get lost staring into the face of some random monster action figure (I think his name is Bernard) from the book "Where The Wild Things Are" (I have the whole set on my desk), and dream about things totally unrelated to work, thank God it's still lunch hour.

I have a Dilbert calendar on my desk, it was a gift, I always hated Dilbert, but working in an office, makes some of those jokes all too close to home, today however, the joked sucked. I've been working on developing a packaging theme for our baseball line for what seems like years now, it's rather unmotivating, yet the packaging is probably some of the most progressive stuff the company has ever put out. I think the first time I see an entire planogram of it in Walmart, I may just drop to the isle floor and puke.

It seems almost scheduled that the e-mails I received around 12-1 EST are always from the west coast, at least their sleeping in China right now. At least with the 68 pizzas, I don't have to buy lunch today. Why is the phone on my desk from 1972, I should buy a cordless. I remember when we went through and removed most of the fluorescent lights from the ceiling fixtures years ago, now it always seems like the sun is setting in here (nevermind the bright orange wall we painted). Maybe that's why I feel like I'm going blind. I suppose it's time to grab hold of this trackball mouse for another 3 hours and hammer out more baseball designs, while all the while......

Thinking about you.

Even The Poets Dare Not Dream About It (Part 2)

The power behind first love:

In retrospect, I seem to have given a lot of thought to the idea of "first love" and how much influence that person ends up having over your life. No matter how little your willing to admit, the first person you fall in love with, will forever effect your experiences in romance and relationships.

In my own experience, that person still holds an incredible amount of power over me. I find myself happily married and far beyond those days in Junior High School when love came knocking on my door, yet no matter how much time attempts to carry me forward through life, I continue to look back on that part of my history. I suppose it's because your first love is the one who literally molds your heart, prepares you for a life of love and heartache as you struggle to basically "practice" love on each other. it's therefore only natural I guess that for a heart they themselves molded, they would of course possess a key that fits perfectly into it's lock, giving her almost a free pass into the deepest parts of my soul, and there seems little I can do to stop that. (At least I can admit this.)

I simply don't understand it all I guess. It can be years, with no contact, but it only seems to take the mention of their name to bring a million emotions, and a thousand memories to the surface, to break down every barrier you've ever had to put up around your heart, in defense of ever having it shattered to pieces again. Like a Gothic castle covered with towers and ramparts, and yet one person in the world seems to know about the secret passage leading inside. Just hearing their voice can again conjure those magical spells they had woven around you when love first found it's way through your unsuspecting soul ( a voice it seems, you can listen to for hours on end). It can seem almost second nature to submit to their wishes and give into those spells again, and when you do cross paths, time seems to stand still, as if time is willing to grant a reprieve while you glance back through the past. It's like every cheesy "chick flick" and love song rolled up into a single storyline, filled with all the clichés our society would allow in one plot.

As time goes on, your tastes will change, your life will most definitely change and you'll move forward with existence, having a billion new experiences that will ultimately shape your person. You'll love again and you won't be capable of stopping yourself from comparing EVERY relationship to that first one, whether you consciously do or not. You'll most likely experience marriage, finding that one person your most comfortable sharing the rest of your life with, ultimately falling in love for the LAST time and forever turning your back on the nightmare of dating. However...there will always be a space reserved in your heart for that person who first taught you HOW to love, and WHY we do.

I think I finally realize now, that it just can't be helped, it's the power behind "first love".

I wish everyone is as lucky as I was, when they experience love for the first time...and for that, I can only thank her for helping to show me the way.

Even The Poets Dare Not Dream About It

How strange is it that a single emotion can be the cause of so many other feelings, on completely different ends of the emotional spectrum?

One moment you can feel like the world is passing you by, leaving you alone in a sea of doubt, and no matter how hard you try to stay afloat, there is a sinking feeling in your soul as hopelessness slowly sets in. The next thing you know, you've found that ultimate desire, that one thing you've searched for your entire life, that one missing element that completes you, your world is brighter and it seems like Heaven has truly found it's place on Earth, at least for you. Then, like some inevitable antagonist, the poison slowly works it's way into your life again, eating away at all you hold dare. When you finally recover from being hit across the face by fate, you find yourself looking back out upon that sea of doubt once more (wow that is one large ocean).

A single emotion, part of an unlimited palette of different feelings a person can have in their lifetime. While other feelings, other experiences, fade away, finding their home in the distant memories of a long life, this one never falters, and once you feel it, it forever boils at the surface of your consciousness, bringing forth every other feeling along with it.

Some people renounce it, claim life is easier without the trials involved, turning their backs on something they believe causes more harm then good in the end. Others beg for the opportunity, believing that they are missing out on the greatest gift we have to give, forever hoping for it to finds it's way into their lives. It seems that no two people can completely agree on how to handle it, yet in one way or another, we've all experienced it.

Think of it like that perennial plant you'll ultimately find yourself purchasing this spring for one reason or another:

You'll choose it from what seems like an endless amount of similar choices. You'll turn it around in your hands, unfairly comparing it to every other plant at the flower shop. You'll probably pay more for it then you were planning, but when you take it home, it will look perfect in it's designated location. You'll take care of it, glancing at it when you feel like it, to help cheer you up, to get you through another day in this world. It will bloom, bringing brightness to your life, and when you look at it, you'll smile. Then one day, you'll take it for granted, you'll forget to give it the attention it needs to survive (maybe something else in life grab your attention and became a new priority), but the plant will wither and go limp. Oh you'll try to water it again, re-pot it, give it food, but it will just turn brown and die. Without another choice and all that remorse, you'll take the bulb from the pot and throw it in the ground under the tree in the backyard, forgetting about it while life continues to sweep you up in other experiences. One day you'll be sitting out in the backyard, looking at that tree, reminiscing about the past, but losing all the details in translation, and you'll see that sprout....and you'll remember again. You'll go out there every day to check on it, to hope. Slowly your attention will be rewarded with a new plant, bigger and stronger then when you first bought it, it will reach for the sky, and bring joy and happiness. Yet each time it will ultimately die with the first frost. How strange that it seems to take so much punishment, but always returns again, stronger then it was at first.

It is a tricky word, it means so much to so many people. There are a million ways to describe it, and yet it seems so powerful at times, that it will go places that even poets dare not dream of. However, be careful, although it holds ultimate power of those that bow to it's influence, it can bring pain that may seem unbearable, and cause a wound to open, that may never heal.

Fighting Grendel

It seems each of us, in our own way, fights an enemy we can never truly overcome. Everyday we wake up to our very own Grendel, who lurks behind every corner, waiting to gain the upper hand in a war of against ourselves. This enemy within seems to take on countless forms, different for each of us. For some it can be chronic illness, for others the pain of loss, and yet still others who now stand on the front lines of a war in a foreign land, far from their loved ones. Each moment of pleasure can remind us of that hidden pain. Each perfect day, overshadowed by that struggle within.

Like the hero Beowulf, we live (in part) to deal with this monster, fighting a battle we ourselves perceive as hopeless, yet we fight all the same. Forever trying to defeat, an enemy that at least in some way, is part of who we are.

For me...I face an enemy that although I can scare, I can never kill...for it will surely kill me first.

Two years ago I was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes. Having the illness makes me one of 18.2 million Americans who have the disease, and for anyone who doesn't know much about the illness, there is no cure. The disease is caused when your body doesn't produce enough insulin to break down the sugars in food, or you body simply builds a resistance to it's own insulin. The disease itself is not life threatening, however the countless complications caused by the illness can cause all manner of major medical conditions, including: Heart disease, Kidney failure, Liver damage, Heart attack and stroke, ultimately leading to death.

I guess you can say it was a matter of when, not if, for me. All three of my living grandparents have the disease, an uncle, an aunt, and my mother. With a disease that is transmitted by genetics, I was doomed to possess it.

Initially, I was incredibly angry about the news, I struggled with the ever popular "Why me?" question. However, I turned all that energy into researching and learning about Diabetes. Using knowledge as ammunition in my own personal war. I exercise more then I ever have, and eat like someone who owns stock in Whole Foods Stores. Since being diagnosed, I have had no symptoms, no complications, but everyday I still wake up to my Grendel. Despite every effort I make to contain the monster, it isn't going anywhere soon.

A friend of mine, posted a bulletin about deathclock.com today, my results said I'd live until 2071. I laughed, and then decided I'd write this blog entry, in defiance to this damn disease, it's something I rarely speak of, I think this is the first time, I've spoken in a public place about it. Maybe it took those stupid results...to further inspire me to overcome that which it seems I can never truly defeat. Thanks Lisa.