Here, she’s had six rooms with window views, lots and lots of space to run freely about, and lots of spaces to explore and wander.  She’s had a half-dozen other cats to keep her focus as well as daily visits from squirrels, birds, and even raccoons.

The new place is 1/3 the size, with the only window looking out onto the rooftop of the building next door.  The other issue has been brewing longer.  When I travel it’s typically for a week at a time – several times a year.  I tried the cat-sitter thing, and this last trip a friend came by several times to feed her, play with her…

Every time though, when I get back, she’s left the place a mess and goes absolutely nuts when I get back, like she’s starving for attention and loving.  And she’s extra-worried for a day or more, like I’ll just up and leave again.

If she ever got loose here, she’d be in a neighborhood with lots of other cats and animals.  In Santa Monica, it’s nothing but chaotic city streets everywhere.  Lots of traffic all day, every day….

When I thought about driving, it seemed like a big deal – to keep her couped up in her carrier for three days in the car, or more likely, the passenger seat of a u-haul, then to have to sneak her into some unknown hotel room each night during the trip, with litter and all the rest…

And more than one person I spoke with who did the drive said their cat got loose and either disappeared forever, or was gone for hours and hours…

So I researched flying. Which also made more sense given my decision that it would cost the same to buy new furniture down there as to move all my existing furniture, and I’m not keeping my car…

And after a LOT of footwork, I got a lot of very different opinions.  On both sides of the “she’ll be fine” vs “cat’s never been the same since..” coin.

Some cats can handle it, and some cats apparently have never been the same after a long flight.  She’s too big for an in-plane carrier so would need a special TSA approved carrier and need to go into the cargo area.

Some people say its okay to get her a tranquilizer and others, including some vets, say its not a good idea – that the flight can be either too traumatic or cause physical harm depending on the cat.

Given the entire weight of all the above considerations, I finally prayed last night – because I was becoming overwhelmed with worry. It was literally making me sick.

After praying again this morning, I posted an ad on Craigslist seeking a loving home for her.  And decided that if I got no responses I’d just need to trust it would work out with the move.

Within a half hour of posting the ad and several photos, I got contacted.  Exchanged a couple emails then phone call with someone who saw the ad and has been hoping to find a cat that fits her personality and her and her husband’s ideal type of cat.  They then came over and spent a bunch of time with Pumpkin, who immediately warmed up to them both.

And in that process, as we talked and I got to feel out how they were as people, I knew it was the best decision for everyone – Allison, the wife, used to have a cat just like her – a tuxedo.  Many of the same personality traits.

And they have the ideal home environment for her as well.  Everything about this was a prayer answered.  So as painful as it was to do this, I just went with my on the spot feelings that it was a healthy decision to make all around.

I’m going to miss her a great deal.  She’s provided me hours upon hours of companionship, laughter, comfort, love.  She’s been my bud, my pal, my adorable little princess…

I’m crying now, because I’m sad.  Yet I know in my heart that she’s going to a truly loving home where it’s more stable for her, and will allow her to have the continued space and views and love she needs and deserves…

At the same time, I wanted to share a bit of my own transformation and how I have come to understand more about the nature of fear and what it means to overcome it….

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As you may know, in a couple weeks I’ll be moving to Santa Monica, California. And as you may also know, I’ve been wanting to move there for years.

What may surprise you is how MANY years. 25 to be exact. Wow. A move twenty five years in the making!

So what the heck is that all about? And what kept me back all this time?

Bold Moves Are In My DNA

I mean, you’ve probably read somewhere how I mention having lived all over the country, I’ve driven across the entire U.S., in move-related drives, a half dozen times over the years.  I’ve even lived in LA, Central California, and the San Francisco Bay area multiple times.

So what’s stopped me from living in Santa Monica?

It’s not the cost of living. Heck, living in Brooklyn, and Marin County, and even Capitola was essentially around the same cost of living overall.

No.  It’s fear.

Yeah. Fear.

The Quick Back Story

I first realized I wanted to live in California, twenty five years ago.  Actually that’s not right. The FIRST time I was fascinated by California was when I was a teenager – and my first attempt to go west from New York came at the ripe old age of 18. That attempt landed me in Oklahoma. WOW.

Yeah, I hitched a ride with my brother and a friend of his on their move west.  And we ran out of money in Oklahoma. Ended up getting a job, at 18 years old, digging ditches. Terrible experience overall. Lasted 3 months before moving back home.

A Golden (State) Opportunity

So it wasn’t until the year my sister invited me to come stay with her and be my oldest nephew’s live-in nanny when he was just  9 months old, that I actually got to California the first time.  I was freshly into 12 step recovery, and didn’t have any other commitments. So I was both humbled she’d ask me, and at the same time jumped at the chance!

It was magic that first time up in Marin.  The weather was PERFECT. Every Day! (summer can be like that in Marin).  And in fact, I made that trip on a 3 day bus ride the week of my birthday, which is coming up on July 19th.

Destiny Reveals Itself

Anyhow, it was that first trip out, one day I took the car and drove down the coast to Big Sur.  And on the drive back, stopped and watched the sunset. OMG right there, in that moment, with the sun blazing its orange glow over the glistening Monterey bay, I was hooked. And knew I’d have to make it my permanent home.

Long story short, even though I returned on and off several times over the course of the next several years (averaging two – three weeks at a time), it wasn’t until I got married that I made the first move.

As much as I love my sister, I felt drawn to live further south – where the beach doesn’t require a sweatshirt in the summer (yeah for it’s “perfect” weather, Marin can get really cold some days out on the beach…)

And thought – LA! Something about LA was calling me. Had no idea what it was at the time.

Except I was afraid. – LA is hundreds of miles south of Marin. And I didn’t know ANYONE in L.A. at the time. And back then, (1993), I was still a year and a half shy of discovering the Internet, and making that my career.

An 18 year (Plus) Odyssey

So that began an eighteen year adventure of back-and-forth moves to and from California.  In all that time, I kept choosing places in California that weren’t my ideal – Santa Monica.  I lived in Santa Cruz, Calabasas (twice), and Marin (twice).  Not to mention moves back to New York a few times in between.

Every time, fear held me back because LA was….  Intimidating. Overwhelming.  Too good to be true.  Too expensive.  Above what I deserved. Better than me.

Wow – so many “reasons” came up each and every time why LA, and specifically, Santa Monica, were beyond reach.

Sure, I visited LA and Santa Monica several times over the years. Yet it always felt bigger than my capacity to handle.

The Biggest Shock Of All

What really shocked me came last summer, when in the back of my mind, I was working up the courage to finally find a way to move to Santa Monica. That was when Christine Gibbs came into my life.  And offered me a job running her SEO team.  And three weeks later, I was relocating not south to Santa Monica, but 720 miles NORTH to Washington State!

Talk about the “wrong” direction!  Okay well it turns out it wasn’t the “wrong” direction at all.

My past year here has, in so many ways, been magical and miraculous.  I’ve grown so much on so many fronts. Yet even though that’s the case, this winter REALLY took its toll on me.  Having not lived in such a damp, wet climate in so long, my body just wasn’t prepared to handle this past winter.

In December, I ended up with two swollen discs in my neck and missing an entire MONTH of life and work.  And even after that, as I began to heal, winter stayed around a lot longer than I was prepared to endure.

Confusion Sets In

By mid March, I was at a complete loss as to what this was all about. What God’s plan was for me.  I mean, how could I have longed to live in SoCal for so many years, and here I was, at 52 years old, with the serious possibility that I was going to finish out my working career here – meaning live here for at least another ten years!

On the one hand, my career was soaring. On the other though, my body was by then, screaming at me.  And I was torn.  Literally emotionally torn.

God has a Plan

Maybe you don’t believe in God. I do. Came to believe in God when I was at the bottom of bottoms, wanting to die, many years ago.  That belief transformed my life. So that’s how I see the world.  No excuses. No justification. Just my understanding.

Something really amazing happens in life when you do your best, and when you follow your heart.  If, in that process, you learn to put ever more and more faith in God, in a greater purpose, you discover that you’re led where you need to be. And that the end result can be beyond your wildest dreams.

For me, every move I made brought with it new experiences, new friendships, new opportunities to grow, and evolve, to learn what it really means to have healthy relationships, and to not only establish a dream for your future, but to turn that into goals. And to drive toward those goals. Realizing those goals CAN come to be, and you’re more likely to achieve them if they’re in alignment with who you really are inside.

Self Discovery Takes A Winding Path

Inner discovery – learning what you REALLY want, need and desire, coming to be in alignment with your purest essence, takes a lot of time and footwork.

And if you’re a recovering addict like me, you might not ever get there. Not even close.  Or, you could be blessed, and find help for your problems, your “disease”, your confused understanding of yourself and the world around you.

And if you do, it can be a very long, sometimes seemingly excruciatingly slow and winding path to self discovery on a deep enough level.

And that means a lot of lessons need to be learned anew – lessons some people get when they’re children. Or when they’re young adults.  Lessons that are even more difficult to get now, after decades of incorrect thinking, of “survival mentality”.

Life’s Perfect Timing

I happen to have, through the years, come to believe in the concept of life’s perfect timing. That until you’re truly ready for a next step in life, that step won’t present itself. Or if you THINK it does, and if you aren’t truly ready for it, you’re going to encounter serious resistance. Which leads you to end up trying to force it to happen. Even though you’re not ready.

Sometimes we don’t fully understand what it is we don’t understand.

Sometimes, we don’t know what we need that will prepare us to receive the gifts, the experiences we think we know we’re meant to live.

When the Student is Ready, the Teacher will Appear

Wow how many times has that cliche’ been said?  What’s crazy and at the same time totally glorious about that statement, is for me, I can map out the past several decades of my life and pinpoint exactly where, when and to whom that’s applied in my own life. All the places I’ve been led to go by my heart.  All the circumstances in which I met my next life’s teacher.

All the lessons I’ve learned in that specific leg of my life journey. At least most of them – the ones where the biggest growth has resulted.

It’s literally a chronological catalog of now after-the-fact validated truths that when I, as a student, have been ready for that next step, I’ve been led to the perfect moment to meet each next life’s teacher.

Coming To Peace With Living In Washington State

It’s for that very reason – understanding that Christine Gibbs was that next life teacher (mentor), and seeing how much I HAVE grown this past year, that this spring, when part of me was torn to shreds over the possibility of living another decade here, that  I was able to make peace with the concept.

Because I knew that there’s a bigger process going on. A bigger plan. Something greater than me working to continue to guide me, shape me, mold me.

God’s Plan.

You may happen to not believe in it.  I do. It’s NEVER EVER in my own little world, failed to be spot-on and prove itself out over and over.

So the moment I remembered that during that particular round of fear leading to inner conflict, I just let go. I gave up the fight. Surrendered the need to have to figure it out, to force it, to fix it.

Coming Full Circle

It’s not surprising to me, actually that within very short order, I was flying down to LA once again, to speak at Blueglass LA.  And of course, I was in the land of magical unicorns, rainbows, palm trees, Santa Monica and my beloved future home front.

Of course, this time it was “just another visit”.  Yet was it?  I mean, once I had surrendered the fight, I knew, somehow, without needing to worry about the when or how of it, I’d eventually get to live in Santa Monica in this lifetime.

As you can see by these twitpic photos, I was at peace, and excited and once again dreaming the pure dream.  Which is vital. Because it’s only when we get to that place where the dream is pure, that the next step can potentially become a goal. Strong enough that we might just actually follow-through on the footwork to make that goal a reality.

Don’t Quit Before The Miracle Happens

That’s what is so amazing about this experience now.  It wasn’t much longer after returning to Lacey from that LA trip, once I truly settled into really honoring being present here on a new level, at peace with God’s plan, that ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE and I was “unemployed”.

Well for me, it wasn’t ALL HELL.  It was “just another moment of “in the blink of any eye, and the world is different”.

Because I truly was at peace with life.

And in that transition back to the world of new possibilities, something even more magical and miraculous happened.

With all the job and business partnership offers that started coming flooding in (for which I will be forever grateful), all of a sudden, EVERYTHING started to make sense.

Where literally days before, I had been completely at peace with maybe living here another decade, I instantly had the effortlessly presented renewed opportunity to move to Santa Monica.

OMG Santa Monica!

Except almost right away, I needed to deal with the onslaught of fear. You know – the fear that had been played out in my life for decades.  The fear that had prevented me from moving to the place that’s been calling me for most of my adult life.

Sick and Tired of being Sick and Tired

That’s what it’s about now. After all I’ve been through, all the journey, the turns and twists along the path, I’m at a point in my life where I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired of the tapes. The noise. The committee in my head – fear, shame, guilt, remorse, anger, confusion, frustration…  Yeah they each have had a seat at the conference table in my head for way too long.

And that’s when I realized – I have a choice.

Or more accurately, when my best friend on earth, Tania Rodrigues, who happens to have moved to Santa Monica before I have, reminded me I have a choice.

This is where having best friends – people you can count on to remind you of your truth, to keep you aware of your inner self, and to reinforce all that’s good in you while keeping your ego in check, really can pay off.

Choosing Differently

I can either continue to live by that committee’s claims, justifications, rationalizations, noise…  Or I could choose differently.  I could remember that I have come as far as I have because I’ve learned to show up enough times, suit up enough times (not a real suit, a “figurative” suit – because real  business suits suck), and one day at a time, put in the footwork that day that would allow me to make this move.

In a way that wouldn’t be based on forcing life to happen.  Instead, it would be based on care, consideration, planning, and effort.  Applied consistently. To the best of my ability.  Until it happened.

Here we go! The Move Is On!

So here I am, the wheels are in motion. Next week, I fly down to Santa Monica for a week of home-hunting mixed with visiting my best friend Tania, and lunch with other friends who already live in L.A.

And four + days in an ocean-front hotel room with a private balcony overlooking Santa Monica pier.

And not only will I get to put in the apartment-hunting footwork – it’s my birthday that week. So I get to celebrate being alive 53 years. And reflect on how amazing the journey’s been so far. And how amazing it will be this coming year.

Then I get to come back to Lacey, wrap up my local affairs (no, I’m not having an affair with a half dozen women – I’m talking about my home furnishings (selling / giving away everything just like I did last summer coming here), and having a last get-together with a few very important people in my life.  And then it’s off to L.A. Again. Except this time, it’s to live in Santa Monica!

OMG how cool is that?

Life On Life’s Terms

Okay so even though its actually happening, after decades, I have also learned that life happens. And as I shared above, sometimes we don’t know what we don’t know. And I know I’m still human. Imperfect. With more to learn, more to grow through…

So maybe I get there. And fall flat on my face.

Or maybe a plane crashes into my car as I’m driving 1000+ miles down the coast.

Or maybe I get there and an 8.7 earthquake strikes the next day.

Or maybe I get there and a wildfire sweeps in and wipes out Santa Monica.

Who knows.

Any of those are possible.

Yet here’s why that’s okay (for now).

It’s okay if any of those happens because in this moment, right here, right now, I’m about as happy as I’ve ever been in my entire life.  Every day is exciting. Thrilling. Amazing. Blessed.

And I’m living each day accordingly. I’m not waiting to get down there to find happiness.  Because happiness isn’t there waiting for me. It’s inside my very being.

So I’m good with that.

Because I get to go on another wild life adventure

And maybe, just maybe, this too becomes yet another experience beyond my wildest dreams…

From there all hell broke loose.

WooHoo Leads To VaJayJay Which Leads to Vajazzle

Long story short, it led to a couple women being surprised, taken aback that I, a guy (a 51 year old guy with enough gray hair in my black haired head to prove it), would use the term vajayjay. 

Another guy then chimed in with “now someone just has to teach him what “vajazzle” means.”

Except I already knew.  And pointed out that I could probably offer women styling tips if they’re considering getting vajazzled.

that little tweet caused the suggester to bow out of the conversation before his head exploded.

And that is the thing right there.

Guys like to talk about “womens” issues mostly among themselves, and usually with the stereotypical snickering.  But can only talk on the topic in mixed company very briefly before having to run away screaming.

Myopic Minds of Men

The entire discussion brings up a good point.  Most guys are clueless.  Oh, sure, they like to tout how they’re all that to, for and around women.  They act all nonchalant when it comes to how they can handle emotions better than women, how they’re more intelligent, blah blah blah.

Well the truth is that most guys are incapable of conducting intelligent, non-charged dialogue when it comes to most any topic having to do with “female issues”.  They hate having to tag along as their female companions shop for clothes, shoes, whatever.

They can’t even be in the same room with women who are talking about bikini waxes, tanning, or the latest sale going on at the nearest Liz Claiborne outlet store, without either rolling their eyes, or immediately thinking about how they’d like to perform some sexual act involving whatever it is that’s being talked about.

A Guy Is A Guy

I’ll be perfectly honest here.  I’m a guy.  A straight male.  And since I am, at the cellular level, just like every other red blooded American male, I’ve got caveman roots.  They’re alive and well.  And yes, I can, right along with the best of ‘em, engage in horny teenage boyhood humor.  So this isn’t like I’m sitting here getting all up in the face of straight guys while coming from a different place altogether.  I can definitely appreciate the underlying cause of their thinking.

Most Guys Are Idiots

What’s different for me is not the root hormonal cause of that thinking.  No – it’s more a case where most guys are clueless.  They’re at the complete mercy of those hormones that were raging when they were a pimply faced teen.  Me, on the other hand, I have a different take on things.

Since healthy straight guys “love” women, then why allow that to get in the way of actually enjoying the company of women?  It’s really self sabotage gone stupid.  By not being able to remain in the same room (let alone converse like two people in the 21st century) with women on so many topics or having to do with so many life issues, guys just end up having a lot of time where they essentially push women away.

Intelligent Design At Its Finest

Since I choose to recognize these things, and since I choose to show up in a different way, I get to spend a LOT more time with women than every one of my guy friends I’ve ever known in all these years.

I love going with women friends when they go clothes shopping, window shopping, antiquing… And they love having me along.  I treat them as equals when we’re out in the world.  I appreciate their ability to communicate how things they see make them feel.  I love how their eyes sparkle when they see a brand new summer dress for the first time, or how excited they get when they discover a great bargain.  I can identify with their inquisitive minds.

And I can appreciate that things like clothes and shoes or boots can help them feel good about something in life when there’s so much insanity, turmoil and stress going on elsewhere.

No Fear Of Offending Her

I’ve got no fear of offending a female friend as she honestly asks how a certain blouse or a uniquely cut skirt makes her look.  Why should I?  By being honest, while remaining respectful (read that not insulting), I can help them decide whether the way the item looks is actually flattering or she’s going to embarrass herself in public the 1st time she wears it.

By helping my women friends in their shopping process, I help alleviate a tremendous pressure they feel when they have to figure out on their own whether this sweater makes them look fat or that hemline puts too much emphasis on their muscular calves.  And it means the world to them that I can do that.

When Shopping is Therapy

Oh and I understand that sometimes, when they’re ‘concerned this makes me look fat’, that’s not what’s really going on at all.  Something else happened earlier in the day, yesterday, last month, that caused her to have self doubt about something – maybe it’s physical, maybe it’s intellectual.  Whatever it is, I also understand that shopping is just one more form of therapy sometimes.

So just as often, by being truly present in that moment, they’re just as likely to open up about what’s really going on.  Especially when I call them out on it.  In a low, personal tone so nobody else around hears.  And I say – what’s really going on?

They’re not afraid to talk with me about whatever it is because I get it.  We’ve connected in a way that other guys can’t because they’re too busy pushing women away.

No Subject Taboo

Of course, sometimes women might have situations in their lives that the just don’t feel comfortable talking about with guys.  Mostly because most guys are idiots, and get so uncomfortable when the topic of fibroids, or equality in the workplace, or the need to get a biopsy comes up.

Of course, a lot of these subjects are extremely personal, not just gender based.  And I really do understand why they’d be hesitant to talk to a guy about them. And we can’t discount the fact that physically, I could never possibly know exactly what a woman faces in some ways.

Understanding that Sometimes I am not capable of Understanding

Too many guys get fouled up here by saying “I understand.”  When we can’t – on the physical level.  It’s bullshit to try and say you understand what a woman faces if she’s found out the lump she discovered last week is going to need a biopsy.

And we all know that when a guy doesn’t REALLY have a clue, or when he can’t physically relate, no matter how much he says otherwise, she’s going to pick up on that.  Because she’s so in touch with her intuitive.  And she’s not dumb.

Emotional Empathy

For me though, because I live and breath for the sake of empathizing (read that as NOT sympathizing but actually empathizing), no matter what the subject, and because I have spent most of my waking life working on identifying and expressing my own emotional range in healthy ways, I can quite often be there for my women friends when they need a detached yet loving ear or shoulder.

And in those situations where it’s a physical difference, I don’t have to “understand”.  but I can sure as hell relate.  Just with different body parts.

Hell, I learned this past winter that my GERD and ensuing overuse of antacids caused me to develop a yeast infection!  Okay so it wasn’t in my vajayjay, it was my stomach.  Yet A yeast infection is a yeast infection in many ways.

And I get it that sometimes the most I can do is empathize on the emotional level.  So I don’t pretend to “understand”.  Rather, I look for the emotional process a woman faces and look for other situations in life where I’ve had similar experiences.

It’s not completely the same, yet it goes so much further than when a guy says “I understand”.

Honoring Their Space

Yet I also respect women enough to know that there are times when they don’t want a guy around, no matter what.  Which is cool. Because I don’t show up the way I do for selfish reasons – I do so because I only want to be supportive.  And being supportive guys, also means knowing when to let them have their space.  Without feeling offended or threatened.

The Funnest Example

Okay, so I smoke.  Yeah, I’m working on that.  But in the mean time, for too many years, I was annoyed at how often guys like to bum cigarettes.  Repeatedly.  Like every time I see some of them.

Well, one day, a few years ago, since I had previously liked Cools, then Newports, I decided to switch back to menthols.  Except I wanted a lighter taste.  And a woman friend handed me a Virginia Slim menthol light (now called “Gold”).  I tried it and liked it.

So I switched.  And guess what I discovered?

Most guys equate Virginia Slims with women.  Which may be the case.  Except as a result of that stuck mentality, they almost never ask for a cigarette anymore.  (Except the cigarette bums, who don’t care what it is).

And better yet, women love me for it.  Because some women prefer them over the typical Marlboro Reds or Camels most guys smoke.

And that means I get to hang out with more great women.  #WIN

This Isn’t Bragging It’s Just A  Rant

And before or if you already have judged me for this article, as though I’m writing it to brag, or boast, let’s set the record straight.  It’s just a rant. And it’s also about the fact that I care just as much about my guy friends.

So guys, you really need to wake up.  Stop treating your female friends like they’re aliens in these situations.  Take your testosterone and stick it in your back pocket the next time she asks you to go with shopping with her.  And if you go, don’t spend the whole time dreaming about the sale Sears has on their power tools.

Get With The Program Guys

Pay attention to her – actively listen.  Learn to be respectful yet truthful when she asks your opinion.  But when you do, don’t be thinking the whole time how you’re going to unwrap that present in the bedroom when the two of you get home.

I’m not saying you can’t think about that.  After all, you’re still a caveman at the cellular level right?  Just compartmentalize it for later if you have to.  Because she’ll pick up on that in a heart beat.

And if a subject comes up where you really can’t understand, don’t pretend you do.  Get past that ego trip.  Look inside to your emotional process and see if you can identify with the inner emotional similarities.

Oh – and the next time she tells you she was hanging out with Alan at the mall then went to a matinee with him, take your jealousy and throw it in the trash.  Because Alan wasn’t looking to score the whole time.  He just really loves being surrounded by intelligent, emotionally caring, self confident women, and experiencing life in ways most guys don’t.

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Photo credit Tom Harpel

Eventually, however, after many long, and some quite lean years, the tiger woke up, and realized that the place he found himself was actually pretty close to ideal.   Now this was not just one place – not only a jungle, nor simply a lush lowland field, nor even only a mountainside.  In fact, it was each of these – a land so diverse as to incorporate a bit of each.  And rather than staying within the confines of just one particular terrain, the tiger had the luxury and the freedom to roam from one type of terrain to another at will.  Yet never having to roam too far at all.

The tiger became quite content in that ability to change environments and surroundings without needing to travel for days on end looking for his next meal.  In fact, these particular grounds were quite fertile indeed.  And if, on any particular day, he was hungry for manna, he simply showed up and it was there for him to feast upon.

Because the tiger became quite intimate with this diverse and bountiful place, all the beasts who also wandered these lands came to know him as a peaceful tiger, yet one who commanded respect simply because he knew so well how to do what he did each day.  And eventually he became known as the peaceful tiger.

Along the way, a lion, a bear, and eventually other tiger cubs found their way to this land, the cubs looking for an opportunity to learn from a tiger master.  One who could teach them the laws of the jungle just as easily as the laws of the lowland and the mountainside.  Because they too, wanted to one day grow up to be peaceful tigers.

And all was good in the land.

Until a vulture came along.  Now, obviously there are vultures around all the time.  Seeking out an opportunity to feast upon their next meal.  There were even vultures circling overhead from the very day the peaceful tiger arrived for the first time.  And because these were wise vultures, they knew well that having a true tiger master around would be quite beneficial indeed.  Because we all know that tigers will often make the vultures job almost effortless at times.

And too, the tiger, by then, also recognized that vultures played a critical role in the cycles of life.  And that collaborating with wise vultures was something to celebrate – for the tiger master and the wise vulture combination is a formidable one indeed.

Except when this particular vulture showed up.

Because, unlike his wise kin, this particular vulture was less than wise.  This is not to say he was a dumb vulture.  On the contrary, this particular vulture had not long ago circled high above the verdant plains of a most bountiful land not far from here.  Had lived and thrived even, in that land.

But here he was, nonetheless, in this new land, hoping to find as much or more bounty than he’d previously known.  Except it was a land that while, on the surface, and from the air high above, it appeared to look just like his previous domain, this new land was quite foreign indeed.

So foreign, that for all intents and purposes, it might as well have been an alien world.  Because, you see, in that previous land, this new vulture had been lord over all things.  No other beast was greater, more powerful or more successful in it’s endeavors.

But in this new land, the vulture was lost from the beginning. Oh, sure, he knew how to soar high into the sky, in anticipation of catching that next current that would allow him to lazily circle above the ground.  Except this land, being one where three quite distinctly different lands converged into one, was a place where the rules for flying, and the rules for feasting were truly unique and unlike anything the vulture ever experienced before.

Upon his original arrival, this vulture, showing all the signs of eagerness, enthusiasm, and absolute desire to give his all to his mission in life, was greeted warmly by all.  Even the peaceful tiger.  Because they knew there was much bounty to be had indeed.  So much that together they’d only tapped a tiny fraction of the total abundance to that point.  And so, one more vulture would, under the right circumstances, only help all concerned.

But it became rapidly apparent that this was a clueless vulture.  Blatantly stumbling even when trying to simply walk on the stable ground beneath his claws.  And when he flew, or shall we say, “attempted to fly”, the other vultures, the lion, the peaceful tiger, and even the young tiger cubs all could not help but chuckle.  And occasionally break out in an uncontrollable cacophony of laughter.

Still though, everyone felt empathy for the vulture, new as he was to their oddly different land.  Because each of them could instantly recall a time in their lives when they, too, were so lost.

But as days turned into weeks, and as the more seasoned vultures and the peaceful tiger all did their best to help the new guy out, it became even more evident that this would be a slow and sometimes downright painful process.

Being wise, the senior vulture knew, as did the also wise and peaceful tiger, that if the new guy didn’t start paying more attention, going out of his way to honor what he’d been taught, a storm would first start brewing, and possibly even erupt, and somebody was going to get hurt.

Because of this, the peaceful tiger made it a special point along the way to set up certain indisputable rules of the land, made especially for the new guy. Now these were not draconian rules.  On the contrary – they were really rules designed in a way to actually help the new guy.  And more importantly to the peaceful tiger, they were rules designed to save the established inhabitants of the land untold grief.  Especially the senior vulture, and the peaceful tigers’ little cubs.

Yet no matter how or how often the peaceful tiger communicated the rules to the new guy, he just never seemed to remember them when it counted – when he was about to take flight, or as he took flight and encountered a most unruly current.

The result of this ignoring of the rules only led to pain for the new guy. And too, for the peaceful tiger.

And as the weeks turned into months, the new guy kept wanting to get the tiger cubs to do things for him.  Things the cubs were not meant to do at all.  Because they were tiger cubs, after all, not little vultures.

This of course, inevitably stirred the maternal instinct in the peaceful tiger.  And occasionally, he’d growl, and sometimes even let out a battle cry.  But only long enough to cause the new guy to sit up and pay attention.  At which point he immediately would recognize his place in the natural order.  And back down, he did.

Until the next flight.

So by the time three full moons had come and gone over the land, the peaceful tiger was at the end of his patience.  Which is, given the circumstance, quite reasonable indeed.  Because too much time was being lost – time that should have been devoted to tigerly things.  And tragically, one day, the new guy poked and poked and poked three times too often at the chest of the peaceful tiger, trying to get him to ignore the rules.

Well, no matter how much empathy this particular peaceful tiger has (and he has quite a bit more than most), he is still, first and foremost, a tiger.  A truly efficient killing machine.  It’s in his tiger DNA, right down to the cellular level.

So at one point, when the new guy went to poke yet one more time, the tiger stood up on his haunches, and let out a soul-deep battle cry to end all battle cries.  One so loud it was heard in the furthest corners of the lowland, all through the jungle, and all the way up to the top of the mountainside.

And yet, even then, the vulture, feeling wounded just from the shear strength of that battle cry, attempted to lash back with even less reality-based reasoning than all his previous attempts.

And when that failed to yield him any ground whatever, the vulture got all indignant, and tried to raise his posture up high enough to be downright intimidating.

But please.  A vulture?  Intimidating to a tiger?  A seasoned, been there done that tiger?

hahahahaha

And in that moment, before the vulture knew what hit him, the tiger pounced. It happened so fast, in fact, that in an instant, the once peaceful tiger had completely transformed into the seasoned, battle hardened warrior tiger that had been sleeping quietly all these years.

And in the blink of a tiger cub’s eye, the normally peaceful tiger bit the vultures’ head clean off.

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Moral of the story

If you’re new to a land, no matter how much previous experience you have in other lands, you better defer to those who have come before you to this land.  Let them teach you as though you’re a noob.  Even if it means swallowing your pride, it’s better to swallow your pride than to end up without a head.

And remember – just because a tiger may appear, on the outside, and through his actions, to be a peaceful tiger, remember that underneath that gentle and kind fur lies the heart of a warrior.

Yet because it had been so long and I just couldn’t find the motive to push through the “lazy” method of shooting, it’s now been 3 years since I bought the camera and until this week, hadn’t once taken it into manual mode, let alone made use of the tripod.

Then just this weekend I felt maybe I want to go beyond my comfort zone with this thing and take advantage of the fact that though I love fireworks, last year’s attempt at shooting them using preset factory modes had failed miserable, which means I’ll actually take the time to read the user’s manual and learn how to slow down the shutter, work the f stops, do what I need to so I can come up with that one award winning shot.

This desire was locked when Christa Watson, a friend, industry colleague, and also an avid photographer, posted a challenge on her blog

What if we took this next week to really stop, think, and create a photo, instead of just snapping away? What if you only had ONE chance to take that picture? ONE shot to set up your white balance, color, lighting, and composition. The challenge is to take only one picture for the day. No over processing, no sharpening, just straight out of the camera goodness!

Well, there’s no way I’d go THAT far, because I don’t have a full on DSLR (although a goal this year is to purchase a Digital Rebel … ) yet this was enough to solidify my desire to really put my all into the process for that fireworks shot.

To that end, I sat down tonight and busted out the manual (the digital version of course!) and after what must have been like a half hour of confusing instructions spread out here and there, I finally figured out how to set the ISO (100 for this experiment), and the exposure time (5 seconds for this test) which I’ll need from what I’ve read about getting great fireworks shots.

I then took my camera out front of my apartment and figured this would be a great test – even though I don’t live near a highway, the road here is constant with traffic about 21 hours a day…

Well here’s the results (I realized during shooting that I hadn’t set the f-stop and ended up with the camera automatically going from f 2.7 to about 3.5 depending on the shot – so next I’ll have to figure that out – I’ve read that anywhere from f4 – f8 should be right for fireworks…)

And since lavender is my favorite color, and the aroma of lavender being as soothing and relaxing as it is, being able to walk along row upon row of it growing, then hand-picking bunches of it to bring home, made for a perfect afternoon, even as the sweat came pouring down my forehead nearly the whole time there, even in the shade…

It goes on among people on both sides.

And while we get all upset at individual citizens, the truth is that it starts at the top.  Leadership in Washington starts the ball rolling.  Then they sit back and watch the masses echo the lies and distorted reality over and over again.  The other side then responds to the attack in a way that any cave people would only naturally respond, with perfect victim mentality.

One example of this deception pushed onto the masses comes from Representative Jim DeMint, a Republican Congressman from South Carolina.

According to a report from ABC News and also found at CNS News, while speaking at the Tea Party protests in Washington D.C., DeMint stated “The President has warned us if we disagree with him he’s going to call us out.  Well, Mr. President, we are out.”

That statement is a self-serving twisting of the truth, altering what was really said for the purpose of inciting the crowd into a higher fervor.

To know what was REALLY said, all you have to do is either 1) have actually paid attention to the President’s speech, or 2) go and watch the speech again and listen.

But since most people on both sides of the debate refuse to actually follow up and verify things, I’ll save you the trouble. At 38 minutes and 41 seconds into his speech, the President ACTUALLY says “If you misrepresent what’s in this plan, we will call you out.”

Those are two very different things.  Anyone who misrepresents the truth should be called out for it, whether they’re Democrat, Republican, Independent, or whatever.

But repeating the true quote would not have allowed Mr. DeMint to fuel the fire.  In fact, it would have required Mr. DeMint to back down from his personal political agenda-based vitriol.

Now, in and of itself, that’s just one line from one speech at one rally.  Except if you really want to see why this is such an irresponsible action on the part of a member of the United States Congress, you need to do the footwork.  Or just continue reading…

It turns out that Mr. DeMint was previously quoted, and recorded  by audio, as saying “If we’re able to stop Obama on this, it will be his Waterloo. It will break him.”

So he has a larger agenda, of course, and he is willing to twist the truth to achieve his goals. Even if it means inciting further hatred on both sides. And in fact, he does this BECAUSE it incites further hatred.

On the other side of the coin, many of us (myself included earlier today) express concern about how far it’s taken so many people attending rallies, with signs calling the President a Nazi, and a host of other psychopathic epithets. Yet it’s quite challenging to find any main stream media and NO left wing blog that reminds America that there were people on the left behaving the same way when former President Bush was in office.

And most people on the Left, and in the media are unwilling to mention that because it would temper their ability to promote their agenda.

Now, I’m not a psychologist, and I don’t have a degree in anthropology.  Yet coming from my own experience in life, I believe that the primary reason people become so entrenched in a myopic perspective, refusing to check facts themselves (or rely on other like-minded people as their only “source” of “truth”), is because most people are afraid of having their belief systems shattered. It’s too traumatic to have to go within and re-think what reality is.  It’s much easier to find others who think like we do, and surround ourselves by them.

That way, we can say “I’m not crazy – look – all these other people believe the same thing, so I must be sane.”

If I’m off the mark here, please let me know.  As vocal as I am on many topics, I am always willing to actually consider facts that I had not previously been aware of, and alter my beliefs.

That’s another problem in America.  Having the courage to be open-minded and listen to others who may have a different view has become a political talking point that our 3rd grade mentality congressional leaders use to say the “other side” flip-flops.  That by being willing to accept new information and allow that to cause oneself to shift their understanding, we’re untrustworthy.  Even though anyone who is NOT willing to do so is truly bigoted and just acting like a cave man. And anyone who is willing to do so, IF their motive is to grow and learn, is actually to be lauded.

Why these things are so dangerous is that history shows it’s the cause of all wars ever taken place on earth, and why, in religious wars, both sides claim that only THEY had God/Allah on their side.

And that is truly insanity.

Regarding the ramifications of such actions this time around though, it’s reached a fever pitch.  I only pray we as a country united under the flag of our great Republic (NO, we are NOT a democracy, a democratic Republic is NOT a democracy, so stop saying that lie please), can step back from the brink of complete collapse.

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Bush disease photo comes from SodaHead.com article by Nicole M.

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All these years later, every time I see a jumbo jet, I remember September 11th.   Every time I see a security check point at the airport, I remember.  Every time I get on a plane, I remember.

Every time I see a fire truck go racing by, I remember.  Every time I hear about a jet crashing, I remember.  Every time I hear about a firefighter rushing into a burning building, I remember.

The faces.

The facade of the towers.

The sounds.

The not-knowing.

The sadness.

The loss.

The grieving.

The attempts to move on.

Every time.

I remember.

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Before I continue, parts of what I share may cause some of you to think I’m not quite right in the head. That’s okay. I don’t mind. Honest. Other parts of what I share some of you will be able to relate to more readily. For that, if it happens, I am grateful and humbled…

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In the fall of 2001, my friend Cheryl invited me to attend a ceremony in which she was to become ordained as a minister. The event was to take place in mid-town Manhattan in the early evening of September 10th. I was happy for her achievement, and honored to be one of the few people invited to be present for the otherwise private and very personal service.

Since I was to meet her after work at her downtown office in the World Financial Center (adjacent to the World Trade Center), and then we were going to walk the several blocks uptown from there, I caught a train into the city from where I had been staying with a friend on Long Island. I then switched to a subway at the Flatbush station, then a quick ride to the WTC stop in lower Manhattan.

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I’ll never forget the moment I came up out of the subway, onto the sidewalk directly across from the entrance to the World Trade Center complex. It was about 4:45 in the afternoon – the sun was shining, people coming and going at what can only be described as a “Manhattan pace” all around me. And in that moment, I looked up – to the giant gleaming twin towers…

Though I had lived on and off in New York most of my life, before that moment, I had never actually gotten to the WTC complex, only seen it from a distance. That’s a crazy thing about living in a big city – you can spend decades there doing whatever it is you do, and not ever experience every aspect of that city.

So to me, it was a brand new experience, being so close and so dwarfed by those massive towers of chrome and glass. Sure, I’d spent countless hours of my life walking Manhattan streets, gotten to the top of the Empire State building a couple times, and been surrounded by all those skyscrapers a lot. Yet there has always been something about such an experience that catches me off guard initially – kind of like going to the beach, or the Grand Canyon, and being awed at it’s mass and the energy that is impossible to ignore, so palpable in the air around you, assaulting your every sense…

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Because it’s so jarring, especially when coming up, out of the below-ground closed-in and dark subway system, I stood there for a while and soaked it all in. Not too long, but enough to really memorize the moment at the cellular level – to really be present in that moment.

Then, from that point forward, until I hooked up with my friend, I swear, it was as though each micro-experience then became etched into my awareness. Maybe that happens all the time, but only really stays so vivid because of a trigger event of the magnitude of 9/11. Who knows…

From there, I crossed the Street and entered WTC #2, knowing that I had to traverse both towers, then cross over to the WFC complex. But because I wasn’t familiar with the walk inside, I stopped at the lobby security desk, to ask for directions, lest I end up wandering around aimlessly lost.

There were two security people there in that moment, a man and a woman, wearing their blue security blazers, standing tall and professional, yet greeting me with the warmest of smiles one can hope for when feeling just a bit helpless in a sea of humanity.

One of them explained that I’d have to go downstairs, into the basement shopping level, cross through WTC #2, then WTC #1, then come up and use the “north bridge” (an elevated enclosed walkway crossing over the expanse of West Street). This then, I was shown, would spit me out into the Winter Garden shopping area, which was sandwiched between World Financial Center buildings 2 and 3 (my friend Cheryl worked at the time, on an upper floor of WFC #2).

I thanked both security people for the help and for being there – it’s something I always try to do out in the world – just letting people who might otherwise not hear it often enough, know how appreciated they are. And from there, I proceeded down.

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Let me say this – walking through the lower level shopping corridors of the WTC, to me, was like being in another world. I’ve always had an issue with claustrophobia, to a minor degree (with one extremely dreadful panic attack while in an insanely small and tight basement elsewhere), but here I was, walking along a very wide corridor, lined with shops of all kinds, brightly lit and bustling with the throngs of workers and visitors and shoppers.

Except something that came to mind was the memory of the first WTC attacks, back in 1993 – and at that moment, an awareness-itch of creepiness began tugging on my neck, urging me to stay focused, and get through to the other side.

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Before I knew it, I was at the entrance to the “north” pedestrian bridge that traversed West Street, and grateful for it. But as I entered that enclosed crossway, and started my walk across and over the street, I was again struck by a sense of unease. This time, though I was standing and walking above ground, and there were large windows lining both sides of the structure, every single window was covered over by these massive promotional banners, with imagery announcing something or other (I THINK I recall it being some joint Canadian-American event, but because the unease was growing more with every step I took, I can’t recall those specific images too well).

I don’t know why I felt the way I did in that moment, but I felt sadness for the people who had to work there every day.  Stuck indoors, trapped in that darkness during a perfectly bright and sunny day…

And my claustrophobic feeling was that I didn’t want to remain trapped between the WTC complex and the WFC complex.  So I hastily got myself through the doors at the other end.

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I came out onto the upper level of what I can only describe as the largest marble staircase I have ever seen in my life. It was insanely big.  Half way down, was this massive circular landing area.

Standing there on that landing, I looked out  at the Winter Garden shopping area. This vast place is essentially a palm tree lined glass enclosed courtyard surrounded on the left and right by retail stores and eateries on multiple levels. Directly ahead of me and through the glass wall was the North Cove yacht harbor and the Hudson River.

From there, I looked up, to the half-round glass roof at the sky above, just amazed at the scale of it all…

Because I was a bit early, I began walking around the outer perimeter, window shopping, and just soaking in the experience. After a few minutes, I heard a commotion, and looked back over to the marble staircase. About 1/3 of the way up, a woman was sitting down, holding her ankle, and there was already someone from the security staff by her side. It became quickly apparent that she had somehow injured her ankle. In short order, other members of the security staff came swarming over, communicating back and forth with whoever on their walkie-talkies…

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All during this time, people were just going about their daily lives around me – and some began swarming out of the WFC #1 security check point. Yes – at the bank of elevators going up to into the World Financial Center building, there were actually turnstyles, and security people, and you had to pass through that area (with, I assume, a precious ID badge) in order to get up to those offices.

Since it was about quitting time for some, people were leaving more than arriving. Lots of people. And it was in that moment that memories of my life a decade before as a member of the Military Police in the Army (in charge of crime prevention), started taking over my thought process.

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Now, here’s where the sharing of my experience might cause some of you to think I’m wacked in the head. For others who already know that I am, this will just be another insight into my mind and how I live…

In that moment, as I watched the swarms of workers leaving for the night, I thought – wow – tight security – rather odd for just another office building in a city filled with them. (in the late 90′s and up until September 11th of that year, you could pretty much walk into most Manhattan skyscrapers, look like you knew what you were doing, maybe have to sign in at a desk, but not actually have to show ID). So of course, I realized, this was the World Financial Center – all really important stuff, sensitive information out the wazoo – Stock Exchange kind of data and such…

Except right about that time, I looked up, don’t ask me why, I can’t tell you – again – at that rounded over glass ceiling above the courtyard – into the sky. And simultaneous to that, I thought – “these people have no idea how vulnerable they are… going about their lives…” And with that crazy throw-back to my having routinely assessed security risks in the Army, I also thought – no, I felt, a real heaviness to the atmosphere. Not from a lack of air. No this was more like a dense, heaviness, kind of like I felt in the pedestrian bridge-way, or down in the basement of WTC 2.

Except I was standing in one of the largest indoor open areas I’d ever been in.

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The next thing I knew, I walked my way back over and up to the center of the top landing area of the marble staircase. And observed. Just observed. Became really present in the moment. And looked up into the sky again…

Well at that point, I called upstairs to my friend Cheryl, to let her know what I had just felt and thought. It turned out that she was just about ready to head down to meet me when I called. And was not, apparently, surprised, at what I had to say. Cheryl, you see, is also someone who is well aware of the general “energy” that flows around and through us as we all go about our lives. It’s what we happen to believe allows us to have true empathy for someone in pain, or in need…

Anyhow, she said she’d be down in a few minutes, and we hung up. I need to say here and now that what I ultimately felt (and shared with her on the phone that night, and wrote in my journals that night when I got back home), was that I had been standing in what I refer to as an energy vortex. I mean – there’s just so much energy we give off – if you don’t believe me, walk up to a stranger’s house and discover six mean, hungry and underfed dobermans – then tell me that in that moment you hadn’t given off any energy (fear anyone?)

Okay – so that’s what I felt. That I was standing at the epi-center of a point in lower Manhattan that was filled to overflowing with good and bad energy. Just so much of both, that it was like I visualized a vortex – in my mind’s eye – that reached up way into the sky…

I’ve never felt anything like that before that day, ever.  EVER.  It was just too bizarre to not pay attention to.

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Now, if you’re still with me here, great – if you’re about to bail because you’ve just locked me into some wack-job nut-case label, oh well… But before you bail, let me ask you this – have you EVER felt, just before something positive was about to happen, that something positive was going to happen? Or just before something really craptastic that something craptastic was about to happen? Well lots of us have. Perfectly healthy, intelligent, productive members of society not on drugs or drunk, not diagnosed with any bizarre mental disorder.

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So anyhow, I felt what I had felt, and thought what I had thought okay? Well it gets stranger still…

Fast forward a bit – friend Cheryl comes down and meets me, we hook up with her friend / co-worker Jody, and Cheryl’s boyfriend, and we all walk joyfully uptown. Outside, and UNDER that pedestrian bridge, which I looked up at and back to after a bit…

And in the process I essentially let go of all that energy awareness stuff, happy to be with one of my best friends on earth and on the way with these great people to be present for her ordination.

During the ceremony, there was one point where the minister conducting it invited us to become quiet and take a few moments to meditate on this occasion’s importance. Now, I’ve actually been meditating for many years, going back to 1986.

No, I don’t do the lotus thing or the ommmmmm thing.  I just go into that quiet state of nothingness, and let whatever comes into my awareness just show up…

And since I’d been doing it so long, it wasn’t just about closing my eyes, thinking a couple happy thoughts, and worrying about the next bills waiting to be paid.   No – instead, I went quickly into a pure state of silence.  And excuse me for being honest – what I saw in my awareness was thousands of points of light – kind of like what George HW Bush talked about back in the day…

But what I also felt was a sense that Cheryl’s ordination was somehow “right on time…”  and that we were going to be challenged in a crazy big way…

Except I didn’t fully understand it, other than that closed-in feeling hit me hard at the same time…

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Look- this kind of thing doesn’t just happen to me every day, okay?  I mean, sure, I can pick up on other people’s feelings pretty good some of the time.  And I believe in the intuitive as a guiding thing.  But having a picture like that?  After feeling what I had felt back at the Winter Garden? Never happened to be like THAT before, or since…

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When I opened my eyes, Cheryl and I immediately looked at each other. And I swear to God – it was like – in my mind, I was like asking her – did you get what I just got?, and she was clearly doing the same.

We shared with each other what we had just picked up on – I with the thousands of gleaming shining points of light all over the place, and Cheryl saying – no, that what she got was it was shards of glass – so many that they filled her vision – and in that moment, I got that what I had seen was the reflection of the sun on all those shards of glass… And it was really obvious to me and her that what she had just gone through to become ordained was “right on time”… Yet not knowing what the next day would bring!

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So okay – that was all the night before – and that’s about all I’ve got in terms of odd experiences go as far as September 11th.  The rest of this blog entry is about snippets of my personal experience on September 11th and in the days after. Nothing quite bizarre actually, just another human beings quite normal and still quite vivid memories needing to be shared aloud…

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THE MORNING OF SEPTEMBER 11TH

Like I said earlier, at that point I had been staying at a friends on Long Island – so on the morning of the 11th, I slept in. And was awoken when a friend upstate called me to say – are you watching the television?… Well, I put on the T.V. after the first plane had hit and before the 2nd plane. It was surreal to say the least, given the magnitude and pure confusion of the still unfolding events.

And also because of my personal experiences the night before…

I immediately tried calling Cheryl, but already by that point, all the cell lines into the city were jammed. And then the 2nd plane hit. Then one building just came down, and then the other – and it was like the most gut-wrenching experience I’d ever known – just thinking about all those people…

More than once I tried to think – was Cheryl already at work? Was she just on her way in from Brooklyn? What about Jody, her co-worker/friend that I’d met a couple times and the night before? What about my former co-workers from Computer Associates who worked in the complex? I had no idea if they were there or not!

What about my brother Hal, the firefighter who SPECIALIZED in “Close-In Rescue” (confined spaces), and is an EMT-D? Was he there?

Oh My God – I thought – all these people I really cared about – and had no way of knowing whether they were alive or dead…

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And that’s when the memory of the night before came back with a vengeance- the security people I had met, and who were so kind and helpful – OMG – I had looked into their eyes like 16 hours before that moment… And rapidly one after another, I had images of all those people I had walked past, and observed, like the woman who hurt her ankle, and the security staff who had helped her – and all those people in the WTC complex that night… People who I had never met or walked past before September tenth. And how many of them would it never be possible to walk past, greet, meet, talk with, or get to know even in the tiniest of otherwise take-it-for-granted experiences, ever again…

Because I couldn’t get through to any of my friends or my brother, I felt compelled to head into the city – to see if there was anything I could do to volunteer to help. While I wasn’t a firefighter, I HAD been in the Army, in the Military Police. I did have formal professional training in crisis and emergency response and first aid… But not knowing exactly how to proceed or where exactly to go TO, given the massive destruction, I didn’t just jump on a train expecting to get “there”, wherever “there” was.

Instead, I tried calling my brother, Hal again. At that point in time he was a volunteer firefighter out on Long Island. He answered the phone, Thank God…

It turned out that he wasn’t in the city – he was standing by – with his brother firefighters – themselves waiting for any instructions or formal emergency rescue directives.   And he assured me that at that moment there was absolutely no point in me trying to go into Manhattan, that it was crucial for everyone’s sake that only authorized emergency services personnel, if called upon, go INTO that area…

Eventually I got through to Cheryl. It turned out that she had, in fact, just come up out of the subway, seen masses of people running AWAY from where she was walking TO, looked up, saw the debris falling, and instinctively turned around and began running away from the WTC complex… She and thousands of others just ended up walking, debris dust covered, back over the Brooklyn bridge.

Jody? Amazingly enough, she had been on the way in on the subway when someone in one of the other subway cars had pulled the emergency brake cord at the station BEFORE Cortlandt Street, which caused the train to be delayed by several minutes, and as a result, the subway had zoomed PAST the Cortlandt stop and she got out at the next stop, only to learn upon exiting what had just moments before, happened.

My former co-worker Michael it turned out, was ill – a nasty flu-bug, and for the first time in ages, had stayed HOME that morning…

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Now I’d like to be able to say that’s how it went in regard to anybody I knew even remotely. But as we all know, 3,000 people lost their lives that day. One of those people was Peter A Nelson,  a member of Huntington Manor Fire Department where my brother volunteered (and where my brother was also a dispatcher).

Chief Nelson was so dedicated to serving his fellow human beings that he was both a volunteer at HMFD and also worked for a living as a member of Rescue 4 in Manhattan.  Chief Nelson lost his life that day, helping to save the lives of others. Strangers he had never met…

Now, like I said, I wasn’t a firefighter. But for several years, while living back in New York, I had offered my services in the web industry to fire departments.  I had created web sites for a number of Long Island volunteer fire departments, provided web hosting space to a couple other departments, and to an emergency services ambulance corp… So I knew several people in the fire and EMS brotherhood and sisterhood in New York.

More than a few times I had been down at the station house, gone to department picnics, spent time visiting my brother.

And I was told that while I myself am not a firefighter, I’m family nonetheless… Part of the extended family of husbands and wives, brothers, sisters, parents and children of firefighters… And just being told that meant (and still to this day, means) the world to me. Because for all the times I personally have been the one person in a large group to react instantly and rationally and with clear vision of purpose during a crisis, I’ve never once raced into a burning building…

I got to go on one training exercise with the HMFD crew, where they purposely burned down an abandoned house, and used that as an opportunity to put trainees into a real fire situation to do battle in a controlled environment. At least as controlled as you can make those.

Just being there taking photos for the web site, it blew my mind what must go on for these amazingly gifted angels with hoses and ladders and axes…

So anyhow – all of those experiences and through my relationship with my brother, it really hammered home to me, when Chief Nelson and so many other firefighters lost their lives that day. And while all of MY friends who happened to work in that complex were spared that day, because I give so much meaning of importance to quality friendships, the overall impact of September 11th just rocked me to the core.

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Winter Garden Entrance (photo from Wikimedia Commons)

AFTERMATH OF A DISASTER
My brother and his fellow crew-members were actually not called on right away. Some of them were called on to provide back-up in the outlying areas. Other firefighters from all around the metropolitan area had been called in, and swarmed into and around ground zero.

With the round-the-clock need, eventually my brother was called to serve. First at the place where they were bringing the debris. Then eventually to ground zero itself.

I know that not actually having been down there, and not directly losing someone close to me, I can’t comprehend the pain or the process as much as those with more direct experience, or those who worked tirelessly to help find victims.

And my heart goes out to them…

I mean, after my brother came back from ground zero, just looking in his eyes, I could see and feel that he had been forever changed on the inside…

Personally, I spent countless hours in front of the television, like millions of others around the world.  And talking with friends and family about what it all meant, how it had touched us all.

And after a couple days, I went into Manhattan, and went back in every day for a while.

By then, there were thousands of hand-made or quickly put-together printed out posters from families of missing people. Entire city blocks of walls and telephone poles and subway station tile walls were covered with them.  I, and countless thousands of others did a lot more random acts of kindness after that.  Just wanting to help.

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FOREVER CHANGED

For a couple years after, I would go on the anniversary, to join in the candle-light memorials.   I’ll never forget those.  We’re talking about thousands of people coming by, all through the night, and leaving and lighting a candle…  Two years in a row I stayed all night, helping the handful of other volunteers keep candles lit, relight them when the wind would blow them out…

One anniversary, I was walking through Brooklyn and came across a church where there was like, a mini-memorial of candles, lining the steps to the church, and just one young woman trying to keep them all lit.  So I silently joined her.  And eventually she had to go, and I took over…

New York was never the same after that, of course.  Entering the subway station by my apartment in Brooklyn, after 9/11 meant having to walk past National Guard troops in full battle uniforms, with gas masks on their sides, who stood right next to NYPD uniformed officers who also had gas masks at the ready…  I’m not just talking about for a few months – I’m talking all the way until I moved back to California in November of 2004…

Walking down along Wall Street it was pretty difficult to miss the side-streets being blocked by big blacked-out windowed SUV’s where once people used to come and go freely, minding their own business…

And there were more than a few times where entire buildings were evacuated because of the FEAR of an attack…  or the fear of a bomb.  Or a wacko nutjob actually making a bomb threat…

I did my best to get along with life.  To adjust to this new dynamic.  Yet no matter how I tried, it all just became too much for me.

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THE NEED TO LEAVE

When I couldn’t take the experience of that any more, I moved back to California.  A few weeks after I was here, I was walking along 4th street in down town San Rafael.  At one point, I stopped, right in my tracks.  Something felt wrong.  Something felt like it was missing.  I looked around me, at the people going about their lives.

And then it struck me.  There were no soldiers with rifles and gas masks.  Anywhere.  There was no sense of unease, no sense of tension that had become a way of life for me back in New York city.

Part of me was ecstatic.  Part of me felt I’d moved somewhere that people couldn’t truly identify with what we as New Yorkers had gone through, and that I was out of my element.

And while it’s true that every American was traumatized that day, I found that there’s a part of me people here will never truly understand.  Just like there will never be a way for me to truly understand what it’s like for those who did lose someone close to them that day.

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A DESIRE FOR HEALING

I hope, I pray, that in some way, this article will have helped me, and just perhaps, in some little way, someone else as well.  I know that I feel relieved after eight years, to have finally typed this out.

For the record, there are a couple things that I am intentionally leaving out.  They’re just too personal, too deep-meaning for me to share in such a public way.  Maybe some day I’ll blog about those.  Maybe not.

What I do know is that regardless of what does or doesn’t change for me, I’ll never forget.

Ever.

And you know what?  For all the people who lost their lives at ground zero, and at the Pentagon and in that field in Pennsylvania, and all the soldiers and Marines and fliers, and sailors who have lost their lives since then.

We need to remember.

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Aerial photo looking down on the Winter Garden.
Just in front in this photo is where the pedestrian bridge had been where I had walked through to get to the WFC complex from the WTC complex the night before…

Photo of the completely gone entry to the Winter Garden Shops (and essentially where the West Street Bridge HAD been prior to 9/11)

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Please feel free to leave your thoughts or comments.  All I ask is that you be respectful of the tragedy of this day and all who died and all who lost someone close to them…

I recently attended the Ad:Space event at this year’s Ad:Tech conference at the Moscone Center in San Francisco.  As I generally do before heading out on the road to a location I have either never been to before, or haven’t been to in a while, I like to Google Map the area and get a visual cue of the buildings.  So it was quite a shocking laugh I got this time when I went into street view outside the Moscone Center and spun the view around to find myself looking at the butt-crack of an unsuspecting cyclist who was clearly caught on camera just as the Google Map car was driving by!

This is the view looking northwest – across the street from the front of the Moscone Center’s main entrance.  Just goes to show you how the concept of being “seen” in public takes on a new meaning thanks to the power of the web!  And no, I didn’t have the willingness to click on the “report a problem” link to inform Google this is out there!

OH – And if you don’t believe me, go to Google Maps search for “Moscone Center”  switch to Street View.  (drag the little man icon onto the map near the “A” bubble). Or alternately, click on the “A” bubble, then in the bubble window that opens, click on “Street view”.

Depending on exactly where along Howard St you drop the icon, spin the view around and you’ll see the cyclist just ahead or just behind the car – move down the street til you get the camera just behind his bike, then BAM!  there he is… 

Scroll down below the full page view for the close up!

So just be careful out there people – you never know when the snooping eye of the Google street view camera is going to be cruising by, else you too may be caught in a compromising situation!

I spent about an hour and a half walking around, looking at the cars, and took a few photos, though by no means are photos of all the classic cars that were at the show represented here.  My favorite cars at shows like this are the bad-ass mustang convertibles from the early sixties, though really fine Camaros from the same era come in a very close second.

I also highly respect anyone who can take what would otherwise be considered nearly scrap metal and turn it into a finely polished smooth as silk restoration project car.  And of course, what would a classic car show be without a few hot rods?