"Never Had It So Good.."

So I limp into the coffee shop the other day and ask the barista how he's doing and he says "Never had it so good."

He said it in that distinctly New York way which you don't hear very often in Southern California and it made me feel tremendous joy. My coffee-slingin' Bodhisattva brother sounded ruggedly sincere but with a sprinkle of ever-present irony. Ralph Kramden-esque. Perfect.

I guess this was my version of meeting Buddha on the road.

"Never had it so good."

Blues Wisdom, y'all. And ya' don't stop.

Baseball And The Human Heart..

Baseball is designed to break your heart. The game begins in Spring, with fresh hopes renewed, the rains beginning to subside, that first gorgeous glimpse of the blue skies of summer yet to come, flowers budding to life all around, and the World Series hopes and dreams of 30 teams and their fanbases, extending far beyond the limits of their respective cities.

The season always extends into a long summer, which inevitably brings with it triumph and despair; one heroic moment followed by a flights of clumsy error - leaving us on the edge of our seats in anticipation, waiting for the next epiphanic burst of joy to explode off the bat of one of those talented men we admire so much.

You can keep your museums and cathedrals and great architecture, for me, the most wondrous thing in the world to behold is a perfectly turned six-four-three double play to kill a rally by the visiting team. In those moments, as the warm summer nights extend later, I'm a kid again. And I'm lucky enough now to see it through my 9 year old boy's eyes as he learns and plays the game I've always loved.

But, for all that exuberant joy,the harshness of Autumn eventually sets in; bringing with it some cold realities. It tells you that the long, difficult winter is beckoning around the corner. That nights will grow shorter and colder, the grass will freeze over and be mushed to slush and mud, waiting for the sweetness of spring, for bees buzzing around, and the cleats of wide-eyed young boys and girls playing games on her. The blankets get heavy and the sunshine seems to recede into the land of dreams and memory.

Unfortunately, for 29 out of 30 teams 9 (and for their fans), that dream of childhood comes to a grinding halt. The clouds roll in and that last glimpse of that long sweet summer, the kind that we hope will last forever as a kid, is gone. Tears are shed. Families are depressed. Hopes are crushed. Cities are sunken in sorrow.

This is my 31st consecutive year of not seeing my beloved Los Angeles Dodgers win the World Series. It's also the 7th consecutive year for my favorite team winning the National League Western division, only to fall short in the playoffs. So, like others, I feel the tinge of sadness, I scrutinize roster moves and bullpen rotation decisions. But mostly, I'll just miss the summer time. Miss that feeling of joy at the ballpark. The smells and the sounds that take me back to being a kid again.

But I don't dwell for too long, because sooner than I think, Spring will arrive once again, bringing with it the hope and promise of a new day, a new year, and another chance to chase that childhood dream and make it live forever.

The Church of the Wayword Wolf..

No one or thing is going to absolve you from loneliness or pain. Your healing is your responsibility. The alleyways of childhood do not release us willingly, so we have to develop the tools to release those ghosts and slay those dragons.

But here's the rub:

Many of us grew up modeling an outdated version of Masculinity; one that was rooted in everything from ancestral traumas and emotional repression, to fear or scarcity mindset and absence of personal accountability. As a result, many of us learned to navigate the depths of the wilderness alone, taking false pride in some individual notion of power or strength. It served some of us for a while. Despite not having a compass or a map, some of us found our way out of the woods and back to the pack. Some of us finally came to accept that The Age of the Lone Wolf is Dead.

Our lives are not are own. They do not just belong to us. We can be fathers and brothers and leaders and caretakers, or we can be Ghosts.

When we can deal with trauma and the daunting notion of our Jungian Shadow Self, we can begin to open up to new possibilities. We can begin to rebuild trust. We can begin to feel worthy of love and find the strength to give the love we never had.

The most difficult part of the process is learning to admit where your trauma and your lone wolf survival instincts (including your tendency to isolate) have hurt others. Accepting responsibility is a heavy thing and facing it, head on, takes the kind of courage that is only sustainable when you have the support and love and accountability that comes with returning to the Pack.

Past victimhood, even of the most brutal variety, does not absolve you from the responsibility of your actions.. But we must first navigate of the darkness and back into the light of the pack; So that we may see.

May this be the season we leave the wilderness and rejoin the pack.

A Soft Duet..

Some late nights or early mornings,
When you strum the perfect chord,
And the lyric is just right,
It feels like your heart will burst into dandelion dust.

A soft duet between you and the Creator.

You don't dare tell a soul.