I am the Water

There's a nice view from the dock. The planks are aged, but not unstable; they creak in greeting

Image via Wikipedia

and in parting, happy to have my company. I've been sitting on the dock now for nearly two years. Seasons pass, animals come to quench their thirst at the water's edge, birds come to bear and raise their young before returning back to their home in the sky. Everything changes, everything renews, everything grows, except for me and this dock--all we do is age, a motionless, emotionless aging.

Right below us rests the unknown. In the depths of the water there are things never before seen, at least by me. I wonder what's down there. I wonder what it feels like to swim again, hold my breath and count, expunge all of the air in my body and sink to the bottom for a tea party, "MARCO!"

For the two years that I've been sitting on the dock, nothing has disturbed the water aside from the slurp of a deer here, an arrival or departure of a bird there, the flap of a curious fish, or the dance of a water bug. No great force has fallen from the sky to splash down into the lake. No water nymph or Kraken has emerged from beneath the surface. It's quiet. Very quiet.

I am the water: quiet, undisturbed, watchful, waiting, hiding a massive wealth of treasure beneath my own surface.

This past week, I stood up from my cross-legged posture on the dock. I stood up, closed my eyes and took a huge breath of air, several of them actually, for I don't know how long I'll have to hold my breath once I make the leap. Yesteryear I was one thing, tomorrow I will be something else. I'll be something frolicking in the water, floating on my back to feel the sun upon my face, playing like a breaching whale while I explore a new world.

Yesterday I was a marketer, tomorrow I will be a writer.

My toes are gripping the edge of the wooden dock, twiddling up and down with anticipation, and the animals have gathered on the shore to watch the show, even the sun has stopped its course across the sky so as not to miss this leap. Breath. Deep breath.

I whisper, "Marco."

3... 2... 1...

The First Kiss

As many of you know, I started a "Being in Love" fan page on Facebook several months ago (we're almost to 10,000 fans, so join us!). For the past few weeks, I've been asking a daily question that has something to do with love and then compiling the stats, mostly for interest, but I also assume that I'll be able to make some interesting comparisons when I ask the same questions a year from now.

On October 14, 2009, I asked, "How old were you when you had your first kiss? Where did it take place?"

• 57 of 9959 fans responded (.57%)
• Average age of first kiss = 14.1 years.

Kiss was...

• Behind something (tree, bush, other): 23.3%
• At school (playground, bus, other): 13.3%
• At home (inside): 13.3%
• On a walk: 13.3%
• At home (on front porch): 10%
• During a date: 10%
• Long tail of other answers make up the rest

I'll look forward to having a larger sample size the next time this question gets asked, but I found it entertaining that so many first kisses were "behind" something. We're just a bunch of giggly kids, eh?

Next time it might be smart to define or clarify "first kiss" as first "serious" kiss or first "playful" kiss... respondents had to make their own choice in this survey.

GO KISS SOMEONE!

Dream: Let Sisters Be Sisters

I sat there in class, half paying attention and half daydreaming, while my social studies

Image by neil-san via Flickr

instructor walked among the desks asking questions of individual students. He was having one of his eccentric, ramble-on-about-anything-other-than-class-material days. And, on this day his questions were mostly about life.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked a student. He hadn't ask me, so I tuned out the answer. “If you were going on a trip to Mars…,” he asked another, but I never heard the rest of the question.

My mind was mostly elsewhere, lost in thoughts about my own life and recent trials with love.

“Mr. Roth." Hearing my name caused me to focus, though I only answered by sitting up more straightly.

“What do you think you can accomplish in life?”

I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I bought some time by saying, “There are a lot of things that I’d like to accomplish, can you be more specific?”

My question was answered with silence as the teacher walked away from me and toward the back of the classroom. It was a common technique in his class; his larger-than-life stature was commanding even without his bellowing voice.

Though I rambled about travel and education and family, it was the last thing I said that halted his gait. “I’ve been raised to believe that I can accomplish anything I want and that’s just the way it is.”

His answer didn’t come in verbal form. He strode back to his desk at the front of the room, sat down, leaned back in his chair, and with fingers laced on his chest he said, “Let sisters be sisters.”

With this verbal cue, the rest of the class jumped up from their desks and headed for the door. My folders were as scattered as my thoughts, so it took me a bit longer to put them in my backpack. When I was the last one in the room, the instructor walked over to me carrying a folded piece of notebook paper in his hand. In my mind's eye, I recalled a memory of giving a draft of my book to him for review. The notebook paper must be his comments. Though he and I were on good terms, I often avoiding looking directly into his gaze, this time was no different. Instead, I peered at the paper he carried and made out one word, in caps, at the top of the page.

“PHILLY—”

“We’ll have to submit this one to collections,” he said, then handed me the page and walked away.

--
And then, I woke up.

The More Slowly You Drive...

Did you know: the more slowly you drive, the farther you can go?

Image by The Brucer via Flickr

We're often told this because the discussion is focused on the upper range of the speed limit. More gas is burned at higher speeds because resistance from wind increases dramatically and your car's engine must work harder to overcome it. However, there's a drop in efficiency when we drive too slowly, as well... 'cept we're rarely guilty of putting down the street at 2mph, you know? So, let's just focus on high speeds.

The trade off is time. Will you drive faster to get there more quickly because your time is valuable. In fact, for most, time is more valuable that what's in the tank.

What happens when we apply this principle to love?

I've believed for years that the longer we take to get to know each other, the farther we can go. I'm a fan of holding back on physical intimacy so that I can concentrate on really getting to know a woman. Am I good at doing so? Not really... except in those cases where distance has forced it upon me. The greatest relationships in my life have all had this in common--we got to know each other at a slow pace. When I jump in the sack, then I get too focused on the fun that's found in the sack.

Do you want to be happy in an instance or happy for the distance?

A few years ago, I started being in less of a hurry. When on the road, I began opting for the back roads, the one-light towns, a more intimate ride with nature instead of those behemoth machines that stop for nothing--not deer, not fuel, not unfortunate coupe--and accepted that the journey and the destination both have importance. I decided to be in the "here" instead of the "there."

My tank's been pretty empty lately because I'm a fuel snob. I only want to stop at those stations where I get the the full-service treatment: windows, oil, and high octane fuel. Unfortunately, they are few and far between... which means that I have to slow down a little bit if I want to make the distance between them. I have to plan out my route more than the next guy, which really might not be such a bad thing. I know I'll still get distracted by those new-fangled "Kum & Go" stations with their bright colors, flapping banners, and aisles of yummy good, but no-good-for-you snacks at those times when I'm tired or so empty that I have to drink from their tanks. However, I'm always better off if I can avoid them.

Unfortunately, the full-service stations aren't bound to return any time soon. We really must cherish their value. So, I'm gonna make sure that when I find one, I stop to fill up even if I only need a few gallons of fuel. Why? Because it's important to remember what really matters... taking care of your engine so that you can go the distance.

Giving Up on True Love?

I got asked this afternoon, "Have you gotten to the point of giving up yet?" I wasn't exactly sure what I was being asked, but since I was in the process of writing about true love, I assumed that it was from that vein that the question originated.

Image by Ampliato [ Edu ] via Flickr

This is what rolled out of my typing fingers...

Giving up? On finding true love? Never. I have my days of ho-hum, but I'm a hopelessly hopeful romantic and an optimist about life. I want to believe that there is good in everyone and that I will learn from everything and that someday the world will get back to what's important, turn off the fucking television and innovate for betterment, start with one's self... and that there is someone in the right place, at the right time and right moment who will look at me the same way that I look at her and understand that perfection is not reality, that our imperfections are what make us unique, and that we'll form a plan while things are great on how to deal with it when things aren't so great... and agree that we'll walk hand-in-hand as often as we can, understanding that there are times when we all need to lead or be led, but that the power of what we have when we take steps while holding hands is stronger than anything else.

But, that's just me...