A Little Help From Jim Morrison

Ever since some professional decisions have left me with some time on my hands, I have been able to really refocus my life. With my old job, I was a complete frantic mess, always pissed off at the world, and always had something I was late for. These two nuances of life alone, were more than enough to stifle any creativity, love, and beauty that lied within. I had become a shell of myself. I just figured this shift was a fact of life as true as death and taxes...something not to be questioned or toyed with. I had a plan, I was executing, and I was on my way. On my way... On my way to somewhere that had gotten me so far away from where I began. The more I achieved, the less I knew how to do, and the more worthless I felt. Because you see, my business was that of bullshit. Plain and simple. Nothing tangible, nothing real to show, nothing more than some numbers on a screen next to my name, and a promise of future utilization.

With every day since the end of that situation, I grow more and more alive. I look around at the world, with an eye for beautification, and a yearning desire to restore and create. I have written...I have built...and I have found my smile.

Yes, there is that question of money. And there is that unknowing fear that resides in the back of your head, ever so slightly whispering those words of inevitability. I know this time in my life will not last, and I am at peace with it for at least i know this part of my being and my soul is still there.

Yesterday in the warm sun of southern California, I decided to restore my ailing porch furniture. With my shirt off, and my iPod on, I remembered what it was like to create something beautiful. Something I could stand back from in the end, wearing only a torn pair of jeans and smile, and say "that's right...I fucking did that." No corporate bullshit, no deadlines, no one telling you what you are or aren't. Just a finished product in the end that screams and sparkles success.

And, I know that is nothing tremendous, as it was only porch furniture. But somewhere between sanding off the old, and staining on the new, I was overcome with such emotion that only the son of a hard working father could understand. For a few moments the world just blurred out, and the music of Jim Morrison and the Doors fueled a photojournalistic journey through my life and childhood. With each sanded stroke I could see the pure magic of this moment, I could see my father working on our boat, the house, or whatever project lay before him. I could see the tenderness in his face, and the strength in his hands, and I had never before been so proud to be his son.

When the night sky began to fall, and I was finishing up with the final coats, it hit me that after all the accomplishments I have had in life, all the achievements in school, and then in business, this is what I needed him to see. Most successes in life are here today, gone tomorrow, the memories usually kept alive only by a photo of a handshake or a framed piece of paper. This was different. I wanted him to know that all those years of him speaking to my deaf ears and trying to raise a man whose interests at the time lied nowhere near his, that his efforts were not in vain.

In the end, it wasn't about the furniture, it was about the experience. Thanks to my father for planting the seeds, and thanks to Jim Morrison for providing the water...