Dear Aaron

Dear Aaron,

It’s been about ten years now since your birthday on November 28th, 2000. On that day, you turned 21 years old. The last time we talked, about two months prior, you said you were leaving church for a while. I wasn’t the first person you told; I overheard you saying this to someone else. I took a breath and steadied myself; I would be composed when you told me, I thought. I wasn’t ready for you to be the one to try and control your emotions, to force out through wracking sobs that you were leaving for a while. I wasn’t sure of what to say, so I said, “Do what you have to do, but your spot will be here when you come back.”

You played on the worship team and that is what I thought of, the physical space that you took up next to the drum kit that no one played. I knew you would come back, to that spot, your spot, but it might be a while. Maybe I’d see you at Baker’s or something and we would talk and you’d mention that you were thinking of dropping by, shorthand for you coming back so your spot wouldn’t be empty.

I can’t say that I remembered that the 28th was your birthday. I was never very good at remembering dates so in my head, forgetting it was your birthday without you to remind me makes me feel better.

21. You were a year older than me. You smiled a lot more than I ever did, too. You were stronger than me, obviously. I was a puny dude. I must have weighed 120, and at 5’10”, that ain’t much. You never took advantage of that strength, except to playfully grab a kid by the neck or something. They hollered, but they loved it. You were awesome at hackey-sack. I might have been better at guitar, but you carried yourself with an easiness that I couldn’t figure out; you were silly without trying and without being self-conscious about it and I envied that coolness.

You saw your mom that morning, but you were a bit on the edgy side and left in the middle of breakfast, if I remember right. You were supposed to meet your dad, grandparents, and step-mom for a party that afternoon but you were late, something that was very unlike you. They waited for you and started to call around after a while. I got a phone call, that you had gone missing, and to pray. So I did. I said a little prayer. I hoped everything was all right, thinking back to the time I got a flat tire and had to figure out how to change it without the owner’s manual. I had the jack all backwards and it took me way longer than expected. I hoped that was it, that you weren’t hurt or alone somewhere.

I was sitting in the living room around 9, a little worried, with my sister and her friend, Natalie. The phone rang and it was Debbie. She sounded a little upset, almost mad or with an incredulous tone. Debbie had just been on the phone with your dad, and she told me that they found you in the hills around Cal State San Bernardino, that you shot yourself. They thought you got the gun from your step-dad.

I almost asked if you were still alive, hoping it was one of those rare cases where the person didn’t aim right or by sheer luck was left injured but not dead, but I knew that wasn’t the case. I didn’t know what to say. I could feel myself checking out, and I don’t remember what I or Debbie said after that. I had to tell my sister and her friend. I don’t really remember what I said or how I said it. I couldn’t connect to what I’d just been told; you couldn’t be gone because I knew I would see you again, we would have that conversation about you coming back. We had to.

We had youth group the next night; we sat around, listless, lifeless, and hurt. We cried. We didn’t understand why. I tried as best as I could to comfort the people around me, hugging them, being around them, and to just be present and not shut down, even though I really wanted to. It’s not often spoken of, but when someone close to you commits suicide, it feels like an act of betrayal, and there is an element of distrust but also a desire to know the people around you more than just on a surface level. We wanted to just be close to each other, but we also wondered about the secrets each of us carried. I felt the pull of both, trying to be open and available for the junior high and high school students as they grieved but hurting as well. Pushing that aside to be a helper kept my emotions in check.

It was a while before I let myself really grieve; I broke more than a few times. I broke when I talked to the youth group, told them that they had people to talk to, people who cared about them and to ask for help if they needed it. I realize now that for people who are depressed and contemplating suicide, there is more to it than just asking for help, but I know that is part it.

The funeral was a few days later and a guy who normally didn’t talk to me a whole lot came and gave me a bear hug and said, “I’m so sorry. He was your buddy,” and walked a way, wiping his eyes. We saw so many people whose lives you touched, people that knew you as a student and as a wonderful person. All I could think was, “Why didn’t you know this? Didn’t you care? Did you know how much this would hurt us?” In fact, I’ve thought those three thoughts often over the years; the month of November has been a darker month for me and I would think about you, wishing you knew how much you were loved. I think you tried to separate from us so we wouldn’t hurt as much, as a compromise, but you could have told us you hated us and I can’t imagine it hurting any less.

I also would wonder if there was something I had done, or something I had failed to do, and in so doing, I failed you. I should have seen the signs, I should have done something, and if I had, you would be around today. I definitely had a crisis of faith, but faith was also a place of healing. In Job, God tells Job that there are things bigger than Job and his understanding. That passage used to upset me, but I kept coming back to it. I don’t know why you did what you did or if there was anything I could have done differently, but it stopped being so painful to ask those questions and not have an answer. A psychologist friend said to me later, “You could have seen all the signs, and called in help, but if he really wanted to commit suicide, he would have found a way regardless of you.” It was a frightening thought, but it let me know that this wasn’t my fault. It helped me breathe. One person described it as a terror and prayed for me a few years back – every November since then has been brighter.

There has been a campaign recently aimed at teenagers struggling with bullying and their identity called, “It Gets Better.” There are a lot of young people who have been stripped of their dignity as humans and broken down by the words and actions of others until they did the only thing they could think of to make the pain stop and that was to end their life. I know that clinical depression is not the same as bullying, that a bullied person may become depressed or may struggle with mental illness, but I’ve always wanted to let you know, Aaron, that it does get better. I used to be so angry with you and confused. I would bounce between these emotions quite often. I used to wonder if a person I saw as a rock couldn’t handle their life, what hope was there for any of us? It gets better – I’m not as angry anymore. I mourn for the life you never got to live rather than my own loss. It really doesn’t matter what the issue was, Aaron, it does get better. Your friends didn’t know everything that was going on, but we didn’t want you to be alone. There are professionals who, if you would have let them, would have helped you work through your pain, who would have listened and offered advice in ways we couldn’t. They might have even been able to help keep your mind from becoming your own worst enemy.

You would be 31 today, still older than me, still cooler than me, still able to switch from cool to silly and back with ease. I can see you having a big party today. Your grandpa on your dad’s side wouldn’t have been around to celebrate, but your mom, dad, stepparents, and friends would have been there. I can see your family there, even your wife and kids celebrating with you. We would have a cake; I would make fun of you for being old, and you’d probably laugh and pick me up and say, “Still in decent shape for an old guy, what’s your excuse?” We would have laughed and ate too much food and cake – I can see your daughter on your lap, blue frosting on her forehead, you asking her, “How’d that get up there?” As the night would wear on, we would all eventually leave, one by one, and as I was getting ready to leave, you would gently put your daughter down, and we would hug. I’d say, “Happy birthday old man. Take care,” and you would say, “Thanks. You, too.” I think we might even say, “I love you, bro,” but maybe not. I know we’d be thinking it. As I walked out, our eyes would meet and we’d smile, thinking about how good we had it, and we would each say our good-bye.

I love you, bro, and I will miss you for now and always,

Dave

If you or anyone you know is struggling with depression or thoughts of suicide, there is help and there is hope.
Please remember that it really does get better.

Please seek help by calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Suicide Awareness Voices of Education (SAVE)

American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

It’s time to buckle down

As the Fall approaches, there are many changes that are coming. The biggest is grad school. I am almost positive I have been accepted to Cal State for the Fall of 2010, and I will be studying like a madman while my wonderful girlfriend is adventuring in the land of the rising sun, (that’s Japan – the country with the Japanes people). I at least know what the two of us are doing for the next year, but after that is all a blur.

I’m apprehensive, which is a nicer way of saying scared, of the future. What to do, what to do, what to do. At some point I will need to move on from my current job, so that will imply saving some money. Since I will be in school, I won’t be able to tutor on the side. I could be saved by finding a paid internship, but I know that I will not find an intern position that pays the same as what I make right now. I also want to, no need to see Amanda before a year has passed. I miss her.

What does this all mean? I need to change my lifestyle. I realized this when I had a visit to the dentist and he told me it would be $620 for a crown and buildup – that’s not the total price, that is my out of pocket expenditure. Ouch. I looked at ticket prices for flights to Japan in August – $1700 was the most common I could find. That is a lot of money, anyway you look at it.

As a percentage break-down of my take-home paycheck, 10% goes to savings, a little more than that goes in retirement, 18% in rent and utilities, 16% on food, 13% on tithe, 6.5% each on Auto Insurance and Education funds, 9% on shopping and entertainment expenditures, and the last bit to pay off my tv, phone, gym membership and gas. I wonder if I can realistically cut my spending by 20 – 30%?

Where to cut? First, on food. When Amanda was here, we ate out a lot and I spent a lot on groceries, but in the past year, I think we ate out less. This is going to be an easy cut, because she isn’t here. So let’s say I do that – I can easily cut my food budget in half. Auto insurance – by paying it off at the beginning of the billing cycle, I can save myself a lot in interest. I’m saving some by paying it off early, but could have saved more if I planned ahead. Education is a cool one, because working full time gives me tuition reimbursement at 80%. I still have to pay for incidental costs, such as supplies, books, and parking, but reimbursement always means some of it comes back. I need to do a better job of socking away whatever I get back, but most of it has gone to pay for credit cards.

Here is the line on that – I have some cc debt. Stupid, I know. There really isn’t another way to describe that. I used credit cards and spent more than I earned, and now I am literally paying for it. On the bright side, I am also close to paying it off. Two cards are paid off and the last one, the one with the lowest interest rate, is really close. That makes me feel good, and it serves as a great reminder to never do that again. It was a useful lesson, one I won’t forget, and one I needed.

Now, to the studies – I really need to think about the future. I want to finish school and get a job that can support a family, the kind of job I can buy a house with, save some money, that kind of thing, but most importantly, I want a job that I would love to do. Something that is significant – I worry sometimes that the pursuit of comfort will curtail significance.

May it never be.

Man, do I ramble. When I am unsure of some parts, like the future, I try to get a grasp on what I can control. It’s the serenity prayer – accept the things I can’t change, change the things I can, and be wise enough to know the difference. I’m scared but I’m not sure of what I am scared of – getting what I want or not getting it.

Either way, it is time to start making some decision about the future and living with the consequences. It’s time to grow up, at least a little. Esquire had an article on how to be a man, which sounds funny, but a lot of the advice was really good. It was looking to heroes, realizing that behaving the same at eighteen and eighty is weird, and transitions should occur in there somewhere. It jokingly said when one hits thirty, it’s time to pick a haircut. Kind of funny, but I get it.

It’s time to buckle down.

Roger Ebert is way cooler than I am, but I look better in a Speedo…maybe.

Roger Ebert has a way about him, especially when it comes to writing about writing, writing about food, or just simply being thoughtful. If you haven’t read his blog yet, you need to start reading it.

An entry from October 28th of 2008, title “I think I’m musing my mind” is Mr. Ebert discussing how being unable to speak has brought him back to his love of writing – how many times have we lost something only to rediscover the things we loved.

Sometimes I wonder if we lose the things we are doing and lose our sense of self in order to find the things that we are to be about.

Enjoy.

Scared, an impending sense of doom, unsure of what I want

I recently told someone that if I didn’t get into grad school, I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself. As I have been thinking about it, if I do get into graduate school, I may still be unsure.

Stupid books and reading.

So I have been reading Donald Miller’s book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years after reading Rob Bell’s Velvet Elvis. So Rob messed me up because he has me thinking about Christianity, about following Jesus in a new light, and Don has me thinking about what kind of story I am living.

I was done before I ever showed up for work on Tuesday, the 16th. Just done. I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt like I was being pulled down to the earth by little yellow rubber bands; if only I could break free, I could float, but then I would float, and keep on floating, and then what? Where would I go and where would I end up?

I’m feeling onery because of it, but Don has me thinking about my story; how big is it? What do I spend my time on?

Honestly, money.

What do I mean?

I check my bank account every day, I check my stocks every day, and check my mint.com account everyday, and look at my debt to cash ratio. I save money in the bank, think about my spending.

Thank goodness for Mint; I wasn’t following any kind of budget, and my bank account and my credit cards weren’t being reconciled. That is really bad. I needed to start thinking about my spending and about my future.

What kind of future do I want?

I haven’t been on a vacation in years. Last vacation was driving up the coast to San Francisco; we had an amazing Italian meal outside of Visalia (I think). That was 3 months after going to Italy for the first time. When my buddy mentioned my need for a vacation, all I could think about was my need to hold dear to my vacation time. I don’t know what I am saving it for, though. I have been fidgety and I think that this is the reason why.

I don’t know what I am living for.

Why am I waking up everyday? In some ways, I enjoy the sunshine, I enjoy the weather and living, existence and kisses and a good, strong, cabernet. But what is the point of it all?

Since I quit seminary, I have felt a bit aimless. I don’t know what it is that I want.

I mean, I know what I want. You know – meat, sex, red wine and good beer. Actually, an orgy of meat. Different animals roasted and fried – bacon, sausage, steaks, mutton, chicken legs and wings;I could almost die happy.

Actually, I want to be Chuck. Chuck is a character on a TV show of the same name, a Stanford (almost) grad with a great intellect and visual memory who receives a computer’s worth of information downloaded into his head via encoded images. He has the ability to recall based on visual or audio cues, and later, based on emotional cues. He is a nerdy guy.

He does extraordinary things for a mostly unextraordinary guy. That is what I want to be. The regular Joe who becomes the amazing James. I want to be more than me. I want to have a bigger story.

Maybe the wanting to be more than me isn’t something outside of me, maybe it is really being fully me. Rather than becoming someone else, maybe what my real desire is is to really, fully, and truly, to be me, with all my quirks and passions, and to let them go.

So what’s my story? Big. Adventure. Learning. Traveling. Knowing. Humility. That’s fun and makes for a good indie movie, but I want a bigger story – much bigger. I want an epic story.

How does this all fit together? I save money and time but I don’t know what I am saving it for. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with it when I get it. My budget includes everyday things, but little in the way of looking at the future, enjoying my time here and leaving something meaningful behind.

I am always looking out there somewhere, being overwhelmed, and then trying to forget. It’s like looking out at the stars, and when that gets overwhelming, staring at your feet. The purpose of looking up and looking down is to find the path between them, and I forgot that. You can look at your feet and then at the mountain, but when you find that path, you’ve only climbed that mountain. It is important, to be sure, but not where I want to stop.

I want to visit the stars. Star Visitors change the world – people know the names their names, and are inspired to go even further. I don’t know what my stars are, but I have to find them. I can’t be satisfied until I do.

New Blog: Davy Eats

I have combined my twin loves of food and me, and combined them into a blog called Davy Eats. It should be a lot of fun. Send me comments, and tell me, nay, yell at me about all the wonderful recipes and exciting new types of food I am missing out on.

Cheers.

I am feeling, giddy, elated, hungry, full, calm and satisfied all at the same time…

One of my favorite things to do is to watch passionate people. I love the Italians, the Portuguese, Latin Americans, and, yes, even the French.

Soft, and warm

I have been watching a show called “No Reservations”, in which our intrepid gastronome/Foodie/celebrity chef/ex-addict/savior of food from the bowels of mass produced disgusting glop/host takes us to regions far and fairly local, showing off the local cuisine. In America, that cuisine is always foreign and domestic; half-smoke “hot dogs” and raw meat Ethiopian-style in DC, to Azorian cuisine in, well, the Azores. It is all so beautiful. I love it.

I love cooking – I love the smell of fresh bread. I love the smell of garlic hitting the pan or the pot, roasting chicken, salmon on the grill, the smokiness of chorizo in a skillet with eggs, pancake batter sizzling in the pan, mussels with crusty sourdough, coffee and pastries, carne asada tacos. I love food. And I want to do it right.

So here goes: I am turning 30 in May, and I plan on having a blast on that day. I am not dreading turning 30 – on the contrary, I finally feel like I have a little bit of direction in my life, things that I am striving for, and I can’t wait to get to them. I plan on having the tasting menu at The French Laundry, an unapologetically extravagant expenditure that I may never do again. Truffles, seafood, meat, risotto, duck, 3 desserts – sound extravagant yet? And yet, I know I will be in the hands of a people who love food, and cook to make the customers happy. I am going to sit down, shut up, and do whatever the servers and chefs would have me do. I am in their hands. Their happy, happy hands.

No, I totally know about horcruxes and smoke monsters…

So, my recent life has included some interesting cultural experiences – I read through the entire “Harry Potter” series, and I have just finished watching season one and two of “Lost”. It’s kind of weird, but I feel like I am catching up to the rest of the world.

I miss a lot of cultural experiences like that. I only got into XBOX because my sister got one – once enveloped, I succumbed to the warm ooze of plasma fire and spent sniper-rifle shells. It was magical, and then “HALO 2″, and then the 360 came out…too much. I actually never bought one, but it was fun to play.

Then came some other crazes: the iPod. I bought my first iPod in 2005 – it was the one gig shuffle, about the size of a pack of gum.

Me want music!!!

That was pretty cool, even worth the effort of replacing it twice (under warranty) when it broke.

But that wasn’t enough…I had to get a Macbook – white glory.

No, really. I get it.

I fell in love with cooking, using fancy knives and cast iron cookware, and watching the Food Network taught me so much.

I love your sauce.

Cooking is something I try to keep up with; it’s hard, though, just cause of my schedule, but man do I miss the Food Network.

I also got into John Mayer a while ago, but I feel like I jumped on that bandwagon when the wagon was being hitched to the blues. I bought his trio album and then listened to “Room for Squares” – I love him almost as much as a good marinara. Anyway, he has this song called “3×5″, and one of the lyrics says

Didn’t have a camera by my side this time
Hoping I would see the world through both my eyes
Maybe I will tell you all about it when I’m
in the mood to lose my way
but let me say
You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes
it brought me back to life
You’ll be with me next time I go outside
NO more 3×5′s

What is it all about? I think I like those activities that can be shared – “Lost”, the latest movie or book craze, cooking, it’s all about connecting, about finding your tribe, about linking up with people who can experience something sublime and real in an act that may not be inherently meaningful.

Think about sports: what does it mean if the Dodgers win the NLCS and then win the World Series? It doesn’t change my paycheck, as Ice Cube once said. But you see people dressed in Dodger blue, you go to a game, you see the lights, the immaculately groomed field, the color of sunlight on Irish hills, glowing, calling, and inviting. I saw a Dodgers-Cubs game from the right field pavillion – it was amazing. I loved it.

I think the things that I fall in love with are transcendent, bigger than themselves, extractions from the condensed truth that we are social, and we find meaning in being with each other and being recognized for what we do – that is why actors and athletes will always make more money than surgeons and teachers: it is the awe factor, the largeness, the amazement factor.

Right, Giada?

You ever wanted to do something that didn’t make any sense?

You got your life figured out yet?

Oh, you do?

Huh.

Um, I do, too.

Pretty much. Except for some small details. Like career and stuff.

Someone asked me last Sunday, without thinking about money or income what I would like to do. I instantly said, “Professional Triathlete” and I was a little surprised by that. I think I have always wanted a career that wasn’t full of pressure, and that might sound weird to say, considering that you only make money if you finish in the top – that’s pressure, isn’t it? Yeah, but it is pressure you put on yourself, and even stronger than the pressure to finish, is the pressure to do well. That is competition. That is the best. You can always strive to better your time.

I like jobs where you are constantly figuring out how to do stuff. It’s fun. How do I explain this better? How do we organize this? What is the incentive to get this to work?

I also don’t like to get up early…maybe that is why I would love to sleep in, eat breakfast languidly, and then run, or bike, or lift, or swim, or read.

Ah, reading. And writing. I don’t write as much as I used to. That used to be so much fun. I need to do that again. I was published in Cal State’s literary journal – first time ever submitting. I should write more, since the world needs to hear my words.

Maybe what I need to hear is the world’s words. I am an island, but one in an archepelago, whose roots are connected deep below the surface. Maybe that is the thing that will make the most sense.

What the what!?!?!!

Williams Shatner is the best.

Ever.

WordPress won’t let me show you the full link at Hulu…but you can watch it here.

Flo-Ting, have you met Ina Funk?

What time is the discussion?

Hey y’all,

I haven’t posted in a while. I am still working out a bit; swimming, lifting, and biking. I haven’t been doing a lot of running lately, and I can’t say I miss it. I haven’t been rock climbing lately, either, and I do miss that.

I’m in a funk.

I have been trying to meet some prerequisites for a Industrial/Organizational Psych program at Cal State. I have to take a class called experimental psychology, an upper division class. I can actually take it at Cal State, if the instructor will sign my add-slip on the first day of class.

But here is the kicker: class meets M-W-F, from 12 – 1:10 pm, and there is a lab twice a week from 9 – 11:50 am. So in order to take the class and still work my 40, I will work on Monday from 2-6, Tuesday from 8 – 8, Wednesday from 2 – 8, Thursday from 8 – 8, and Friday from 8 – 11:30 and 2 – 6:30. I think that puts me at 40 hours, actually at 41. I was thinking of only working until 7 Tuesday through Thursday, putting me at 38 hours, and using vacation time. It only gives me an hour those days, but that hour will help immensely. Anyway, a screwy schedule, if I can pull it off.

Grad school seems really far away, and it seems to be taking a lot longer than I thought it would. It makes me doubt if I have what it takes, which is a common enough assessment I have made of myself.

There are days I just want to write, run, bike, and swim. Just be a professional triathlete – but you have to be good in order to do it. I don’t know that I am that good, but I don’t know. What to do?

There is a season for everything – so says the Teacher. A time to be born and die, laugh and cry, build and tear down, etc. Can I find contentment in this time? Yeah. There are a million good things going on that aren’t dependent on me being in a classroom right now. Focus on the good and use that as a launching pad to change the bad.

I want to buy a guitar I can bring to work; it would be cool to play on during breaks or lunch at work. Such a stress reliever.

I’m smiling, now, hopefully floating in the right direction.