Who Am I?

Who Am I?

They say you are only as sick as your secrets.  I try not to have any secrets today and I certainly do not hide the fact that five and a half years ago my life completely changed as I reached both a physical and spiritual bottom.  It was at this time that I faced the biggest crossroads anyone could ever face; change or die.

Breaking the number one cardinal rule of any 12 Step Program, I break my anonymity and say that my name is Rick and I am a recovering alcoholic.  This is neither the first and certainly not  the last time I will take this daring step of breaking my own anonymity as I have become comfortable enough over the last five years to do so willingly and without reservation.  I am proud of my journey, grateful for the path that has been set before me and in extreme debt to those who have shown me the way to a better life in sobriety.

While completely mindful and respectful of others anonymity, I choose to be open about my disease of addiction, my past, and most importantly my recovery. I choose to discuss it with anyone who may benefit from my experience, strength and hope.

October 27,2007 I was scared, alone and homeless.  I literally had nowhere to go following the ultimatum by my Mother to leave her house.  This tough love and admittedly one of the hardest things she has ever had to do set my reality in place and made me face the grave circumstances of my existence and the dire consequences of my actions.  May it be known here that this harsh action by my Mother was a saving grace and I am eternally grateful for her courage, dedication and love. You helped save my life Mom, thank you.

By a series of circumstances, divine intervention, a guiding light, little Baby Jesus or whatever you may

BillWDrBobwant to attribute it to, I ended up going to the west side of Dixie Highway in Pompano Beach, FL to a neighborhood that could certainly be classified as “The Hood”.  My last resort to find a place to stay took me to a halfway house for men in a neighborhood I had never been in nor thought I would ever venture into.  Sitting with the owner in his small yet neat and comfortable living room, with tears in my eyes I gave the short end of my life story practically begging this man to take me in. I quickly had the realization that my life had become completely unmanageable.  I had lost the battle, lost the war, and now I was surrendering and admitting defeat.  I could no longer continue living my life in the manner I had done for the past 35 years.  In that small living room, on the west side of Dixie Highway I sat; a beaten and broken man.

Once the formalities of the rules, expectations, etc were discussed and I was offered a bed, to which I readily agreed, this complete stranger I had met a mere 30 minutes earlier walked over to me, asked me stand and gave me the most sincere and loving hug I had ever received while he softly said, “Welcome Home”.

Home it was.  I lived in this amazing place with 13 other men who were just like me, at a crossroads, for the next eighteen and a half months.  Some of them made it, changed their lives, stayed sober. Most of them did not.  It’s the nature of the beast called addiction. I learned so much about myself and mostly of who I did not want to be.  I learned to live with other people and accept a whole cast of characters I had never been exposed to before.  I was taught the true meaning of trust and friendship.  I was taught how to ask for help, how to humble myself and most importantly how to be honest.  The lessons were life changing and continue to affect my life today in purely positive ways.

Among one of the toughest and most rewarding experiences I had at this place was being asked the very simple question “Who are You?”  The search for this answer continues to this day as it still eludes me to a certain point.  Here’s how it happened.  Having been a resident for a few months and starting to get my life back on track I became frustrated, disillusioned and complacent on where my life had ended up.  I was 35 years old, had nothing, and I was working as a cashier at a gas station.  My fancy sports car had been repossessed and my  Harley soon followed.  A college graduate, professional salesman, business owner, home owner, earning over 6 figures a few years earlier, my life had come to this as a result of an addiction to booze. I would ride a bicycle, a train and a bus to get to work. What the hell had happened?

Seeing my restlessness and irritability the man who had welcomed me home a few months earlier brought me back into his living room, slide05-anxious-manasked me to take a seat and asked me what was going through my mind.  After I purged a ton of nonsense solely fueled by selfishness and self-centeredness this man looked at me and simply asked me, “Who are you?”  As I began to give him my list of accomplishments, where I had worked and what I had done in my life he said “Stop.  Not a resume.  Who are you?”

I started again.  I told him how I was a son, a father of two girls, an only child, “Stop” he said again sternly.  “Who are you?”  I looked at his face, in his eyes, for what seemed like an eternity and could not answer this question.  I had absolutely no idea who I was.  Bewildered I got up and walked out.  How was this possible?

As my journey into a new way of life continued I started to learn who I had been and certainly who I didn’t want to be.  Through work on my recovery, with guidance and most important willingness to change I began to realize that I certainly wasn’t who I erroneously believed I was.  I was a liar, a cheat and a thief whole stole the most valuable things anyone can steal; love and trust.  I was an egomaniac, as ironic as it may seem, with ridiculously low self-esteem.  I was a master manipulator and a master of disguise.  A chameleon who could blend into any situation playing the ultimate Oscar worthy acting role.  I was different things to different people in different situations.  I morphed and became, or acted like, the person I thought you wanted me to be.  Sincerity was foreign to me and non-existent in my life. Few things mattered to me and I was merely existing rather than living. I was a lost soul who couldn’t answer the very simple question of who he was.

I knew things had to change and the only way for that to happen was to take action.  I admit it, I despise working.  The mere thought of going to a job every single day, doing meaningless tasks for a paycheck and spending my free time cleaning, doing laundry, paying bills, and sleeping creates a repulsive feeling in my stomach.  I cannot call that living, it is merely existing.  We work to pay our bills, we pay our bills to exist, we exist to be able to work.  I needed more.  I needed to start living and my favorite line from the movie Shawshank Redemption came to mind, “Either get living or get busy dying”.  I totally took this to heart and for the first time in my life I was going to get busy living.

My life revolved around recovery and staying sober.  I ate, slept, breathed recovery.  There was no other choice.  As I often say I know that without a doubt I have another relapse or run left in me, but with certainty I also know I don’t have another recovery left.  This path I am on is a one way street.  Failure is a very real possibility but not an option.  I will not face another crossroads again and while the journey has been nothing short of miraculous it isn’t one I wish to start from the beginning again.

I started working at a drug and alcohol treatment center with a detox and 30 day inpatient residential program close to my 2 year sober anniversary.  I began working as a BHT or Behavioral Health Technician which is really a fancy name for low paid babysitter.  “Observe and Report” were among my basic duties.  I can romanticize the position and claim that I was responsible for patient safety, working alongside nurses and doctors in the crucial daily operations of a 54 bed facility.  While part of this is true, the reality is that we did head counts and tried to get patients to where they were supposed to be.  Techs are glorified gophers who truthfully are way underpaid and don’t get enough credit for what they do.  They truly are essential for the smooth operation of any treatment center as menial as the job may seem.

It was here, as a BHT, that I began to learn the difference between existing and living.  For $10.50 an hour I could have taken the attitude of simply going to work, doing the bare minimum, punching in and out at the assigned times and going home.  Existing.  However, something unexpected and awesome happened.  I made a connection with the patients, I saw myself in their faces, I was able to feel their pain and discomfort, I could relate to everything they were going through and I could genuinely celebrate their successes.  I found myself looking forward to going to work, I began to develop a passion for what I did, as simple as it may have been, I began to live.

I quickly found that with humility, sincerity and love for others I was enjoying my work.  It stopped being a job and it became my purpose.  There were many trying and frustrating days.  There were days I couldn’t wait to go home.  There were days where I questioned why I was putting so much of an effort into something that seemed pointless.  Yet right when I was ready to revert to my old ways of indifference and not caring about anything something would happen that would recharge me, inspire me and fuel me to keep going. It was often as simple as a patient saying “thank you” or asking me for a hug.  I was making a difference in people’s lives, I was offering hope and love in the same manner it had been offered to me in that living room by a complete stranger at a halfway house in the hood. My only reward the knowledge that I had helped another human being.

I started to look at the other techs that worked with me and I began to see that they too were doing the same thing.  Yes, there were some who hated their job and could have cared less, but the majority of the people who worked there shared the same commitment and passion that I was starting to develop.  I began to observe the more seasoned techs and learned from them.  I wanted to have the ease and comfort in reaching out to the patients that they had.  I wanted to follow their example.  I learned that the techs were truly amazing and caring human beings who worked at this facility for the mere reason of offering love, hope and caring.  What an incredible group of people I have had the honor of working with.

There have been some heartbreaking days.  I remember a young lady in her mid 20’s, a heroin addict, who came in as one of the angriest people I had ever met.  In 30 days this bitter, rebellious scared little girl changed and became a radiant, smiling, kind, generous woman who was full of life, who was full of hope and was making plans for her future.  The classic example of the worm who became the butterfly.  She was going to make it.  In her 5th rehab, this time it was going to be different.  She was going to follow the suggestions and continue her life in recovery.  I was so proud and so full of hope for this beautiful woman who became an inspiration to many in her short time at our facility.  We received a phone-call from her mother two weeks after she completed and left treatment.  She was found dead of a heroin overdose. That one hurt.  It hurt real bad.  But rather than discouraging me, or making me wonder if my efforts were worth it, it revitalized and recharged me to go even stronger.  I had to keep going and not allow this tragedy to discourage me from continuing to try to help others.  After all, I was finding my passion, my purpose, my meaning and who I was.

After a year and a half of working at this facility I was transferred to a desk job with different responsibilities.  Literally in a closet, my office consisted of a safe used to keep patient cash, Id’s and credit cards which also doubled as my desk.  I would have to open the safe in the mornings so I could scoot my legs inside.  Behind me was a large file cabinet with additional patient belongings and storage shelfs above the safe for paperwork, office supplies and anything else that required safe keeping.  The area was so small that it was impossible to rotate a full 360 degrees in my small office chair as the walls, safe and file cabinet prohibited me from doing so.  It was the greatest office I have ever had and I proudly walked in it every single day.  I was able to see beyond the cramped closet, the four walls that almost seemed to be closing in on you, the lack of air circulation (there was no A/C vent in the closet) and saw the significance behind my tiny office.

My closet, not really worthy of being called an office, was a symbol of trust, of progress, of hard work.  I had proven myself to my boss as someone who was honest, dependable and could get the job done.  I was trusted with every patients belongings including credit cards, checks, cash, jewelry, etc.  I was only one of two people in our entire facility to have access to the safe; I had to, it was my desk!  This new position was truly representative of the changes I had made in my life.  I had gone from unemployable, untrustworthy and certainly not dependable just a few years earlier at the peak of my addiction, to someone who could be given great responsibilities and be held accountable.  There were times I screwed up royally and while my first reaction was to lie my way out of it or make excuses, my new-found/taught way of thinking made me tell the truth regardless of the repercussions.  I was truly enjoying my new outlook, my new demeanor, my new way of conducting myself in a professional setting.  This experience and what it meant further added to what would become my answer to the question, “Who Are You?”

Today, approaching the ripe age of 41 and God willing 6 years sober, I can begin to answer the infamous question.  Clearly I have defined Who I Am Not.  I am not who I thought I was or pretended to be.  I am not that scared, lost 35-year-old child with no friends or family to turn to for support.  I am not a pitiful active alcoholic who has lost all sense of reality.  I am not a liar, a cheat or a thief.

So “Who Am I?”  Following one of the basic principles that was instilled in me I can summarize it the best possible way.  I am a spiritual, sober man who tries on a daily basis to make a positive impact on someone else’s life for the mere motivation of helping another human being. I am someone who attempts to live their life with meaning, passion and purpose.  The best part is, I’m OK with that today.

Who Are You?

Do you or someone you know need help with addiction issues?  Send me a confidential message and I will provide a list of resources and assist you in finding help.

Costa Rica 2012

Pura Vida!

A lone traveler’s adventure in Costa Rica

“Pura Vida”.  The literal translation from Spanish to English is “Pure Life”.  In Costa Rica it is used as a greeting, a farewell and to express pleasure.  I wouldn’t really understand the true meaning and power of these words until I could fully process my adventure in Costa Rica.  Five days in a foreign country and alone; how much trouble could I get into?

My trip was all about soul searching.  Having never travelled alone for pleasure I was certainly leaving my comfort zone.  I am rarely alone.  I work 8 hours a day in a treatment center with 50 patients and more than 30 employees.  I live with a roommate I actually spend time with.  I socialize with friends on average four nights per week.  Could I really stand being by myself for five days? Would loneliness, fear, uncertainty and boredom overcome me?  I was about to find out.

Day one found me boarding a flight from Fort Lauderdale to the Capitol City of San Jose where I would spend my first night in Costa Rica.  I had researched the world famous Hotel Del Rey in the heart of the city and thought this would be the perfect place to begin.  In typical Latin fashion the haggling and negotiating began as soon as I walked out of the airport and looked for a taxi.  Committing the cardinal sin which I had been warned about in the numerous travel books I read prior to my trip, I hired an unofficial, unregulated, unlicensed “pirata” taxi to drive me the 30 minutes to my hotel. While the ride was fine and went without incident, I was here to experience new things and I honestly felt like somewhat of a rebellious adventurer doing the exact opposite of what I had been told to do.

Upon entering the Del Rey, I was astounded at the numerous women patiently waiting in the lobby for a “date”.  Was this a hotel or a brothel?  Arriving at 3pm on a Sunday I was amazed at all the gorgeous young ladies, dressed in their “Sunday Best” waiting to meet a generous gentleman.  Understand, prostitution in Costa Rica is perfectly legal, accepted and readily available at The Hotel Del Rey….enough said.

The real adventure of my trip would involve travelling three hours out of the city to the small town of La Fortuna de San Carlos, population 1,500 and home to Arenal Volcano, the most active volcano in Costa Rica and according to some, the third most active in the world.  Wanting to save time I opted to take a local airline from San Jose to La Fortuna.  Nature Air would prove to be an adventure within itself.  Arriving at a regional airport on the outskirts of San Jose I boarded a single engine twelve seater plane for the 30 minute flight.

Sitting just behind the pilots I was afforded an amazing view out the front window and a glimpse as to what it takes to keep an airplane in the air.  Almost a full flight, it seemed as though I was the only one enjoying the experience based on my fellow passengers’ comments. Ironically, I was also the only passenger travelling alone.  One of my favorites was once we landed the lady sitting diagonally from me telling her husband with great conviction, “We’re driving back”.  Priceless!

Landing in La Fortuna was certainly primitive at best.  A gravel runway carved in between corn fields made for an interesting landing. The only employee at the airport had many responsibilities including ground crew, baggage handler, bartender to the small bar within the airport, airport tax collector and taxi coordinator. The airport was located on private land owned by a local who charged $7.00 per person for landing rights on his farm payable as soon as you walked away from the airplane.  You were told you would be charged another $7.00 for take-off rights once it was time to fly back to San Jose.  You have to love Latin America!

A 20 minute taxi ride to my hotel would give me the first glimpse of La Fortuna where I would be exploring, living, and looking for this “Pura Vida” thing for the next 3 days.  With a lot of agricultural land on the outskirts of town, the center of this small and humble city is concentrated around the only church and community park.  Clearly this was a town built and surviving on tourism as the majority of businesses and shops catered to just that.  Numerous souvenir shops and tourism companies made up “downtown” complete with a Burger King which appeared ridiculously out of place.

La Fortuna offers accommodations for every desire and budget.  A few weeks prior to my trip Will Smith and an entire LA film crew stayed at The Springs Resort while shooting scenes for a movie.  A luxurious hotel/resort costing approximately $500.00 per night, these accommodations were certainly not in my budget nor part of the experience I wanted to have.  I chose the much more bare-bones location of the Miradas Arenal Hotel. Among the selling points on their website is the fact that their showers have hot water.  I knew I was in for some very rustic accommodations and exactly what I wanted this leg of my trip to be all about.  Their website boasted of magnificent views of Volcano Arenal and I was not disappointed.

Owned by a family who live on-site in a modern family residence, the hotel consists of bungalows or cottages built throughout this fairly large property that also functions as an agricultural farm.  Modest, simple and fairly secluded accommodations made for a very relaxed and low key stay.  This would be my “base camp” for the next three days and looking down directly at me while I laid in bed looking out the open terrace was the majestic Arenal Volcano whose peak disappeared into the clouds in the sky above.

My first day in my new surroundings was spent simply in reflection and thought.  I couldn’t believe I was actually here.  The craziness of the Del Rey and the two charming sisters I had met, hardly gave me any time of solitude but here in La Fortuna the rain forest air, gentle breezes and nature’s tranquility were conducive to introspective reflection.  I spent hours sitting on the back terrace looking at the volcano, the trees and listening to the sounds of animals I couldn’t recognize.  I thought about the family that lived on this property and wondered if they enjoyed and appreciated the beauty that surrounded them as much as I was currently doing. If you ever doubted the existence of a Higher Power, this place would surely convince you otherwise.  As far as the eye could see, everything was just ridiculously perfect, in complete balance and ultimate harmony. There was absolutely no denying the presence and power of God in this spectacular place.  This truly was part of a Spiritual Experience and I believe I was starting to understand “Pura Vida”.

To know me, is to know that I have absolutely no problem sleeping.  I am famous or perhaps notorious for my daily naps.  No emergency can occur between 5 – 7 pm as this is when I am in my deepest slumber.  My friends and family know better than to count on me during this two hour period.  My naps are part of my daily routine in very much the same way that brushing my teeth and eating a meal is as well. With that said, my first night sleeping in my tiny bungalow in the middle of the rain forest was some of the best sleep I had experienced in years.  Amazing what some fresh mountain air can do.

Day two would take me to SkyTrek Adventures for an incredible adventure of Zip Lining through the rain forest.  After a 45 minute bus ride through dirt and gravel roads up the mountain, the final ascend to the top would be in an open air gondola where the views of the rain forest, the volcano and Lake Arenal were purely spectacular. Nearly a 25 minute gondola ride to the top, my fellow zip liners and I clearly questioned what we were getting into.  In full safety gear including helmet, gloves, and harness we resembled cave explorers more so than zip lining amateurs.  Upon reaching the top platform we were given a brief safety lecture and instructed on the proper techniques that we would use on the nearly two mile, eight line trek downward.  Several platforms along the way would give us a necessary break and the opportunity to talk to our fellow adventurers about the experience thus far.  Again, I was the only lone traveler amongst a group of about 17 yet found the camaraderie we shared unique. In dramatic fashion, you could say that we were all cheating death. We were survivors! At every platform we would discuss the previous zip and marvel at the distance, speed and scenery we had just experienced.

I am not a fan of heights. Frankly, I’m downright scared.  I have learned that in reality I am not scared of heights, but rather of falling.  The incredible thing about my Zip Lining adventure is that I felt completely relaxed, safe and at ease. At nearly 3,000 feet above sea level you would think that fear would take over but this was exactly why I had come to Costa Rica; for the adventure.  With the scenery surrounding me, the only sound being that of the pulley screaming down the zip line, and a complete sense of a spiritual existence, I didn’t want this experience to end.  This was indeed the closest I had ever come to flying free like a bird and truly an indescribable feeling.  Flying through the air, attached to a single wire above your head in the middle of the Costa Rican Rain Forest is the most freeing thing I have ever done.  Without a doubt, this was Pura Vida.

By the time we went through all eight zip lines and reached the bottom I was exhausted.  While there had been casual conversation with my other adventurers, I remained mostly to myself trying to absorb the whole experience.  I didn’t want to be distracted by idle chatter or frivolous attempts at carrying on conversations.  I had a huge desire to take everything in, focus on the experience and allow the feelings that would come naturally to surface without interference.  Luckily I was able to do just that and concentrate on nature’s majestic beauty which engulfed me.

Returning to my small bungalow I was drained both physically and emotionally.  At approximately 5pm I laid my head down for one of my famous naps not to awaken again until the following morning.  This truly had been a once in a lifetime experience.

My third and last full day in La Fortuna would find me white water rafting on the Balsa San Carlos River. I honestly did not expect to enjoy this adventure as much as I did, but then again when you are surrounded with such spectacular scenery, tranquil ambience and amazing peace it is hard not to.  There were those exhilarating ra

pids where it seemed we were paddling for our survival, but the spots in which the gentle currents allowed us to gingerly flow down the river where absolutely amazing.  While I was on a raft with 5 other people plus our fearless guide, hardly a word was spoken amongst us.

There was too much to absorb, too much to see, too much to take in.  Nature’s “voice” consisting of the sounds of the flowing river, the gentle breeze passing through the trees and the animal inhabitants made for some of the most peaceful and serene music I have ever heard. 

Halfway through our trip we stopped along the river bank where our guides and the other rafts in our group convened giving us the opportunity to enjoy some dry time on land to rest and partake in some freshly sliced fruit prepared by our hosts. Our guides, native Costa Rican’s were incredibly proud of their country, truly seemed to enjoy their job as river guides and were more than willing to share with us some history and interesting facts about Costa Rica and the picturesque scene that surrounded us. They shared what life was like in their beautiful country; a peaceful, quite and simple existence based on family, faith, hard work, and humility with Pura Vida at its central core!  Yes, I learned that to Tican’s enjoying the simple life was of utmost importance. I was fascinated as I listened to their detail of a different way of life. I had travelled to escape from the pressures of my own job and life, to spend some time resting and relaxing, enjoying nature and the simpler things.  These men lived it on a daily basis.  To a certain degree I was envious of this simpler way of life and momentarily considered staying in Costa Rica and becoming a river guide.  Yes, a boy can dream.

Our day ended by stopping at a roadside restaurant for lunch where I enjoyed some of the best home cooked chicken and rice I have ever had.  It was the perfect ending to an amazing day out on the river.  It was time to head back to the sanctuary and silence of my bungalow where my solitude, would once again allow me to reflect on the day’s activities and the reasons why I had embarked on this trek.

Having purposely travelled light and with minimal necessities my last night was hardly spent packing for my flight back to San Jose. My luggage consisted of a carry-on bag with a shoulder strap, containing mini versions of shampoo and toothpaste supplying me with just enough for five days.  My clothing, although exactly what I needed to be in the rain forest, was bare minimum and my only luxuries were my camera, IPod and headphones.  I was packed and ready to leave the next morning in under 5 minutes.  The last few hours of daylight in my bungalow were spent out on the porch looking up at my incredible volcano making a promise to return again soon. As darkness approached the volcano and the rain forest that surrounded it disappeared into the night leaving me with only the sounds of critters going about their nocturnal activities. The magnitude of stars in the sky were something like I had never seen before and while their light wasn’t significant enough to be bothersome, they clearly made a presence and let me know how truly infinite our universe really is.   The temperature cooled, as it normally did during the evening hours, and I was ready to sleep in this tranquil peace of paradise for one last time.

The following morning after eating a home cooked breakfast prepared by my hosts and served in their poolside cabana I was ready to head to the landing strip and my brief flight back to San Jose.  I had some extra time before having to leave and used the opportunity to walk around the property I had called home for the past three days.  I wanted to absorb this place one last time.  I wanted to make mental notes of everything, make sure I missed nothing and spend my last hours in reflection and thought.  I had done a lot of that in the last three days and wasn’t ready for it to end.  Almost as if he knew I was leaving, the family dog, clearly a mixed breed mutt and usually shy and reclusive, followed me on my walk.  I really didn’t want to leave this peace and tranquility, but as they say all good things must come to an end.

I arrived back at the rustic landing strip with 30 minutes prior to departure.  Other than the caretaker of the air field who readily collected my $7.00 I was the only other person at the airport thus far.  Starting a conversation with the only other soul in this barren airfield, my new friend Miguel offered me some food he had cooked up in the small kitchen behind the airport bar.  Rice and black beans, fried plantains and a delicious chicken certainly hit the spot as I waited for the plane to arrive.  Growing concerned that I was still the only passenger present I asked my new friend if the flight was on time.  He informed me that it was, and that I was the only passenger on this leg of the trip.  Yes, I would be flying alone.  You can’t make this stuff up.  I had my own private plane for my flight back to San Jose.  I most definitely felt like a rock star!  Miguel informed me that the airline had waited to see if I showed up at the airport before sending the plane from San Jose and it was currently on the way.  This was just awesome!

Arriving back in San Jose I took a scenic ride back to my hotel where I would spend my last evening in Costa Rica.  Wanting to experience as much as I could, I opted to stay at a different hotel than my previous visit to the Del Rey.  La Amistad would be my pit-stop prior to returning to the US the following morning.  Certainly different from the Del Rey, this place billed as a “Boutique Hotel” was anything but.  Located next to a railroad track the city noise and lack of serenity were certainly a drastic change from my last three days.  Having had enough solitude in my mountain bungalow I ventured down to the hotel lobby where I met a fellow traveler from Australia.  A research scientist who had recently sold his business for a hefty profit, he had come to Costa Rica to spend a small fortune celebrating his financial success. His research and wealth had been conducted in the area of drug addiction and we spent several hours in fascinating conversation on the subject matter.  He would give me the scientific side, while I discussed the psychological and treatment side.  This was truly the last thing I expected to do in the middle of a hotel lobby in Costa Rica and found the whole experience somewhat surreal.  After several hours of conversation our male instincts kicked in and we took a cab ride to the Del Rey to enjoy a change of scenery and continue with stimulation of another kind.

My trip had finally come to an end and it was time to head home.  I was fortunate enough to be the lucky bastard to be sitting next to the only crying infant on the plane headed back to The States, and I have never praised Steve Jobs as much as I did during that flight.  Drowning out the screams of the two year old next to me, my IPod became my best friend.  Setting my playlist at “Meditation” I lost myself in the sounds coming through my headphones, my thoughts and my tranquility.  Had I found what “Pura Vida” really meant?  I had met a simple, humble people who exuded happiness and a joy for life.  I had been treated not as a guest in a foreign country, but as a long time friend.  I was taught that sometimes the simplest things in life are the best.  I learned how to disconnect from modern technology and pay attention to the world around me.  I realized that spending quiet time with me is actually a reward within itself.  I laughed, I learned, I lived…..I indeed experienced Pura Vida.

**To view more images from my trip, click the following link**

Costa Rica Album

NOT a Bucket List

Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans.

John Lennon

Ever since I saw the movie “The Bucket List” I have constantly thought about all of the things I want to do before I move on to greener pastures; ok before I die.  A generally positive person, the thought of a “To Do” list prior to dying has struck me as somewhat morbid and disturbing.

I make it no secret that four and a half years ago I faced a life altering choice; a crossroads if you will.  I had but two simple alternatives.  Continue on my current path, the easier softer way of the past twenty years and die, or change everything I knew and face the unknown on the basis of hope, faith and a simple promise that life would be better. Thank God I made the right choice; the choice to change and really start living a life with meaning and purpose.

With that said, I refuse to create a Bucket List.  I prefer to create a Living List.  I have done some pretty fun things in the last 4 ½ years, but I am about to embark on what I hope will be the adventure of a lifetime.  (At least until I tackle the next thing on the list!)  I have travelled extensively in my life, with family, for business, with friends.  I have never travelled purely for pleasure on my own and this Sunday I will be boarding a plane headed for Costa Rica.  On my own, with no itinerary, knowing no one at the place I am going.  While some can’t understand this desire of adventure I have to travel alone, others are surprised that I am actually doing it.  What could I possibly do in a foreign country for 5 days all alone?  This, my friends, is what is so exciting to me.  I can only imagine the adventure that waits.  Stay tuned….



I don’t pretend to be something I am not. Here are my basic demographics:

  • heterosexual male
  • 39 years old (almost)
  • divorced twice
  • currently single
  • college educated
  • father of two beautiful daughters

In other words, I believe to be the typical American male minus the dog and the white picket fence. If I stood before you and didn’t utter a word I honestly believe your interpretation would be that of a serious, yet casual, typical middle aged man with some type of career along with being a responsible and productive member of society. It has been said by many that my salt & pepper hair make me look intriguing and distinguished. How easily looks can deceive.

I remember when my daughters were born I couldn’t wait for them to grow up. I was not good with babies back then. I wanted so badly for my girls to say their first words and take their first steps. I couldn’t wait for them to be potty trained so I could stop coming up with excuses to NOT change poopy diapers. I wanted to be the proud Daddy walking his daughter to her class on the first day of Kindergarten. There were so many other things I looked forward to, simply out of my own selfishness and ignorance, that if I could I would have turned the time clock instantly forward about 10 years. Today I am the father of two amazing teenage girls, but God how I wish I could have my babies back again. (This dilemma of mine may be subject of a future post!)

This “rush to grow up” was not exclusive to my daughters as I too wanted so badly to grow up and become the man I thought I wanted to be. Married at age 24 I felt my timeline was limited. If I had to describe it, I would say my vision of my future self was a combination of Ward Cleaver, Heathcliff Huxtable, Danny Tanner, and Tim Taylor with a slight twist of Archie Bunker. Mix them all together, throw in the suaveness and intelligence of Captain Picard and you have one bad ass Dad!!!

As my daughters rushed to grow up, so did I. I started molding a successful career, incurred a mortgage payment and two car payments (a minivan would NEVER be in my driveway). I provided health insurance for my family, set-up investment/retirement accounts, purchased a large life insurance policy for my family’s benefit in the event of my untimely death, and started networking with local business leaders at monthly Chamber of Commerce breakfasts. I was on my way…..to misery and self destruction.

Two marriages later, combined with countless lies, broken promises and trashed friendships, I couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. I was fighting for survival amidst the turmoil that not only surrounded me, but I also invited and welcomed into my existence. The thought of just lying down and calling it quits did run through my mind on several occasions, yet Something always kept pulling me back. In January 2007 what was left of my life, or lack thereof, came crashing down and for the first time I faced a crossroad with two very different and drastic paths. I had a choice to make and both alternatives scared the daylights out of me. The interesting thing is that I had to go through a complete metamorphosis, which some call a “psychic change” and completely evolve in the way I saw things. I had to learn to live….I had to learn and discover who I was.

The path I chose that of discovery, growth, change, self-reflection, spirituality and rebuilding has not been an easy one. This bumpy road has been full of fear, hurt, revelations, forgiveness and the dredging of memories I had rather just forgotten, but the truth is that I am incredibly blessed and living a life TODAY beyond my wildest dreams. So does this mean I have grown up? I suggest the result is just the opposite.

“Serious, casual, middle aged, and a responsible and productive member of society” that is what I truly believe and described as the opinion a perfect stranger would have of me at first glance and I would argue that assessment is almost entirely wrong! The only accurate information I see is “casual and middle aged” other than that I am the exact opposite.

I cannot have a day without humor. I cannot be with my family or friends and not laugh. Most who really know me consider me the clown of the group. I am not a comedian or the court jester. As opposed to my earlier days, I am not someone desperately seeking attention. I am simply a casual, middle aged man who loves to laugh and have fun. I have not one but two pairs of Superman underwear that I wear on a regular basis. I have worn them to work, to the doctor, to a costume party, and occasionally wear them to bed. I was once intimate with a woman for the first time and was wearing my “Man of Steel” undies. I will almost do anything I am asked if I believe it will bring a smile or a laugh to someone. I have dressed as Spiderman at a 3 year olds birthday party and slid down a waterslide. I have no shame in acting like a gay man for the simple laughter it may bring. I once pretended to be on a covert military rescue mission when I picked up my roommate at his job. I often answer my phone “Dominos Pizza”. I will make fun of myself and allow others to do so as well if it is in jest and good spirits. I take pleasure in going out of my way to make someone laugh. I find farts ridiculously funny. I heard “Laughter is the Best Medicine” for me, it’s a way of life. Humor is a key element in my life. I don’t just walk into a room….I make an entrance with the simple hopes that someone, anyone, will find it funny. I often fail miserably, but my genuineness in my motivation encourages me to do it again, and again, and again. Laughing and occasionally playing the fool keeps me young.

Do I get angry, sad, scared, and frustrated? Like the best of them! Yet, I can honestly say that the majority of my days are happy and filled with laughs. I’m a goofball and proud of it. I can be serious when the occasion calls for it; funerals and dentist appointments. The rest of the time I am happy being me and laughing every chance I get. Those dark and dismal days of my past are now humorous as most importantly is the ability to laugh at yourself. Yet they remain stark reminders of the place I was and one I hope to never visit again.

Today I am working towards a new career completely different to what I was doing before. A rewarding career, where the money may not be the greatest but the changes you can make in people’s lives are immeasurable. Today I rent instead of own, and I drive a 5 year old car with hubcaps instead of rims. I have cloth seats rather than leather. It’s the greatest car I have ever owned. Today I look at my daughters and want them to stay exactly where they are….raging hormones, moodiness and all. Today I don’t want to grow up regardless of what the age calendar says. Today, for the first time ever I am not only having fun and enjoying life, but most importantly I can look in the mirror and I am happy with the image I see looking back at me. I guess I AM growing up.

Singers, Dancers, and Musicians

Latin people are historically known as incredible dancers, singers, and musicians along with possessing many other both positive and negative traits.  For the purposes of this BLOG entry, we’ll focus solely on the dancing, singing and musical aspect of this wonderful culture. A proper disclaimer at this point would be that I was born in South America and lived there until my family moved to The States when I was 8.  My Father, a true Catalonian, was from Spain; my Mother a mixture of American, Irish & Trinidadian.  Together they created the melting pot that I am today.

My earliest recollection of a Latin musician comes in the form of old re-runs of “I Love Lucy” where invariably Ricky (played by Desi Arnaz) would utter the line…”Lucy, jew have a lot esplainin’ to do!”  As my musical horizons expanded and I grew, I became exposed to other Latin talents as Jose Feliciano, Santana, Julio Iglesias, and “El Puma”.  More contemporary and certainly readily recognizable Latin artists include Selena, Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, Enrique Iglesias, Shakira and Marc Anthony. 

In all honesty I am the farthest thing from a typical Latin male.  Growing up in the good ol’ US of A, my musical taste leans towards AC/DC, Journey, The Rolling Stones, Jimmy Buffett and the occasional Billy Joel.  Regardless, you would think being the melting pot that I am, I would have inherited some kind of musical genius from my Latin ancestors.  Never mind the genius, I would have settled with some simple musical talent.  The ability to carry a tune, is that too much to ask?  So since step 1 of any 12 step program is honesty, I humble myself and admit that I have absolutely no musical talent what-so-ever.  I don’t sing, I don’t dance, and I don’t play a musical instrument.  The extent of my musical “genius” is downloading a song from the internet and burning it on a CD to joyfully play in my car at a later time.  Life can be so cruel.

Back in October of 2010, a new neighborhood spot opened up called AWA NA KAVA (in the heart of Fort Lauderdale) From the rumor-ville I hear this awesome little town Kava Bar will be reviewed on FatFreddySays.com shortly!  Yet, as always….I digress.  Awa Na Kava started hosting open mic nights on Sundays and as a faithful and loyal patron I was and am privileged to witness music magic happen every Sunday by relative amateurs combined with semi-professionals. 

Indulge me for a brief moment and go back to the 5th grade with me. Enrolled at American Heritage School in Plantation, Florida I guess my Latin roots came-a-calling.  I joined the middle school band and decided I was going to play the trumpet.   On my second day I realized that the instrument that was going to make me famous was clearly a lot more difficult than I had originally thought.  On the night of our first band concert I was completely unprepared, didn’t know the music, couldn’t play the notes, hadn’t practiced but did an amazing job of simulating and pretending to play along with the rest of the orchestra while not a single note emerged out of my horn. My trumpet playing pantomime was so convincing that at the end of the evening’s performance my parents, with gleaming and proud eyes, told me I had done a wonderful job and could clearly see a future for me in the brass section of any renowned orchestra. This night would prove to be the first of many performances where my acting skills would certainly outshine my musical talents. 

The trumpet was quickly given up, followed by brief attempts at the drums, percussion, and the saxophone.  All of my musical instrument attempts had the same result; utter frustration, lack of dedication, discipline & practice and eventual surrender.  Yet my musical endeavors weren’t over…….oh no…..music was in my blood!

The whole instrument thing wasn’t working, but in order to honor my heritage I had to continue on my music quest.  A moment of brilliance came to me and I decided to trade the orchestra for the CHORUS.  It was 7th grade and I was ready to sing!  Tenor, soprano, bass, it really didn’t matter.  I just wanted to be a star!  (My selfishness and self-seeking started at a very early age.)  Long story short, I was asked not to come back the following year for various reasons.  The chorus would not be an option for me as I was not welcomed.  Acting would come next, but that is subject for another post.  By this time, at the tender age of 13 or 14 my musical career was over.  I couldn’t help but feel like I had let my ancestors down.  That “musical” gene seemed to skip me and left me with a musically deaf ear, no talent, let alone any ability.

When open mic started at Awa Na Kava I was somewhat hesitant and unsure as to what to expect.  Of course I was biased in my own abilities, or lack thereof, and figured that listening to a group of people playing instruments and singing, who had never practiced or played together, could not end well.  I was astonished at the incredible results I witnessed.

Truthfully, the first few attempts were not the greatest, but as simply a bystander the fact that I could actually recognize a song that was being played amazed me.  I saw one guy play acoustic guitar rather well, then sing, then hop on the drums and masterfully play with incredible ease.  I was truly impressed.  As the “Sunday Night Jams” continued this group of musicians became increasingly more synchronized and amazingly good.  Every Sunday I sat at my usual stool and watched with great admiration as this talented group of individuals played some great music together.    

Based on my limited and what could be called “traumatic” musical experience in my early days, I sit in awe and watch these guys make magic together.  I certainly do not intend to sound melodramatic when I say “magic” but the knowledge, dedication, and talent I witness is inspiring.  I witness not only solid musical abilities but also a passion and enjoyment rarely seen in other venues.  These individuals perform not for fame or money, not for recognition or star status but simply for the pure enjoyment and love for the art.  I have been present when there were only two patrons present and these men played with as much heart and passion to rival any Pop-Star playing a sold out arena.

I am truly blessed.  I am part of a group of people who on a weekly basis get a chance to express their creativity, share their talent and inspire people like myself.  I consider myself part of this group because although I don’t sing, dance or play, I can sit back and admire these men for what they are…..true artists.  With an eclectic group of people, other talents have emerged as well.  We have photographers, videographers, t-shirt artists and producers to name a few.  Such is the talent present during these Sunday Night Jam Sessions, that two members of the group have collaborated and have produced, performed, recorded and published a song now available on ITunes. (Search for WoCo, Planet Pretty Girl)    

If you are ever in the Fort Lauderdale area, I encourage you to visit Awa Na Kava, located on the SW Corner of Oakland Park Boulevard and Bayview Drive near the beach.  They are open Tuesday-Sunday 6pm until 2am.  Open mic nights are every Sunday, Open Karaoke on Wednesdays. I’ll be the guy sitting on the stool watching with awe and amazement. Hope to see you there!

A Trip to our Nation’s Capitol – DC through the eyes of a 13 year old.

I originally wanted to write a wonderful recount of my recent trip to DC with my oldest daughter and her 8th grade class through HER eyes.  I was curious to know what she would think of a city with so much history behind it.  What would the experience of travelling with her father on a momentous journey look like for a 13 year old girl?  In my poetic mind, or perhaps narcissistically thinking, our six day voyage would be one of wonderful amazement and discovery combined with a renowned sense of patriotism and honor for this amazing country we live in. This would be a father-daughter bonding experience like no other.  In all honesty, I thought that by the time the trip was over the child would look into my proud & teary eyes and say “Dad, I want to be the first woman President of the United States.”   I could already imagine spending nights in the Lincoln bedroom, and sitting in the balcony VIP section of Capitol Hill when my daughter, The President of The United States, would give her State of The Union Address.  Yeah, I don’t dream often, but when I do……I do it BIG!!!

I should have immediately known that the enlightening and inspirational trip I imagined with my daughter would not necessarily go as I had planned as soon as we got on the airplane to DC.  Mind you, I had already received specific   instructions during the weeks leading up to our trip of what to do, what not to do, who I could talk to, who I couldn’t, what I could wear (my bowling shirt was out). 

My seat assignment was 22E, the middle seat which I hate, while my daughter would ride comfortably in 22F the more spacious window seat.  We hadn’t even sat down, let alone thought about our complimentary in-flight beverage, when I was requested by my daughter to switch seats with her BFF so THEY could sit together.  What happened to the bonding I was supposed to experience?  What happened to those magical moments that had been played out in my dreams?  Maybe this was just a temporary setback.

Our travelling party consisted of roughly 50 eighth graders, 46 Moms and 4 Dads of which I knew no one other than my daughter.  Good thing we were going to be “sticking together” the whole time…or so I thought.  Upon our arrival to DC and a brief stop at Union Station for lunch, we boarded our tour buses and headed to Arlington National Cemetery.  The last time I had visited this National Shrine was during my 8th grade school trip to DC, and while I didn’t expect there to be many changes, I did look forward to sharing this experience with my daughter this time around.  It was just like I remembered.  The sobering and impressive rows of headstones perfectly aligned, the quiet, respectful and serene atmosphere, the overwhelming sense of pride and patriotism combined with the realization of the magnitude of people who sacrificed it all for our freedoms; truly overwhelming.  We witnessed the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the kids from our group got the opportunity to lay a wreath in honor of the soldiers buried there.  Jacqueline Kennedy had now been laid to rest next to her husband, something that hadn’t happened when I visited back in 1985.  Of course the eternal flame burned ever present at the burial site.  I learned some new things, saw some familiar ones, but mostly was moved like I don’t recall having been moved 25 years ago. 

Upon boarding the bus, and eagerly looking for material to write this story, I asked my daughter on her thoughts of what she had just witnessed.  “It was sad” was all I got as she quickly went back to the preoccupation of the day which was who would be sitting next to who on the bus and what snacks were available from her friends who had come on this journey way more prepared than I had done.  Sitting back in my seat, at the front of the bus as that was an unspoken rule established by the students (parents in the front, kids in the back) I felt dejected, disappointed and frankly bewildered.  After the National Monument we had just seen, the ultimate patriotism we had just witnessed, the immense sacrifice, all my daughter could think of to say was “It was Sad”.  I didn’t understand.

Back on the bus it was lots of singing and almost a party like atmosphere.  Thankfully “99 bottles of beer on the Wall” never surfaced but a painful and screeching medley of Justin Bieber and Rihanna songs seemed to play-on endlessly.  Clearly the school choir members were NOT on our bus.   I could certainly understand the kids’ excitement and somehow managed to tune out all the noise as I gazed out the window and admired the sites as we drove around DC.  Our next stop was the Marine Corps War Memorial, also known as the Iwo Jima Memorial.  I clearly remember a visit to this monument as one of my favorites during my trip so many years earlier and I was looking forward to seeing it again.  There it was, exactly as it was the last time I visited.   With the exception of the flag being raised at ground zero in the days following 9-11, I can think of no other such powerful demonstration of patriotism and American pride.   The kids posed for the obligatory photo in front of the monument and then quickly proceeded to run around, look for a bathroom and something cold to drink, (it was unseasonably warm in DC for this time of year).  Again, not the reaction I was anticipating.

 I quickly realized that this whole experience was not going to turn out as I had planned and that I better make an acquaintance with some of the other parents if I was to not spend the entire trip alone.  The rest of day one consisted of visiting the Lincoln Memorial, a great and up close view of the Washington Monument, and a trip to the FDR Memorial.  While our day had begun at 5:45am at Miami International Airport, the sights and sounds of DC as we discovered this city kept most of us energized to keep going, yet by 7pm we were ready to head to the hotel for a much needed rest. 

My 8th Grade Trip to Washington DC - 1985

I will not turn this into a play-by-play of what we did and saw on days 2-6 of our trip as that is not the intent of this post.  However, something wonderful did happen and that my friends is worth sharing.  Thankfully, I was given enough insight or perhaps wisdom to go back 25 years and silently reminisce about my 8th grade trip to DC.  When I went with my class we had a handful of chaperones that included teachers and parents.  For the most part our parents weren’t there and we spent the majority of the time with our friends and classmates.  We bunked 4 kids to a room and stayed up until all hours of the night laughing, joking, and watching TV.  Yeah, admittedly we saw some cool stuff, but we had a GREAT time together!  Our trip, back then, wasn’t about a cultural experience or American history.  It was about having fun; the exact thing my daughter and her friends were trying to do.  With this new found insight, I was able to understand where my daughter was coming from and realized that just like her Dad so many years before, she was a typical teenager.  Ahhh, the joys of youth.

As the days passed I began to feel an incredible closeness to my daughter and an incredible sense of pride.  One of the greatest highlights of our trip was an early evening spent shopping in Georgetown followed by a simple dinner at a local crepe restaurant.  If you know me, you understand that I absolutely hate shopping.  However, my daughter who is what they call a shopaholic truly believes that to shop is to live; to live is to shop.  While this whole philosophy bothers me greatly, seeing my 13 year old working her way through the store looking for bargains and outfits that fit just right made me realize that my little princess was turning into a young lady.  The coolest part was when she tried on an outfit, came out of the dressing room, looked for me and asked “What do you think of this dad?”   Through watery eyes I simply and honestly said “you look beautiful my love”.

From that moment my whole outlook changed and the experience I would share with my daughter for the remainder of the trip was spectacular.  I no longer focused on her experience at the sights, monuments, or museums.  I enjoyed these on my own, this time around as an adult with a new perspective and hopefully a little more maturity.  I spent just the same amount of time observing my daughter, watching her interactions with her friends, her behaviors and mannerisms.  I became fascinated by the dynamics and interactions between my daughter and her peers.  Quietly observing, I saw a young lady that although going through that awkward stage in life, was self confident, respectful, kind and considerate.  I noticed my daughter on several occasions looking out for me to make sure I boarded the right bus.  I was with someone who wasn’t embarrassed to let people know I was her dad, as I had been at that age, through no fault of my parents.  My daughter simply made me proud and I wanted her to enjoy this trip to fullest – in HER own way.

So while I originally intended this to be about a trip to DC through the eyes of my daughter, it has fortunately turned out to be more about the evolving relationship between a father and his child. My daughter taught me an important lesson during our week together and that is to look for a different perspective in things.  She taught me that while things may not turn out the way I hoped, they can certainly be rewarding and special.  She showed me that being a Dad is truly the best job in the world.

 How lucky I am that in 2 years I will be able to experience this again with my youngest daughter when her class travels to DC.  I can’t wait.

Have you told your kids you’re proud of them today?


Thank You For Being A Friend

Dictionary.com defines the word “Friend” as  “a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.”   Interesting.  Very interesting.  Can such a simplistic definition accurately define what a “friend” really means in our lives?  I am of the opinion that this brief definition barely scratches the surface on the significance and importance of what a true friend really means to us or perhaps what it has evolved to be in our modern society. 

I must first admit that I am truly a very lucky man.  I have friendships today that have lasted, are currently active, and have survived the past 25 years. (more than half my life)   These friendships have surpassed distances of states, countries, even continents and surprisingly flourished when email was merely but a techies wet-dream.  At times, due to lack of fundage and the relative high costs of long distance calling around 1985, the only means of communication between my friends and I was old-fashioned snail mail, when a first class stamp would set you back a whopping 22 cents.  A gallon of gas set you back $1.12 but that is subject for another post.  If we wanted to “listen” to each others voices we would record a cassette tape with jokes, updates and the occasional farting noise.  With great anticipation we would send that off to our friends who resided in other parts of the country.  Admittedly, sending international mail was something way beyond our means at the time.  Often long distance friendships would be put on temporary hold until the next summer vacation rolled around and our intimate group would be reunited.

My friendships have made it through a business partnership, unsuccessfully dating one of my best-friends’ sister, and even losing complete touch for several years.  The true test of my friendships was ultimately my selfishness and self-centerdness, combined with my chaotic and turmoil filled life which ordinarily should have driven everyone away.  Yet, through it all, my friends didn’t give up on me and stuck beside me through thick and thin; through good and bad, through havoc and eventually peace.  My friends were more loyal and devoted than either one of my ex-wives.  Like I said, I am truly a very lucky man.

Friends come in all shapes, colors and sizes.  We meet our friends through a myriad of situations.  One of my best friends I met on a beach; turns out we lived in the same condo in South Florida.  I was 12 years old and this soon to be friend ripped me off by selling me a used skim board  for an astronomical price at the time, with the promise of free lessons.  Not the way you would typically imagine a life long friendship to begin.  Years later I would enact my vengeance by dating his sister for 5 1/2 years!  Truly the woman I thought I would marry, life had other plans for me, and while the relationship with the sister didn’t last, the friendship prevailed and exists today stronger than ever.  More than a friendship, I now consider it a brotherhood.

With one BFF in my life, I was blessed to meet what would become BFF #2 during Junior High School.  A new transfer to our school, as far as I can remember, I approached “Fred” because I saw him eating lunch by himself and frankly looking really sad.  I believe his version of the events are totally different and in his account it is ME looking sad and eating my PB&J alone during lunch hour.  The beauty of it is, that how we met is actually rather insignificant but the fact that 25 years later I can still call Fred one of my best friends is a blessing beyond words.  My friendship with Fred actually blossomed during our High School years when we became writing partners for our Senior yearbook, gave the play-by-play for the powder puff football game and even planned and executed the birthday kidnapping of our Dean of Students to a local Friday’s restaurant.  During High School Fred and I were inseparable, and our greatest accomplishment was serenading our Principal, Ms. Butts, with the Top Gun version of “You Lost that Lovin’ Feeling” while standing on the roof of an orange-colored Bronco.  Fred and I created many memories that I will cherish forever and have the pleasure of recounting these adventures anytime we get together.

While my friendship with Fred is unique and extremely special, I have somehow been blessed to have another friendship with someone whom I truly believe must have been separated at birth from me.  While there is a 5 year difference between the two of us, this age factor has never been an issue for us.  Sharing the same first name, my friend RICH has the age advantage over me or perhaps more experience shall we say.  The term a “Brother from another Mother” is so appropriate in our case that it is almost eerie and scary.  Rich is Mr. Skim Board.  Remember, the guy who swindled me out of my hard-earned money back on that beach when I was 12?  Yeah well, 25 years later, through the fiasco of dating his sister, we are still friends and grow closer every year.  We crossed the line of friendship years ago and became family….unofficially as there are no legal ties making us such, but we are family.  He is my brother and I would do anything for him.  That bond and feeling of loyalty, trust, and yes even love, while never discussed between us, I know is mutual.  Once again, I am a very lucky man.

So the question beckons.  What is a friend?  Over the last three years I have been fortunate enough to meet many people, through a fellowship I belong to, that have taught me what friendship is all about. They have offered of themselves to me, asking nothing in return.  They have supported me, loved me, confided in me, trusted me, and most importantly believed in me when I found it impossible to believe in myself.  They loved me until I was able to love myself.  They saw me through my darkest days and offered me a priceless gift…..HOPE.  These new-found friends of mine, some of which have come and gone, helped me realize how important my other friendships, such as the ones with Fred and Rich, truly are.  They made me realize how blessed I am to have these gentlemen in my life.  They showed me that friendships are a two-way street and that over the past 25 years, my actions have sometimes been ridiculously selfish.  I have learned the error of my ways, and can admit that at times, in the past, I have been a terrible friend.  I am a very lucky man because in spite of myself and my actions my friends have stuck by me; they have loved me in spite of myself.  They haven’t given up on me and have waited patiently for me to become the kind of friend they have always been to me.  Ironically, it took other great friends of mine to teach me this and allow me to make the necessary changes.

So to end this longer than expected tribute to friendship, a friend is someone who sticks beside you no matter what; through thick and thin.  A friend will not only help you grow, mature and change but give you the space and time to do so.  A true friendship isn’t jeopardized by space, distance or time and if a solid relationship exists it can survive almost any challenge posed before it.  Real friends do not judge yet are readily available to tell you the truth, about anything, as painful as it may be.  Requirements for friendship do not include lending you money, providing you a place to live, securing employment for you, giving you rides, or even feeding you.  To expect this from others cancels your own qualifications as a friend.  However, in my definition, a friend offers their shoulder without hesitation, or more poetically, stretches out their hand and pulls you from whatever crevice you may be in at the time.  A friend has the knowledge and restraint to listen and offer advice when appropriate.  A friend will end a conversation with a hug or an “I Love You.”  A real friend may not necessarily bail you out of jail, but will visit you on a weekly basis and get you some commissary.  A real friend will never shy away from the truth but will support you unconditionally.  A real friend simply understands and loves you in spite of….

So if I am lucky enough to call YOU a friend, I simply say “Thank You”. 

“Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.”
– Helen Keller


The Pursuit of Happiness

For the last three years, my life has consisted of what at times has seemed like an impossible quest.  The Pursuit of  Happiness.  I think I have been on this adventure for a lot longer than three years but a real concerted effort has been made on my part within this timeframe.  Think about it….what is it that we all want?  Happiness.  We disguise happiness in many forms usually consisting of money, power, and prestige but in the final analysis it’s basic happiness we all want.  Pure and simple, unadulterated happiness.  My friend Will Smith (OK, I don’t really know the guy) made a movie in 2006 effectively titled “The Pursuit of Happyness”.  The film is largely based on a true story about a father desperately trying to build a better life for his family and the immense challenges, struggles and disappointments he must face along the way.  The story also explores the incredible bond between a father and his son and the belief that with hard work, dedication, and the right opportunity, ANYTHING is possible.

In my past, I tried finding happiness through many different avenues, forms, and substances.  My pursuit included work, women, cars, booze, not working, marriages, living life above my means, and countless trips to the “adult” bar where I thought the “entertainers” really understood me.  What I inevitably ended up with was extreme loneliness and more problems than I had begun with.  I can honestly say I never found happiness at The Doll House, at the bottom of a bottle, or at my job.   In retrospect, I cannot blame these outside sources for my disappointments, but instead have come to the conclusion that it was my outlook and inner turmoil that prevented me from finding that most elusive element…..”Happiness”.  So what’s a guy to do?

Through the many ups and downs my life encountered, my main state of mind was that of the exact opposite of my quest…..un-happiness.  It didn’t matter what positive things were in my life, what blessings had come my way, how fortunate or successful I was, it was never enough.  Nothing was ever good enough, big enough, fast enough, pretty enough or expensive enough.  I remember marrying the “love of my life” and within weeks I was finding faults; accumulating reasons or better yet excuses as to why I should not be with this person.  Working at an excellent company, my day was spent devising ways to quit my job and do something else.  Finally living in a place I had dreamed of, on the water with a view of the ocean, the walls suddenly began to close in on me and my dream home was now too small and inadequate.  Is this not usually the case?  We want what we can’t or don’t have.  Women were not exempt from my desperate attempts at happiness as I often found myself as the religious folk say, “Coveting my Neighbors Wife” often revealing my lustful feelings in a drunken stupor.  While I lose focus on the subject matter, as I tend to do, it is representative of the loss I repeatedly experienced in dealing with or trying to find happiness.  Let me explain.

I always looked at external things to find my happiness.  I counted on people to make me happy.  I always had to keep up with “The Joneses” and I needed the biggest and the baddest….once I got it, it didn’t fill the huge void in my life.  Material property, my climb on the corporate ladder, my place of residence or my companion/wife at the time did absolutely nothing to quiet the insecurities, fears and frustrations that resonated inside my head…..there was a key ingredient missing in my life.  I was missing something you can’t buy, you can’t ingest, you can’t own…..I had to find GRATITUDE, if I was to truly make a valiant attempt at finding happiness.  Why is gratitude so important?

Gratitude makes us not just content, but more importantly thankful with what we currently have.  It makes us feel comfortable with where we currently are in our journey.  The saying, “I have everything I need, therefore I have everything I want, for I want nothing that I don’t need” really holds a lot of truths.  I’m not trying to knock ambition.  I believe ambition to be a good thing, as long as our happiness does not depend on those things we WANT.  I am very happy at my job, in my current position, making the measly salary I make.  I am blessed to have my job.  I would love to move up in the company and I am working towards that, yet I appreciate where I am today.  I am happy with where I am today.  I am blessed and grateful with where I am today.  I am working towards a better tomorrow, but if tomorrow never comes, I’m OK with that.  Does any of this incessant rambling make any sense to you?  I hope so.

So to summarize, if you are on that “Pursuit of Happiness” look where you are right now.  Realize that happiness is a state of mind and enjoy and be grateful for the blessings you have received TODAY.   Work towards a better tomorrow, but enjoy TODAY.  Help another, the rewards are immeasurable, and live your life with passion! 

Blessings Always,


Why I Love Motorcycles – Part 1

Originally Posted on Google Blogger: Saturday, April 11, 2009

For the last two years I have had the privilege of belonging to a somewhat elite group. I say elite, because although it seems like everywhere you look nowadays you see a motorcycle, in comparison to car ownership, the sales statistics are surprisingly low. I’m talking about motorcycle ownership.

It all began with a curiosity I had for years. I always wanted to learn how to ride but never a desire to own a bike. The thought of getting on two wheels and riding around didn’t really interest me and the reality of driving “unprotected” on the roads of South Florida frankly scared me. After all, I was a Father now, more responsible (maybe), in my mid 30’s (ugggh), none of my friends had motorcycles and when would I find the time? Yet the desire to learn to ride was always there; I guess just to be able to say I had done it.

Rewind to April 2007. I was in the midst of Phase I of a severe life changing period, details of which I will spare you. With this “change” came a new desire to do many things I had always wished or wanted to do and never had for different reasons. I decided to make a starter list, and at the top of the list was learning to ride. After a few strokes of the keyboard and a little help from Google, I found that the local HD dealer offered classes through the Motorcycle Training Institute www.mtii.com I signed up and within a few weeks I would be attending the 3 day Basic Rider Course. That would be the start of a whole new way of life.

Day one of the course consisted of an evening of watching safety training videos and going over basics. Reviewing the mechanics of riding a motorcycle and familiarizing ourselves with the basic terminology was the agenda for that first class. Not your most exciting of evenings, but the promise of hopping on a motorcycle the next day and actually riding on the range was enough to keep my attention on the information. I honestly wasn’t too focused on it since after all, this was just a weekend thing for me and I wouldn’t be riding after the course anyway.

The next day (Saturday) I found myself at 7:00am among 12 or so other wannabe riders. We all had the long pants, long sleeve shirt or jacket, boots, full fingered gloves, eye protection and a sleepy look on our face. Our class was a complete mix of people; from 19 to 63, men and women, tall/short, skinny and fat with one goal in mind…learning to ride.

By mid morning of day two (our first day on the bikes) we had learned how to start the bikes, the proper hand signals, and how to “walk” with our bikes in gear. During our lunch break, while most of the other students got in their cars and rushed to local fast food joints, I spent the time walking around the dealership looking at all the shiny, and somewhat intimidating, 2008 Harley Davidson Models. Even though it was April 2007, the ’08s had just arrived. From the huge, monster like, Ultra Classic to the Police Edition Road Kings I was fascinated by the different models, colors and of course the shiny chrome. There was almost something magical about this place. Everyone inside from the mechanic in the parts department to the cashier seemed to have a smile on their face along with an unexplainable aura surrounding them. The place was packed with customers looking at the different models, the clothing, or just hanging around talking about their latest ride. Truth be told, I felt like an outsider. After all, I didn’t own a bike, knew nothing about Harley Davidson other than the fact they made motorcycles, and apart from the few hours spent that morning on the range had never even been on a bike. I didn’t belong to this group of people, had no desire or interest to, and yet for some reason I felt extremely drawn to them.

As I walked around the dealership, looking lost and out-of-place, I was approached by a young Brazilian named Marcelo. He was wearing an awesome looking Harley button down shirt and with his Brazilian accent introduced himself to me. Never would I have imagined that meeting Marcelo would be the start of life changing events in my life, for it was at that moment, in April 2007 that a whole new world opened up to me and I was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.

More to follow in Part 2 coming soon.


Originally Posted on Google Blogger: Saturday, April 18, 2009

I’m going to try really hard not to sound like my parents did when they criticized our fashion styles of the 80’s, but what the f*ck is this “saggy pants” deal all about. It’s obvious that the fashion trend has been around for the past few years and while I haven’t liked it from the beginning, I figured it would go away in time just like all the other fads. Remember the fad of wearing baseball caps with the tags still on? Well here we are a few years later and not only does it seem like MORE people are drooping their drawers, but the pants are getting lower and lower. Can someone, anyone, please explain this to me?
If you think I am being overly dramatic or exaggerating, consider the fact that in March 2008, the Florida Senate (that’s right folks – the GOVERNMENT got involved) passed a bill that would require suspension from school for students with sagging drawers. To do one better, the city of Riviera Beach passed its own “Saggy Pants” law with a maximum penalty of 60 days in jail for repeat offenders. “Orlando Senator Gary Siplin, the bill’s sponsor, has said the fashion statement has a back-story — it was made popular by rap artists after first appearing among prison inmates as a signal they were looking for sex.” (Reuters)

I had heard that the trend was originated by gang members as a means to conceal weapons and frankly this made perfect sense to me. Obviously, I was completely mistaken yet knowing the true origin makes me wish my version of the origin of the droopy pants was true. So now I ask myself, out of all those saggy, droopy pant wearers, how many of them know what their exposed buttocks is representing? In essence, it is advertising an open invitation for homosexual sex.

I just find the whole thing ridiculous.  This whole PANTS ON THE GROUND.  For starters, it can’t be comfortable. The pants now hang at the bottom end of the gluteus maximus, requiring a belt to be severely tightened in order to prevent a complete “wardrobe malfunction”. Second, I see these guys constantly adjusting, pulling up, pulling down, tightening, etc this particular piece of clothing as it’s impossible to get it “just right” as well as being forced to walk bow-legged in a vain attempt to keep their pants up.  Lastly I wonder….when they go to the bathroom, do they lower their pants even more? hmmm……

So the next time you see one of these fashion aficionados, Mr. Tough Street Guy, go ahead and grin a little as you wonder what they would do if they knew what their exposed back-end was really advertising!

So for God’s sake Dude…. Pull Up Your Fu**ing Pants!!!