Giant Leaps In Logic, Small Steps In Parenting

If you google “best traits in a man” the first link that will pull up is a poll that Men’s Health did of 1,000 American women. The top ten traits that didn’t have anything to do with physical looks or skills were faithfulness, dependability, kindness, moral integrity, fatherliness, sense of humor, intelligence, passion, confidence, and generosity. I’m going to guess that most women end up marrying a man who portrays about 4 of those attributes, and those 4 he only portrays haphazardly. We aren’t exactly an amazing sex these days.

There is one attribute that all 1,000 of these women soon found that their husband did perform rather nicely. Day in and day out their actions showed that this was one of their controlling personality traits.

And NO, I’m not talking about anything sexual. Ya pervert.

The one attribute that we all seem to share is a tendency towards selfishness. Self seeking is obviously a character flaw in most people, but tends to show more in men. We are the ones who want the hottest girl possible to be on our arm. We are the ones who spend beyond our means to get that dream car. We are the ones have trouble settling down and committing. We are the ones who consistently make cut throat business decisions. We are the ones who make war. We chase what we want, and avoid what we don’t.

If you’ve never noticed, I myself am a man. Sadly I had a realization about myself and my selfishness the other night. When I had this realization I was doing something that would seem the very opposite of selfish.

It was 3 in the morning on a work night. I was wide awake sitting on the couch feeding my 4 week old baby a bottle and taking extra care to routinely burp him so that he would not be kept awake by gas. My wife was sound asleep. My daughter was sound asleep. Most of Columbus was sound asleep. Heck, even the baby kept falling asleep.

If this was a movie it would be the scene that was filmed to show the tenderness of the main character. It would be that sweet moment used to show the protagonists gentleness.

I’ve even got to admit that I use situations like this to remind my wife why I am such a catch. Do most husbands do all night feedings? Doubtful. Are most husbands so caring that they leave the bedroom with the baby to avoid waking up said wife? Doubtful. Do most husbands burp their child like it is an art form passed down from generations passed? Doubtful.

Ok, that last paragraph sheds a little light on  my narcissism, but let’s stay focused more on the selfishness. I can only beat myself up so much in one day.

So, as I sat there feeding my boy I realized something. I am one selfish jerk. All of these things that I was doing weren’t based out of love. I wasn’t feeding him, burping him, and changing his diaper at 3am because I love him. I was doing it all so that he would stop crying so I could go to sleep.

I wasn’t burping him carefully because I didn’t want him to be in pain later. I was burping him carefully because if I didn’t he would wake up and cry and wake me up.

Dang. Thanks God for that 3am wake up call on myself and how much I suck.

This got me thinking further. I could go through this whole parenting stage of life and probably parent rather decent and raise decent kids, but with the wrong motive the entire way.

I could raise children that were obedient because I selfishly want to impress other people and because it is just easier if your kid isn’t pitching fits all the time. I could raise kids who do well in school again to impress others and also because it would make me feel smart to have smart kids. I could raise kids who love the outdoors, because if they don’t love the outdoors I’ll probably personally have less time outdoors. I could raise kids who eat their veggies, because it would make me feel weak to not be able to pick up my eight year old.

Yeah, I could raise some decent kids and never once base a decision out of self sacrifice or love. Their food would be eaten, their teeth brushed, their bodies washed, their books read, the prayers said…..all so they will be happy and leave me alone long enough to watch the game on TV.

And that is what makes parenting so hard! It’s not just the things you do but the reasons you do them. Does it matter? If my baby gets fed, burped, changed, and put back to bed does it matter what my reasons are? Does my heart matter?

Of course it does! Looking a head in life I may teach him to be obedient and stay out of trouble, but what happens when no one is watching or when he is older and there is no one to be obedient to? Crack cocaine…that’s what!

I may force my children to be giving of their time, skills, and finances. But what happens if I don’t teach them the heart behind those actions? Crack cocaine….that’s what!

Yep. Crack cocaine. I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense. I don’t care if it’s not the eighties anymore. That MUST be my conclusion. It is the only thing that will wake me up enough to not be selfish!

My nature may lead to me being selfish and self seeking…..but even I am not so selfish that I would let my kids fall into crack cocaine!

So, when you are making decisions in parenting make sure you are basing them out of love and out of a desire to turn their hearts toward Christ…..or else they’ll definitely try crack cocaine next time you aren’t looking.

Shaggy Hair, A&F Cologne, and Plaid

Working in business I am often plagued by a specific question that eventually comes up in all business circles. “So, do you play golf”. I am torn because I have two options when asked this question.

The first option is a simple no. No, I do not play golf.

This option typically leads to aghast looks from my business counterparts. Working for one of the local big boy corporations, or at a bank, or as a salesman, or as a doctor makes days on the course a necessity. It isn’t a choice, everyone does it. Working at Subway I am just enough not a typical business person that golf never arises as a work outing. I suppose I could get aggressive with my answer to keep the aghast looks at bay. But that seems uncalled for. I could go off on a rant about how anything that not only allows but almost demands alcohol consumption during cannot be a sport. But I do not.

The other option that I am always tempted to go with but would only garner looks even more confused from my counterparts is that yes, I used to play golf every weekend at the  Northern Little League baseball complex and I once got a hole in one on Rick’s Lung.

That answer requires a back story and back stories are not good for short conversations with business counterparts. But you know what they are good for? They are good for minimally read blogs!

There are different friends that come in and out of this story but the one who was there throughout the entire experience was Jon Keller. I honestly don’t know why we began this tradition but somehow we did and it is such a pure, beautiful memory it almost seems like it took place in a Wes Anderson movie.

Northern Little League baseball field’s became our clubhouse. We discovered that on Sunday mornings from about 10:30am until noon the place was deserted. No little kids running around crying while their dad’s screamed their disappointment at them, no somewhat scary girls playing softball, no umpires to chase us away, and sadly no sweet smells of chicken fingers and popcorn.

Just an empty baseball complex and us.

This could have been fun enough. We could have played homerun derby, or wiffle ball, or wall ball over on the concession stand. But somehow this became our golf course. The Northern Little League Golf Course.

This little club took some serious devotion for college students. Annoyingly we were not allowed by our parents to simply skip church and play our little game with a good nights rest (looking back, good call parents, thank you!). So we as 19 and 20 year old boys had to plan ahead. We had to go to bed at a decent hour, probably 3 am instead of our typical 4am, so that we could get up at 8:30 in time to make it to the 9 o’clock church service.

Most guys our age dressed rather casual to church. Not us. We had a golf outing at the prestigious Northern Little League to attend after. We would get dressed up in our khakis or plaid pants, loafers, and pastel colored button down polos, and after we would throw on a visor for effect.

So, this took work! 

Church would end and off we went. We would arrive at Northern Little League Golf Course around 10:15 and begin our round of golf. Jon Keller, myself, and a ragtag of friends like William Hawk, Matt Phillips, Brian Howard, and Jeff Brannan would pile out of my Xterra. A horrible clash of plaids,stripes, and shaggy hair. Once lugging our golf bags out of the back of the SUV we would stop and look around us. Taking in the surroundings. The beautiful blue skies with wisps of clouds floating by, the tall pines standing proud and rightly so as there soil was red Georgia clay, the smell of the spring air and a bit too much of Abercrombie & Fitch cologne. It was a perfect day for golf.

Now, at a baseball field they don’t typically dig 18 round holes strategically throughout the complex so we had to get inventive. Trees, baseball bases, boulders, and buildings became our “holes”. Old remnants of a bonfire became a hole known as Rick’s Lung (named after William’s dad who had a penchant for smoking a few hundred cigarettes a day). After a few hours on our golf course we would head to Wendy’s and grab some burgers and head to the pool. A pretty nice day if I do say so myself.

So, yes fellow businessmen, I do play golf. But my answer to that question is long, confusing, and childish. So I typically just hang my head in shame and answer, “No, no I do not play golf”.

Widespread Panic

“It really is a love affair, your relationship with your kids. It’s powerful and frustrating because there is no real consummation. No finish line. The closest you get are the moments when you can share in your child’s triumphs – as when watching them in the field of play – though even those successes are tinted with sadness because every accomplishment only pulls them further away from you, toward an adulthood all their own.” Chuck Hogan

Panic. We all occasionally panic. Every single one of us. No exceptions. Well, except those of you who are better than the rest of us. And I hope people like that don’t read my blog, because being judged is about as fun as having a root canal performed on you by a dentist with Parkinson’s. Okay, that was a cruel joke….but it got the point across. If you don’t panic then please immediately stop reading my blog and go back to what you normally do with your time. Like feeding the homeless or carefully removing ducks from discarded Coca Cola 6 pack rings.

Anyways. Recently my wife and I found out we were having a baby boy and panic immediately ensued, at least for me. I was comfortable having our first girl, and I would have been comfortable having another. With a girl I basically just have to love her in a way that lets her understand how God loves her and how she should desire to be loved by another man in the future. Sure, there is the whole teen pregnancy thing that most men freak out about….but I figured I’ve got at least 13 years until that is even possible and if I do a good job with the whole love thing then maybe it won’t be an issue. But with a boy. Well, let’s just say I had a major onset of panic. But, that is a story for another today.

With our baby girl we did eventually panic. We didn’t panic when we found out we were pregnant. We didn’t panic when she found out she would be a girl. I wouldn’t even say we panicked when she came 3 months early. But, eventually we realized that this little baby was going to one day turn into a girl, and that girl would one day turn into a woman. And that girl would behave in a similar manner that my wife and I do. My wife and I are not exactly overly impressed with ourselves so this was a disappointing discovery.

We thought about allowing a family who we were impressed with to raise our children. Families with the last names Harrison and Cash were discussed as possible Godparents….but without the whole us dying part. But, then we remembered that even though we didn’t feel up to the task of parenting that we did in fact love our baby and weren’t overly fond of giving her up. (at this point my wife would like me to remind everyone that my blog is meant to be an exaggeration of real life, obviously we do kind of like ourselves and love the idea of raising our daughter)

We thought about trying to do “community living” with a few close friends so our daughter could glean some useful skills and habits from other adults. But then we realized that that is way too many people having to use the restroom in one house. Oh yeah, and we realized that it would be crazy. Not fun crazy, but insane crazy.

So, with the realization that we were all our daughter had we came to the conclusion that we had to plan and change how we behaved. Hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours (probably still not enough hours for my talkative wife, but more than enough hours for me) of conversation took place about who we wanted our daughter to become and what we needed to change about ourselves to help her get to said destination.

One thing we decided was that one of our main goals with our daughter was that we would remain cognizant of the fact that we were raising her to one day be her own adult person. Not just our child but an adult who could and should function outside of us. WHATEVER that meant as long as she was pursuing God we had to be okay with. We did not want to have too many goals for what God had in store for adulthood. Our plan could not get in the way of who God was calling her to be and where God was calling her to. If God called her to pass on college, move to Zaire, be a missionary who helps fend off rabid tigers, and never fly home to let us see our grandkids then we HAVE to be okay with that. Our desires could not get in the way of His desires for her.

And then our daughter became part of the family, she became not just a baby who I loved, but my daughter who I LOVED. She won my heart and continues to win it day after day. I came to know her heart. Yes I know she is only two but I assure you I know her heart and it is unbelievably kind, filled with empathy for others, incredibly sweet natured, and loving.

Sometimes when I look at her my heart breaks from missing her even though she is right in front of me! I realized how simple our goal was to say and how difficult it was going to be to live out. More than anything though I realized that my wife and I need to really focus on putting away more money in savings. I mean, plane tickets to Zaire have got to be pretty pricy!

Forget Superman, I’ll take Tomorrow Man

I recently read Chuck Hogan’s book, “Devils In Exile”.  I am not very good at offering up reviews of books, movies, or albums. My typical description of said items usually can be summed up by either, “Me Like” or “Me No Like”. So, my review of this book is, “Me Like”, but I would like to add that even though this book had a lot to offer in plot and action sequences my favorite part was actually the philosophy aspects. In a few parts of the book the guns take a break to cool down and Hogan’s characters are offered a chance to share their views on life and how it works. The following is offered up near the beginning of the book:

“The Tomorrow Man theory. It’s pretty basic. Today, right here, you are who you are. Tomorrow, you will be who you will be. Each and every night, we lie down to die, and each morning we arise, reborn. Now, those who are in good spirits, with strong mental health, they look out for their Tomorrow Man. They eat right today, they drink right today, they go to sleep early today – all so that Tomorrow Man, when he awakes in his bed reborn as Today Man, thanks Yesterday Man. He looks upon him fondly as a child might a good parent. He knows that someone – himself – was looking out for him. He feels cared for, and respected. Loved, in a word. And now he has a legacy to pass on to subsequent selves.

But those who are in a bad way, with poor mental health, they constantly leave these messes for Tomorrow Man to clean up. They eat whatever they want, drink like the night will never end, and then fall asleep to forget. They don’t respect Tomorrow Man because they don’t think through the fact that Tomorrow Man will be them. So then they wake up, new Today Man, groaning at the disrespect Yesterday Man showed them. Wondering why does that guy – myself – keep punishing me? But they never learn and instead come to settle for that behavior, eventually learning to ask and expect nothing of themselves. They pass along these same bad habits tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, and it becomes psychologically genetic, like a curse.” – Chuck Hogan

Okay. So, when you sit down to read a book about an army vet who joins a group of other veterans to sabotage drug deals and steal the money but ruin the drugs, you aren’t typically looking for words that will catch you off guard to the point that you stay up at night thinking about the words you read.

Since then I have found myself finishing up yard work that I would usually put of until tomorrow,  staying up a few minutes extra to put away the dishes that would normally wait until the next day, making hard decisions that I had been dreading for a long long time, and even occasionally putting down the ice cream scoop a few scoops quicker than usual.

This book was priced at $7.99 and was 70% thanks to Borders going under. So for around $2.50 I received words that in my mind have played a small part in pretty dramatically altering the course of my life.

So, I must say that if you are at the book store anytime soon and notice this book just remember that Brandon HIGHLY, HIGHLY recommends NOT buying it. Think of Tomorrow Man! You could use that $7.99 for something way cooler tomorrow!

JONATHAN KELLER Is Dumb, or Why I Refuse To Ride Motorcycles

I have a friend who shall remain nameless, but let's just say that he is tall, lanky, loves anything fun, has an awesome mom and a just as awesome wife, and is named JONATHAN KELLER. This friend whose name I cannot say shall from herein be referred to as JONATHAN KELLER.

I don't have an astounding amount of friends. If you take a look at my Facebook page it would lead you to believe that I have 637 friends. Most of these 637 friends are actually current acquaintances, former acquaintances, childhood friends, or something even less like a friend. I typically don't make enemies. I would say the few closest things I have to an enemy are a few ex-girlfriends but even they aren't enemies, more just people who are incredibly awkward to be around.

All that to say that I don't have tons of "friends". In the best friend department I have more than the average person though! In my mind I almost have to quantify which level of "best friend" a person falls into because once I really get to know a person, I love that person deeply and they are no longer just an acquaintance or friend but are a "best friend". That is confusing though because I can't just lump some guy I've known for six months in with a friend I've had since I was six.

Anyways, the previous few paragraphs simply provide further proof that I over think really odd parts of life. Back on track.

JONATHAN KELLER is in my top tier of best friends and here are a few reasons:

• Longevity 
• He has been one of my best friends since my freshman year of high school
• This makes him my second longest lasting "best friend", I apparently had a bad habit of running them off earlier in life
• Experiences
• He was there when I learned to drive
• Saw DMB and Widespread Panic for the first time with him
• Actually probably about 80% of my concert experiences are with him
• Numerous beach trips, Helen, Chattanooga, Vegas, so many Subway Christmas parties that the managers thought I was gay, Okefenokee, Bonnaroo, etc.
•  Lazy college days by the pool
• Other
• Made many of the dumbest decisions of my life with him by my side, but he was also right there with me when we realized that said decisions were dumb and it was time to grow up
• Introduced me to my beautiful wife and I can trust him around her at all times because they are cousins
• Was one of the two best men in his wedding even though he wasn't mine. Had to go with my dad. Sorry Hawk and Keller
• Picked a girl to marry who I now share a love/hate relationship with which is actually really really fun. Honestly, she is super sweet and I love that he brought her into our group
• Even if we grow to hate each other we will still be in each other's lives thanks to the annual family Easter Egg Hunt

So, JONATHAN KELLER recently bought a motorcycle. He was very excited to show his new purchase off to the guys and when he finally did we did what any group of guys would do and made as much fun of him as possible. It was rather easy because he is about as lanky as they come and being the frugal man that he is he bought a modestly sized bike. He did not however purchase a modestly sized helmet. He climbs on this bike wearing shorts and Chacos, his knees come up to his chin, his elbows splay out to the sides, and his head wobbles back and forth due to the weight.

Eventually the guys stopped poking fun and began to help him work on the bike and even took turns riding the bike. I however have held steady to my skepticism, mean spirited humor, and aloofness to his purchase. I have even made a habit of informing him every time I see a motorcycle accident and tease him that he could be next.

From the outside looking in it would appear that I am simply a giant jerk and one would wonder why JONATHAN KELLER would choose to maintain a friendship with me. It is because he knows that I actually do not typically make fun of people that often and that the reason I won't let the motorcycle humor drop is because I love him. I'd take a bullet for him, nay, I'd take a nuclear bomb for him, I'd let his wife and him live in our guest bedroom if needed, I'd loan him money no questions asked, I'd raise his kids if he and his wife ever died (which I might need to since he owns a motorcycle), heck I'd even let him kiss my wife! But, only so that I could then refer to both of them as Kissin Cousins for the rest of our lives.

So when I see him get on his motorcycle my heart aches because it is simply an idiotic decision.

My Opinion

• When you sit down in a car, your first action is to strap on your seatbelt. Motorcycles don't have seatbelts. 
• It is no longer legal to ride in the bed of a truck, but it is legal to ride a motorcycle. WHAT?
• Helmets are great, but as humans we also have torsos, arms, legs, and bottoms!
• Deer, rabbits, dogs, cats, possums, zombies, and blind people! 
•  Most operators of cars are dumb and don't pay attention. I used to read a book everyday while driving to school in college. Do you really want to ride by a person doing that?
• We live two minutes from Alabama, so if you think most drivers are bad then you don't know the half of it.

Actual facts

• According to the U.S. National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, in 2006, 13.10 cars of of 100,000 ended up in fatal crashes. The rate for motorcycles is 72.34 per 100,000 registered motorcycles.
• Motorcycles rider deaths were nearly 30 times more than drivers of other vehicles.
• Motorcycle riders aged below 40 (JONATHAN KELLER) are 36 times more likely to be killed than other vehicle operators of the same age.

I HATE motorcycles. Not being funny or humorous. I HATE them. They are incredibly dangerous for the rider and many of the riders create dangerous situations for other vehicles. There are still blood stains in my wife's Xterra from picking up a friend who had a motorcycle accident almost 5 year ago!

Motorcycle enthusiasts love to preach that car drivers need to watch out for motorcycles. And I agree, partially. They really should watch out better, but I only partly agree  because the motorcyclist is the one putting his life in the hands of others. And he isn't even putting his hands in the way of the best and brightest in the world, just any old joe that happens to drive by him. I hope that drivers are always paying attention and that I could in theory go crawling down the road without someone overlooking me and running me over. But, I'm not going to try it!

I hear that most sharks won't bite unless provoked but I'm not going to swim with one!

Motorcyclists arguments are flimsy is all I'm saying. If you are on one and a car cuts you off or hits you then sure you can and should be mad. We as a car driving populace need to be more careful. But really, at least half the blame is on you, right? You got on the motorcycle knowing that most people are careless drivers, knowing that the fatality rate is shockingly higher on a motorcycle than in a car, and since most motorcycle owners own a car in addition to a motorcycle you are riding that motorcycle solely for fun.

In closing. JONATHAN KELLER Is Dumb.

Welcome To My Nightmare

In my last blog I covered how boring it is to listen to another person describe their dreams. So, in a true effort to run off my few listeners I decided to tell you of three dreams that I have that are re-occurring. It would be amazing if one of my readers would be the Daniel to my King Nebuchadnezzar and interpret my dream. And yes, for those who know the story of Daniel, that is a direct threat of your life if you fail to interpret my dreams!
DREAM ONE:
My first dream has been with me since I was a child, but is now the rarest of the three, and I am pretty sure it was spawned on by this Ghostbusters figurine.

“Okay, in retrospect he looks pretty silly but I was five years old and it was scary, okay!”

From an early age I was scared of the fantastical and unafraid of the logical. I never imagined a scary child rapist outside of my window, instead I would imagine that there was a critter from the movie Critters inside of the toilet and due to that I was scared to sit on the toilet.

The dream is always the same and it is always brief….and by brief I mean I end up peeing in my boxer briefs. I am running through an old cemetery and the fog is mega heavy. A real life werewolf is chasing me and he is closing in quickly when I stumble upon a greenhouse. This makes sense because ALL cemeteries have greenhouses, right? So anyways, I run into this completely glass greenhouse and shut the door behind me just in time for the werewolf to slam into the door and then I wake up. I wake up at the exact point every single time without fail and I find myself longing to have this dream again just so that I can find out what happens after that point!

I guess it is obvious that  the dream might mean I am running from something? But what?! I started having this dream when I was five, so what stresses did I have at that age? What could I be figuratively running from? Kindergarten?  Swim lessons?

I fear I may never learn what this dream means, but I my bigger fear is that my wife may leave me if she has to change our wet sheets another time!

DREAM TWO:

This dream I call my Shooting Blanks dream and it started in high school but became more prevalent once I married. In the dream someone or a group of someones break into my home. No worries, I grab my trusty gun from my bed side table and lay into the fool or group of fools. My aim is sure. The gun shots angry blasts of flame from my hand and nothing happens. The someone or someones keep coming at me to do harm to me and my family.

Super.

No recovering from that kind of dream. Katherine now has to change our sheets and hold me as I weep into her arms.

DREAM THREE:

If my other dreams were nightmares then Dream Three is a night terror. I have had it since very early on in my marriage and it is truly frightening. The dream finds me no longer married to Kat but instead leaving her and choosing to marry one of my long term ex girlfriends. You may wonder at this point why I would share this dream because it would clearly anger Kat. But the caveat is that even IN the dream I am terrified of what I am doing. Even in the dream I am crying and losing control of my bladder because I don’t want to be with my ex and I deeply want to be with my wife. Even in the dream I am counting the ways I love my wife.

When I wake from this dream Kat truly has a workload ahead of her. Wet sheets, a sobbing husbands, and vomit covered walls. No good.

But the upside is when I do have this dream I am super nice to Kat for at least 48 hours after because I am in a constant reminder state of what my life could have been and just how awesome Kat is.

So, I may never be able to interpret these dreams but Dream Three just makes me thankful that I have a wife who is willing to love me through my oddness. I can then forget about the jacked up stuff that happens when my eyes shut and focus on the jacked up stuff that happens while my eyes are open.

Follow Your Tamest Dreams

"If you trust in yourself and believe in your dreams and follow your star you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy." ~Terry Pratchett

One of the things Kat and I enjoy most in the world is visiting America’s National Parks. We have had the great fortune to see Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Glacier, Teton, and of course Smoky Mountain. Later this summer we are going to visit Yosemite. We often take the time on these trips to do a guided rafting trip, kayak, or horseback ride.

Obviously the beauty, the wild, and the sheer bigness that surrounds you on one of those trips inspires whimsical thoughts of what life could have been like if only. Man has always been enthralled with the wild which is exactly why our best President ever, Mr. Teddy “I Killed Bears With My Bare Hands” Roosevelt” created the first National Park. When you get away from “life” it makes you understand how much better the simple life is.

One other thing about these trips that always sends me down “hypothetical alternate life road” other than the wilderness is the people who guide these tours. Sometimes they are 20-something kids taking a break after college, sometimes they are hippies who somehow managed to find the one job in America they have the capacity to keep, and sometimes they are just crazy ladies with awkwardly long hair. But they all have two things in common.

1. They make you feel incredibly bad for being a part of typical American society and not doing what you really enjoy. 2. They are poor. I’m talking communal living in a tent kind of poor.

I’ll admit I always leave these rafting/kayaking/horseback riding trips feeling sad that I didn’t chase my dreams. Now, let me say here that I am not complaining. I actually feel that I did follow one of my dreams. Working with my dad and brother for a company my parents own and getting to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for our incredible community is an amazing blessing and it was one of my dreams. But, it was my “tame” dream not my “wiId” dream. All of us of our “wild” dreams. Travel the world, take part in the Running of the Bulls, hit a grand slam in the World Series, eat at every single Cheesecake Factory in the entire world. So, if I had felt one of my “wild” dreams was possible would have I chosen my “tame” dream?

Doubtful.

So, why do most of us chose our “tame” dream? Two reasons. First is money. While I would love to raise wolves for a living I also love things like food, water, clothing, shelter, and even love. Often our wildest dreams don’t involve making much scratch and scratch is needed to survive and truthfully it makes being happier a tad bit easier.

People often try and get on their high horse and say that money doesn’t matter, but it does. We can’t all follow our wildest dreams. If so there would be no food, because not many people dream of doing back breaking work all day while farming. There would be no medical care because people become doctors at least partly for the cash or else our trips to the doctor would be a lot less expensive.

We can’t all follow our dreams. Money matters.

But maybe that is just an excuse. Maybe we can’t ALL follow our dreams, but I can. Then there comes the issue of maybe we aren’t all capable of achieving our dreams. Dreams take more than a go get ‘em attitude. All the little boys in America can’t grow up to play basketball in the NBA. Why not? Because the average height in America for men is 5’10”. All the little girls can’t grow up to be actresses or Pop stars. Why not? Around 31% of American kids are obese.

So, even if I decided that money doesn’t matter and I should follow my WILDEST dream I am still in a world of hurt because my wildest dream happens to be to become a famous author. You don’t become a famous author because you want it really bad or because you sit through some creative writing workshops. You become a famous author because you have natural talent, work to to hone that talent, happen to come up with a new and fresh idea for a book, and then get lucky.

Let’s just pretend that I am not a shallow person and money didn’t matter at all to me and I was willing to live a life being a “starving artist” before I finally broke it big with the next American classic. The issue then becomes just because I am willing to do something doesn’t mean I am able. I am going to leave you with an excerpt for the Dennis Lehane novel “Gone Baby Gone” and the from one of my blog posts entitled, “Nutz” and I think this will be better prove than the rest of my article on why some of us should not follow our wildest dreams.

“Nothing smells so clean and cold and promising as quarry water. I’m not sure why this is, because it’s merely decades of rain piled up between walls of granite and fed and freshened by underground springs, but the moment the scent found my nostrils, I was sixteen again and I could feel the plunge in my chest as I jumped over the edge of Heaven’s Peak, a seventy-foot cliff in Swingle’s Quarry saw the light-green water yawn open below me like a waiting hand, felt the weightless and bodiless and pure spirit hanging in the empty, awesome air around me. The I dropped, and the air turned into a tornado shooting straight up from the advancing pool of green, and the graffiti exploded from the shelves and walls and cliffs around me, burst forth in reds and blacks and golds and blues, and I could smell that clean, cold, and suddenly frightening odor of a century’s raindrops just before I hit the water, toes pointed down, wrists tucked tight against my hips, dropped deep below the surface where the cars and the refrigerators and the bodies lay.” Dennis Lehane

VS.

“Movies come out every week that contain a female baring her breasts to anyone willing to go to the local theater and spend a small fortune on a ticket and popcorn. When a movie decides to include a nude man the media acts like they are killing babies in the film. Look up Forgetting Sarah Marshall controversy on google, it's all about the male goods. Borat was known for being a jew hating racist, but most of the controversy for the film came from the male nudity. Eastern Promises was one of the best films to come out in 2007 but was often referred to as "The Weiner Fight movie" Male genitalia is offensive, plain and simple. Nutz serve no purpose, make the driver look like a tool, and offend everyone except other tool bags.” Brandon Jones