I just wrote a poem,
Interfered with by a couple 9.4ers% and several others,
It’s lost because of the percentages,
The emotion, and the
Absolute lack of coordination of my fingers.

Truth is, I loved that poem,
Working so hard to recover it, for naught,
Because it spoke of friendships,
One new, evolving over the course of a couple of decades,
And another over the course of a few months.

That says more about me than them
For I act with a guarded nature, recording only
One super tight friend developed over the course of nearly forty years,
The others not nearly as tight
For I was not ready to be burned by me. Or them.

Today, work and exercise collided
In a most social, if not spiritual way,
When the barley and hops enabled my guard to be dropped
With my “friends” allowing me to open up
In a more cosmic kind of way.

Truth is, there is nothing more important than trust,
You’d think twenty plus years would let that be said,
Then again, just a few months of running,
Should not be enough to let a person’s goodness be known,
But it is.

How soon on either?
I don’t know, but I know.
Good is good, bad is bad,
And unsure is as good as bad.
So when the percentages add up and I still feel good, game on.

So I have two things to say,
Not in an all-encompassing way,
For my buffet-Alaska-eating professional son must know
He is in the fold, one who has shown me the way
Of the distanced tribe, engaged, committed, and ambivalent.

One, my man,
Graduate school egotistical cousins,
Each exemplifying the life of being frustrated by the way things are
In what keeps us from being better in a global way.
Then again, A does not equal B in an effort to get to C. Who you are does.

Two, my sister or at least, devilish soul,
Loss is no clue, mundane is,
Yet, your emotions are the greatest guide,
For you have the magic to keep
Yourself in perspective. Be well, my friend, times are always tough.

Which leaves me to think, I am me, living a life filled as it is.
My friends are who they are. Good souls made as who they are.
Hopefully, we are there for each other.
That’s why they are my friends
For, we know the way we should be with each other, trusting, honest, respectful.

Love you guys…

Okay, son,
Since I’m not where you are
And telecommunications weren’t the right medium,
Let me put this out there for you to know.

You are entitled to nothing.
People with resources are entitled
To what those resources allow.
You have your own resources,
So go get what you can.

Stop bitching about others.
Stop waiting for someone to fix your problems.
Stop denying the opportunity to risk it all.
Go get what YOU can.

Burning anger leaves dirty smoke,
Your fires are fuming in the wrong place.
Your passion, your ideals, YOU
Are not someone else, YOU do not share their fate,
YOU are in control of what happens with YOU.

Put the ‘tude away,
Stop being jealous of the opportunities others have
And make your own destiny become a reality
Or don’t, just stop bitching about it.

For the energy you waste on others
Precludes you becoming the best you can be
Fame, fortune, enlightenment, or whatever.
Take your dirty ass fossil energy
And find a cleaner way.

Getting after it,
Feet turning over,
Lungs accepting cool air,
Gravity being denied,
Friction a partner,
Not an obstacle
Leaving our little group
Flying through a conversation
Barely able to explore
Why people make excuses
For shortsighted effort
Where the pain and suffering
Make for excuses too easy
To explain away
Hard work.

That’s what I learned this morning,
There cruising up Sickle,
Letting my competitive nature rise
In a way an old person like me
Would probably be advised to deny,
All in an effort to chase down
A couple of guys
Who chose not to walk
At the top of the hill.
The game was to get there,
Not pass or win,
Just to know
I could
Work hard.

Don’t say, “Calm down,”
Who we are is who we are,
The way we act,
Is who we are,
And I’m competitive,
Wanting to do my best,
Living in a culture where failure
Is sort of accepted,
So far as I “feel good” about it,
But I hate to lose
Because I think I didn’t work hard enough,
Unless of course, the situation or the opponent
Just kicks my ass outright.
I can live with that.

For a moment,
Because I don’t want that on me, Ricky Bobby,
I want to know I’m doing my best,
Pushing to the point where a little hill like Sickle
Can kiss my butt
As I keep running through the crest
Not giving those guys behind me a chance
To pass while I feel sorry for myself;
Or mollify my ego with a half-assed pride
That is a better called a false bravado.
I want to accomplish stuff,
Exhaling the noxious bullshit spewed by others and
Filling my lungs with the deepest breaths of oxygen
Hard work delivers.

Grit.