Pterodactyl Soup and Saber Tooth Tiger Stew

The next time you sit down to eat, don’t jump right in and scarf it all down. Look at it closely. Ask yourself this question as you do… How much physical exertion did it take on your part for the food to end up on your plate? Maybe you’re staring at a cooked meal made at home. You can say you went to the grocers and bought everything, came home, prepared it and now you are ready to consume it. Maybe you’re at a diner. You got in your car, entered the facility, was seated, and served. Are you in your car in the parking lot of Wendy’s? 

I live in the country. OK… well not like “Little House on the Prairie” country, but country enough to where I have only one pizzeria in my area that will deliver. Why does this matter? I lived in Manhattan for nearly eight years. I was accustomed to waking up first thing in the morning, literally having opened just one eye, picking up the phone on the nightstand next to my bed, and ordering a toasted blueberry muffin and coffee from the deli on the corner. Then my wife and me moved about twenty-five minutes out of the city in New Jersey. Although I couldn’t order a muffin and coffee, we still had many places that delivered. Now, unless I want pizza all the time, I have to get in my car and drive anywhere between five to ten miles to pick up take-out of any kind. I could just hear some of you now… “Dude, really? You sound a little selfish. You should be thankful that you even have food in your refrigerator!” I agree… just stick with me a little longer.

Recently I had ordered Chinese take-out and there is only one place that has the best by far. It’s just a little less than ten miles from us. I happened to be particularly hungry that day, as I hadn’t eaten lunch. This made the ride feel more like twenty miles. As I drove the country scenic road to the restaurant, I felt the twinge of my being selfish in thinking that it was a chore to have to drive “all the way” to pick up my food. I started thinking, “What must it have been like when you had to go out and kill your food, and if you didn’t, you couldn’t eat?” Imagine that? You wake up in the morning, stomach growling, and the only way to quench your hunger is by getting your club and killing the first thing that comes your way. Sure, after a kill, I would imagine there was a chance that they could have had pterodactyl soup and saber tooth tiger stew for breakfast lunch and dinner all week, but still… they had to go out to hunt and gather their food. I, on the other hand, had to get in my car, which has heated seats, XM Satellite radio, driver and passenger temperature control… I mean… really! Don’t get me wrong; I fully understand the upside of not having to kill for my meals. But at the same time you have to think of the kind of character building benefits that provides. Getting in a car and picking up food in cardboard containers, well… not so much. I felt my selfishness melt away, and the grouchiness retreated like a dog that got a swat on its backside for peeing on the rug.

Whether you’re a person who believes in blessings, or simply in good fortune, to be able to get in a car to travel anywhere, is a blessing in and of itself. To be able to afford the luxury of take-out is something one shouldn’t take for granted. Also, I need to slow down on relying on take-out food anyway, and discipline myself in cooking more… but that’s a topic for a whole other post. Bon Appétit!

Late to the game

I grew up in Brooklyn with my mother, father, and older brother. My two sisters were out of the house by the time I was born. One, the oldest, entered the convent right out of high school and became a Franciscan nun within the Roman Catholic church, the other, the second oldest, was already married. There is quite an age span between me and my siblings. My sisters are twenty-two, and twenty years older than me, and my brother was eight years older. My mother was forty-six, and my father fifty-two when they had me (this is back in 1960.) Has any of this painted a clear picture yet? Some may say I wasn't planned, I say I was, but I just showed up late to the game.

The theme of being late to the game followed me throughout my life, in pretty much every area of my life. It seemed this was somehow written in the stars from my conception. My brother's friend was into astrology and asked if she could do a reading for me. I wasn't much into astrology, but I agreed. The day came and she pulled out this big sheet with a circle in the middle which had scribbling everywhere. She went on about houses, rising this, and rising that, and said that whatever it was I chose to do in life, it wouldn't be fully realized until I was much older. That to be born under my sign (which is Capricorn,) meant I had to deal with being a late bloomer. I laughed to myself because I was certain that success was right around the corner... that was thirty-five years ago.

When I was in second grade, I was cast in my school play. The play lasted a whole five minutes, but I remember when the lights came up on stage, feeling a shift in my spirit that widened my little world, which I still feel to this day. It's one thing to unexpectedly feel the spark of a dream as a second grader, but as one grows older, the world around you seems to assume that the spark should begin to dissipate, not become brighter. 

OK... but wait a second... is all this talk about it being too late to do something our heart seeks after, a social construct? Have we as a society agreed that there is an "age limit" to achieving our individual aspirations? Or perhaps has the idea (or as I see it the misinterpretation) of the American Dream created a kind of apathy towards living true to ones self? Or is there some evolutionary balance being created where there are those who are destined to be an inspiration, and those who are to simply stand on the sidelines watching those who inspire? Or maybe those in our past steered us into believing that dreams don't come true for people like us. Perhaps they said this out of love in a desire to protect us from disappointment, or were handing over the weighty boulder of their own broken dreams for us to now carry for them. 

All I know is that I once felt as if I were sleepwalking through this world, and now, being fully committed to pursuing the life of an actor, I've never felt so awake and alive. There is a caveat... as that may be all the reward I get in my pursuit. I've made peace with this eternal uncertainty of my chosen path. I now take to heart the words of the poet William Cowper, "Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing." You see, my being late to the game did not come as a result of my being conceived long after my siblings, or how the stars were aligned on the day I was born, but it came as a result of my desire to hide from the world, and seek after some kind of security blanket. I feared uncertainty, and chose to have no expectations. The scales did not fall from my eyes until I had my two sons. I knew that one day when they came to me with that bright spark of a dream in their heart, I would have only two choices... Empower them by giving them a template, a kind of life map, to navigate their dreams and ambitions. The only way this could happen is by me staying true to mine, and let them witness throughout their young lives, the hardships, as well as the victories... Or hand them over the weighty boulder of my own broken dreams for them to carry. Neither is without a price... yet one creates returns, and the other leaves you forever broken and bound by fear. 

Dreams come in all shapes and sizes. They shift and change at different stages of our lives. To this day, I have never met a person without a dream in their heart. I've seen great cover-ups, but the dream always leaks out in one way or another. 

I've come to believe that there really is no such thing as being "late to the game," or that it is ever "too late" to pursue ones dreams. It doesn't make a difference what that dream may be. If we choose to not put forth effort, we are setting ourselves up to fail and are perpetuating a lifetime of failed thinking, leaving the whole of who we are unrealized. We can never comprehend the fullness of life that way. St. Irenaeus claimed that the glory of God is man fully alive. I happen to agree. 

Who are you? Who, who, who who? (Pete Townshend)

Who am I to have a blog? What on earth could I possibly have to say to you or to anyone else? Honest answer... probably not very much. I don't really understand blogging, or how it fits into our culture, at least not yet. Having become somewhat obsessed with Facebook (did I really just confess that?), I realized it has many limitations. One being although you have your own individual account, you are limited in how much individual expression it really can have. This has caused me to develop an itch which I badly need to scratch. I want to write, and so I am testing my desire to do so via a blog. So, how does this pertain to you? Well... it doesn't. So then you might ask, "Well, then why are you putting it out there for all to read?" My reply... "I'm not a hundred percent sure!" It's kind of like asking the mountain climber why he wants to climb the mountain (you know the answer.)

Yet, I know that one of the biggest reasons I want to do this is because it scares me half to death. Let's face it, we have found as a culture a portal for a meanness within us that prior to the internet laid dormant for most. Suddenly with the rise of "commenting" on anything out there in cyberspace, even a Mother Theresa can be tempted to unleash her demons behind the safety of a keyboard. On the other hand, if Mother Theresa had a blog (yes, I know she cannot because she has passed,) there most definitely would be people out there who would forego any morsel of respect owed her and spew their vitriolic venom attacking her beliefs, or simply her personhood. Let's face it, it's out there. So, as a bit of a mind expanding exercise, I figured I'd step way out of my comfort zone and put words on page (or screen) and let the chips fall where they may.

What will I share? That'll depend on the day. But probably a wide range of things (hence my calling this blog "With Wide Brush Strokes")... like...

- Why can't I can't get past how much my dogs ears stink and just love the ol' mutt anyway?
- Why do I pretend not to like Lady Gaga, when all I really want to do is be out there in all my glorious Gaganess?
- Are sneakers and jeans (with white sweat socks) fashionable on a man in his 50's and 60's?
- If I have faith and you don't (or vice-a-versa,) does that cancel out any possibility of our having a meaningful friendship?
- If I'm a registered Democrat, and you are a registered Republican (or vice-a-versa) does that cancel out any possibility of our having a meaningful friendship?
- Are we fooling ourselves when we choose to believe in any political parties promises?
- What are the pros and cons of teeth whitening?
- Why am I addicted to HGTV's "Love It or List It?"
- Am I crazy to be pursing the life of an actor later in life (especially as a husband and father?)
- Is it wrong for a man my age to be attracted to Anna Kendrick? And if I am, does that make me a dirty ol' geezer?

I'll put these things out there and much more. I'll be as honest as I can about my life, but I will not seek to have this be a blog that screams, "I HAVE THE ANSWERS," but more "I have questions, what about you?" My life has been one of the young poet to which Rainer Maria Rilke wrote to...


…I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.
Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903 in Letters to a Young Poet

If you're interested in trying to love (and live within) the questions themselves, not search for the answers, and gradually, without even noticing, live our way into the answers... then you are enthusiastically invited to read, and/or subscribe to my blog and share your thoughts. If not, I respect that, and hope we can find another avenue in which to come together.

So as for the title of this post "Who are you?" Well... I'll let that question ring out without giving an answer. It's a good place to start.