Monthly Archives: April 2015

Internal Struggles

21 Tuesday Apr 2015

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Intellect reluctantly climbed into the ring. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to be the one delivering the reminder, but most of the group were in Hope’s corner, so that left the job to him. Optimism, Joy, Pride, Fear, Envy, Confusion, Love, even Anger. Intellect shook his head. Anger; once again, misdirected.

Hope was buoyant, an ever-youthful bundle of energy and determination. He danced in place, confident and poised, certain he was going to win. Intellect scowled. Hope had lost the first fight months ago, and every fight since then, he just hadn’t accepted it.

Intellect couldn’t blame Hope. He’d paired with each of those emotions in Hope’s corner in the past and would again in the future. Together, they’d inspired the phrase “It seemed like a good idea at the time” more times than he could count.

The time he drove dad’s new car through a flooded parking lot, a wave of water flowing right over the hood and in through the open front windows, Bravado egging him on all the way. All the times he waited until the night before to start a paper, Pride assuring him that he was smart enough to pull it off. Having a small panic attack in the solitude of the dorm room back in 1988 when Fear convinced him that the nukes were going to fly.

Afterwards, Intellect often found himself paired up with Humility trying to figure out how things had gone wrong. Over the years those conversations nurtured Wisdom and he had grown a strong voice of his own.

Intellect turned towards his own corner. Reason looked glum, “Maybe you don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t undermine him now,” scolded Wisdom, “there is no way out of this. You’ve tried. Hope won’t let go and we remember how that worked out last time. It has to be this way.”

The bell rang and they met in the center of the ring. Hope started things off with a series of quick jabs, confident, sure of himself, feeling Intellect out. The loud, sharp sound of leather gloves striking their targets began to fill the gym.

Tap. Tap. “She’s still single.” Intellect took the jabs with his gloves, no reason to even parry, “She’s looking.” Tap. Tap. “She hasn’t found anyone else yet.” A half-hearted parry this time, Pop. “She’s dated others, she will find someone.”

Hope, seeing an opening, launched an elegant combination, Tat. Tat. Whap. Whap. Tat. “That’s right, she will, because she’s great, who wouldn’t want to be with her?”

Intellect covered up and absorbed the flurry of blows, growing more annoyed. Hope wasn’t telling Intellect anything he didn’t already know. Of course he wanted to be with her, but what he wanted, what any of them wanted, wasn’t the point. He countered with his own combination, Whap. Tat. Tat. Whap. “That’s not a relevant question. She doesn’t want to be with us.”

Hope’s head snapped back as Intellect’s right connected with his chin. Hope regrouped quickly, but in the corner, a look of surprise came over Optimism’s face. This wasn’t going as he’d anticipated. Intellect was going to put up a fight. There wasn’t going to be a romantic reunion, there wasn’t even going to be an attempt, Intellect wasn’t going to allow it this time. Optimism backed quietly away from Hope’s corner.

Intellect noticed from the corner of his eye. One down he thought. The defection had not been noticed by Hope and undeterred he pressed on. Tat. Tat. Thwack. Hope had a rhythm going now, “She might still change her mind.” Intellect waited, knowing there was no threat, knowing where this was leading, “It’s been six months.”

Thwack. Thwack. Whap. “She needs more time, we should wait for her.” Dodge. Shift. Slide. Punch. Tat. TAT.  “No, we shouldn’t. That’s not fair to her or us.” Hope was putting some effort into his punches now, Tat. Tat. TAT! “Once she’s dated enough other guys she’ll realize she was happiest with us.” Intellect mocked him, “Sure.”

Taking the bait, Hope swung hard, overextended, missed, and left himself open “I want to be with her!” Intellect stepped in and delivered a solid right to Hope’s ribcage. THUMP. “If you really loved her, you wouldn’t want her to settle for dispassionate acceptance.”

The air left Hope’s lungs. Envy left Hope’s corner, recognizing that his selfishness was harmful to the woman he desired. Love looked after him, conflicted now, wanting to support Hope, but unable to dismiss that last blow. Two down, noted Intellect and waited for Hope’s next move, growing more irritated at having to cover this familiar, painful ground again. It was pointless. None of these early exchanges really mattered. Intellect would keep dispatching Hope’s volleys no matter what he brought up. He’d known how this would end before he’d even stepped in the ring.

Joy tossed some water in Hope’s face. He recovered and launched a new attack. TAT! TAT! “She looked beautiful in that latest photo.” Intellect absorbed the punches easily, “Stunning. Compelling. Radiant. Do you have a point?”

Whap. Whap. Whap. “Don’t you remember how it felt to have her fall asleep on your chest?” Intellect drew him in, holding back his counter punches, “It was wonderful while it lasted.” TAT! TAT! THUMP. THUMP. “How about how her hair fell around your face when she kissed you?”

Intellect felt those last two blows to his midsection, knowing they represented an opening, he jabbed, TAT! “Like it was yesterday.” He followed with an uppercut, WHUMP.  “Except, it wasn’t yesterday, it was months ago and reliving it day after day, as you drag it up to buttress your plan to win her back, is a cheap substitute for the real thing.”

Joy was smart enough to recognize the difference between passion and sentimentality. He dropped the water bottle and stepped down from the side of the ring to join the growing crowd of onlookers, certain now what the outcome was going to be.

Three down. Oblivious, Hope pressed on.

Technical, but tentative, two quick jabs. Tat. Tat. “If we can just find the right words we can convince her.” Intellect’s response, a straight right that pushes Hope’s own gloves back into his face, THWAP. “Do you have something better than “I love you?”” and again as Hope staggered, THWAP. “Explain to me how begging and longing will make us more attractive.” Pride straightened up and left Hope’s corner. Four down, thought Intellect.

Hope was hurting a bit now, wondering why Intellect seemed to be hardly working at all, while he ached and sweated and bled and noticed for the first time that half his support had abandoned him. A dizzy combination of Fear, Anger, Confusion, and Love spurred him on.

He’ll turn to Anger now, thought Intellect, as Hope spun back towards the ring and charged him with renewed energy. TAT! TAT! THWACK! “It’s your fault for not recognizing what she was asking for.” Intellect didn’t roll with these punches, he wanted to feel this pain, he needed to feel it. “Yes, it’s my fault.” Hope went to work on his ribs, WHUMP! WHUMP! “You weren’t ready, you had too much baggage.” Intellect clenched his teeth as the blows landed, admitting, “Yes. Perhaps.”

WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! More blows to the ribs, Hope was trying to find that knockout shot to the liver, trying to punish Intellect more than trying win the fight, “You didn’t fight hard enough when she left.” Intellect kept absorbing the blows, “I fought as hard as I could, for as long as I could. Longer than I should have.” WAP! WAP! Hope works the head as Intellect finally covers up his ribs, “You should have kept fighting.” As Hope’s jabs pull his elbows up too high, Intellect delivers an angry left to his plexus and briefly stops the onslaught, Pop! “I respected her feelings, her decision.”

Love saw what was happening now, finally saw the set-up, saw where it was heading and rested his hand on Anger’s shoulder, gently pulling him back from where he was leaning into the ring, shouting with rage “Hit that fucker harder! He fucked it all up! Hit him harder!” Anger pushed Love’s hand away and yelled again “Hit him!”

THWAP! “She had baggage too!” Intellect took that punch as well. Hope could hurt him, but couldn’t win. Intellect let it play out, “Yes, but that wasn’t the problem.” TAT! TAT! TAT! “It was! She said she was falling for us!” Intellect let the blows fall, felt his head start to ring, his vision start to narrow. It was okay, he needed the motivation, “Yes, and we fell for her.” Hope is casting about now, trying to find anything to soften Intellect up. TAT! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! “That’s what freaked her out! It was her baggage!” Intellect took the punches and held the center of the ring, “Perhaps. Maybe only when combined with our baggage. I refuse to blame her. I’m not angry at her.”

Love had a hold of Anger’s arm now and had pulled him down from ringside, tossing back the last of his support for Hope as he did so, bringing Hope’s focus back to what he believed was his knockout shot, “We still love her.” Delivered with absolute certainty and the remaining bit of power Anger had provided, it would have been a stunning blow had it landed. Intellect had seen it coming, had known all along it was coming and easily avoided it, back-peddling away, feeling that he’d taken enough of a beating, regretting what was going to come next, and, as Anger moved away from Love and pulled himself onto Intellect’s corner, furious that he was being forced to do it, “A part of us will always love her.”

Hope slouched against the ropes, trying to regain his footing after committing and missing on that last haymaker. Fear and Confusion remained in his corner and urged him on. Hope tossed out only words this time as he struggled to regain his composure, find the certainly that had carried him into the ring, and rekindle the belief that he could set everything right.

“We might not ever meet anyone as great as her.” Intellect waited, growing more annoyed, “You thought that the last time too. And then we met her.” Hope pushed off the ropes, struggling to stand upright, “We’re going to be alone forever.” Intellect circled, baiting him, “That’s not even you talking anymore Hope.” Hope’s gloves were back up, a gleam coming back into his eyes, “She said she was falling for us…”

And Intellect knew it was time to finish the fight. He tightened his fists inside his gloves. This was going to hurt; he was going to make sure it hurt. He liked Hope. Admired him. Respected him for his determination and courage, but the pain he was causing had to stop. There could be no more dwelling in the past and that was going to take a beating they would all feel.

Intellect closed the distance quickly, knowing the fight was about to be over, knowing he’d reached the point where the outcome was revealed. An outcome the rest of them kept refusing to acknowledge, kept wishing would somehow change. Hope, exhausted, quitting never an option, met him and tossed two quick jabs.

Tat. Tat. “But she…”

Predictable. Easily, obviously, predictable and therefor exploitable. Intellect stepped inside, close, using the opening to amplify his attack. Infuriated by the pointlessness of the entire exercise he wanted to punish Hope for dragging them all back to this painful ring again and again these last six months. He let Anger push him to a brutality he could not reach on his own, enraged by the pain Hope had made them all relive, wishing he could kill Hope and knowing how impossible that was, at the least he could ensure they wouldn’t have this fight again.

Intellect unleashed the facts in five brutal blows, drawing his gloved fist back and skyward between each punch, raining the blows down even as Hope dropped his arms and fell to his knees.

“She. Does. Not. Love. You.”

Hope crumpled to the canvas. Clarity came to Confusion and Fear retreated in the face of Intellect’s brutal, honest, undeniable assault. They were all silent now; without hope. He laid there, abandoned, all the fight gone out of him, a seeming impossibility only minutes ago. Intellect ached at the truth of it, as he known he would when he first stepped into the ring. As he knew they all would at unguarded moments in the future, when one thing or another triggered a memory of her.

He waved Joy and Optimism into the ring and they lifted Hope to his feet.

“I’m sorry” Intellect said, “I couldn’t let you go on like that.”

“It’s okay,” replied Hope, “I got carried away and when the others backed me up it made sense to try and change things.”

“I know,” Intellect reassured him, “we still need you; we will always need you. Some things can’t be changed. Some things change when you least expect it.”

Hope straightened up, smiling, picking up on what Intellect was implying, always seeing promise and potential before others did. “We’ll meet someone else.”

“I hope so.” Intellect said.

“I know so.” replied Hope.

Untethered

08 Wednesday Apr 2015

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Dave Grohl is a rock star. I know this because a few years back I saw the Foo Fighters play live. I’m not a long-time fan, I knew of them, I’d heard their most popular songs, but I didn’t buy my first Foo Fighters album until I heard “The Pretender.” Based on that song I bought the entire Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace album unheard, being at a point in my life where I was finally comfortable with taking a risk on unheard music.

Echoes turned out to be a great soundtrack for my mostly solitary 2010, strangely aligning with my divorce and providing songs that mirrored each emotional stage of that process. But I still wasn’t hooked. I didn’t buy up their back catalog or check the tour schedule.

Then I caught Dave Grohl giving an acoustic performance in a small auditorium on the concert channel. He was riveting. I tuned in at a point where he was speaking to the audience and was instantly captivated. Over the rest of the program he played, talked about the back story to his songs and his creative process and played some more, sometimes alone, sometimes with a supporting band. He closed out the concert with a solo acoustic rendition of “Best of You” that blew me away.

He had already established a deep passion for music and performing that was clear in his playing and interacting with the audience over the course of the concert. Here, with this song and one guitar, he took his performance up a notch and in doing so he took the audience with him; not just a few diehards in the front row, the entire audience, all 800 or 900 hundred of them, all the way to the back row. They connected with that song and matched his passion and I knew then I had to see Dave perform live.

A year and a half later, the Foo Fighters opened with the first two songs off Wasting Light before breaking out “The Pretender,” “My Hero,” and “Learn to Fly,” with Dave leaving the main stage to move into an aisle carved through the floor audience, at times leaning into the crowd as he played. After that blistering opening, Dave took a minute to ask a question: “When did weed become legal in Boston?” He never let up on the sarcasm from that moment on, taunting the audience by explaining the band was about to throw down a “monster one hour set”, knowing the internet was alive with stories of their two and a half hour sets. As the Boston crowd lustily booed this announcement, he allowed himself to be talked up to two hours before driving the crowd into a frenzy by turning auctioneer and asking “do I hear three?!”

Throughout the concert Dave kept up the sarcastic banter. Introducing the lead guitarist, he pointed out that he played lead guitar on only two songs – Dave clearly covering all the others – but was generous enough to allow that they were “really important songs.” They played fourteen more songs in their opening set, closing with a monster rendition of “All My Life” played on top of a stage floor lit blood red as Dave yelled into the microphone “And I’m done, done onto the next one!” The crowd was alive with the driving insistence of that song and at times the audience drowned out the band. The stage went black as the song ended and the audience vibrated with anticipation for the encore set, egged on by a back stage feed of Dave and Taylor holding up fingers for the number of songs that would be played in an entertaining good cop/bad cop routine.

Dave started the encore with an acoustic version of “Wheels” and some chatter about how the fans in Germany loved that song, biding his time before tapping into the crowd’s energy again, pulling them into a more intimate connection by sharing his thoughts, and promising to come back and play a tiny venue if the Boston crowd put up a better showing than the Germans. After “Wheels,” and seemingly happy with the audience participation, Dave then shared that he had learned he could make an audience do the wave with just his face. Sensing scepticism, “You don’t believe me?” Dave turned to crowd on the floor to front left of the stage and using just his face got the audience to do the wave. “See, I told you. Just my face.”

We cheered as he casually tuned his guitar, leaned into the mike, and with dripping disgust, chastised us, “Never do the fucking wave at a rock concert.” Just as that jibe was starting to register, just as the Garden was collectively drawing in their breath to respond, Dave grabbed their intent and bent it to his will, crushing the cacophony of what would have been boos and cheers and laughs and replacing it with an outpouring of jubilation as he yelled “I’ve got another confession to make!”

The Garden exploded. Exactly as I had witnessed on TV, Dave commanded the audience, only this time he took 19,000 people with him as he poured an amount of passion into his performance that you wouldn’t believe was possible on the last night of a year-long tour. I joined in, yelling the lyrics out at the top of my lungs, not wanting the concert to end, wanting to hear more songs that sent my heart racing, that made me raise my arms into the air, that kept me on my feet for two and a half hours.

Dave transitioned into “Times Like These” and was joined by the band. From there they played my favorite song off their new album, “Dear Rosemary,” morphed that into Tom Petty’s “Breakdown” and closed with “Everlong”, which made me marvel at Taylor Hawkins’ endurance as the Fighters charged through that song.

After the concert, my friends and I walk back to my car. The pre-concert rain has stopped and it’s surprisingly warm for a November night and I’m enjoying walking with the happy mob of concert goers as we disperse from the Garden. It’s nearly midnight, but I’m wide awake and I know from experience that I won’t be asleep before 2am. I’m buzzing with energy, every nerve ending in my body is singing, the concert had stripped away my concerns and obligations and fears. It had untethered me from those thoughts for an evening. It freed me to live in and enjoy that moment.

It’s not until I actually step into the elevator at the parking garage and press the button for the fourth floor that I remember the last time I was there. The memory freezes me for a moment, like bitterly cold air will do when you step outside and draw that first breath deep into your lungs, feeling it touch parts of your insides that are normally quiet and undisturbed, the unfamiliar sensations expanding your sense of self, and takes me back to that evening.

It was a bitingly cold January evening and I was leaving McCormick & Schmick’s. Holding onto my left arm is a beautiful woman. We’ve just had our second date and I had decided during dinner that I was going to kiss her for the first time that night.

I don’t remember if I decided before or after she ran her hand through my hair as she excused herself from the table. I do remember that I decided as she was checking a message from her babysitter (divorced parents understand the need to check the phone mid-date). She had turned to the side to reach into her purse to get her iPhone, pushing the hair on the left side of her face behind her ear and letting the hair on the right side of her face fall forward, framing the soft, freckled ivory of her profile with curly red, fiery glory. I was enthralled and I let my eyes linger longer than would have been comfortable had she not been distracted by the message on her phone.

Now she was walking close to me, her hand hooked through my elbow, her arm pressed up against the back of my arm, and my pulse quickened in anticipation as we entered the garage and paused to wait for the elevator. Two other couples entered the elevator with us. They pressed the button for the second floor, I pressed the button for the fourth and as the elevator began to rise I dropped my arm to lead her hand into mine and turned towards her, catching her bright blue eyes as the elevator slowed to a stop, her eyes are quizzical for a split second and then they sparkle and dance with excitement and affirmation.

As the doors opened and the other couples began to step out, I let go of her hand, moved my hand to the small of her back, and pulled her closer, slipping my other hand up and between her shoulders, feeling her hands and arms wrap around my back as I leaned down to press my lips against hers, beginning our first kiss before the doors even started to close for the elevator’s journey to the fourth floor, knowing that the couples departing the elevator had felt the energy between us, having heard one start to laugh and another question “Did you see…?” as the doors closed.

I brought her closer, layers of clothes and two winter jackets taking little away from the excitement of feeling her body press against mine for the first time. I watched her eyes as her face drew closer, she closed them and tilted her head to the side as our lips met. Tentatively at first, but then bolder, each of us responding to the small clues from the other. She hugged me closer, I parted my lips a fraction. She parted hers and kissed me more deeply. I moved my hand to the back of her neck, one of my fingers tracing just behind an ear, and she teased her tongue across my top lip. I responded in kind and the elevator stopped with that slight bump older elevators have, our first kiss having lasted two floors and maybe twelve seconds.

I pulled away as the cold air flooded into the elevator, buzzing with energy, all of my concerns and obligations and fears stripped away, alive only for this moment and completely focused on the beautiful woman in front of me, who’s squeezing my hand as we walk towards my car and what I’m sure will be our second kiss.

The elevator opens on the fourth floor, the same slight bump bringing me back into the present. Dave is a rock star; a superstar even. But he needed a six man band, a computerized, motorized, laser-ized lighting system, tens of thousands of watts of ear splitting amplification, dozens of roadies, at least five guitars by my count, 19,000 screaming fans and two and half hours to untether me from the foundations of my daily existence.

She did it with a look, an embrace, and one kiss in the time it took for an elevator to slowly climb twenty feet.