The Divinity of Disappointment — A Letter to Those Who Think They’ve Failed.

Disappointment can be wearing.  Frustrating too.  There’s no way around it.  When you’re an artist and a creator (and we all are), you get knocked down…. a lot.  It’s just part of the gig.  Abe Lincoln.  Rejected.  Martin Luther King Jr.  Mocked.  Amelia Earhart.  Ridiculed.  Early on, these folks were billboards for disappointment.  Or were they?

If we put on our God glasses and observe with a bit gentler eye, what we frequently label as disappointment and failure is often false advertising for clarity, redirection, and a heightening of Presence.

One of the many side effects of an overactive Western world is our rush of judgment in associating failure with self-worth.  You know, cause we gotta have everything right here, right now.  Or…  that it means something about us.

Cut from the team…  Not good enough.
Can’t sell your house…  The world is against me.
Bomb the audition…  Don’t have the talent. 
Lose the job or kill the relationship.  (And this is my favorite)…  What will people say?
Or even more worrisome, how will social media respond?  The tragedy…

Truthfully though, what’s seen by many as a case of ineptitude or a sign to work harder and longer or a perpetual curse of “bad luck” or an attachment to popular opinion may just be a benevolent Youniverse finalizing the details – the divine ones that is.  Thus presenting all parties involved with yet another opportunity to trust and stay rooted in their Glow.

Disappointment is simply the disguise that alignment occasionally wears.  That’s it.

Nothing but a divine reroute masquerading as a temporary road bump.  Or as my mom puts it, disappointment – “an appointment not met.”  You see?  Just a timing thing.  Nothing but the Divine rescheduling.

(And no, this doesn’t mean the cosmos has a day planner.  It doesn’t wear a cape either.  Saving is for the piggy bank.  Being the “you” in Youniverse means participation.  It’s active.  (End this paragraph with a reminder about “letting go” being anything but a passive deed).)

So before you get your dauber down and drop your latest experience in the defeat file, I’m going to ask you to reflect on this, because maybe, just maybe, your current disappointment is but a nudge in a soul-suited direction.

Stay open.
Embrace the Mystery.
Keep it light.

Love

TJ

How A Bear in Virginia Broadened My Instincts — Fetch in 50 Gone Wild.

Written by Gus

love and light
It all changed in an inhale.

Sure, we were on the road, thousands of fetch throws from home and half a mile and counting inside a dense Virginia forest. But this whiff… it was different.  And I knew it the second I leapt from Betty (that’s our car).

At first, I tried to sniff past it.  Through it.  Around it.  Anything really.  We’d been in the car long past our daily drive time and I wasn’t in the mood to play MacGyver.  I was in the mood to run amok.  Off-leash.  Off-hours.  You know, be a dog.

But who am I kidding?  A dog with a dad is a dog with a purpose.  We never clock out.  And when dad and I came around that next corner, I couldn’t fight it any longer.  My nose had officially redlined.

Now, before I go any further, and before you say that dog’s smell everything, let me give you the 411 on our nose.  Don’t worry, I’ll keep things “human” simple.

You see, a dog’s nose is like a mother’s intuition:  off-switch not included.  To question such an instinct is to question the sun and the stars — a blasphemous action indeed.  Wanna dodge the dog house?  Do.  Not.  Fuck.  With.  It.  Ever.  Comprendo?

Gus!  What did I tell you about cursing on the blog?

That’s there’s a time and a place??

Exactly.  Great execution, son!  On with the post…

As I was saying, this smell wasn’t a typical canine curiosity.  This was a scent of the cautious kind.  A full-blown nostril explosion.  It felt big.  It felt alive. And the fact that I couldn’t pinpoint it, I knew one thing and one thing only… wherever it was, whatever it was, I had to be there first.  Slowly, I distanced myself from dad.

The trail narrowed to the size of a fetch stick. This sudden lack of space brought my deepest fears to the surface. I was supposed to be dreaming about the waterfall at the end of the hike.  God, an afternoon dip would really hit the spot…  Instead, the scent drew nearer and clearer.  I felt my ears lift.

What is it pup?

Shit, dad’s on to me.  So much for a covert operation.  Stupid box head!

Just looks like a fallen rock, bud.

Yeah, I see the stupid rock.  It sat in the middle of the path just a short toss ahead.  I ran it through analytics five minutes ago.  But the big smell… where was it and why couldn’t I analyze it?

All my life I’ve trained for a moment like this.  Hydrants.  Suitcases.  Friend’s assholes.  Hell, one time I woke dad in the middle of the night to chase an opossum out of the backyard.  Smelt it down the hill, through the drywall, while sleeping.  They don’t teach that at PetSmart.

And then, without warning, but with the authority of a Spartan warrior, my dad’s voice froze me in my prints.

Gus, COME!

In all my days, never once have I heard such a tone.  Every furry follicle of my being could feel its vibration.  Dad wasn’t inviting, dad was commanding.  As I made an about-face, the picture came into focus.  Dad found the smell first!

There they were.  Forty feet to dad’s left, forty feet to my right… two black bear cubs frolicking on the green hill.  Behind them with a very fixed eye stood mom:  large, lengthy, and surprised – a shared sentiment.  Everything slowed down yet everything sped up.

Gus, COME!

The difference in elevation gave the bears a much closer appearance. Dad stood still, his eyes on a timeshare with me and mama bear.  Now the cubs hid behind her.  I stared back bracing for a sudden move.

Gus, COME!

Third command.  Oh man, I’ve never gone to third command! Decision time. Do I return to dad or stand my ground?  I want dad to know that I’d fight to the death for him.

Pride aside, I go with the former.  When master’s call, it’s a dog’s soul duty to honor said call.  (Plus I’ve seen the Nat Geo Channel.  Dog versus bear doesn’t end well).  I return to dad and submit to the leash.  As we flee the area, mama grunts twice as if to expedite our exit.

Good boy, puppy dog!

And here’s the golden nugget:

Bear or morsel, respect the energy around you.  Suck some air.  Gauge the room.  The wisest instincts often mean walking away.

Do it and you might just get a treat.  I did.  Dad hides mine behind the dash.

Shhhh….

Gus

 

10 Things My Dad Taught Me While Riding Shotgun on the Road.

Written by Gus
love

My inaugural blog post, what a thrill!  Not quite as exciting as the parking meter I just sprayed in downtown Richmond (I held it all night for that one), but an adventure nonetheless. Since my dad drives a lot, I thought I’d give him a reprieve from his weekly writing duties.

We’re pumping gas as we speak. Some hayseed town in rural Virginia. There’s a lot of missing teeth here. I wonder how they chew their bones. Anyway, dad’s trying to put the windshield wiper back on.  It snapped in two when he raised it to clean Betty’s windshield.  And dad is not what you’d call “car savvy.”  I think it’s supposed to rain here too.  And the adventure rolls on…

In homage to Father’s Day, I’ve been sneakily documenting dad’s nuggets of wisdom.  Believe it or not, the guy talks all the time.  To me.  To himself.  To the funny man’s voice that blares from Betty’s doors.  He even sings too.  I love my dad’s voice.  I sleep through half of it (“fetch rest” as they call it in the biz), but when I’m up, I’m a blessed pup with a front row seat.

And just so you know that I know, I’m aware he’s not my “real” dad (yes, we had the talk). Turns out my “real” dad (you know, the one with the tail) flew the coup when mom broke the news that she was preggers.  Apparently the guy went a-wall and took a walk all the way to California.  No joke.  That’s where he lives now.  I have the papers to prove it.

But enough about deadbeat dads, this weekend isn’t about them.  It’s about the owners and teachers that understand the command “stay” (take that “real” dad).  By the way, I’m not exactly sure how to use air quotes, I learned from a TV show my dad was watching last week.

Where was I?  Right.

Dads don’t need to be blood or the same species (mine isn’t) or still on the planet for that matter either.  Whoever or wherever they are, send ‘em some extra puppy love this Sunday. Enough from my panting chops though, seriously, it’s so damn hot on the East coast.

TEN THINGS MY DAD HAS TAUGHT ME ON THE ROAD

1. Under no circumstances EVER is bad internet connection a real complaint.  Dad says some people walk ten miles a day just to drink water. Dirty water too. And you’re in a hissy fit because your Instagram page won’t load while waiting in line at Starbucks?  As my dad says, “Let me introduce you to ‘Perspective 101.'”

2.  Science and spirituality can coexist.  As a matter of fact, they already do. Science teaches us what’s “out there.”  Spirit teaches us what’s “in here.”  (You can’t see me, but I’m pointing to my furry golden chest).

3. Highway workers are the most underappreciated souls going.  They work long hours… in the sun… without any regard for their body.  All so we can experience this playground called Earth.  Next time you’re stuck in traffic, rather than curse the fates, thank the Youniverse for a way.

4.  That dog named Marley is the reason leash laws exist.  And leash laws are the reason I’ve broken the law in every state.

5.  Emotions are good.  Lack of emotion is not.  Dad says I wear mine on my sleeve. He also says he doesn’t mind because he respects a man that communicates.  Just know when to draw the line.

6. Tattooing the word “peace” on your back doesn’t make you any more peaceful.  Those that ink their beliefs are typically those who fear them the most and live them the least. If it’s in another language, especially Sanskrit, dad says look out. The same goes for bumper stickers and Facebook statuses.

7.  Social media has stripped the world of its mystery.  Ever heard of balance, people?

8. If human beings learn to consciously breathe, two things will happen: health care will reform itself and the drug companies will go belly up.  Who’s in?

9. Harry Potter is the greatest piece of literature this side of the 21st century.  In dad’s dream world, it would be mandatory school text. But until we learn to play more and reason less, the paradigm will never shift.

10.  Dog is God spelled backwards.  Accident?  My dad thinks not.

OK, wiper blade is fixed. Doubt it works.

We’ll do this again.

Gus

Zen and the Art of Farming.

A farmer had only one horse.  One day, his horse ran away.  All the neighbors came by saying, “I’m so sorry.  This is such bad news.  You must be so upset.”

The farmer just said, “We’ll see.”

Several days later, the horse returned with twenty wild horses. The farmer and his only son corralled all of them. All the neighbors came by saying, “Congratulations!  This is such good news.  You must be so happy!”

The farmer just said, “We’ll see.”

The following day, one of the wild horses kicked the farmer’s son, breaking both of his legs.  All the neighbors came by saying, “I’m so sorry.  This is such bad news.  You must be so upset.”

The farmer just said, “We’ll see.”

The country went to war, and every able-bodied young man was drafted to fight.  The war was long and gruesome and killed every man from the village, but the farmer’s son was spared, since his broken legs prevented him from the battlefield.

All the neighbors came by saying, “Congratulations!  This is such good news. You must be so happy!”

The farmer just said, “We’ll see.”

Skip the assessment.
Can the conclusions.
And just wonder.
Life is moving.

Neutrality can be a divine act.

You’ll see.

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