The Gap

My favorite place on the planet is Cullowhee, North Carolina.

That small town is home to Western Carolina University, where I spent five of the most important years of my life. I attended WCU from August 1995 through May of 1998, or three academic years. Then I dropped out of college for a year, before returning in August of 1999 and earning my degree in May of 2000.

In August of 2007, I came back to WCU as a student in the Master of Arts History program. After assessing the job market for people with history degrees, however, I decided to leave after a year and enroll in law school. That appears to have been a wise decision, though I had a blast in Cullowhee.

Western Carolina University and the surrounding towns- Cullowhee, Sylva and Dillsboro have a wonderful, magical place in my mind. My undergraduate years at WCU were the most important in forming who I am as an adult. A decade after that, the lone year in graduate school is still the happiest year I have had in my life so far.

Even now as I type these words, though, I do not want to write about my experiences at Western. The memories are too intense, and I think that frankly I have suppressed most of them just so that I can focus on getting through my days in the present.

I would not do the memories or the magic justice, sitting here at a desk in Florida. If I ever get the chance to spend a significant amount of time in Cullowhee again, then I am sure the old emotions will come flooding back and I will want to record them.

But for now the memories are just too happy, too sad... too "raw" for me to put myself through such an exercise. I said August 2007 through the summer 2008 was the happiest span of my life. I lived life like I wish I had done as an undergraduate. So I do not want to try and revisit that extreme high. It would be too painful to come back down.

In turn, September 1997 through the spring 1998 in Cullowhee was the most painful year of my life. I grew my hair out, got an ear ring and tried to grow a beard. One of my best friends from WCU refers to it as the year that I decided to be a pirate. It was the year before I dropped out. I remember going to a hockey game in Fayetteville over the Christmas break in 1997 with my dad, brother, and my uncle. I overheard my uncle comment to dad about me, "He looks wiped out."

That was the year I lost faith in a god that loved us, and I truly began to understand what loneliness meant. I do not care to revisit my discovery of those dark places, either.

So there is a gap in this blog about my experiences- a very significant gap. The first blog I ever wrote was for the Graduate Student Association at WCU, when I was there in 2007 and 2008. That captures some of what the happiest year was like for me, but only a small portion.

I could spend an eternity exploring that time. The smell of the buildings at Western, the way the trees and plants looked in different seasons of the year, the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter there, the extreme beauty of how young we all were then, how I changed in that place, and so much more. And so much more. But there is no going back, unless a heaven exists. It makes my chest feel like it is going to explode as I type this draft on a Saturday evening.

I have to stop. There will just be a gap. It was a total of five years of my life. Five years now, in the present, will pass by very quickly, I believe, without nearly the significance. Those five years at Western, though, were the most important and most treasured years of my life. It is too hard to write about them.

The Irrelevance of iPhone Shell Shock

Millbrook K-12 School, Raleigh, North Carolina. 1983.

It is my group's turn to do exercises. Today, these exercises will be on the new computers. It hurt my feelings a bit when, a few weeks ago, the teacher did not assign me to the first group, supposedly the smartest students in my first grade class. I have been placed in the group of second smartest students. She did not tell us how she was classifying the groups, of course, but I know. The first group is ahead of mine on the number of exercises completed. My group is ahead of all the others.

I sit down in front of one of the computers, looking at the big blue screen while the other students in my group take their places as well. It is the first time that I have ever seen a computer in person or touched a keyboard. The teacher's aide, a lady with dark red hair and thick glasses, sets up the program for me. It is a series of spelling exercises.

A cartoon, computer graphic image of a bare, pink skinned foot appears. Five dotted lines are below the picture- the spaces to type in letters- and an automated voice says, "Ankle. Spell ankle."

I type in the letters slowly in the five blank spaces, searching for them on the keyboard. A...N...K...L..E. Then I press the "enter" key.

"That is incorrect," the voice says. "Spell ankle."

Confused, I type in the word again. a...n...k...l...e.

"That is incorrect. Spell ankle."

A...n...k...l...e.

"That is incorrect. Spell ankle."

Maybe the computer is wrong, I think. So I try an incorrect spelling.

a...n...k...e...l.

"That is incorrect. Spell ankle."

I raise my hand in frustration.

The teacher's aide comes over, a small and sour frown on her face. I do not think she likes me that much, as I do not like school. It was much better when Mom taught me at home. I did not have to go to kindergarten because she taught me at home, and this is my first year of being in a classroom and being around other students.

"I am trying to spell ankle, but it keeps telling me that I am wrong," I say to her.

"Well, type it in again," she says.

She watches as I press the keys a...n...k...l...e. Then I press enter.

"That is incorrect. Spell ankle."

I look up at the teacher's aide. Now she looks confused, and I feel vindicated.

She leans over and tries to type the word in herself.

"That is incorrect. Spell ankle."

"Go have a seat back at your desk, " she says. "I'll see if I can fix this."

I walk across the classroom back to my desk, and watch as she tries to get past the "ankle" screen to no avail. She calls over the regular teacher, Mrs. Hawkins, and the two of them try to figure out what is going on. Meanwhile, the students on the other computers type away, and I get an anxious feeling that I am being left behind.

The teacher's aide ends up turning off the computer, and I do not get to do any exercises that day...

Thus begins my rocky relationship with technology and computers.



***

Present day.

One of the reliefs of my new job in Live Oak is that I do not have an iPhone.

I work hard here, putting in much more than 40 hours per week. A difference between being a government lawyer and a lawyer at a private firm, though, is that when I leave the government office, the work stays there. My mind is free to think about other things if I choose. That is rarely the case in private practice, where you always have to be ready to take a phone call and make money for the firm.

Last year, I held a job in sales. As part of our company issued gear, I was given an iPad and an iPhone. I used the iPad for one day, but decided that it was not as user-friendly as my lap top computer. I put it back in its box and never turned it on again.

The iPhone was necessary, though, given the nature of the job. Answering emails quickly was vital, and I answered more than I care to count on the iPhone, punching away at the small screen with my thumbs.

Emails came in at all hours of the day and night- from my boss, from students (customers). The pinging sound that the iPhone made when a new email came in slowly but surely began to grind on my nerves. Each time I heard that sound, it was like being hit with anxiety pellets.

In my job here in Live Oak, there is a prosecutor and some members of the court who have their iPhones set with that same sound when they receive an email. I hear their phones go off when I am sitting in their offices or perhaps the hearing room. Each time I hear it, I get a slight nauseating feeling.

World War I veterans would laugh at me for using the term "shell shock" in the title of this blog entry.

Computers have made my life better in many ways. I like the internet, Facebook, and Youtube. Writing this blog would obviously be impossible without computers.

But there are many things about computers and smartphones that make me feel stress and unhappiness, too. I do not like text messaging, tweets, iPads and iPhones.

What I have discovered though, is that no one cares what I do not like about computers and smart phones. I feel like I am the only person on the planet who prefers to stare out a window as opposed to messing with an app on an iPhone. If I do not participate in the newest wave of technology, then I run the risk of quickly becoming irrelevant in my job and even in social circles.

So far, anyway, this job is very satisfying in that I still get to work with printed books and printed files. I hand write my notes on a legal pad. Westlaw and the internet provide important research functions, but I am lucky in that the vast majority of my time consists of face to face contact with people, working with paper and pen, and working within my own creativity with the facts of the case in front of a judge or jury.

It is a refuge from the pellets of anxiety being lobbed at me, a foxhole to protect against the strange and unpleasant electronic sounds of an incoming shell...I mean incoming email.

Love Bugs

Present Day

After my usual Friday night at the Brown Lantern Bar in Live Oak, and then my Saturday morning sleep-in, I got up and went for a run.

My most common route is to jog about a mile and a half south down highway 129, to where the sidewalk ends heading out of town. At that point, the road becomes two lane through the swamps, woods and farm fields for twenty-five miles or so until you reach Branford, an even smaller town than Live Oak, at the southern end of Suwannee County. I turn around and come back when the sidewalk ends, though, which makes for approximately three miles total that I jog.

On this day, I noticed that many love bugs were flying about. They hit me in my face, chest and arms as I ran. I made note of the time of year- early September- and it reminded me of the first time that I had ever seen bugs like that.

It was the beginning of the fall semester at Florida State Law in Tallahassee, 2008.

These bugs were freaky looking to me then. Two were attached to each other, flying in different directions and unable to separate. I asked someone (I cannot remember whom) what they were, and was told that the government had synthetically designed them be mosquito eaters. The design did not go as planned, though, and the two-headed creatures escaped to multiply and multiply.

I actually believed the story and repeated it a few times before I looked them up on line and found out otherwise- that they were common "love bugs."

While the creatures sort of got in the way during my run on Saturday, they also brought back a pleasant memory.

The fall of 2008 was an exciting time for me. It was the start of a great three years of school, a new city, and a lot of new people. The bugs were everywhere in September 2008 in Tallahassee, but they were just part of new and fun experience- like Spanish Moss in the oak trees, or orange palm tree fruit, or Florida State football. I did not mind them in September of 2008, or in September of 2013.

Too Much Orange Juice

Present Day.

I just got through doing five jury trials in five days. Prior to landing this job in June, I had been out of the courtroom for a year, so it felt good to pick a jury again and break out all of my trial materials.

Obviously, this was a busy week. I stayed in the office late, working on the cases and not sleeping much. I am lucky, though, in that I can take it. I can do this job and do it well, and it does not take a heavy toll on me...

Orange juice can be one of my favorite drinks. If I have not had it in a week or so, I can almost feel the healthy energy pouring into my body when I down a glass.

As nutritious as it is, I can also tell when I have had too much orange juice to drink.

For one, it is not as refreshing. My body is not craving it. Also, I can feel and taste the acidity of it. My tongue begins to get sore. If I continue to drink it, tiny ulcers will actually form in my mouth from the acid.

The same can be said of alcohol. I will never become an alcoholic. The warm, fuzzy feeling of a "buzz" is something that I enjoy as much as the next person, but I can also tell when I have put too much alcohol into my body over a period of days. First, it is an ache in my head, like my brain is being pickled in alcohol. When I get to that point, my tongue and stomach also both begin to reject the taste and the feel of it going down. Each sip seems like I am ingesting poison, and I have to stop. It becomes impossible to reach the "buzz," and sometimes it takes a couple of weeks to get the alcohol out of my system and where I can enjoy a drink again.

The analogy carries over to the jobs that I have held. Studying in law school was actually fun for me. Learning a new concept was like drinking a glass of orange juice when I was thirsty.

But the real world of law firm billing puts it all in a different form. Concepts of law are jammed down your throat, and you have to spit out product quickly, hour after hour, day after day without time for your mind to rest or think about anything else.

It is much like being forced to drink glass after glass of orange juice, every day. And the way my mind and body react to that kind of job is much the same as they react to too much orange juice or too much alcohol.

There are people (perhaps most people, in fact) who can take that kind of work environment without much difficulty. They also seem to be able to handle alcohol better than me... Unfortunately, many of the girls I was attracted to in years past could go out and get intoxicated on a nightly basis, with no apparent effect on their day time activities. They found guys to match, of course, and I found myself on the sidelines without many ways to relate to them.

The point of these comparisons is to say that my current job with the Public Defender's Office is different. You can pour on the case load and the trials, and it does not phase me. It is stressful with someone's life and future in your hands, of course, but it is a different sort of bodily stress than what I felt in the billable hour system, or working under a sales quota, or working for the Post Office.

It does not bother me that I wake up in the morning having dreamed all night about this job. I still get a good night's sleep if I am dreaming about a case. It does not exhaust my mind and body the same way as it did when I worked at the Post Office and had dreams about it, too.

So, I was aggressive this month in going to trial. Being aggressive makes me feel like I am doing a good job, though it kicked up a dust storm.

I like where I am at and what I am doing, and I hope to be able to continue to do it. I also hope that I am not giving everyone else too much orange juice to drink.

The Groove

Present Day

It is my weekend to cover first appearances at the Suwannee County Jail, for people who were arrested the day before. I am the defense attorney who stands before the judge and makes sure that their rights are protected. I review the reason for the arrest and argue against probable cause if necessary, and I also see that they are given a bond if they are entitled to one.

The judge for this weekend wants these done at 7:30 am, so I had to rise very early this morning to put on my suit and tie.

I have never been a morning person, and I never will be. It is probably one of the main reasons that I remain single. Mornings are such a war for me to get up and get my body and brain running. I do not want anyone around for that process, in my space, as it only makes it harder.

In 2004 and 2005, I lived on the beach for a year. Not once did I get up to watch the sun rise over the water.

I can tell that the chemicals in my brain function differently in those early hours, as my perception of the world and my existence are at variance, like I am in another dimension with altered rules of time and space. I have never wanted children, really, in part because I know how much more difficult the mornings will be with kids.

Also, if I have a job that I do not especially like, the bad feelings are amplified much more. I found myself in that situation a couple of times in the past few years.

But I am lucky, now. I like my job a lot. I am so much happier than I was this same time last year. My job makes mornings much more tolerable.

I also walk to work, and this helps get me right for the day.

On Friday nights, I typically go to "The Brown Lantern," a restaurant and bar in Live Oak. Recently, I was sitting at the bar talking with another attorney, and he asked me how I like Live Oak.

"I like it a lot," I answered. "Over the past 10 years or so, I've had many jobs and lived many places, but I hope I can stay here a long time."

"That's good," he said.

"I realize that I am in a groove, now," I continued. "I enjoy my job and it is not that hard for me. I hope to build a career here. If things continue like they feel right now, then five, ten, even fifteen years are going to slip past me very quickly."

"It can happen," he said...

As I sit at my desk and type this blog entry, life is great. I work hard at my job, and it is rewarding. There is free time to play in a summer softball league, work on a novel, use my back yard telescope to study the stars and planets, and watch satellite TV.

But the gnawing loneliness, ever present, seems to have intensified since I moved to Live Oak in June. I know that is not the fault of this town. The loneliness has always been there. I just notice it more now because everything else in my life is in order and running smoothly. Further, I am a seasoned veteran at fighting that battle. My hormones do not rage as strongly as they did when I was a teenager and in my 20s. Now that I am in my 30s, the realization has hit me that I may very well be alone my entire life. Some of the most important years in that regard have already passed. It is not the most pleasant thought, of course, but if that is my fate, I can handle it and still be happy.

In my last year of law school, I listened to a Florida State baseball game on the radio. They were playing at Georgia, and I heard the broadcaster describe two Georgia players going for a fly ball. They collided on the field, and one of them did not get up. After a long delay where he lay motionless in the grass, he was carried off in an ambulance. My fear for him came true- he was paralyzed from the neck down.

I think about that guy often- how young he was and is and how much was taken from him in an instant. Things like that are not supposed to happen to a 20 year old playing baseball. His daily battles are beyond fathom to me- what he must think, feel and remember each morning when he wakes up.

So I am grateful for my existence. I realize that I am not guaranteed anything going forward. But I find myself in a good spot at the present, and I am doing my best to enjoy it.

The 15-Year Throw

Present Day



Softball has been the hi-light of my life for the past few weeks.

I am sad to say that the season came to an end a few days ago, during the double elimination tournament. Our last two games were especially enjoyable for me, though, because I got to play the infield.

Growing up and playing baseball, the position I almost always handled was second base. I can remember being taught to turn the double-play. If the ball was hit to me with a runner on first, depending on how close I was to the bag, I could do a sort of side-armed, hinged pitch to the shortstop covering the bag.

I remember Tim McCarver, a former player and longtime sports commentator, once saying that he was amazed by how accurate the major league second basemen were with that type of throw. I was always pretty accurate with it as a boy, too, and it became my favorite play on the infield.

As an adult playing softball, I rarely got the chance to be at second base. Earlier this week, though, our regular second baseman pulled a muscle. The team captain asked who could fill in, and I told him that I could do the job.

That same inning, with a runner on first, a ball was hit sharply to me. I fielded it and made the sideways throw to the shortstop. It was a great sensation. The only thing that would have been better was turning the double play off of it. There were already two outs in the inning, though, so my pitch to the shortstop ended the inning and ended the game, actually.

It was probably the first time in 15 years that I had made that throw in an organized softball or baseball game.

Here is a link to a second baseman in the major leagues performing the throw that I am talking about:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNJXas_9sr4

Based on how well I played second, I got moved to shortstop for our last game, as our three best players could not make it. Though we lost the game pretty handily, being the center of the action on the infield, as shortstops almost always are, was also extremely enjoyable for me. I can not remember ever being assigned to play shortstop in an actual game before.

After the game, most of the team went to Dairy Queen. They asked if I would be interested in playing next year, to which I responded, "If I am invited, I will definitely play."

"You're invited," came the chorus.

As I am about 10 years older than the next oldest guy on the team, it was a great feeling. In my head, I am the same age as these guys.

Live Oak Lightning

Present Day

My quality of life is as good right now as it has been since I was a student... If I could figure out a way to make money as a student, that is probably what I would be for the rest of my years.

As I am not smart enough to be paid to go to school, though, I am fortunate to have found a good job in Suwannee County, Florida.

Living here has been very pleasant, thus far. It is the small town experience, and after some stints in big cities where the cost of living is high, traffic is stressful and dangerous, hordes of people are always trying to do the exact same thing that you are doing, and you sort of feel invisible, I welcome living in a small town.

One of my favorite things is playing in a softball league. I was able to make connections quickly after moving here and got on a team in less than a month after becoming a resident.

The only way for an adult male to play softball around here is in the church league. One of the local Baptist churches was good enough to add me to their team roster as a non-member.

A couple of nights ago, we played a triple-header.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned to a dark blue, storm clouds formed on the horizon. Streaks of lightning soon followed, though they were far enough off that we kept on playing.

After one particularly wicked streak across the sky, one of our best players, sitting in the dugout, yelled, "It's all right. I'm just going to hang on to this metal fence."

I played in the outfield for most of the three games. It was relaxing and beautiful to watch the streaks of lightning circle us on the horizon, against a deep, dark blue sky.

It was one of those moments when I really appreciated being alive and free on the face of the earth.