Vol II: #3 The Setup Part 2

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(Read The Setup Part 1 by clicking here: LINK)

I took the better part of Monday to draft and edit my first text to Rachel*. Text messaging is a poor medium of communication because it lacks tone, pace, and grace. Yet, here in 2021, it’s become an acceptable form of introduction; therefore, the first message matters. I sent several drafts to my trusted friend Blake. I took his suggestions and eventually landed on a solid introduction. At 4:30 PM Pacific, I pasted my work into a text and pressed send. It was a simple act that carried meaning beyond the act itself. The last girlfriend— the one I loved and wanted- was officially and forever part of my past. Nik is open for business.

The sending of the text was not without anxiety or hesitation. My breath quickened, and I could feel my heart working in my chest. According to my watch, my heart rate spiked around 140 beats per minute, double my resting heart rate. Why was I so nervous? Over a text message? Because I have a history. When I read that history, it’s full of pain and heartache. And there I was, charging up the hill once more, daring to believe I to will find my forever lady.

When I agreed to meet Carrie’s friend, the one I “need(ed) to meet,” I accepted the possibilities. Who knows what can happen or how it will happen? The road to marriage begins with hope, and an open mind is key. On the flippy-flip side, it’s healthy to keep expectations in check. Many people suffer from their own delusions and fantasies when they place them on the backs of would-be lovers. I learned to take each situation and moment on its own merit, to allow a narrative to unfold rather than force it.

My hope with Ms. Rachel was to find a woman interesting enough to meet for coffee. Her reply, early Tuesday morning, did not disappoint. She answered my thoughtful text with one of her own and gave me a picture of what’s important to her. She loves working with kids, reading and is passionate about social justice. Her reply was good enough to satisfy my aforementioned hope. I debated whether or not to ask her out in my next text to her but decided against it. I wanted to send one more text. So, I did.

My text was a solid text in my eyes. I thanked her for a thoughtful reply, opened up about my life experience, and explored some of my interests. That was Tuesday, just before lunch. As of this writing, Rachel has yet to reply— it’s late Friday night. The kids call this experience “ghosting.” It feels like shit. A young Nik would take this rejection as a statement of his worth, but thankfully I’m 40 years old. A passive-aggressive act by an immature woman^ will not knock me off the road I walk. “Is this what this generation of kids do to each other?” I questioned. It’s no wonder they have trust issues.

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My first attempt to date since Jane* was a hilarious flop, all this build-up amounted to nothing. I’ll never know what happened to Rachel, and short of a fantastic story, I won’t ask. I told my friend, Carrie, I wanted a strong and courageous woman. Rachel proved to be neither.

(*Names changed for obvious reasons. ^Immaturity always comes before maturity. It’s a stage of life we all must suffer. I do not just Rachel. I’ve walked in her shoes.)

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Abstract: Powerless Rage

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There’s a lack of intelligence to those who rage against the rain,

in a rainforest.

One must accept the storms and thunder,

or move on.

Regardless of choice,

we cannot shame the jungle,

for being who it is.

She existed long before we wandered into her wonder,

and will stand tall long after we leave.

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Vol II: #2 The Setup

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While fishing on the Bayou last week, I received a text message from Carrie*. “Nik, I got someone you need to meet!!” it read. It’s the first time in years someone offered to set me up, and two conflicting emotions immediately went to war in my heart. First, there was joy, for the opportunity and consideration by my friend. And second, there was fear, lingering from the dating failures before it. Carrie, an unashamed lady, did not wait for my reply and quickly demanded an answer. What I chose in the moment was honesty. I was tired and had questions. In the moment, I did not have an enthusiastic answer to give- which disappointed my dear friend. Thankfully, she was gracious and agreed to push the conversation to the next day.

As I walked around Bourbon Street the following morning, I thought about the type of woman I want to date. Gone are the porn-informed fantasies of my youth, and experience taught me to value character over status or accomplishment. With the smell of stale beer and old brick in my nose, I remembered the breaking points of previous relationships. Then I asked myself “who is this woman?” No doubt she is flawed, imperfect, and battling her own set of breaking points. Like me. After I scarfed down a delicious shrimp po-boy for lunch, I let my mind settle on three main questions and a plan. I’d put my questions to Ms Carrie and let her decide the next step.

I didn’t mince words in my text to Carrie later that afternoon. I asked if the woman was passionate about anything, emotionally healthy, and did she possess self-worth. This wasn’t the reply Carrie expected but she embraced it all the same- which led to a deeper more meaningful conversation. Ultimately, we decided until I returned to Redding to continue the discussion.

By Sunday, I was back in Redding, back to dry heat and cloudless summer skies. Carrie and her boyfriend lured me over with the promise of free food to discuss the setup. I was slightly nervous when I arrived and struggled to make small talk. For the next few hours we discussed everything but dating. The slow build up set my nerves at ease. Eventually, we made our way to the pool out back, and finally the conversation turned to the mystery lady.

Carrie (and boyfriend) led with how cute the woman is, which I consider annoying. I dunked my head under the surface of the water to let out a small sigh. “Of course you think your friend is cute. ALL WOMEN THINK THEIR FRIENDS ARE CUTE. It’s a throw away statement,” I screamed…in my head. I quickly turned the conversation to who this person is, not what she looks like. Physical looks are fleeting. We all end up sagging and grey.

As I circled the pool I began to get a better picture of who the lady is. She’s a teacher, and believes in social justice for African-Americans and those in poverty. Having given part of my life to such people, I liked what I heard. I appreciated the condor of my friends, because they did not paint a rosy picture or inflate my expectations. I left the house with a better idea of who she is, and…I stalled the inevitable long enough. I was always going to say yes to the setup. No matter what.

The next morning, Carrie sent me the woman’s phone number (and picture). I was annoyed (by the picture) but happy to be moving forward. The setup was in motion.

(*Name changed for obvious reasons.)

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Abstract: Dating

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The hope of the bloom,

fresh from the storm,

the seed of the beauty before it.

But not this day, the lingering clouds too thick,

The life-giving Son absent,

and only faith remains.

In the darkness Faith whispers “these shadows will fade,

and tomorrow we renew the hope of glory.”

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Vol II: #1 Year Two

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Well, here we are. After a year of writing, we begin year #2. It feels fresh and alive. I know the direction I want to go and how I want my writing to evolve. For starters, I want to develop the craft of story-telling. Stories draw people into a moment and provide depth to discussion. To support this goal, I enrolled in an online class and began to read more fiction— starting with Langston Hughes’ book “Not Without Laughter.” While I don’t plan on writing fiction, the best non-fiction authors (ie Malcolm Gladwell) use a fictional approach to the real-life stories they pen. That’s what I want to do. Second, I want to be more intentional in regards to writing poetry. I love writing poetry, because it’s my space to explore a thought or feeling. When I was writing a blog post per day, my ability to kick out poems suffered.

Practically what this will look like to you is I will alternate blog posts and poems. Every Monday-Wednesday-Friday will be a blog posts, and every Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday will be poems. The goal is to post 150 of each over the next year. This new schedule will give me Sunday’s off plus two weeks worth of days for me to take off as I wish. I believe the change will allow me to proof read and edit my writing in line with my goals— write a post one day, then edit and post it the next.

I appreciate all the love and support.

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Journal: #330 GOAL ACHIEVED!!!

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I thought about this exact post for months— what I want it to be, communicate, and symbolize. Now that it’s here, I want to celebrate the moment of achievement. How many of us set specific goals and achieve them? It probably depends on the goal, right? I’ll reframe the question. How many of us set personal goals— lacking financial or social reward— and achieve them? In my life, and I’m sure yours, it’s uncommon. From the time we are young, we are taught to aim at what’s best for others or brings the most economic reward. Some are so ingrained with this process; it’s difficult to imagine living life any other way. I was one such person, but not anymore. I wrote for a year because it’s what I want to do. It gives me more than money can buy— self-worth, a creative outlet, and a place to process life.

I’m trying to remember an achievement I’m more proud of, and I can’t. Let this post serve as a sign with great flashing lights to all who read it. Do something in your life you’ve always wanted to do FOR YOU. Write that book, plant those flowers, or restore the rust bucket calling your name. This is your call to make time for yourself- every day. You need to love yourself. Creating time and space to satisfy what’s in your heart is part of loving yourself. And you, my lovely reader, are worthy of love.

Cheesy as it sounds, I’d like to thank the Lord for bringing me to this point. He’s the one who directed my feet regardless of where my eyes were. What I did over the last year is showering me with confidence in other areas of my life. (That’s called the fruit of the Spirit. ) The process of writing and publishing posts every day forced me to confront legions of my doubts and fears. It was awesome. Victory is in the determination to continue. I love it.

To my most faithful readers (you know who you are), thank you. Your encouragement meant a lot. Tomorrow will be my first post of a new writing year, and I’ll go over the details of what year two of writing will be. Love y’all.

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Journal: #329 Week In Review

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It’s been an exhilarating week, and by this time tomorrow, I’ll be halfway back to Redding. I’m ready for it. The friends I’m with are all extroverts. They have no problem talking from the butt crack of dawn till late into the evening. Literally. On a completely related note, this introvert is ready for some alone time. I’m not exhausted, but I need rest. The return drive to Redding from the airport in Sacramento will be my first true solitude since my drive to Sacramento.

On another note, I had a couple of interesting developments this week:

1. Tuesday evening I received a text from a friend asking if she can set me up on a date. I flinched when I read the message. My heart raced and my chest felt heavy for a few moments. Of course, I replied yes. I had to say yes. This mystery woman might just be a cup of coffee or the woman (or somewhere in between.) We have no way of knowing, but I’d like to find out. I didn’t say yes to her. I said yes for me.

2. Thursday night I landed a new marketing account with this company— Metal Shark. They make boats for the military, law enforcement, and public transportation authorities (like NYC Ferry.) They have a niche need for TIG welders. I’m not sure how it will turn out, but it’s nice to bring in business without trying.

3. Also business-related, I killed it this week. No, really. Between fishing, walking the French quarter, and all that talking, I managed to stay on top of projects. Yesterday, I was standing in front of a Mardi Gras costume when a client CEO asked about a project. As I sauntered into the next room, I messaged our primary graphic designer in California and a backup designer in Ukraine. I followed up with the CEO. Project delegated. What a time to be alive. It’s proof I can work from anywhere.

4. Lastly, this is post 329! If you follow my blog you know what that means. Tomorrow will be #330 on day 365. I’m thrilled.

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Journal: #328 What’s Your Favorite City?

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16-year-old Nik would be shocked at 41-year-old me. He wants to know what happened, what changed? 16-year-old Nik loved cities and dreamed of living in New York one day. He was enamored with the smelly streets, towering buildings, and endless ways to spend money. That boy grew into a man who still loved cities, but then something happened.

Today I asked a man “what’s your favorite city?” This question seemed natural in the context of our conversation. He was a random stranger we (David and I) encountered in line, waiting to get into the World War 2 museum. In the span of a few minutes, our new friend told us how often he moved in his youth. The man went to three different high schools. Hence my question. (DC was his answer.) I half expected him to ask the same question back, but he didn’t. I mentally answered the question anyway, and my reply shocked me.

Redding? Really? Not New York? Charleston or San Francisco? Nope, nope, and nope. Redding. Yes, that Redding. Redneck, too conservative for its own good, hot as balls Redding. Wow. I know. I know. How does Redding compare to San Francisco? Or Austin? It doesn’t. You can’t compare Redding to any major city. It’ll fail every time. I think what it is I appreciate Redding most of any city.

I’m not a teenager seduced by a big city. The lights and food options are boring (not really, but it’s not a huge factor as it was.) Who cares what the food is like if I spend my life battling traffic or dodging actual human shit on the sidewalk? Life for me is about people. How can anyone live when we spend so much of our lives in a car? We don’t. That’s the truth.

When I say Redding is my favorite city, what I mean is I appreciate it the most. If I can convince my mom to retire and move there, it’ll be perfect for me.

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Journal: #327 My Friend David

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Hello from New Orleans. It’s like Charleston, but more flamboyant. I’m with one of my best friends, David. We spent the day fishing on the bayou and it was fantastic. For starters, we actually caught fish. For amateur fishermen, that’s a big deal. Guys like us don’t usually catch much. We’d like to thank our guide and lifelong fisherman Jimmy. He was as Louisiana as you’d imagine— a distinct cajun accent, thick forearms, and never too far from a shaker of creole seasoning.

On paper, David and I have little in common. He’s married with four children, tall, and skinny (though more round than ever.) My friend grew up a missionary kid in Colombia and is fluent in three languages. History is his passion, so he never misses an opportunity to stop by a museum or battlefield. (One reason will likely visit the War War 2 museum tomorrow.)

In case you need a refresher, I’m still very single and a bit round. My formative years were also spent in a Columbia. In South Carolina. I’m still learning to write in my native English language, and I’d rather go to an art museum. Of course none these differences matter. It’s the conversations we will have along each stop that matter.

David and I spent the evening discussing God and politics as we drove up to New Orleans. I loved it. In all honesty, real conversation with him is all I want. You might say this trip is an elaborate excuse to talk in person to him. David is one of those friends who is willing to teach and explain. And, his patience is legendary. He never makes me feel stupid or ashamed for any of my interests.

As I think about today and what’s the rest of the week holds, I know I’m blessed. I’m blessed to have a great friend willing to meet me anywhere he can. Moreover, I’m blessed to be able to afford the trip and work for a company will to let me work whenever I want. One day soon I’ll have a different set of blessings— hopefully including a wife and kids. I won’t be able to pick up and fly to New Orleans or go solo hiking in Oregon.

For now, I’m going to soak up the rest of the week and stretch every moment with David as long as possible. Once I return to Redding, it’ll be the dead of summer. The heat will be at its zenith, and I have no more trips planned. Then it’s an eight week sprint to September 7th, when I’ll make more friends.

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Journal: #326 Delayed

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I loathe a certain airline. Their headquarters in is Houston. Let me count the ways. I’ll begin with the condition of their planes. They are cramped and sweaty. From there we’ll move onto their inability to take off or land on time. Now, add a dash of lost or damaged luggage. Finally, offer cheap flights to people who have just enough money to avoid Spirit Airlines. Voila! A shitty airline is born.

It’s my fault. I know United is a cheap carrier with a reputation for tardiness. (You can read more about United's terrible rep by clicking this link: United is bad.) I absolutely know it, because I‘ve railed against United before to my friends and family. So…why did I fly with them? Because I was cheap. I didn’t want to pay $400 for a flight on Delta. Lesson learned. Again. I can’t blame a dog for being a dog.

The silver lining in today’s drama is I scored a free pass to the United Club lounge. At present, I am sitting in a very comfortable chair having just eaten my weight in free food. (I was hangry too. That never helps.) I’ll be able to write this post and spend some time with the Lord. The time will be spent backing off my hanger cliff- repenting of my judgemental ways. Soon enough I’ll saunter down the terminal for a short flight to New Orleans and friendship.

I know I began this post with a rant. In truth, I’m blessed. Very blessed. I’m healthy. Both my parents are alive and kicking. I have a good job and great friends. One company, dedicated to mediocrity, can’t change that. God is good, even when I’m delayed. (Being delayed is not really a big deal. I just upset at myself for choosing United.)

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Journal: #325 Happy July 4th

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Happy July 4th.

In all honesty, I am still trying to figure out how to love my country despite its current obsession with self-destruction. As I drove from Redding to Hood last week, I saw all kinds of political signs and bumper stickers. In rural areas, the people seem to have a cult-like devotion to an immoral and ungodly man. (I thought America was bigger than any single person.) In urban areas, the condescension and self-righteousness are so thick you need a chainsaw to cut it. It’s maddening to see people choose politics over people. It’s not always been this way.

What I find incredibly ironic is the dichotomy between the rural and urban areas. Most of the pro-Trump signs and flags I saw in southern Oregon were on farmland. We know these are salt-of-the-earth hardworking people. Then tend to respect the land and just want to left alone. The people in urban areas live a completely different life. They must depend on each other more than their rural counterparts. In a way, they need more government. And, their hearts are in the right place. They want equal rights and to protect the planet. These are not bad desires.

I just wish every city-lover could go work on a farm for a month or two- like really work it. I think it would be eye-opening for a lot of liberals to see how government impedes and burdens rural life. Every gas tax increase hurts them the most. Every environmental regulation limits how they survive. Conversely, every farmer should go live in an urban area, particularly a minority neighborhood. Again, I’m not talking about a vacation. I’m talking about having to pay rent in an expensive city, using public transportation, and dealing with crowds of people everywhere they go. There’s a reason cities are blue and the country is red. Each group of people faces completely different sets of problems and financial hurdles.

For this, the 245th birthday of the United States of America, I offer hope, blessing, and a prayer:

Lord, I’m frustrated by the hate I see in my country. My heart breaks for what we could be. I place my hope in you because I know you love America too. You love every single conspiracy theorist, Trump voter, trans-activist, socialist, and bigot. I know you want and have more for us. Today, I choose to align myself with Your heart. I bless every person with grace and kindness- every bad driver, the asshole on social media, and bigot. Your love has no limits, so I ask for none. Thank you for such an amazing place to live. Teach me how to love in this valley too.

Amen.

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Journal: #323 Made it to Hood

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(I posted this a day late, but it still will count against my 330 posts for the year.)

It’s 9:52 PM EST as I compose this post. I am on my back in my hammock, the immutable shlosh of Hood River to my left. It’s been a long day but I am happy I endured to be exactly where I am. 

The drive to get here was a comedy of errors. The day began behind schedule and stayed that way. I planned to leave at 9 AM from Redding to arrive to my campsite around 5 PM. What happened was:

1. I left Redding after 11 AM (mainly due to a last-second project request from a CEO.)

2. Encountered fire traffic #1 twenty minutes north of Redding.

3. Fire traffic #2 around McCloud. It was brief.

4. Construction traffic: The Oregon DOT decided this summer was as good as any for road improvements near the California border.

5. My most frustrating moment is when Apple Maps sent me clear into Washington. Never use Apple Maps.

6. My foray into Washington was quickly followed by the most hilarious moment of the trip. I can’t imagine how I appeared to the young family watching from the side of the road. There I was, full sprint down Washington Route 14, trying to catch my under carriage. The wind gusted upwards of 30 MPH so my effort was in vain. Part of my car is probably still being blown east toward Idaho.

7. The last hurdle was another minor car issue- my windshield whipper fluid hose came loose. After a quick fix, I finished the last hour of my journey in peace.

All throughout my day I thought of turning back. Just go back to Redding. The maps debacle nearly sent me over the edge. For a few moments I consider staying in a hotel and heading back to Redding the next morning. (It’s a good thing Oregon is gorgeous. The landscapes help when hurdles keep coming. 

From a wider perspective, today was just a day. Nothing extraordinary happened. I think my mind and/or heart is afraid of this trip. I’ll explore that a bit more tomorrow. For now, I want to fall asleep to sound of the River. 

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