41 is just a highway in Florida
An Oscar by 30: yearbook expectations set too high. It was 1985, and I didn’t know anything about entertainment. I didn’t even know how I was going to get my book reports in on time.
“Do what you love,” said my guidance counselor, Mrs. Green. I couldn’t see how what I loved would get me to the Kodak; certainly not on my schedule. Did I even know what I really loved? Just the same, her eyes were sparkly and earnest. I didn’t listen. She died of cancer, having spent her life guiding kids like me: we were ignorant. I hope she loved that job; it sure seemed like it.
Two decades searching dungeons for dragons and finally making the fearful flight to Hollywood, only to be greeted by the news that it would take another ten years.
39 came and went, leaving me with the familiar feeling of turning my work in late: how little we change.
Two years’ diet of Xanax and caffeine brought me to a wiser, vegetarian 41 and a half. I’m only now starting to get comfortable with this…
moment…
now.
Oh, the time I wasted being who I was trying to be, and not being who I was.
Kids, don’t try this at home.
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A hurricane just off the coast.
My little brother in Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity was killed while cycling in Orlando this past Monday. He was 36.
I’ll always think of Chris, running or cycling along the road, U2 in his headphones, his family in his heart, a big game to photograph tonight, and a hurricane just off the coast.
This is a screen shot of Chris’ Facebook page with his last comment, made just before his ride: a snapshot of a life, and a reminder that we could go at any time. In Chris’ honor, I’ll do my best to make every minute count.
“Looks like Ida will be with me during this morning’s brick session.” – Chris’ last status update
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