The Gospell of Jeff...

I'm a naturally cynical person.

I think I've always been that way but I'm sure it was solidified through my years of being a journalist and asking a lot of questions, followed by my years as a professor answering a lot of them. Without concrete proof, it's tough for me to believe.

Yes, I realize that's basically the definition of faith: belief without proof. Without that trait, I do believe it's quite difficult to devote onself to a particular religion or some other spiritual, intangible groupthink.

However, for those who do possess the ability to overcome cynicism and gravitate toward a particular belief system - logic be damned, at times - I get it. Most people need comfort and reassurance - especially in life's most difficult times - and sharing certain values with other like-minded people is a popular way of attaining that. And if we truly want that comfort and reassurance badly enough, we can easily put blinders on and make that belief make sense.

I too possess some blind faith - and at times, will it to make sense when it doesn't on face value. For example, I believe everything happens for a reason. Everything. For me, that just may be the secret to living a fulfilled life: not necessarily knowing what the reasons are, but knowing there is a reason. Not necessarily knowing who or what may be the keeper of these reasons– like an identifiable higher power – but just accepting it for what it is. And accepting responsibility that my actions and thoughts affect what happens, both positively and negatively - that the praise as well as the blame falls directly on my shoulders regardless of life's circumstances.

I must say, that philosophy has become very liberating to me.

So therefore, I consider myself a devout agnostic: I’m convinced that there is some sort of higher power beyond this universe which created life as we know it - probably because a massive universal explosion doesn't explain it to me, just like an omnipotent man in the sky doesn't.

I’m even open to believing that our souls/spirit/essence may continue beyond this current existence. That, however, does not have to mean they have a specific purpose. And if they do, I guess we’ll find out when we get to that point.

I’m equally convinced that no human alive or ever has any legitimate proof what or who that higher power is and what he/she/it wants of us, if anything . Therefore, although I understand, I don't subscribe to the need to pray to or worship someone/something that we have essentially made up and passed along for thousands of years and have done so typically out of fear for the possible repercussions of what might happen if we didn’t.

For those who do, I get it (well, except for the fanatical zealots who judge others for not believing what they believe, which, sadly, makes up a large portion of the religious sect). I understand the need for some to be unwavering in their belief of a future heaven as solace from an often difficult, confusing, and perhaps even unbearable past and present existence.

But agnosticism is a belief, as well. To be convinced of something is to believe. And I'm convinced that there are some things in life - and beyond - that I just don't know and never will, at least not while I'm alive.

That is my belief system. And it's working better than any church, temple, or synogogue I've tried so far.

My wife and I came into this world without a choice of what to believe, but instead a label. I was born Jewish (and for years, when people asked "what I was," I'd say either say "a human being," or, if pressed, "Jew-ish." Like sort of a Jew). Missy was born Christian. Both of us learned later in life that neither label truly defined us.

However, my daughter will have what I believe to be the privilege of being born label free. Free to choose what she wants to believe - or not believe - when she grows up. Free to partake in some celebrations or traditions and bypass others. Free to roam the buffet line of spirituality and pick and choose whatever fulfills her appetite (or, perhaps taste it and spit it out, as she often does in a non-metaphoric way now).

My biggest problem is when my cynicism regresses to pessimism. There is a fine, yet distinct, line between the two. Cynicism allows for questions to be answered. Pessimism gives up on that process and assumes a sense of defeatism.

Therefore, I'll hold on to my cynicism. I'll hold onto my bline faith that assumes no parameters, restrictions, or judgments toward others. And I'll hold onto hope that my belief/non-belief system ultimately steers me toward a path of fulfillment.

And if it turns out there is a higher power, I believe that he/she/it will understand.

My tribute to my uncle.

It was too soon, it was too sudden, but just hours after my last post, the "fight" ended for Uncle Joel. Just months after going down to Virginia to celebrate his surprise 60th birthday party, just days after receiving word of his dire prognosis, and not nearly enough time to head back to see him and express how I feel. But there never seems to be enough time, does there...

Lately, I've wavered between feelings of incredulousness, of how surreal it all is, and a painful void. But I also feel gut-wrenching sadness for my aunt, my cousins, even my mother, who has now lost the three most important men in her life: husband, father, brother.

However, I also know this is all part of the process of mourning. It needs to be done.

Solely because life does have to go on - meaning bills need to be paid and a baby needs to be cared for - I was unable to stay in Virgina past yesterday, thus missing a memorial scheduled for tomorrow. But the following is my own eulogy of sorts to pay homage to a man who won't soon be forgotten:

Referring to my uncle Joel in past tense doesn't seem right. And it doesn't seem real. And it especially doesn't seem fair.

The standard response to an unthinkable tragedy such as this is that it'll be okay. But frankly, it's okay that it's not okay. It's not supposed to be. Life is meant to end - sometimes far sooner than it should - but as a result, life is also meant to have a level of suffering.

It'll never be okay for such a vivacious, good person to die so young. But over time, it becomes a bit more bearable; somewhat more acceptable to carry on. Until, eventually, typically later rather than sooner, the pain is replaced by the warmth of the memories of those who have left us.

Fortunately, for Uncle Joel, there are plenty of them. Such as:

His standard greeting of "How you doin" on the phone, then finishing the conversation in a minute flat. Although he was a great conversationalist, the phone was kind of like kryptonite to him. Joel was efficient with his words. There was no beating around the bush with him.

He ensured that a bathroom was not inhabitable for at least an hour after using it. And would take pride in this feat!

Back in the day, he also had the quintessential "Jewfro" (a Jewish afro, for those unaware), which would have made Dr. J in his prime proud.

And never made his passions unknown, whether it was his love for his Philly sports teams, playing tennis, travelling the world, cooking, politics, his dog Cougar, his sail boat, good weed (in fact, that was a great source of family bonding!), or playing the blues on his harmonica.

Or his often inappropriate but always hilarious, self-depracating, and raunchy sense of humor followed the infectious, low-pitched laughter which ensued. There was no inside voice. Yet there was always an ability to bring levity to any situation, regardless of how daunting.

That's what we need now. And that's what he'd want. In fact, I can picture him here now saying something like, "Hey, shit happens. Let's eat."

Life happened. And we were blessed to have him in ours.

So let's eat.

Fighting for Uncle Joel

There are times when taking the wheel and hitting the gas on my aforementioned goals takes a back seat to circumstances far more pressing. This is one of them.

Not much longer after I had made the pronouncement to hit the reset button and recommit to staying focused on what matters most in life, I was reminded that all of it gets trumped by life itself.

Earlier this week, my Uncle Joel, my mother's brother, one of my favorite and entertaining all-time relatives, was diagnosed with advanced-stage cancer. One of the wittiest people I know and perhaps the closest thing to a father figure I've had since my own passed away of cancer himself, Joel has been the quintessential patriarch in his home, for years supporting his two children and serving as primary caretaker for his wife, my Aunt Judy, who suffers from Multiple Scleroris.

Now it's he who needs to be taken care of and he who needs to be put in good spirits. And all of us are struggling with this role reversal. And none of it makes any sense.

I'll save the existential ranting for another day. But for now, I know that words matter. And I, as well as the rest of my family, can use all the words of encouragement we can get.

But more importantly, Joel can. He's in for the fight of his life, yet that's the only fight that matters.

Here he is with my daughter Kya last summer. I so wish that he'll somehow find a way to stick around long enough for her to love him the way I do.

Getting back in the driver's seat...

So my journey continues, after yet another fork in the road, another instance of running out of gas...another attempt at extending a metaphor with no idea where it'll take me...

It's been a while since I posted something. I tend to do that a lot: I allow life to get in the way and go through subsequent lapses which last until I get aggravated in myself enough with the vicious cycle to do something about it. It's a common trend with me, be it with my writing, my fitness, or, basically, anything else I want to achieve.

(Fitting that it's Groundhog Day as I write about this.)

I'm sure there's some deep, underlying, pyschological rationale to it, regardless of how irrational it seems on face value. But therapy aint cheap so writing in a stream-of-consciousness will have to do for now.

One of the biggest issues is that I overthink everything. I analyze a situation, or even a thought, to death (literally —I've been known to kill good thoughts by simply not implementing them. As a result, they eventually fade away). Hell, yesterday, it took me close to 20 minutes to figure out what I wanted on a take-out Chinese menu!

Frankly, I am an imperfect perfectionist. By not wanting to settle for something less than what's best, I often get nothing at all.

Instead of thinking, I need to do. Instead of dwelling, I need to be. Allow the journey to take its course instead of constantly trying to skip right to the intended destination of utopia. Become a realistic idealist of sorts.

Therefore, I've decided that I'm going to test this new thought without thinking too much about it.

What does all of that mean, you ask (or at least I ask)? Well, here it is in a nutshell: I've separated my goals and resolutions this year. My goals I see as the destination, whereas my resolutions are the directions on how to get there.

The goals for 2013 include:

- Finally planting my family and I somewhere that we can call home. Right now, we live in a house that we hate in an area that we've grown tired of in a climate that we don't like. To accomplish said goal, there needs to be not just the house we call home but, equally as important, jobs we can call a career. The lack of the aforementioned and resulting countless hours of fruitless searches have officially caused me more frustration and heartache and than any other endeavor in my life.

- (Actually, that's really it: Get a career that I love in a place that I love! Sounds simple and yet it's not.)

True, I have other goals, other ambitions, but my problem in the past is I keep on adding to my mental shopping list, which only delays the actual shopping itself.

The resolutions, which I believe will ultimately put me in a position to achieve said goals, are the following:

- 100 workouts. I really want to finally incorporate fitness as a lifestyle, as something as routine as brushing my teeth (usually) and taking a shower.

- 100 screenwriting pages. It's been ten years since I got a degree in what's become the most expensive and infrequent hobby of my life. It's time to complete something or perhaps just cut my losses. I'm banking on the former.

- 10 books completed. For those who can't tell, I have ADD. It takes a lot for me to stay involved in a book or piece of literature. Hence, the stack of about eight half-read books by my bedside table. But on those rare occasions when I find one which reels me in from cover to cover, it's an awesome experience. I'd like to have those experiences with more regularity. Good for the mind, good for the soul.

- 50 of these entries. There is certainly a lot on my mind I'd like to share. I've got plenty of documented thoughts scattered all over my laptop. I've got plenty more which need to be harnessed. If any of my insights strike a nerve, inspire, amuse, entertain, or otherwise engage anyone else reading them, that would be great.

But more importantly, but centralizing it all and getting to the finish line - with this and with all the other goal(s) and resolutions that I've mentioned - would serve as a testament that I finally accomplished what I set out to do, that I left no stone left unturned, that I can be proud that I overcame the mental roadblocks, took the detours immersed with gridlock and despair, and arrived at the intended destination a better man for it.

And that? That would be perfection in my book.

So, I'm one month into what I still believe will be a year to remember. I'm not full speed but the wheels are turning and I acknowledge this. Feel free to hop along for the ride and see how far I can take this metaphor!

Biting the bullet...

Another day in America. Another needless tragedy at the hands of a gunman.

And although it's "people who kill people" and not their weapon of choice, I haven't heard of any knifing or stoning epidemics occuring in our nation. At least not for the last couple centuries or so.

Even then, no knife or stone would take out a couple dozen innocent children in a matter of minutes, at the hands of one person.

In a perfect world, humans would learn to use its words when faced with conflict. In a better world, in times when a violent act seems somehow justifiable in our minds, we can concurrently reason with ourselves to at least use non-lethal means to achieve the act. In a somewhat functional world, an emphasis on catering to one's mental health will take precedence over all else.

But, sadly, we live in none of the above. Therefore, to search for a resolution aimed to achieve any of that - at least at this time in our history - is unrealistic.

Therefore, in lieu of suggesting the complete elimination of firearms, which would fall upon deaf ears (and, ironically, probably lead to a violent citizen uprising), I'd like to propose a common-sense compromise. It may seem simplistic in nature, but sometimes in life, efficiency is effective. Work smarter, not harder, right?

What I'm about to propose will save thousands of lives every year and instantly reform a nation that has an incredibly disturbing, insatiable appetite for lethal weapons, one which dwarfs any other civilized country on the planet:

- Mandatory minimum two week waiting period on all firearm purchases, during which time a background check is conducted. Have you ever been pissed and someone or something, thought irrational thoughts, then had some time to cool down and ultimately saw things more clearly again? Of course you have.

- Mandatory gun safety and responsibility course to be completed (and perhaps they already have this to obtain a license. But if they don't, that baffles me. One needs to take driver's ed for a driver's license, and those are only used for weapons a small percentage of the time, whereas a gun's sole purpose is to be a weapon. It's not a very practical paper weight.).

- Ban all automatic weapons. For those pro-NRA, pro-2nd ammendment fanatics who are opposed to this, please tell me why. If it's simply to provide equal footing for every citizen, where is the line drawn? Grenades? WMDs? When can we eliminate the need for the upper hand? And for the hunters out there, taking down a buck with an oozie doesn't seem very sporting.

Will this stop all of these horrific acts we're forced to see on the news from happening? Not at all, just like driver's education courses don't weed out every terrible driver who puts others on the road at risk. (Trust me - I've lived in New Jersey and Florida for most of my life, so I've rolled the dice most times I pull out of my driveway). Will it save many? Or even one, without threatening the security of anyone else? I don't see how it couldn't.

Three simple rules and thousands of lives spared. Tens of thousands of others spared the trauma and tragedy. So many others with a peace of mind which dissipates a little more every time we check the news and see the vicious cycle start over again, negating the opportunity for those who perished needlessly to at least serve as benchmark for the continued evolution of humanity.

But until that happens, it'll just be another day in America, where we pride ourselves on being a standard-bearing society and somehow eat the bullshit we manufacture with no hesitation...

Things I've learned/things I hope to teach...

Things I’ve learned from my seven-month-old daughter:

-          Once the crying is done, waste no time becoming happy again.

-          It’s okay to be vulnerable and dependent around the ones who love you. Everyone can use a pick-me-up, be it literal or figurative.

-          Smiles are contagious.

-          It’s actually possible to make exercising fun. Especially if there’s a jumper or something else bouncy involved.

 

-      In fact, pretty much everything that moves or makes a noise can be amusing.

 

-          As long as there’s food, shelter, love, and I’m not sitting in crap, life is good and not much else matters.

-          You can fight it all you want, but sometimes a nap can make all the difference in a day.

-          And, when all else fails, just hit the bottle.

Things I hope my seven-month-old daughter will learn from me:

-          You can never give or receive too many kisses and hugs.

-          Between 8:00-9:00 p.m. is bedtime. Resistance is futile.

-          If you’d like to negotiate this, you must first stay in bed until at least 7:00 a.m. Preferably later.

-          I am the only man you are ever allowed to flirt with.

-          It’s nice to have stuff, but it’s nicer to have love.

 

      (As it shows, I'm learning more from her than she is from me at this point. And I'm perfectly fine with that.)

Hurry up and slow down!

As I introduce Kya to people, especially other parents, I typically hear two things: "She looks just like you," and "This time goes by quickly." The first was probably obvious to everyone who's met her except, until recently, me, as I apparently have a terribly inaccurate perception of myself.

The second seems obvious, too - and yet it's not. I'll explain.

In the past five-plus months, I've seen such a seemingly gradual transformation in Kya, like a seed sprouting into a beautiful flower. Physically, I see features in her that seem to project the future; I look in her eyes, and I can already envision a little girl, not just a baby. She has a personality - a happy, content, playful one - that I dearly hope she keeps. And she has me wrapped around her little finger a little tighter every day.

All that in five months. I've begun to embrace the routine of watching her evolve a little more all the time, of caring for her, anticipating that open mouthed smile when she wakes up, doing every goofy thing possible to elicit that hearty laugh of hers, feeling complete when she melts into my chest as she falls asleep, watching her and not wanting to leave when I put her to bed.

Times like those, I wish time would stop. But it doesn't.

Meanwhile, I can't wait for the next phase in my own life. When I finally land the career and permanently part ways with stupid jobs. When we move out of our house and find our home, wherever that might be. When we can finally exhale and not have to continuously crane our necks to peek around the corner to see what challenge we have to face next. When we can stop feeling like we have to hurry up just to wait.

This past week was definitely one of those instances where I would have gladly skipped the journey to get right to the destination. For months, my sister and I have been planning a trip down to South Florida to have our respective babies meet our 95 year-old grandmother for the first time. The same person who, a year earlier, had no great-grandchildren and now has four (talk about something worth waiting for). Her caravan consisted of her daughter, husband, and our mother. Mine was Kya, Missy, Jenna and her friend Alex so she wouldn't get too stir crazy on a trip which consisted of enough crazy as it was.

The trip started off with a 4:00 a.m. wakeup to get on a 6:00 flight to Fort Lauderdale. Perhaps if it was a 3:55 alarm instead, we would have made the flight. Instead the gate closed as we approached it. Plan B was to fly into Fort Myers and then subsequently drive across the state in the peripheral of a tropical storm as our only chance to still arrive that day. And so we did.

But simply seeing Great-Grandma wasn't nearly the only thing on the agenda. We were taking Jenna to see colleges (with her own major life transition just a year away), as well as see her boyfriend, who is a new freshman at Barry University, seeing my cousin Meri and her son (Great-Grandchild #2 of 4), and some old college friends of mine. Four days, a couple thousand miles of flying, and another 500-plus miles of driving. With an infant. And a moody teenager. And extended time with my sister and mother.

I guess this is what it means when they talk about needing a vacation from your vacation!

Worse yet, I swear that in the midst of all that driving, we would hit most every red light there was. And perhaps it was simply because we just wanted to get to the next destination, but I'm telling you, those were some of the longest freaking lights. Ever.

Hurry up and wait.

But to see the eyes of the youngest person in my life lock with those of the oldest, to see the look of joy in my grandmother, for her to realize that making it this far in life, with all of the stop lights and detours and stormy weather, rewarded her in witnessing yet another life to carry on her treasured legacy, one named after a son whose own life ended far too soon...the destination was worth the tumultuous journey.

And naturally, on the commute back home, when we learned our lesson and arrived at the airport with plenty of time to catch this plane, it gets delayed, and we ultimately returned home after 2:00 a.m.

So that was this past week. Labor Day Weekend hasn't been nearly as laborious as that was. Instead, this will be my last weekend of my own summer of transformation. Beginning next week, I will teach, which I've done occassionally for much of the past decade, but never primarily. It will be as an adjunct at a couple local colleges, so this too, like this period in Kya's life, will be temporary, with something else lurking around the corner for me.

But I will spend at least the next three-and-a-half months devoted to writing and inspiring - hopefully for the students as well as myself. I will stop rushing to get through the next light, or get on that next flight - at least for the time being. I will attempt to live in the present, avert my eyes from the rearview mirror, and resist temptation to look too far down the road - in this case, 2013, when a new journey could very well be mapped out.

And, instead of hurry up and wait, I'll get to hurry up and simply slow down and just enjoy the drive.