More of an intention I would have to say. It can be worded all sorts of ways. But what it comes down to for me is just this; stay here.
In this moment.
Now.
Present.
That is not to say I don’t feel the urge to pull off at the next exit when I am heading south for “The Past”. Or the one that comes right after the rest area labeled “Whathasyettobedetermined”. This is an ongoing battle for me. I have put the blinkers on a few times lately. Tapped the brakes. That being said, my sense is that it always will be that way. I just need to work at taking it down a few notches.
Hoping that effort too will remain ongoing.
Staying here is the best way to stick with the now and allow things to happen. One of the most prescient offerings regarding these moments came from Robert Frost. He said “…the best way out is always through.”
Which makes sense. Reverse then cannot come into play and you cannot see or experience anything beyond what is currently in front of you.
It can feel somewhat sunsettling just staying here. For lack of a better term, transitory. Perhaps that is how it is taken. Sensed. Not controlled. Planned. Just there.
But now does only last twenty-four hours, a third of which may be consumed by sleep. Probably explains that growing lack of attachment or concern I have what came before and a general disinterest in devoting or expending any form of energy towards “next” whatsoever.
If I can remain focused, then through can only be seen from where I am right now.
At first, my mind went one way. Then, shifted in reverse and took a few turns around the subject so I could better see where this was ultimately taking me. I think I have it now.
So for much of my life, there was a philosopher in my midst. Until this morning, unfortunately, I never considered him as such. A very stoic, quiet, keep to himself kind of man. Well learned academically and in all aspects of life. Adverse to accolades, attention and honors. A very dry, but profound, deep sense of humor.
He had a way with words.
You wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of his semantical offerings. for those quips tended to be laden with genius level, forever lasting barbs. But when he shared some wisdom, like his thoughts upon looking at the yard – “you can’t grow kids and grass at the same time” – t went to the core and remained within you.
Nothing that he did, but our times together were not so conducive to much conversation. Too many distractions were brought to the huddle. More so baggage. Things that didn’t need to be with us two. My doing. A regret of mine to this day.
Then, the true philosopher came to light at his funeral. People I never knew, approaching me to share how he had changed their life. How he went beyond to help them to grow and become what they were meant to be. The moral, financial, experiential, spiritual and fatherly love he spread about to anyone and everyone.
His philosophy.
Put him in a totally different light.
One that remains shining in my life.
He passed many years ago. A date that still is unsettling to me.
And I would give anything for dinner with this philosopher one more time.
I cannot say I live by one, but I can say I think of some more than others. It is a rather fluid situation. Their respective rank has shifted and changed over the course of time, largely because I have changed over the course of time. Or rather, I am in the process of changing over the course of time. Wait. I am finally realizing change is needed now because there is not a lot of time remaining. Boom! There it is! My digress in the prompt of the day….
Most of what has stuck in my noggin are thoughts pertinent to the motivation of student-athletes I have had the opportunity to coach for going on twenty five years. If by chance, any one else happened to read those thoughts I would share, they too would get to know about some of these wonderful authors. Lots of James Allen, Whitman, Emerson, Angelou, Einstein, King and others. Digging deeper, I found inspiration from the ancients like Aristotle, Seneca, Socrates, Aurelius and the like. Those of the cloth; Merton. Nouwen and Aquinas. Bringin’ up the rear, men like Dungy, Lombardi, Wooden and those that found their way into my life.
The change I alluded to is essentially focus related. Going from what can be made of oneself on the field, in the weightroom, during class and within the community to what is intended to be created from within. Not alone mind you. But in concert with THE best coach ever made.
For example, Coach Lombardi spoke of excellence in this fashion: “Gentlemen, we will chase perfection, and we will chase it relentlessly, knowing all the while we can never attain it. But along the way, we shall catch excellence.”
A mentor of mine, Coach Rauch, offered: “Adversity is not an ‘if’ but a ‘when’ event.” Another man who saw things in me I never recognized, Pastor Freyer, offered: What you are someday going to be, you are now becoming.” And this one from James Allen: “As a man thinketh in his heart, so shall he be”
All very individual focused, on what each could aspire to in an effort to raise up all those about them. Ideal for football and life, in the perspective they offer as to the lasting impact of effort, knowing that opportunity lay in adversity, how intention can positively command direction and what you think creates the words and deeds towards becoming what you were intended to be.
By becoming the best that was in you, you brought out the best in others, being witness to your transformation. A non-transactional gift given to the one next to you. Partly out of being on a team and being a teammate. But moreso, out of love. Leaving it all out there for them. One doing so leaves its mark. But imagine five. Ten. Thirty some players willingly and selflessly serving another. Together. Talk about excellence. Talk about joy.
Those days built the foundation for this man.
And now, my desire is to fully be what it is I was intended to be. No one is here randomly. There is a reason for our existence. A purpose. And a mission designed specifically for each one of us. Perhaps the inklings of that was shared when I wore the pads and then when I traded them for a whistle. My teammates will always be a part of me, don’t get me wrong. It just appears as though my current team has shrunk to two. And it is no longer confined to a field.
During a conversation this past week, someone said; “I cannot. He can. I will let Him.”
That one has stuck with me. With it, I can maintain fatihful effort, receive the grace of opportunity that lay in all adversity, intentionally and positively follow His direction and listen for the words that lead to deeds so I can finally become what He intended me to be.
I am open to trying things, failing, learning and then going back to square one. Not that my risk involves big things like investments, flipping properties, flying a plane, things like that.
But now that I think of it, my dad – “Doc” – learned to how to fly an old Piper with his dad as the copilot, at age 11. I think he had his sights not only set on the horizon but on Guinness as well. My understanding is that someone beat him by a few months.
Then me, my brothers and Charlie from down the block followed Doc’s footsteps and tried it around middle school I will say, by baking the worlds largest cookie. My dad’s dad – a baker – got us connected to a place and we made king size Hollywood Bar. 8′ long x 3′ wide and about 18′ thick. Donated it to a senior center. Didn’t make the Guiness Book but our story showed up in the Chicago Daily News, That clipping is buried in a bin.
Back to risk.
Learned to drive stick in a ten ton dump truck. Operated a jack hammer and paved streets. Played college football just because. Rode in centuries, ran half marathons, worked out daily and flipped a tractor tire up and down a football field at 60.
Renovated a two flat. Helped with a start up manufacturing company, hit the road to sell its services. Left a financially sound company to work for one going through bankruptcy and buying others in the same condition. Dropped my forty some year sales and operations career to coach individuals with diverse abilities.
Wrote. Spoke.
All provided the giddiness I spoke of a post or so ago. And all that can happen is that you goof up and you you cannot pass Go or collect $200.
While those aspects and examples of my love for it continue to move forward, there is another risk I assumed. It is still taking form as it works in reshaping me and my life. I won’t go into detail at this point. I want to. It is just not the time. But let’s just say that there is greater risk to contend with should I abandon this one I recently embraced.
In my younger days, it was the McDonalds on Ogden in Westmont.
Before play areas, and tables pretty much for that matter, I just recall a counter facing the street, with spinny seats. Once the cheeseburger, fries and chocolate milkshakes were granted, we could sit, watch the cars, dip the fries and spin. A great break from having mock chicken legs. tuna casserole, vegetable soup or S.O.S.
We soon ventured out Oak Brook/Yorktown way for a try at Beef & Barrel. An early roadhouse effort, with baskets of peanuts in the shell on the tables. And shells everywhere. That was half the fun right there. Couldn’t tell you about the Beef & Barrel Burger, if that is what it was called. But whippin’ peanut shells at my brothers, and lobbing them into their pop made so-so food plenty good for our palates.
Somewhere along the way was a Connie’s Pizza down the block from Mickey D’s, some fried chicken joint in Western Springs that was very good, and the dime store on Ogden and York that had a food counter. The fries there were majestic. We could walk there, down a plate of fries, a Coke and on the way back, stop at Vittori’s Deli for a Hostess dessert fix.
When college and all that it entailed crept up and headlocked me, we discovered White Castles. Nothing like 20 cheeseburgers, large fries and a large coke to cap off and soak up the evening. The staff loved us, and we would joke around with them all of the time. We were like sons. We just sat, ate and laughed for a while until it was time to call in the dogs and put out the fire.
But then somehow, this one became part of the family repertoire.
The Parthenon.
In Greektown in Chicago, on Halsted, not far from the old Chicago Stadium. When this dinner destination was announced, we were in the car before the last syllable left our parent’s mouth. It was a hike. Down the Ike to Halsted on the west side of the city. Sort of by Cook County Hospital.
I recall my dad saying that an owner was in school with him in Champaign, or something like that. After witnessing the adults party there, perhaps that city was misspelled. The front, landscape size window displayed some of the foods you could try and grow to love. Entire gyro roasts were spinning and cooking. Cheeses, desserts, entrees, wines were there for the drooling.
On the sidewalk, you could sense a fever pitch inside.
Like the whole building was vibrating. There was suction pulling against you as you were opening the door. Your eyes and ears were instantly immersed in an overhwhelming symphony of laughter, talking, family warmth, flames and “Opa!” over and over.
Picture a kitchen area in a small, city bungalow home with the old 50’s style chairs and tables – times one hundred. That was the Parthenon. It was like one huge family gathering of nothing but strangers. Like we all knew each other, enjoyed our collective company and just had fun at dinner. All in the same bungalow on Halsted.
Waiters spun all around, carrying huge trays of food and drink, weaving in and out without ever spilling a drop. The Dan Ryan at rush hour was nothing compared to how they kept the food and drink traffic flowing.
Then, intersperse that flow with some fire. Cast iron plates of saganaki, being copiously doused with Ouzo, then a Bic, lit to their forever melody of “Opa!”
The best Horiatiki salads ever tossed without lettuce, served with copious amounts of Feta.
Thin sliced portions of the gyro meat from the window, with pita for mopping.
Moussaka, Dolmades, Pastitsio, Souvlaki, and Spanakopita.
And should there be a small opening left, somewhere deep below, it could be topped off with a smidge of some warm baklava.
The Parthenon is where I first learned to love calamari – squid and/or octopus. A fav to this day. So many other acquired tastes there that I still savor.
A definite food coma on the way back to Franklin Street every time.
It had to be sometime in the late 70’s when I had my last piece of saganaki. . Sadly, the Parthenon closed after 48 years In 2016.
My favorite by far. For the food, atmosphere, and memories of true sustenance.
...my temporary assignment. 