Imagining An Impossible Thing Before Breakfast

Ms. Alice, in Alice In Wonderland, said she thinks of seven impossible things before breakfast.  When I first read that, I felt a warmness in my heart.  Finally - someone that understands me.

I woke up this morning, and I thought, I gotta get out of my dumpy town.  It's been a long, long time since I've scrammed this place.  The last time I was on some Russian adventure, in which I was placed under house arrest and going on treasure hunts and albeit I found no tangible treasures, I brought back some real gems: my stories.

For breakfast, my mother cooked up some bacon, smoked in hickory wood earlier.  I told her no more meat, but the smell of the bacon truly made me submit to the temptations.  As a joke, I've always said that the best remedy to temptation is submission.  Just a joke though.  I don't recommend actually following that line of thought.

I felt guilty I ate meat.  So, I made a shake today, with fresh strawberries, half a banana, dried dates, a quarter lemon from my mother's yard, and raw Mexican honey.  It tasted like heaven.  The only thing missing was my green tea made with lemon and honey.  So, I had my impossible thought.  I had my breakfast.  Now, it was time to turn my thought into reality.

After breakfast, I called British Airways.  I have miles with them.  I asked my agent Calvin, "When's the nearest return ticket available on my points for Bangkok"

He said, "Sorry - sir, you don't have enough points."

"Well, where do I have enough points to go to?"

"Let's check Buenos Aires, Argentina."

"Nope.  Sorry, there's no availability and you don't have enough points."

"Well - let me be straight up with, Calvin."  I knew he was going to think I was weird.  "I need to get out of LA.  I've been here long enough.  Where can I go 'A'-'Sap?  Anywhere is ok!"  I'm sure he thought I was crazy, and if he thought so, he was right.

"How about the Carribean?"

"Sure.  Let's check Jamaica."

He put me on a hold for awhile.

"Mr. Cook, there's nothing in Jamaica."

"Well, what about Cancun then?"

"I already checked for you."  Damn, he's good I thought.  "But I have an idea for you."

"Alright, shoot, Calvin."

"Hey, it looks like Cabo San Lucas is open."

"That's in Mexico, right?"

"Sure is."

"I'll take it.  Get me on the flight."

He did.  I picked his brain about the BA booking system and how he knew that Cabo would work.  He told me his secrets.  I was happy.

I asked to be transferred to his supervisor.  Over the years, I've burned a number of incompetent or lazy workers.  Though the older I get, the more I realize that people can be incompetent.  They usually don't mean to.  And I really don't know that many people who are lazy.  They're usually angry or depressed people who think that not working is some kind of form of revenge.  Anyways, I needed to atone for my previous sins.

The supervisor picked up.  I said, "Hey, I just wanted to let you know that your agent Calvin did a fantastic job.  He was very delightful, helpful, and efficient."

The supervisor thanked me.

I hung up, feeling smug.  I thought of an impossible thing this morning.  That was busting out of this joint.  30 minutes later, I made that happen.

I called my mom and said, "I booked my ticket to Mexico."

"Ok.  We'll talk about it when I get home."

"It's for this Saturday."

"Ok.  When I get home, ok?"

One of my other favorite scenes in Alice In Wonderland is when she asks the Cheshire cat for directions.  He asks her where she wants to go.  Alice replies, "I don't know."  That is when the Cheshire cat responds with one of the best lines in the book: “Well,” replied the cat, “if you don't know where you are going, it really doesn't matter which road you take.”

Losing One

He said, "Fuck you" to me.  My initial reaction was one of defensiveness and a healthy view of my own ego.

I replied, "You will not say that to me again, or this relationship is over."

He stated back, "What the fuck?!  Goodbye."

I didn't say anything back.  I just walked away.  My kid had the nerve to tell me those foul words, and I knew it might come one day.  I knew because he said he used to be bad and tell his parents off.  Furthermore, his parents told me the same.  So, I figured it would come, but I didn't think it would come like this.

The day before he was acting strange.  I gave him a bag of small hot, flaming cheetos.  Trash food.  He opened it up and scarfed it like a seagull does at the beach when it steals a bag of potato chips.  Odd, I thought.  I asked him where he wanted to go.  He said nowhere.  I drove him around town, but he didn't want to do anything or say anything.  So, I dropped him back home.  I had a lot to do if he was going to be having one of his moods.

The coach at the gym said I should make up.  I didn't know what to do, but all the signs looked like reconciliation wasn't going to happen unless I made the first move.  I called and talked to my trusted group of friends, generally on an individual level.  Each gave me different advice that ranged from making things right with him to kicking him to the curb.

I remember my head going through a schism of warring opinions and voices, arguing on what to do.  I didn't know.  Why did decision making have to be so hard?  Why did weighing up the advantages and consequences for him and me have to riddle my mind?  At the end, I took a Hegelian approach.  Hegel advocated that two opposing views or theories could be harmonized into one with thought and work.  That's what I did.  I harmonized the theories.  I might give him another chance on the condition though he come back first and apologize.  But I was not going to control the situation.

The coach was wrong.  I was right.  Over the coming days, he acted more and more like a little ape.  He disrespected the head coach as well by telling all his friends how bad my coach was.  He began burning all his bridges, and then the truth came out.  The junior coach had seen the cops pick him up for drug use.

My heart broke, and it all made sense.  His arrest happened the day before he came into my car.  This explained the erratic behavior. 

But all the more - the words - fuck you made more sense to me.  When he made the choice to start again, that was already the message to me. His words just materialized what was already in his heart and mind.

And then we saw him starting to come to the gym, high.  Sometimes on coke.  Sometimes on weed.  Either way, he couldn't box anymore if his life depended on it to save him.  His nine months of training wasted away to nothing in days.  What took months to acquire took only a few days to be destroyed. 

I looked at the head coach and said, "That's it.  He's done."

"Probably, huh?  He'll either end up dead or in jail.  I mean, we can accept him if he really changes and apologizes."

"And you see that his life is moving in that direction?"

"No."

"I heard once, that pigs go feral in one generation.  Know what feral is?"

"No."

"You know, man has taken a lot of effort to domesticate pigs, cats, and dogs.  Like hundreds of years.  Feral is when the animal returns back to it's natural, wild state.  Pigs apparently go feral the fastest.  Then cats take two generations.  And dogs take three."

"Yeah, so?"

"I think I found an animal that goes feral faster.  The kid."

"Yeah, huh?"

"Just took a few weeks."

We were both angry and frustrated.  The head coach and his other coach asked themselves why they invested so much into someone so useless.

I asked myself two questions: how come I didn't see the warning signs?  And, what in the hell actually caused him to make the decision to start up again?

I don't really know the answer to either of these questions.

I overheard the kid on a phone conversation, in which he said he was suspended.  We have one eighteen-year-old who already has a felon for having sex with a minor.  We caught him trying again.  And in my own state of brokenness, I, recently, told myself the worst thing I could think of.  "It's impossible for these people to change."  Sadly, I haven't changed my opinion on this new thought.

A New Quest

I inhaled.  The end of the cigarette turned cherry red, and I exhaled bluish grey plumes of rings of smoke.  It's not usual for me to smoke, but in this case, I thought it necessary.  I was sitting down in a front yard, which had junk scattered everywhere.  There was super market carts and at least six or seven cats licking themselves.  I was sitting down with a hoarder. 

He looked worn and old and dingy.  He was fat and greasy and wearing a wife beater.  He drew out a fag and smoked it too.

"I need help," I said.

"Sure you do."  He said.

I realized that I was getting advice from a washed up guy, who nobody thought was worth talking to anymore.

"The politicians of this town won't listen to me.  They're all corrupt."

"Of course they are." 

"I can't even get a meeting.  I'm in a democratic system.  And these crackerjacks won't give me a meeting.  I'm a constituent."

"Of course they won't.  Then you'll keep pointing out their problems."

I took in another plume of smoke and exhaled it.  Marlboro Red.  I could taste it.

"The mayor here's been indicted once.  Took some scandalous trip to Shanghai."  I said.

"Oh, he's done more than that."  He proceeded to tell me about it.

I nodded. 

"I see," I said.  I continued, "But, I need a meeting.  I need things done.  What do I do?"

"I'll tell you what to do."  He proceeded to tell me.

I said, "That makes sense."  I thought about it.  That makes a lot of sense.  I was about done with my cigarette.

I continued.  "I need some dirt on one of them."

"I'll tell you how to get that.  Here's what you do."  That makes sense too.

My cigarette was out.  "Alright.  Thanks."  I shook his hand.  "I'll let you know what happens."

"Ok.  I look forward to it."

A Gruesome Story

I'm writing a gruesome story.  It's not for the weak of heart nor those who cannot hear of gore.  Nonetheless, it is a true story.  I don't know why I tell it.  There's no overall moral or point.  There may be minor insights, but once again: this is not a proverb.

My mother called me while I was in Santa Barbara to tell me that a cock arrived in her yard.  She said it showed up out of nowhere and no longer wanted to leave.

When I came back from Santa Barbara, I saw the Mexican rooster.  It was a cock that had brightly colored feathers.  It was a little small for its size, and it reminded me of the kid.  It became obvious to me why he came and even more obvious why he wouldn't leave.

He fell in love with my mother's Chinese hen.  To us, she was an ugly bird, but my mom loved her.  I believe the French have such a term: jolie-laide.  The term means pretty-ugly.  And our hen, which is named Yuri, which sounds like the Korean word for phantdom.  She does look a bit like a ghost.  Nonetheless, she's the drake's best friend.  He preens and protects her everyday.  So - it's no surprise that this rooster had fallen in love with Yuri.

And everyday, this Mexican rooster, I named Jose would try to win Yuri over.  He brought her worms.  He brought her snails.  He brought her all kinds of delicacies.  And she would take and just take.  He was even deluded enough to believe that they could spend the rest of their lives together.  So, he built a nest for her.  But she just took and took.  Yuri took his food like a gold digger.  Yuri used his nests to lay her unfertilized eggs.  Yuri, in short, took advantage of him.  But she never put out.  And she never loved him.

Eventually, after a few weeks, his constant crowing at 5am in the morning got on our nerves.  I need my beauty sleep, and my mom needs her rest too.  We talked it over at the dinner table.  At first, only she wanted to get rid of him.  But there came a point - when I even thought - he gotz to go.

I told her, "I'll take him to the slaughterhouse nearby."

"Oh poor thing.  Do you have to, Paul?"  My mother asked me.

"Well - we eat meat.  We eat chicken.  We should slaughter our own sometime."

"But Paul, you're so cruel.  It's cruel."

"No, Mom.  It's the price we should pay for eating meat.  We should know what we do to the animals."

"Oh - go then.  And get it over with."

The slaughterhouse said health regulations didn't allow them to kill birds not raised by them.  So - I brought Jose back home.  He just fluttered in his cage.  He was a rambunctious fellow.  So much so, that he bruised his feet and wings against the cage and bled and bled.

My mother kept feeding him because she felt bad he'd go hungry.

I told her, "I need to slaughter him here then."

"No.  Paul.  Please.  I'll go look for his owner."

"Ok - go find the owners then."

She looked and looked but to no avail.  She went from house to house, from block to block, and the owner never claimed the chicken.  Jose stopped crowing while being locked in the cage.

She came back and said, "Do it tomorrow, then.  When I'm not in the house.  Got it?  I don't want to see the awful thing."

"Ok.  You won't see it."  When I said the words, I realized, I did not want to kill Jose.

I watched youtube vidoes and read articles on how to do so.  I did not want to kill Jose.  So, instead, I procrastinated and wrote and read.  But my mother called every hour, while I was at the cafe.

She asked, "Did you do the dirty deed yet?"

"No."  I said.  I thought, please stop asking.

After she called the third time, I went home.  I took a deep breath.  I took the cutting board and knives.  I boiled a large pot of water.

I pulled Jose out of the cage.  He flew out of the cage and ran into the wire mesh.  I caught him again and thought, Oh, poor bird.  If you had actually gotten away, you would have been free.  But I caught you.  And I caught you because we broke your spirit by putting you into that cage.

I held him by the legs upside down.  Yuri and the drake watched us.  All the animals knew he was going to die.  So, did Jose.  Jose screeched and screeched while he was being held upside down.  For a lack of using a trite phrase - he definitely was screaming bloody murder in chicken.

I just held him upside down until his wings stopped fluttering.  He went dizzy at some point.  Then, I took him to the cutting board.  I pressed his side against the board.  With the other hand, I took a sharp knife.  I looked into his eyes.  He looked into my eyes.  I thought, Oh God.  I do not want to kill this chicken.

I thought through my options and realized my knives were not sharp enough to ax his head off with one blow.  So, I took the serrated blade.  I took a deep breath.  And with gash, I cut three-fourths of his head off.  I felt it cut through bone and flesh and then the knife broke.  His eyes closed.  It was the first time I saw life leave a warm blooded animal.  A sense of sadness overcame me as I realized I took a life.  I took the other knife and removed the rest of the flesh that attached the head to the body.  It was over.

I took some shoestring and strung the bird by his feet on my mother's clothesline.  While holding the body, the headless chicken convulsed several times and flapped its wings.

After I tied its legs to the clothesline, I let the blood drip out of his neck onto the dirt.  It reminded me of Judas' bowels dripping over the land.  I watched the blood squirt and squirt and then squirt some more.  I did not want to kill this chicken, but I did.

It made me realize how much more emotionally painful it is to kill an animal with a knife then with a gun.  I was connected to the actual process of death, instead of distanced from a range.  My intent to inflict death left my arm and with it, that death flowed back into my arm.  It was a cruel process.  Just like my mother said it would be.

While the water boiled, Jose's blood drained from his body.  I took the head and buried it in my mother's garden.  I thought it was the right thing to do for some reason.  I felt like I gave it a burial.  I then noticed Yuri and the drake continued doing what chickens and ducks do and didn't even miss their gone Jose.

The water had boiled in the kitchen.  I threw in salt.  I watched more roaring bubbles come to the surface.  I dumped the boiling water in a bucket and filled it with a quarter amount of tap water.  Then, I dunked the headless, dead Jose's body in the water.  Meanwhile, I turned on the hose and doused the blood from the concrete.  Mother would not want to see any blood anywhere.  She'd like to pretend that the awful deed never happened.

She called me and said, "Did you kill him yet?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God!  Oh, it's so awful.  Don't tell me about it."

"Ok."

"Did he feel pain?"

"I don't think so.  I chopped his head off in less than 2 seconds."

"Oh my God!  The poor thing!  Oh my God!"

"I know.  I know."

"Mom, we eat meat.  We have to understand what we do."

"I know.  But why our house?  Why now?  We're never getting another pet chicken after Yuri."

"Jose was never our pet.  He just showed up one day."

"Oh, I know.  I know - but but -"

"Mom, it's no one's fault.  It happened.  That's the way it is.  I gotta go."

I removed the chicken from the hot water.  The hot water melted the fat that held together the feathers from the skin.  I plucked it, tuft and all, in about fifteen minutes and stuffed the wet feathers in a bag.  Now - it was looking like a regular chicken - the kind you find at the supermarket.

I brought the carcass inside, along with the cutting board and knives.  There was still shit left inside of its anus.  I washed it out.

Even after douching his anus, I couldn't stand the smell.  Not because it was a bad smell.  But it smelled like grass.  It also smelled like a fresh farm animal.  It smelled so strongly of the odors.  The smell exploded, especially after I gutted the thing.

Also, inside of the chicken's crop, was his breakfast of corn feed and grass.  God, I thought.  Why did Mom feed him in the morning?  Oh yeah, because she thought it was cruel to leave him hungry.  No wonder why farmers fast their livestock before the slaughter.

I looked down at my feet, which was stained with dried blood.  Oh, his blood squirted on me too.  No wonder why murdering a human being is hard.  There's a blood trail.  And does that bloody spot ever come off?

I gutted the chicken.  I fed the innards to the stray cat.  He ate it readily.  After dismembering the chicken, it still smelled of grass.  But, it finally looked like two drumsticks, two thighs, and two pieces of chicken breast.  It was finished.

It looked exactly like chicken pieces at your local supermarket.  That's exactly how I wanted it to look for Mom so she wouldn't freak out by anything.  The only difference was that because it was organic and hand raised and free range, it was much smaller and the meat was much stringier and tougher.

 I called Mom on the phone and told her, "In the 'fridge is the chicken.  It looks exactly like it would in the supermarket.  You can make soup out of it today."

She came home and wasn't disgusted by it.  She only was upset when she realized it was our temporary pet a few hours before.

She stewed the chicken, and it was the best chicken stew I ever had.  In fact, it was the best chicken soup I ever had.  Really - it was super tasty.  And I ate all of Jose because I thought it was the right thing to do.

Since then - I have consumed much less meat.  I ate a piece of beef the other day and thought to myself - how would it feel like to slaughter cattle?  How would it feel like to slaughter a cow I raised since a calf?  And if everyone slaughtered their own meat once in awhile, I was rather certain we would all eat less meat.

Every time I eat chicken, I still think about Jose's eye closing when it died and think - jeez.  I think it bothers me most that this poor rooster died because he made the wrong choice and fell in love with a bird that would never return his affection.  Poor thing.

For some reason, I have less of a problem killing fish and lobster.  Not exactly sure why. 

My mother reminds me though, "Paul, you exercise a lot.  You're a boy.  You need your meat."

I tell her, "I'll each fish."

PS: Onto sunnier topics, I have photos to post soon of my boxing club.  We did an amazing photoshoot today.  Above is my new profile pic.  It was definitely time for a change, the last picture was taken almost four years ago.

Running with my coach

He did it f*(&n again.  He didn't get up in the morning to go for a jog.  Did I mention it was "again"?  I was really irritated last time because I woke up, and he didn't for our run.  And then - I couldn't go back to sleep.

Ok - I can't get too mad at him because I left my phone in the car too.  Thus, I didn't hear my alarm.  My phone is becoming the new sports utility tool, quickly surpassing the functionality of the Swiss army knife.  What would I do without?

And because I didn't have my phone, I slept in too.  See:this time I can't be too mad at him.

I knew this would happen again too.  At some point, you realize that people are a product of habit.  And you learn to expect that they will disappoint you. 

I asked a friend - what should I do if he flakes out again on the morning run. 

He said, "You go to his house and get him.  He lives in the same city, right?"

"Right.  But, it's for his benefit.  Not mine."

"Well - that's why the best personal trainers get paid the big bucks.  They come to you."

I thought to myself, I'm not the best personal trainer, nor do I want to be.

But I wanted my run.  I have to lose 5 pounds of fat.  I drove my Z3 down north, north through the nice streets and the barillos.  I parked it near his house.  I knocked on the door.  His parents saw me.  They greeted me. 

I told them, "I came for your son.  He has to come for his run."

His father said, "I see.  I'll go wake him up."

My coach came out wearing basketball shorts.  I told him, "Get ready.  We're going for a run."

"Ok," he said.  "Let me take a shower first."

We went for our usual cross country run of a few miles, mostly uphill, outside of the city.  I didn't really feel like running either.  But it was something that I had to do.  And that was what I was explaining to my coach.  "Motivation is way overrated.  It doesn't help you when you need to do something but you have to do it.  You just do it."

I was proud of him though because he said something after our run.  He said, "You know, it was getting hard for me psychologically."

"What do you mean?"

"When it gets hard I kept looking at the ground.  And my head tells me I'm going to die."

And that's when I had some compassion.  It's been a number of years since I felt that way.  So, I knew he was really pushing himself harder than even I was.  I said, "You know.  Don't tell yourself you'll finish.  Just tell yourself, go one more step.  And keep telling yourself - it's just another step."

He said, "I did."

I said, "And it works."  That's when I realized the Korean proverb, even a journey of a 1000 li starts with a step.

Afterwards, we went to the Farmer's Market, and we sampled the fresh and bright fruits.  They were so brilliant in color, they reminded me of large gems.  There were ruby strawberries, amber oranges, garnet blood oranges, and sapphire blueberries.  Everything tasted so sweet, especially after our run.

We were an odd couple, and two guys usually don't go together to the farmer's market to buy fresh fruits.  But - there's a huge problem in this country - fresh fruits and vegetables have been relegated to the elite because of their price.  Most guys eat terrible fries and greasy burgers - which both are subsidized in some form by the US government - aka our tax money.   So, that's why two guys don't usually go to the farmer's market.

After, we went and drove to Rosemead - the new Chinatown of the Los Angeles area.  We ate Uigher food, food from the very far West of China - where the old Turks lived.  We had lamb skewers that were spicy.  Lamb soup with hand made pasta and hand cut noodles.  We talked about this and that and that and this and the day just passed.

I told him, "This is good.  This is the first time you ran three times in a week." 

I guess, I am a well paid personal trainer, even though he's formally my boxing coach.  I get paid back with rich experiences.  Nothing quite beats a day of running up hills, eating fresh fruits at the farmer's market, and ending it with Turkish-Chinese food. 

Now, I'm ending the night blogging, drinking tea, and reading an awesome book on journalism.  It's made think: Where should I go next to get some more perspective?  After all, that's what living life is about: getting more perspective.

On Change

I wanted to remind my readers if they had any New Years Resolutions this year.  Since one season has passed, perhaps, if you had any resolutions, it's a good time to visit them now.  Remember, back in Jan. I made some resolutions.  Here's what they were.

Here's the grades I give myself.

1) I'd like to be better at emotional mastery.  B+  (Better than expected.  Lifelong practice.)

2) I'd like to become a better cook. C+ (Could use a lot more improvement.)

3) I'd to become a better writer.  B+ (Haven't done enough practice, but after this month I might get better.)

4) I'd like to be a better fighter.  A+ (Made lots of improvements.)

5) I'd like to b a kinder person.  A- (Definitely noticed a change in my heart towards the poor.)

6) I'd like to go at least 2  and at most 3 destinations that expand my knowledge of this world.  F (I went to Santa Barbara, and I haven't made any plans to go elsewhere.) 

7) And linked back to 6, I'd like to go on another treasure hunt!  This time, I'm looking for ultimate stories and recipes  N/A (I don't need this to be done right now.)

In general, I feel like I'm a different person than I was when I landed in my purgatorial world.  So, that's good.  I definitely have had a shift in who I am, the skills I've been learning, and the person I've been becoming.  

I'm also proud to say that I've been doing a lot more pleasure reading, a pastime that I shamefully made no time for during law school.

Anyone who likes reading and is interested in the topic of change have to read the following books and letter:

1.  The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg.  I like this book because Duhigg really provides a map of how people change.  He provides compelling and powerful illustrations of people who were thought hopeless that learned to become a new person.  For instance, how the child of heroine addicts learns to struggle through a series of hopeless jobs to make it as a Starbucks manager.  I think the cherries and sprinkles on this book is the tons and tons of research Duhigg compiled and how he managed to present it for the lay person.

2.  The Brain that Changes Itself by Norm Doidge.  This book is impressive because it takes its readers through the neural view of how the brain actually changes.  Did you know that experts on any subject draw on long term memory while non-experts do not?  It explains how sadomasochism is a neurally learned behavior and also how it can be unwired in the brain.  Again, like Duhigg's book, Doidge does a tremendous amount of research to explain and show that change is possible.

3.  The Solo Partner by Phil Deluca.  This book is not very well known and has had few readers.  Here's why: the main thesis states that one person can fix a dying marriage.  Yes, one person alone.  Not two.  Just one.  He does make a caveat that the book is not for marriages where the husband is physically abusive.  But other than that, Deluca draws on his history of practical experience and what he's seen is necessary to save a marriage.  Why would a single person be interested in a book about one person saving a marriage?  Believe it or not, the insights in this book has been helpful in me restoring my relationship with my father, mother, and brother.  Here's one key factor one needs to use this strategy: perserverance.

4.  How to Help People Change by Jay Adams.  This is perhaps the most practical book I've ever seen on counseling people to change.  The paradigm of this book is controversial at the very least.  Adams doesn't believe that people are born with mental disease.  Instead, he believes (as the first two books touch on) that mental disease is often a product of abuse by others and thoughts, patterns, and behaviors of the one thought to have such a disease.  Doidge's book would support this premise as he does show that people's thoughts, behaviors and actions actually can rewire the brain to become ill.  In any instance, if thoughts, behaviors, and patterns are responsible for illness, this book advocates that for people to change - their root values, thoughts, and behaviors first need to change and over time, so does their lives.

5.  2 Corinthians.  One of my favorite verses in the epistle states that " . . . he is a new creation.  The old has gone the new has come."  I originally wanted to put the Bible as a book here, but I admit, there are 66 books and that's not specific enough.  So, I chose the second epistle the Apostle wrote to the church in Corinth.  The overarching theme of the letter is that for people to change - that the old must go, but a new value, a new pattern must displace and root itself in a person.  

I grew up with a mother who was influenced by Korean Shamanism and Buddhism.  I came into a Christian faith in high school.  Therefore, I probably grew up understanding the fusion of these worldviews.  One of the primary differences between the Eastern religions and the "Western" Christian religion is that the prior emphasizes emptying of self.  The Christian one stresses the emptying of self, but then adds that there needs to be an addition or a filling to take the place of what has been emptied.  In essence, the self must be displaced instead of emptied. 

And with that interesting thought, I hope my reading list and thoughts on change also provoke you to think about the topic.

PS: I'll try to post more regularly.  

A Road Trip for Boxers

I took my coach and my boxing kid on a road trip to Santa Barbara for the kid's birthday.  My kid's never seen the ocean, even though he's lived in Los Angeles County.  We went for two days, one night.  We got to stay at the luxurious Hilton, compliments from them from all of my travels.  We had an ocean front view, and because I was a gold member, they upgraded our stay.  Below is the view of where we stayed. 

 The point of this blog post to my reader is that all of us need to get away sometimes and expand our horizons.  For the two boxers, from the inner city, it was a time for them to get perspective.  For me, Santa Barbara is not exotic.  But for them - it was another world.  So much so, that after we returned, my kid said I gotta get out of Baldwin Park.  When was the last time you challenged yourself and went somewhere so exotic?

For me though, I suppose it was a new experience.  For loyal readers of my blog, you'll know that I like trail blazing.  I cut my own path independently.  It was a responsibility to plan a trip for others and make sure that the people on my team enjoyed it.

On day one, we went to the Danish town of Solvang and ate a hearty breakfast of fresh Danish pancakes, wine tasting in Los Olivos, gyming and spa-ing at the four star hotel, and ate dinner at an Italian restaurant on State Street (to celebrate the kid's birthday).

On day two, I made the guys wake up and do a 3 mile beach run.  It was my favorite part of the trip.  The sea mist rolled in.  The rhythmic running forced my mind slipped into a zen state.  I loved hearing the ocean roar while running.  I even saw a Mermaid's Purse, which is a shark egg.  It has to be lucky because it's rare to see.  When I ran back to find it though, I found out the Pacific Ocean grabbed it back.  We then went on a hike.  Picture above.

We ended the trip eating fish and chips on the pier.  Below is me having a picture with a retired couple, whose dream is to have a mobile cafe.  I respect those who follow their dreams; so, I had to take a picture with them.  I had a cigar when I saw them.  I realized later, I probably should have handed it to one of the boxers while the picture was taken.  But I had to take this pic.  Until next time.