13 Years.

Today, for all intents and purposes, was a normal day. Except that it wasn’t. Today marks the thirteenth anniversary of when my life changed completely. Today marks the thirteenth anniversary of when I lost my dad. Today marks the anniversary of when I watched him die.

---

My dad, even though he was a former mountain climber, avid hiker, and developed a love of mountain biking in the final year of his life; had eleven different lung diseases. It was a brutal combination of genetics, working with asbestos and other toxins without a mask, and the fact that he smoked for 33 years. He had multiple inhalers that he used on a daily basis. One of them was an emergency inhaler. It was that particular inhaler he was going for when he had his fatal asthma attack. He was feet from the medicine that could have saved his life and he didn’t make it.

---

The thing most people don’t know about my dad is that he wasn’t my biological father. Yet, he raised both my sister and I as if we were his kids. He was our father, even if it wasn’t by blood. I changed my last name officially in high school — even though I had been using it for most of my schooling years. My parents had celebrated their 15th wedding anniversary twenty days before he was suddenly taken from us. Fifteen life changing years.

---

I still miss him. Not every day, like the first few years after he passed. But, randomly, my heart will twinge at a memory. Or a desire for me to share something with him. That desire still hasn’t left me and I know it never will. I still love him, even though I lost the sound of his voice and his laugh.For the first decade, this was the worst day of the year for me. Now there’s a bittersweet acceptance that life can change in an instant — and end even faster.

---

Life is far too short. So tell the ones you love that you love them. Forgive someone now, before it’s too late. And never fail to say goodbye. Because you never know when the last time you’ll be able to say it will be.

The Hustle

Well. guess what. As I type this, I am now a full time writer. That's right, the dream has finally come true. And it too a whole lot of shit and work to get to this place.

I have this blog. Thank God that I do. This is where I can be the real me and not sugar coat anything. This is where I open up my heart and mind and let it all hang out. For good, bad, and truly ugly. This is where the honesty happens. So, count this as blog #1.

A few years back, LinkedIn invited me to try out their new service that would allow people to post blog posts. I was one of their inaugural members to take advantage of it. And it's still something that I still do to this day. So, count that as blog #2. Passive, but I still post and keep it active, from time to time.

And, now, less than a week ago, I started blog #3. https://medium.com/@gheamale This particular one is for the start-up (surprise!!! I have a new side gig. Then again, when don't I) http://sphere5.com And this particular one I'm stupid proud of. They (and I mean the founder and CEO) who loved my writing and asked me why I wasn't doing it full time. Why I wasn't doing it professionally. Two and a half months later I've edited one ebook and written another.

That's right. I've written a book. And you know what? I got a huge rush out of it. As I was pounding out words, I knew that it was going to be published and I would officially be an author. It was a high, brand new and I wanted more. I was hooked and couldn't stop. I wrote 90% of the book in two and a half hours - counting the research I was doing for it, as well. I was finally doing what I was put on this Earth to do and it was a rush unlike any other.

So, the new blog, Medium, I'm updating six days a week. With rest on Sunday. But...next month is November. Meaning NaNoWriMo. Which means I'm going to take another stab at being a fiction author. And, you know what, this time around, I think I got it. I have a wizard (non-metaphoical) that I've been cooking up for the better part of six months that I'm finally going to put to life. Give him an adventure.

Which clocks me in at three blogs and a novella by the end of the year. And I couldn't be happier.

Irreplaceable.

In an effort to purge Harvey  (see Purging Harvey 8/19/2016) tonight, I took a hot shower to try and nail down why I was feeling low. I'm certain a good portion of it is that the weather has taken a turn for the dark and dreary. But there's was something else, underlaying that I couldn't figure out until just now.

I have a genuine fear of being replaceable.

Which, in all honesty, I had no idea I had until just now. As far as phobias, go, it's 100% valid. For starters, we all die, and, thus, there will be a time when we just are no longer here. It's a phobia that those who struggle with depression, anxiety, and suicidal tendencies have in greater strength than those who don't suffer from those. It's also, in my opinion, one of the leading causes of addiction. We fear that we're going to be replaced by those we love, so we turn to substances that will never abandon us (using the "royal we" here).  I have also been in many a situation where I actually was replaced. Suddenly and completely. I've been fired, laid off, and had my heart broken quite a few times. There's been other things in my past that also validate this fear; but I'm not going to go into them right now.

Now that I got to the root of what was making me morose, I did something that immediately gave me a 180: I said the words "I'm not replaceable" out loud. It was like a boulder rolling off my shoulders. And it's also 100% valid.

There are plenty of people who are like me, but there's only one me. There's only one person on this Earth who has had all of my experiences. All of my dreams. All of my failures. All of my friends and family. Even all of my things. There has only been one me and there will always be one me. No one can take that from me. I may lose more jobs. I may lose more friends and love interests, but I will never lose me until I pass from this life.

I am irreplaceable. You are irreplaceable. Stop living life like someone can take your place. No one can and no one ever will.

Not Every Question Has An Answer

Sometimes, there will be events in your life that will unfold that you won't ever get an answer for. A sudden death in the family. Being fired from a job you spent the last 20 years working at. Earthquakes and other natural disasters. Even positive things like falling in love with a blind date or finding $20 on a park bench. The point of the matter is that sometimes, randomly, things just, well, happen. 

Change is the only constant we have in this life. We like to imagine that there's always some warning signs or things we can control how they unfold - but the fact of the matter is, sometimes fate is just that. Countless philosophers, teachers, scientists, and other learned individuals will spend years, sometimes their entire lives, finding justifications for these "acts of God". Yet, we all experience moments like these. 

Think about this: how many individuals out there are "accidents"? Meaning that their conceptions were completely unplanned. Now, an even more interesting question is how many of these "accidents" never should have happened in the first place? Ten to one, you know at least one person who shouldn't be here because one of the parents was sterile, on some form of birth control, or it was the wrong time of the month. Despite all pre-existing logic, the sperm met the egg and life began. 

Another unlikely, yet surprisingly common phenomenon are people who are just suddenly cured from cancer. They had gone through treatments that were stabilizing them without actually being the antidote - and then one day the person wakes up completely cancer free. A medical miracle that could last years, if not permanently. Occasionally, when this occurs, it makes the news, but not always. 

The point of the matter is this: as humans, it's engrained in us to find meaning in all things. Each quandary must have a solution. Each event must have a logical course of action leading up to it. "For every action, there's an opposite and equal reaction" (Newton's Third Law of Motion). To counterbalance all the chaos we see in the world, there must be some outward predisposition that led up to that point. Those who study history are the ones who spend their lives focused on searching for why were are at the point in time that we are at. We are always in pursuit of the "how" that led up to the "why".

Not every question has an answer and not every event in your life or the lives of those around you has to make sense. Sometimes things just are the way they are. What truly matters is how you approach it when it happens. Are you someone who will accept it for what it is and move on or are you someone who will be consumed by either changing the events or searching for meaning behind them. Are you someone who is going to let a random bad day turn into a bad month because you're incapable of letting go; or do you take advantage of the next dawn and turn it into a better day than the previous?

For it is how you face the questions that lead to how the answers come about. Are you going to be consumed by the things you cannot change or embrace the day for what it truly is: a chance to start again?

Purging Harvey

So, before I begin, this afternoon, I gave my depression the name Harvey. As in, the giant, invisible rabbit from the James Stewart movie. The name fits - as no one but me knows the full effect of Harvey. And no one hears Harvey but me. And, sometimes, many times, Harvey won't shut up.

The importance of this is that giving something a name gives you dominion over it. The first step a person does, psychologically, to place control over something is to name it. A nickname is a perfect example of this. People name their children and pets. I named my depression.

So, the reason I go into this is depression reared its ugly head this afternoon. I won't go into details, other than plans falling through unexpectedly and my brain taking hold of it and running hard with it. As my brain can be prone to do. Now, I will say that there were other factors involved  (especially with how stressful this week has been), but I was, unknowingly, prone for another episode. So, this one seemingly innocuous incident snowballed immediately mentally.

Now, instead of me discussing the topic further into detail, I'm going to go further into detail about me fighting it. What I'm doing when the struggle is truly real. Because, when it comes to depression (and, from what I understand about other mental illnesses) is that there's really only two options: defeating it or letting it defeat you. Again, there are days when the battle is lost before it even begins; when all you can do is ride out the storm. But even just struggling through it is a way of fighting it.

Now, each person has their own way of coping in a healthy manner. Mine is writing. I have found that, with depression, the analogy of "better out than in".  Which is what I am now passing on to you.

When sunny skies suddenly turn into a squall? Write.

When you've been faced with an overwhelming situation? Write.

When you get some bad news that comes out of nowhere? Write.

When you wake up in a funk and you have no idea why? Write.

No matter the reason, or even if there is one, the best way I have found to fight off the demon is to write.

Even if it's just screaming on a piece of paper or a Word document. No one says you have to keep what you put down. You just have to get it out so you can move on and move forward.

Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

“In order to attain the impossible, one must attempt the absurd.” -- Miguel de Cervantes.

"Alice: 'This is impossible.' The Mad Hatter: 'Only if you believe it is.'" -- Lewis Carroll (Alice In Wonderland)

We humans are far too often our own stumbling blocks. We hinder our own success based upon the limitations others put upon us; and the limitations we mentally put upon ourselves. Someone will tell us that a thing, regardless of what it is or the reason behind it, is unfathomable and we have the bizarre tendency to believe them. Most often, the limitations that hinder our own success isn't based on physics or the other terrestrial limitations of science; but solely based on the idea that a thing simply cannot be done. 

But, allow me to let you in on a little secret: Nothing is ever as impossible as it seems. 

A perfect example of this happened on July 20th,1969. Man, who had gazed upon the moon for eons and considered it far unreachable, step foot upon it. A celestial entity that had even been regarded as a deity now had human footprints on it. We conquered the span of the space itself and officially became aliens upon another piece of space rock. 

Why? Because we could. Because seven years prior, the American President told us that we should; "...not because they are easy, but because they are hard." Because we had reached a milestone in technological advancement that would allow us to break the walls of Earth's gravity and bridge the gap to our closest extraterrestrial neighbor. We did it simply because impossible was no longer a reason to stop us. 

Both personally and professionally, I have faced many an "impossible situation". When the chips were down and all odds were stacked against me, I have risen above, time and again. Why? Because I've honestly never been fond of the term impossible. Because I have the audacity to rise above, again and again. I don't like to be defeated and I do not allow myself to lay in the dust. Because I have the obstinate drive to rise and rise above. I view life the same way as the crew of the Apollo 11 viewed their mission: totally insane and worth every second. 

We as a species have taken flight. We have soared the heavens, both within our own atmosphere and far above it. We have sent satellites outside our own solar system. We have, even in centuries of old, viewed the heavens with our own eyes. Also, we have explored the depths beneath which we sail. We surpass every outrageous attempts at the limitations to which we bind ourselves in. 

Why? Simply put, because we can.

So, what impossible thing are you going to do today?

My Latest Discovery Upon the Path of Writing Certainty

Alright, my comrades, faithful friends, and those poor souls who suffer through the drudgery of my banal existence who stumble upon by most random of musings, I have news: I, yes, this guy, has come upon a typewriter.

Now, I realize I just lost you, but understand this: the typewriter, is but the Holy Grail and ultimate muse for those in the writing craft. It's like stumbling across the Sistine Chapel in its blank slate and being told "Have at it. Do what you do". The blank slate of all insane(ly brilliant) minds who have birth most, if not all, of the classics you were forced to read in high school. And, let me tell you, it's a thing of beauty.

It's manual. As Ernest Hemingway put is, you beat your heart and soul into this and a book or two comes out. You sacrifice your entire being and sanity and the most precious thing that will far outlive you will come forth. There's nothing taken for granted with this thing. It weighs like a brick. You beat all the buttons and have to physically push the bar back and forth. I have dreamt about such a masochistic piece of archaic machinery since...well, the writing bug struck me back in junior high. Since I broke out my Dad's old typewriter (which was electric, but still far from forgiving), started generating stories that were absolute rubbish, and enjoyed every facet and second of it. The sound. The smell. The effort into creating a masterpiece (which, my early works were anything but). And, above all else, the pounding of the keys. And now, waiting in an absolutely terrible second hand store, is the magnificent piece of machinery that shall become mine.

You see, while it's pen and paper that brought forth the founders of the curse, I mean blessing, of this craft that I have been born with, it was those who enslaved themselves to the beast that is the typewriter that were the ones that truly experiences the true beauty and brutality of this instrument of carnal reverence. The crafters of worlds both known and never made. Lives were birthed and died by the madmen (and women) who were possessed and did posses such a common and largely under-appreciated device.

Now, if it sounds like I'm "fan girling" (yes, it's a term, and yes, I'm using it appropriately) over this, understand something: typewriters aren't all that easy to find. Especially the manual ones. And, when you do stumble across them, they're bloody expense. I am crazy fortunate to not have either of these circumstances be the case. And, really, the fact that I seriously (not literally, though) stumbled across it makes me feel like it's a sign. Whether is actually is or not is not the question here. The point is that it is going to be mine and thus forth shall begin my cracked path towards becoming a truly published author. And, you best believe, I'm making copies upon copies before I submit anything. The last thing I need is for someone to steal the one copy I spent months, if not years, to create.

So, yes, while it is but the most mundane of news, words cannot express how genuinely pleased I am for this to enter my life.