What Defines.

At some point we have had or will have that one pivotal moment or event in our lives that plays a major part in the direction our paths take. I've mentioned mine. When I lost my job at the bank more than two years ago. It changed my life irreversibly. I was set in a whole new direction that I never would have taken otherwise.

Recently I began to wonder. How many of us have had the rug pulled out from under us? How many of us have had our lives so completely upended by just one, singular event? It's so easy to let that one major triumph or defeat consume us. If we're not careful, that one life-changing event can become the thing that we use to define ourselves. Too often we get trapped in that moment. We let what we see as out biggest failure, or or even victory, define who we are. I know that was how it was for me for a while.

For a long time I let that one event define me. I let it cast a shadow over how I saw myself and dealt with others and with situations. I felt worthless, like everything I had accomplished up until that event was worthless. Worst of all, I felt like what had happened to me would be all I'd be known for. I just couldn't see past the mistakes I had made. At first, when my "big fall" happened, I hoped and prayed for some way to go back and fix the things that I did wrong. I knew it wasn't possible but if only I could only have a do over... But you can't go back.

After a while I became resentful. I blamed everyone, including myself, especially myself. I told myself I wanted nothing to do with that bank ever again. "Screw them!" I thought, "Banking isn't for me. I wasn't happy there, anyway." I know, sour grapes. But I meant it. I wasn't happy there. I would have preferred to have left under different circumstances, though.

I convinced myself that I was glad for it to be over. But, of course, it wasn't. I still have a loan and credit card there that I'm trying to pay off, so I have no choice but to go back from time to time. And for a while my stomach would turn every time I walked in the door. Even after months passed, I still felt pangs of guilt, shame and anger every single time I even passed in front of the building.

It took me a while to realize that that event wasn't all there was to me. I wasn't a loser or a failure because I failed at that one instance. Even if my mistake was a huge one, my life wasn't over because of it. It doesn't define who I am. I've realized that the only way it could do that was if I let every choice I continued to make was determined by that one incident. As long as I continued to live in that guilt, shame and anger I felt, then it would define me.

It wasn't the first time something bad had ever happened to me. More than likely, it wouldn't even be the biggest thing to ever happen in my life (even though one could hope that nothing worse could happen). Life has far too many ups, and even downs, to let just one event dictate who we are. The way I see it, you learn from it and do better the next time. Sure, shit happens, but as much as the situation may stink when it does, it will always stink if you just stay there and wallow in it.

I, for one, am tired of just wallowing in that shit.

[UPDATE] I didn't plan this but it fits. Check out Studio 30 Plus for other posts on this week's prompt "The Best Advice".

Just Where Have You Been This Week? - Getting Fit For Robopoclypse.

Another week, and soon to be month drawing to a close. It's been a pretty active blogging week for me. I had three posts here and another three over at Sprocket Ink.

- On Monday I gave you a little taste of where I'm from. I like this post. It made me appreciate home a little bit more.

- The time of machines' ruling over man is inching ever closer. At least that's the conclusion I drew on Tuesday over at Sprocket Ink.

Later that day, here on my blog, a well known representative of the machines tried to plead their case.

- He creeped me out so I laid low for a bit until he was gone. I posted on Sprocket Ink in the meantime on Thursday. This story leads me to believe that guys are peeing in public a lot these days.

- On Friday I posted on Sprocket Ink again. I'm going to have a slot there on Fridays too for a bit so I hope you get used to it. This one looked at what could possibly be the plot for the next big-budget Hollywood romantic comedy about a dictator in love.

Then, when I was sure HAL was gone I came back and posted here. I gave my take on this week's Studio 30 Plus prompt: Challenge Accepted.

Well, that was my week. Hope the rest of you are all safe and secure. Especially those who have to worry about Irene's unwelcome visit.

Okay, Bring It Then!

This week's Studio 30 Plus prompt is "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED". It reminded me of something that happened not too long ago that I thought was funny.

Before I get into it, though, let me remind you to check out my posts in Sprocket Ink. There's the one I did yesterday. It involves pee again, Also as an added bonus I have one there today as well. This one's a touching love story starring a world famous dictator. Just so you know, I'm going writing on Sprocket on Fridays too for a little bit so if you couldn't get enough of me your wish has been granted. Be sure to check them both out. K?

Okay. On to the prompt.

As I said, we're talking about a challenge accepted this time. To be honest, I've never been what you'd call a competitive person. Not in the sense that I go out looking for challenges. I do have a tendency to not want to back down if I am challenged, however. I especially push myself if I know the other person/persons involved expect me to just give up or fail. I'm stubborn that way, I guess. I've been smart enough so far to not let myself be goaded into doing anything dangerous or (too) stupid because of that trait but there have been times when I came close.

Sometimes the challenge doesn't even need to be directly issued. Even if it's implied I still take it on. That was the case a few weeks ago when I was out doing some errands. I was walking along the sidewalk when I came up to this really large guy walking just ahead of me. I passed him and continued on my way. A few seconds later I heard footsteps coming from behind me.

"Excuse me." he said as he overtook me. It was the same guy I passed just now. He was walking a little faster now.

I still wasn't really paying too much attention. I crossed over to the other side of the street to get out of the sun and continued onward. Soon I was feeling a little cooler so I picked up my pace. It was then that I actually noticed it. The same guy was now matching my speed.

"What the..?" I thought to myself, "Is he racing me? Son. of. a bitch! He is racing me! Okay, big man, let's see what you got."

And the challenge was on.

I sized my opponent up. Right away I could see his advantage was that he was taller. This gave him a longer stride. But he was heavyset and he had one of those huge military-style backpacks on and it was stuffed to capacity with only he knows what. He wasn't a soldier. That much I was sure of. His hair wasn't cut or even combed and his beard was long and unkempt. He was a little overweight and wasn't particularly fit looking either.

I was shorter and, of course didn't have as long of a stride. But I wasn't burdened by any heavy load. I'm a little overweight myself, but I was fit for my size. And, since he was much bigger than I, he had a lot more load to carry even without the backpack. Plus, he was going to have to deal with direct midday sun beating down on him on his side of the street. I had a chance.

Soon I realized that he was starting to drop behind. I casually looked back over my shoulder. He was still walking on the same side of the street but much slower. I'm sure he was breathing heavier too. I was right. His size and the heavy backpack proved to be his undoing. In the end he just didn't have what it took - stamina or willpower - to beat me.

Just Where Have you Been This Week? - I Was Hiding In The Fridge.

Wow, weekend just seem to come up so fast!

Let's begin:

- My first post this week was on Tuesday. It was my take on the Studio 30 Plus weekly prompt "Your Earliest Memory Of Your Own Birthday Party". It was a really weird one.

Of course, you too can join in on the S30P action... As long as you're a member, that is. And I'd expect that, if you are a blogger aged thirty and over, that you're already a member of this great group. Just makes sense.

Also on Tuesday, I also posted on Sprocket Ink about young, attractive Russian women willing to bare it all in the name of supporting their favorite political candidate.

- On Thursday I posted on Sprocket Ink again. This time about the gradually vanishing species known as the German Nudist.

Then I noticed that both my Sprocket stories had similar themes. This made me a bit concerned and I expressed those concerns back here.

- On Friday I wrote a letter of complaint to the sun for the unbearable heat I had to endure.

Interesting side note about this post: This afternoon I noticed this -

I honestly can't tell you why.

Anyway, seems like someone was paying attention because this morning I got a response to that letter:

Along with thunder! Then, as I was out doing errands this happened:

 And I was caught in it the entire time.

I'm wondering if I should build an ark or something.

Of course, I'm not fooling myself into believing that my letter was responsible for the change in weather. That would be ridiculous! I'm sure the weather would have changed whether I wrote it or not.

Hmm...

Dear National Lottery Board,

During my adult life I've purchased lottery tickets no less that eight times with no success. I find this unacceptable as, if anyone is deserving I must say that I am... 

It's My Party & I'll Be Creeped Out If I Want To.

I'm off to jury service in a minute but before I go I'm tackling the Studio 30 Plus weekly prompt today. This week is based on: "Your Earliest Memory Of Your Own Birthday Party". I'll tell you my tale. But you got to swear you'll never tell anyone about this...


EVER!

Birthday parties were never a huge deal in our family when I was growing up. In fact, the only one I can ever remember having was back when I attended kindergarten. This kindergarten that was on the grounds of a catholic church and run by nuns. Yeah. Good times!


Actually, to be honest, they were. It was there, in fact, that the party was thrown. The nuns apparently loved parties for the children since, of my few memories from attending that school, most of them involved some type of party of function.


That day there were two other kids, Tia and Ronald who stood on either side. They celebrated their birthdays that week as well so the nuns decided to lump them all up into one event. But that day was actually birthday. "My day! It was more special than theirs" as a child's mind would reason. But still we had to share so whatever. Only the only birthday party I've ever had. You know, whatever.


Anyway, I remember when it was my turn. They had already dealt with Ronald and Tia all now of the children sing the Happy Birthday song for me. I've never liked being the center of attention. Normally it would have been because I was in trouble for something. But not that day. For once, I was the star of the show and I loved it. I looked at the cake. I looked at the other kids. I felt appreciated. Soon the song ends.


Nun: Blow out the candles, Vinny.


And Ronald blows the candles out.


Me: Heeeeeyyy!!!
Nun: No, Ronald. It's Vinny's turn. you already blew out your candles.


She lights the candles again. To recreate the mood she asks the other children to sing me the song again. They're only too happy to oblige. Somehow singing loud and off-key is just endless fun for a young child. Soon they bring it home. And as the song ends...


Ronald blows the candles out. AGAIN!


Son of a bitch!


Nun: Ronald! That's enough. You had your turn!


Her voice was so stern that I was sure Ronald almost wet himself. One last time she lit the candles. She doesn't bother making the other kids sing this time however.


Nun: Okay, Vin- RONALD!!!


Yup, you guessed it! Old Ronnie-boy just couldn't help himself and, once again, blew out every last candle. 


Nun: Never mind. Vinny, Tia... Ronald... (she glared at him) cut the cake.
Other nun (holding the camera): Okay, Tia, give Vinny a kiss for the picture.


She did. A quick peck just long enough for the photo to be taken. But as she did it I noticed something odd. The kiss was in stereo. Either she was a really good kisser or...


RONALD!!!

Just my luck the nun happened to snap the photo with both Tia and... Ronald both giving me a kiss on either cheek. Thinking back he looked way too into it. Momma C still has that photo. I don't know in what incriminating way she intends to still use it, but whatever her plan is, it can't be good.

I've also got another article on Sprocket Ink this morning at 10AM. I won't be home by that time so I won't be able to link it directly until later.


[UPDATE] The above link now goes directly to my Sprocket Ink post.

What Could Have Been.

I haven’t attempted the weekly prompt from Studio 30 Plus in a while. I’m taking another crack at it this week with this week’s – THE DO OVER:

We all have regrets. Things we look back on in our lives that we wish we could change. There were a lot of times in my life, especially after my brief unemployment, where I used to wonder about the things I could change if I could go back.

I know I used this earlier this week.
It just seems appropriate.

But every time I really thought about it I realized that there would have been things I would have to sacrifice to have those do overs.

One of the questions I used to ask myself was if I had the chance to do it over, would I have overcome the personal obstacles and found some way, any way to continue my education right after graduating secondary school? Of course!

Only… then I wouldn’t I wouldn’t have gotten that job on the fabric store where Mrs. C and I met.

Then, after my banking “career(?)” ended, I would often sit at home and wish I could just have another chance to prove them wrong. If I could only get another chance I would make better decisions. I just know it.

But if I stayed in banking, would I have gone through all of the emotional turmoil that forced me to take an honest look at myself? Would I still be harboring a deep sense of self-loathing and denial? Would I have kept gaining weight as quickly as I was? Would my marriage have lasted?

UGH! Too many unknowns.

Here, in Trinidad & Tobago, romantics like to say, “What is for you, is for you.” If something has to come your way, then you’ll have it no matter what. So, even if you do go back and make good on your mistakes, life will still find a way of bringing about the right set of circumstances to allow you to receive what you were meant to have. (Even the bad things?)

I don’t know. If I think too much about such things I get dizzy. What I do know is that I’m here now. Circumstances aren’t always ideal and I do have many imperfections to deal with within myself. But one thing I know now is, except for making sure you don’t make the same mistakes again, that there isn’t much profit in looking back.

So I’ll focus on moving forward.

Some Things Are Worth The Risk

I was thirteen. I remember standing in the chest-high water, cold, shivering. Just about four or five feet in front of me, my friends from school were laughing and playing. They didn't pay attention to me. I wasn't a part of the game.

I watched them. A small amount of anger welled up inside. Were they really my friends? Did they really care? If the situation were reversed, I would have at least acknowledged that they were there. I'm sure of it. I wanted to join in but I was afraid.

My toes gripped the steep edge of the slope. I imagined a bottomless precipice sliding down into eternity. And I also imagined my body being as heavy as a rock. I saw myself sinking. Slowly. Not like a rock at all. Just heavy enough to drift deeper and deeper. Fighting for breath as I saw the shimmering light of the water's surface move further and further away.

NO!!!

I'm being stupid. This was a small pool. Only seven feet deep. I took the classes. I know what to do. I can do this!

But the last time...

Forget the last time! That was more than a year ago. I didn't drown. I came out okay.

Only because that kid handed me a board. If he didn't have two...

"Vinny!" Someone calls out to me from the deep side of the pool.

I take a long, slow breath and exhale...

Screw it! I'm tired of being afraid.

I launch out...

********

My take on this week's prompt from Studio 30 Plus: RISK.

Red: It's Also The Colour of Embarrassment

Aaaannd I'm back. At least I think I'm back. I thought I was back last week but it turns out I wasn't quite back. (Which explains my somewhat sporadic commenting on your posts as well as posting of anything much here on my own blog).

Sigh! Life's been kinda hectic the past few weeks. This is mostly due some the ongoing workplace bullshit drama, which I'll probably get to in the near future. But, the good news is, I'm actually posting something today! You know, with actual words 'n shit. Well, somethings really. This is a two-for-one special.

First, is a post inspired by the weekly Studio 30 Plus prompt. (I know. I missed the last two. Also due to the same aforementioned hectic IRL stuff). This week the prompt is the word: Red.

Let's get right into it, shall we:

When we first got married, Mrs. C and I lived in a very tiny apartment, rented to us from a friend from church. The apartment was so small I called our little hobbit hovel. It was fitting because we're both somewhat vertically challenged and I do happen to have somewhat hobbitesque feet (If you don't know what I mean, Kev D. can properly explain).

Anyway, the house our apartment was in was in a very rough area and, when things started to really heat up, we decided to move. Finding a new place to live wasn't easy. Tiny as it was, the rent was dirt cheap and we were just getting used to living on our own.

While we were looking for a new apartment, we stayed at my parents home for a few months. One day, my niece, who was only a toddler at the time, got into the room we were staying in and came out parading around the living room (where the entire family was sitting) with a particular piece of Mrs. C's clothing. All I'll say is, it was not the kind of thing good little christian girls are supposed to wear. Quite suitably, she decided to wear it on.her.head.

Yeah.

Did I mention the entire family was there? My mother, father, both sisters, Mrs. C's uncle: the evangelist (Okay, I made the last part up, but if he had happened to have walked in I wouldn't have been surprised at that point). Needless to say our faces were – you guessed it – very, VERY red.

Now, as I said, you get two posts for the price of one. The second is one of my weekly posts over at Sprocket Ink is up.

All you have to do is click on this pretty little link over here [Pretty Little Link] and you can read it.

Childhood Dreams

I'm taking another crack at the weekly writing prompt from Studio 30 Plus. This week it's: Childhood Dreams.

********

Okay, quick show of hands...

Back when you were a child, do you remember how much you dreamed of growing up to be an account manager? Or about the all times you ran up and down the yard pretending you were a busy executive assistant trying to get your boss' coffee and dry-cleaning delivered so you could stave off the inevitable meltdown of said boss? And, of course, who could forget picking up your toy phone and playing telemarketer? If you've hand up for any of these then I hope that the bullies you encountered growing up were lenient at least at Christmastime.

Now, for those of you who may be employed in any of these fields, please know that I am not putting down any of you (well... maybe telemarketers). I'm merely making a point that, as children, we all dreamed of growing up and living a life of adventure and excitement. That's just natural, I guess. I'm sure I'd see more hands raised* if I asked how many of you wanted to be an astronaut, or a fireman, or a pilot, or even a doctor. Those, we pretended to be. Those, we dreamed of becoming one day. Saving lives, exploring new frontiers, sailing the high seas or soaring through the clouds are all so freakin' cool! Right?

When I was a child, I remember I would lug around my father's Samsonite briefcase in my games of pretend. Not because I wanted to be an office supervisor, but it looked like the one James Bond in that movie that time. The seemingly harmless items inside were, each and every one of them, an instrument of torture or death. That sheet of paper would slice your head clean off. That ballpoint pen, a high power laser beam in disguise. And, for the love of all that was holy, don't make me use the paperclip!!!

I still have nightmares about the last time someone made me you the paperclip...

So what happens? When do we go from wanting be an international super-spy, clearing the world of dictators and genius megalomaniacs to clearing photocopier jams? How did we go from a mug of ale at the tavern with our crew-mates after a day of pillaging and plundering to gathering around the cooler for water from a paper cup when the boss wasn't around?

You don't have to answer. I know. Real life happens. We lose interest. We find new interests. Bills, loans, kids, etc all eventually pop up long after we move on from those aspirations and put the final nails in the coffin.

But, realistically speaking, most of us don't miss those dreams. Most of us never grow up to be who we wanted to be when we were five. And, for the most part, we're okay with that. If we were all astronauts, who would make sure our retirement nest egg was in the right long-term savings plan?

So what? I didn't grow up to be a spy (or... did I?), that radioactive grasshopper never bit me and bestowed upon me superhuman jumping powers (the spider idea was already taken, okay?) and I'm not a doctor (though, sometimes, I do play one in bed). Life goes on.

Oh! And, for those fortunate few of you that do get to go on to live your dream, I hate you salute you and hope it is all you dreamed it would be.

* Since I can't actually see if your hands are raised, please feel free to feel like an idiot if you actually did put your hand up.

Hmm... An Interesting Concept.

The good people over at Studio30 Plus have come up with an interesting idea. Every week they provide a writing prompt. As they put it, it's "a key word or phrase or feeling that you may use to inspire a blog post". Members interested in participating can do so voluntarily. If you're a member you're free to take part. Over thirty, yet not a member? What are you waiting on? Anyway, we'll deal with your commitment issues later. As for now, I've decided to throw my two cents in:

This Week's prompt is just one word: CONCRETE.

I see it every day. During my trek from home, to work, to school and back home again (rinse, repeat the next day), concrete surrounds me. My wife and I often joke about leaving the urban life behind and moving to a cleaner, safer, quieter life in the country. It has become somewhat of a running gag between us with neither really willing to commit to the idea. We both grew up in built up areas. Truth is, we'd miss it, I suppose. As much as we get tired of the exhaust fumes and the noise and the stifling congestion of building looming overhead, it's what we know.

Still, I wonder if we really could...

The highway that connects the busy, bustling northern part of Trinidad known as the East/West Corridor to the just as built up central and southern cities passes along mostly empty undeveloped swampland. On the rare occasions I have to travel to the southern part of the country, I find myself staring off at the vast expanses of land that sprawl off to either side of that highway. Buildings are few and far between for the most part. In some areas, the only evidence of man's incursion in these swampy flatlands are the spread out rows of massive electrical towers trailing off toward the horizon.

So much open space...

When I stare off at into it, I let my mind stray. More than a few times I ask myself, if I were dropped in the middle of it, too far from any road or any buildings to see them, could I find my way back? Silly! Of course I could. It is a small island after all. As long as I didn't go in circles, my biggest fear would be a cayman or some other wild swampland creature chomping my ass off.

I'd survive. I think...

We'd miss the concrete. We'd miss the cable TV and the coffee shops with free wi-fi. We'd long for the nine-to-five routine and the prepackaged, mass-produced life we despise so much for making us lazy and unhealthy and so stressed out all the time. This life in this concrete jungle is our life. We'd be ready to pack our things and move back to our old life within a week. I know it. We would miss our concrete lives.

But, eventually, that would pass.

Wouldn't it?