On Lulu

 Let's start with 2 truths and a lie.  

1. In general, people agree that you should not have a favorite child or pet. To quote my mom, "Of course I love all of you boys equally."  We tried to hide our skepticism growing up when she said that.

2. My dog Lucy, who endured pretty terrible abuse before my wife and I rescued her, has the dearest ambition of both catching varmints, and eating as many treats as she can during the day. We feel that she deserves as many treats as she wants. 

3. Until Lucy came along, I felt terrible guilt for almost 10 years about my beloved black lab Rosie (3rd picture, on the right) and how I yelled at her on her last day with us.  Lucy helped my heart heal a good bit from that. 

I lied. All three of those statements are true

I don't know how you feel about reincarnation, or life being cyclical, or that maybe sometimes God sends us messages when we least expect it. Rosie was a great dog, like all dogs are, and she along with her brother suffered  abuse before my family rescued the two of them when I was 9 years old. Rosie and Bo were fixtures in our lives for 10 years, until one night Rosie and Bo escaped from my Mom's yard, and got separated.  Rosie came home, but the next morning, we couldn't find Bo.  Rosie was in too much pain to walk and when I left the house that morning, I scolded her for running off.  We still hadn't found Bo, and I was upset.  I didn't know it, but that was the last thing I ever said to sweet Rosie. My mom put her down that morning to keep her from being in pain any longer.

Miraculously, we found Bo that afternoon, and he spent another year with my family before he got sick with cancer and passed away. Even with the bonus time we got with Bo, I carried guilt with me for years about Rosie.  All she had wanted was to run with her brother, and I scolded her in the last hours of her life for it.  Just the thought of her would bring such acute guilt that I would have to leave the room I was in, and there was many a night I laid awake hoping that I would have a chance to redeem myself for sweet Rosie. 

Like I said, I don't know how you feel about the cyclical nature of life, or God sending is signals, but I got what I believe was a signal loud and clear in November 2018.  

A friend of my girlfriend (now wife) told us about a dog that had been abused, and was now spending almost 24 hours a day kenneled in a house with 5 other dogs, and asked if we wanted to give her a better life.  I cannot recall what we talked about renaming this mysterious dog, but the second we met her and she jumped up into Tayler's truck, we knew that Lucy was going to stick around in our house. She immediately got along with our other GSD, and we realized that Lucy loved nothing more than getting some treats for being the best dog, even if all she was asked to do was lay on the floor. To this day, Lulu will not turn down a treat under any circumstances. 

At the same time as Lucy joined our household, I was going through some personal issues of my own, and I spent many a day laying on the couch with Lucy talking about the demons that I was battling. This sweet dog became a sort of sounding board for all of the things I could't say to another person, and I realized that Lucy might have been a quiet nudge that it was time to lose some of the guilt I had been dragging along for the better part of a decade.  Somehow, Lulu let me know that it was time to forgive myself of the guilt I felt about Rosie, and maybe forgive myself for letting Double IPAs and Jim Beam upend a career that had started off like a rocket and fizzled out like a wet sparkler on July 5th. 

The other day I was texting Tayler about our dogs, and she told me to quit sending pictures of Lucy since she was my favorite, and send pictures of our other two pups.  That's when it hit me that of course Lucy is my favorite.  She always will be, even though our other two dogs are sweet and goofy, and loving in the kind of way that only dogs can be.  Lucy is my favorite because she helped me through a time in my life when I could have chosen not to get a handle on drinking, and lost even more good things in my life than I already had.  Lucy told me that somehow, in a long ago time and place, Rosie didn't blame me for being upset at her, when my heart was aching for us to find her brother.  Lucy showed me that moving forward into the future is always the best, since it leads us away from 23 hour kennel stays and towards a bucket of treats that is never empty. Lucy showed me that healing is possible, and even probable, with time and love. 

Thats why she is my favorite. 

On Rain

 It wasn't Prince's Purple Rain. It wasn't Forest Gump's "little bitty stingin' rain." It wasn't even the kind of rain that the Temptations were wishing for. This was Andy Dufresne's rain when he gets out of Shawshank. It was Jim and Pam's rain from the Office. This was Van Morrison's rain from And it Stoned me. 

Van Morrison, And it Stoned me

Ever since I was a kid, rain almost brought along a feeling of an otherworldly cleansing when the clouds opened and rain drops started falling. That smell of summer after a rain shower, where the sunshine is brighter and the earth smells alive is one of the most distinctive smells that I can remember, and it takes me back to my childhood every time I experience it. Last week I was having one of those "blah" days. It was supremely unmemorable in every aspect, until I got caught in a rain shower that took me back to being 12 years old again, waiting for the rain to stop so my friends and I could go back to enjoying a glorious summer day. At that moment, I had a moment of supreme clarity that just shook me, and Van Morrison popped into my head. 

That rain washed away all of the things that lead into a forgettable, subpar kind of day. I was irritated and didn't know why, I had a hard time really enjoying any aspect of what was turning into a pretty mundane Wednesday. Until the rain started falling down. For whatever reason, that rain acted as a kind of reset button for me. The rain stopped, the sun came out, and I noticed how vibrant the leaves are this year. That earthy smell rose up from the woods, and I remembered the cool recipe I wanted to try for dinner that evening. A small little rainbow popped up, and I was thankful of the fact that I am healthy, have a job, and am more blessed than most, so maybe I should appreciate my life a little more often. 

Like I said, it was a Van Morrison kind of rain. Sometimes a little rain is exactly the thing to put things back into perspective. 

Maybe you'll get caught in that kind of rain soon.

Yours, RA 

7 irons and walks in the woods

 I just spent two hours and forty five minutes without uttering anything other than "Why in the world did you go that way," and I could not have had a better time doing it. 

I am one of the dewsweepers at my local country club, one of the guys who starts playing golf early in the morning and is done by the time most golfers are just getting ready to start their day. I had the 8:30 tee time this morning, first of the day, and I can honestly say that early morning walks through the woods with occasional moments of joy are good for my soul. I got to see the sun crest over Table Rock in Morganton this morning, got to lip out a birdie putt on the magnificent 15th hole at Mimosa Hills Golf Club, and enjoyed some delectable breaded flounder for lunch, all before 11:30 this morning.  There is something special about enjoying nature in almost complete silence, with all of the distractions of day to day life stripped away. My phone was on silent, my ear buds were off, and all I could hear was the wheels of my pushcart rolling through dewy grass; of course, occasional cracks of a clubhead hitting a ball followed by frustrated grunting broke the otherwise pristine silence. Yes, these early mornings spent in solitude at the golf course help keep my sanity intact. 

There is something soothing about playing golf in the early morning. With every stroke, you can see lines in the grass where the ball landed and rolled, get to hear the birds waking up and chirping as the sun peaks over the horizon, and every step is another step in the lifelong journey that comes with playing golf. No golfer has ever had the perfect round. Even Tiger Woods at the height of his powers would speak to the reporters after his final round 63 about the strokes he left out on the course. This morning was a perfect embodiment of golf for me. I have not been playing particularly well, I've been fighting a bit of a slice with my driver. But on the 18th hole this morning, I managed to string together 3 shots that keep even the worst of the duffers coming back for more every chance they have. I striped my driver right down the middle, and was left with a nice easy 7 iron into the hole, which leads back to the back porch of the clubhouse. This shot didn't mean much, I had played too poorly to break any personal milestones, so this was simply the last iron shot of the day for me. I struck it absolutely pure, and the club was ringing in my ears as I watched the ball take its gentle parabola from 165 yards out, and stopped 10 feet from the flagstick. 

Until this point, I had played 17 holes without saying a word. No "Come on!" or "Bite!" had crossed my lips. I stepped over my ball, and looked at the birdie putt that would make an excellent exclamation mark to my round. I though it was a bit of a left breaker, and I took my putter back with the utmost confidence that it would drop into the hole. As the ball rolled, I waited with baited breath, until at the last moment it careened to the right, which was the opposite direction I anticipated. Then, I finally spoke my first words of the morning, "Why in the world did you go that way?" 

I tapped in my par putt to conclude my round. 

This has been a crazy year for everyone. Life has been as far from normal as it can get, and yet we are all trying to get through each day with the same vigor and enthusiasm as we always have. You might not play golf. You may have never even been to play putt putt. But I assure you that setting time for yourself, with no distractions or complications, is good for the soul. You might not find the joy that I do in hitting a perfect 7 iron. But all of us need some respite from the hard times that 2020 has brought each and every one of us. Whether it is in a leather bound book, a manicured fairway, or in an artist's easel, we all need relief. I hope you find some, the same way that I found mine this morning. It does wonders for the soul. 

On Forever

In 365 days, I will be getting married. In the long list of things I have wanted to write, that sentence has got to be at the top of the list. I have spent the last 5 years doing a great job of messing things up in my life, but this is one thing that I have done right.

Tayler and I met how most of us millennial's meet our significant others, on a dating app. On our first date, she talked me into seeing a scary movie, which is not something I do on a regular basis. It turns out that A Quiet Place is actually a pretty good movie, and when I see it pop up on Hulu or Amazon Prime it always makes me smile, because it takes me back to that first date with the woman I am going to marry. Tayler and I have been on some amazing adventures together, from Caribbean cruises in the Bahamas to road trips to Kansas City, and every day is another day to spend with the person I can so clearly see my future with. We have been through ups and downs, same as with any other relationship, and over time I have seen us grow in ways that I thought was impossible for people in their late twenties. We have adopted a German Shepard puppy named Lucy, who has added to our household in a beautiful and crazy way. Even our grouchy GSD Oakley has decided that adopting Lucy was a great decision, even though it means less belly scratches for him during the day. Tayler has managed to make my family fall completely in love with her because of the things that I saw as soon as we met, which is her determination to achieve goals, compassion for others, and the way she brightens a room just by walking into it. In short, she has enriched my life in every way since the day we met, and I think standing here one year away from the big day, it was time to put down on paper what I have known in my heart for two years now.

I am beyond excited for Tayler and I to tie the knot and start our married life together. This next year is going to be crazy and will probably fly by, and I thought it was fitting to write this post now, sitting one year away from our wedding date. Here is to Tayler, the most incredible person I have ever met, and a person who has turned my life into everything I hoped it would become. I can't wait to see what the future holds for us.

This will be difficult

Today was the first New Years Day in a decade where I woke up without a hangover. This Christmas was the first one in years where I didn't have a beer. As of 30 minutes ago, I have not had a drink in 17 days, which is the longest span I have been sober since I enrolled in college 10 years ago.

This is a difficult post to write, a hard one to read, and I am on a journey that started out impossible and has worked it's way down to a daily struggle. Maybe it will get easier, but I doubt it.

It is easy to rationalize drinking in your early 20s. Every night has an excuse to go out and drink, and when you have a good job and a life that is on track with no ceilings in sight, drinking is just part of a bigger picture that looks pretty damn good, as long as you don't look real close at it. I spent years and years attempting to drink away self doubt and insecurities, but all I really managed to do was drink myself out of several relationships and out of the classroom where I was so happy teaching.

 Luckily, Miller Lite didn't stop me from landing on my feet, even though at that point it was readily apparent to everyone who knew me that I had a drinking problem. See, in your mid 20s, its not as acceptable to be hungover most mornings. People might not say anything, but every now and then you'll catch people giving you the side eye or talking about you to coworkers when you show up bleary eyed to work for the 11th day in a row. Family members also don't find it nearly as funny when you get so wasted you can't get yourself home, or pick a fight over something trivial because your drunk self just wanted to get mad at someone.

Now I am almost 28 years old, and I have found that living alone in a house full of empty beer bottles isn't a good indicator that you're husband material. In fact, women who love you really hate when they come home from a night shift to a trashcan full of cans and a boyfriend too hungover to let the dogs out. When the woman who loves you tells you it is going to be her, or the alcohol, it is finally time to do some self reflection. In the end, it was an easy choice to make. Every instance before, I had chosen the bottle. This time I finally decided to sack up, and give sober Ryan a chance.

My goal for now is to be sober for 90 days, but I can pretty much already tell that this is going to be an indefinite break from alcohol. Beer makes me a bad person, and I am too old with too much on the line to choose something as stupid as booze instead of being healthy. Everyday has been a struggle so far, and I think it always will be. I crave a beer when I am not thinking about being sober, and I have found myself guzzling soda like it is going out of business. But that is better than grabbing a beer. The road is hard, the journey is long, but it is worth it. I will be sober.