I started this blog by writing a lengthy and mean-spirited rant about the cancer known as club soccer. . . . In the name of positivity, and with full realization that my mental health is affected by this ongoing frustration far more than those I ridiculed, I hit delete. . . . Surprisingly, all of this started as a warmhearted story about my own befuddlement.
My wife is a professor at a local university. She recently shared a video with me about cognitive thinking that struck a nerve. The speaker was an authority on behavioral research — I can't remember his name off the top of my head, but he had me spellbound for the length of the video. In essence, his viewpoint is that we control the outcome of a situation by determining how we choose to view it.
I've been working on a new script that has somehow delved into that gray area of family issues. It's weird to find what has been swept under the subconscious rug, and how it comes out through the writing process. When characters start speaking for themselves and revealing disturbing truths — and all writing is a search for truth, otherwise the reader won't fully believe the story — it's a little discomfiting.
My team is the smallest I’ve ever coached . . . [t]he kids that have chosen to run are special to me. I plan to push them very hard and get the most out of their potential. We’d all like to qualify for Nike Cross Nationals, but that’s twenty-two weeks away. Better to savor each daily workout and take things as they come.
I am bracing myself for the ebbs and flows of a [cross country] season that will inevitably be filled with laughter and tears. And through it all I must find a way to motivate and inspire. So for some strange reason having to do with the grieving process deciding it was time to deal with some old pain, I am dedicating this season to the memory of my late sister, Monique . . .