Puzzle Pieces

Life is never what it appears to be when you’re in the middle of trying to fight your way through it. The picture of the puzzle on the front of the box hardly ever looks like the hundreds of little disconjointed pieces strewn across a table, with a few odds and ends that you magically happened to connect together. You stare at the box then look at your pathetic attempt that is scattered on the table, then back at the box and wonder how in the world the mess before you is ever going to end up looking like the perfect picture on the box.

                Some might stare at the smattering of disconnected pieces, consider their options and decide that now is not the time to work on the puzzle. They go turn on the TV or find something else to do that isn’t as challenging. Still others, like myself, will consider getting a knife and hammer in an attempt to reshape and force those accursed little pieces together the way we think they should fit. But rest assured, a few minutes into the repair job you find that you have just made matters worse by compounding the amount of work that is required to make those little pieces fit together.

Here I stop and as a question? Why in the world am I even trying to build a puzzle? I hate puzzles, I have not patience with getting it to work. But with regards to the puzzle of life I am forced to either put those confounded pieces together or fail, and failing really isn’t an option, failure means giving up and giving in to be something less than my potential.

So don’t give up. Grab a cup of hot coco (because its snowing outside, since no one works on puzzles on a sunny day), phone a friend, get some new perspective and go at it again. A friend shared a quote with me today by Winston Churchill “If you’re going through Hell, keep going.” Hell is probably not the place to stop and take pictures or look for souvenirs. It’s probably best to keep to the path and get through it. 

Mom Project

I do not fancy myself a photographer, rather I am a photo enthusiast that takes pictures as a hobby and a relaxing pass time. This Christmas break I have been working on a project for my mom. She wants to put up new photos in the house and asked me to take pictures for her. (She builds up ,y confidence as all good mothers do). Here are some of the photos that I have taken this break. 

 Taramar, Carlsbad California

 Solono Beach California 

 South Ponto, Carlsbad State Beach 6:30 am

South Ponto, Carlsbad State Beach 6:30 am

Progress

So the last post I commented that I would test to see if I was man enough yet to have a beard. Per request of a friend I recorded the progress. I did well for the first few days and then the inherent male gene of forgetful laziness kicked in and I forgot to take a picture a couple of the days. So here is a sequence of photos that depict almost two weeks without letting a razor sever my progression towards manhood. 

Christmas day at the beach, I remembered that I had to take a picture that day. Yes, it was bright.

By the end children where beginning to weep at my presence and mothers would whisk their children away from me out of fear that I might offer them candy. Due to that and other reasons I severed the follicles that bound me to my Latin roots and reverted back to my smooth face Scandinavian heritage.

Two Weeks

When does a boy become a man?

-          When the scruff can become a beard.

This does not mean that the man needs to grow a beard and keep it to prove his manliness. That would be like asking Chuck Norris to round house kick the world out of its orbit just to prove that he can. It’s a fact that need not be proven, just have faith that you know it is true.  

                For the next two weeks I will let the scruff grow to see if it is ready to become more than just a shadow of its full potential. (That was a good pun if I do say so myself) 

Therapy

Exercise is therapy. Among many things, I am an adamant cyclist; though I have not been cycling for long it had fused itself into my bones and become a passion. It is something that I find ironic because it wasn’t long ago that I found bikers to be obnoxious, road hogging, spandex-wearing, leg-shaving neurotic individuals, but not I have cast my in my lot with them and I am not ashamed. I am now a spandex-wearing, non-leg shaving (that would be too painful and difficult, I would compare shaving my legs to cutting down a small forest) cyclist and I love every minuet that I am on my bike. Why the drastic change of heart, and the new found love for all things form fitting and aerodynamic? Its because biking affords, for me, freedom; peace in my heart and a clarity in mind that cannot be found in anywhere else, with the exception of Christ.

                There is something simplistically beautiful about cycling. The rhythm and cadence of a ride serves to calm the soul. Paradoxically, cycling calms the heart. While the heart begins to thrum and beat vigorously with the effort of climbing a hill or maintaining a strong pace, the tension of fears, doubts and concerns loosen its grip, and the heart beats with steady, smooth confidence.

                Oddly enough I enjoy the pain that comes from riding my bike; it’s a source of self-satisfaction and accomplishment because it means that I am working hard, that I am doing my best and holding nothing back, which is good for me because often I let fear get the best of me and keep me from being bold. The pain also distracts the mind from the normal cares of the world. It is a way to empty the mind and focus on only what is present, what is right before me. I often view hills I ride up as the challenges that I face in life. I will label a hill a specific problem in my life and attack it with vigor. As I conquer hills on my bike, I feel confidence for conquering hills in my life; I feel reassured that I can overcome and that there is an end to the struggle.

Cycling means much more to me than just an opportunity to sport tight little shorts and freshly shaven legs (one day I will shave them, but probably not anytime soon) it’s an opportunity to get a grip on life and to see the simplistic beauty that Is all around me.

                So next time there is a cyclist on the road and they aren’t being the most intelligent rider, be patient with them, and understand that this is probably their special time to enjoy life. It is simply fantastic to be riding alone through the mountains in majestic silence as the sun comes up over the ridge; or riding along the coast as the sun sets over the ocean. There is nothing else like it.

Today being the first day of November there was an immediate appreciation for having facial hair. With the crisp fall air turning into a sharp winter wind, this man expresses his gratitude for the extra dose of testosterone that is induced by that blessed Y chromosome. No need for Scarfs, mother nature provided me with a natural barrier against the cold. The extra coating of coarse hair on my face helps to deaden the sting of the chilled air.