WAKING TO THE WEIGHT OF WATER

I woke to a silence that didn’t feel honest, 
a hush carrying its own uneasy pulse. 
Before my thoughts could catch up,
cold climbed my ankles,
slow and deliberate,
as if it had been waiting for me.
The floor answered my step with a shiver,
a soft gasp rising through the floor. 
Morning light hadn’t even reached the hallway,
yet water had already claimed the day.

The air felt swollen,
heavy with dampness
that settled in my throat and stayed. 
A scent of wet plaster
drifted through the house,
the kind of smell,
that announces trouble the moment it arrived.
My toes made small ripples with every movement. 
Circles widening like quiet warnings of doom.
The house echoed back in soft, damp murmurs,
as if trying to confess what had just happened. 

Somewhere above me, water found its path, 
slipping through beams, seams, and every weakness. 
The ceiling sagged, swollen and trembling,
pulsing like a heartbeat I could not calm.
Not just a single droplet.
Then another.
Then a steady rhythm.
Like a clock I never wanted marking time. 

Instinct pushed me toward towels and a mop,
even though I knew they would not matter. 
Water kept moving, patient and certain,
curling under doorways,
slipping around furniture,
claiming space without asking permission. 

The morning felt fragile, like something might break
if I breathed too hard or made any kind of noise.
I stood barefoot in the puddles,
trying to gather myself before the day could begin. 

A low mechanical growl rose in the distance,
then the knock on my door. 
then the restoration crew.
Confirmation that this was not a nightmare
but a new reality of humming fans and humidifiers.
Boots stepped into my home with careful weight, 
meters beeped like anxious little heartbeats.
They peeled back walls to show what water had taken, 
floors and furniture soaked through,
rooms revealing heartbreak I had not imagined. 

By dusk, the weight of everything settled,
My stress levels rose,
like pounding waves,
keep pulling me off center.
Replaying every drip, every crack,
every moment in endless loops,
reminding me how quickly life can shift
from comfort and peace to disastrous chaos. 

Sleep stayed far from me,
night stretched long and restless. 
My mind kept circling back to that morning,
to the cold,
to the ceiling,
to the helplessness
of watching my home 
become something else. 

And then,
before I knew it,
another morning again,
another battle waiting. 

I woke only to replay the day before,
the same damp heaviness in the air, 
the same hum of machines chewing through the silence,
the same scent of wet plaster lingering everywhere. 

More water,
more repairs, 
more quiet worry, 
more unsettled thoughts. 

Another day of calls, adjusters, and estimates,
strangers walking through the private corners of my life.  

Another day of ceilings that might open,
walls that might hide more stories of ruin. 

Another day of trying to stay upright,
while the house around me feels unsteady.  

Another night of searching for sleep,
while my home whispers its pain. 

Another day living a nightmare,
that seems to never end,

As I step into my home,
since there’s no other choice
but to keep going
and move forward.
Each thought
brings more questions,
providing fewer answers. 

Then,
as if in harmony,
more agony,
more angina,
more heartache,
more mental anguish.
more disrupted habits,
more scrambled routines, 
more mental exhaustion.  

The quiet kind,
that settles deep,
leaving a shadow
and refuses to leave,
like an unwanted guest.

AN ONLY IS ALONE BUT NEVER LONELY

Often, I asked myself quietly,

not out of longing or regret,

but from a gentle wondering

about the kind of noise siblings bring.

The shared secrets,

the tug‑of‑war over toys,

the comfort of someone else

breathing the same childhood air.

 

Not that I spent my days dwelling on it,

silence was simply the shape of our home.

A calm that taught me to listen inward,

building whole worlds from my imagination,

when becoming my own companion

long before I understood the gift of solitude.

 

Looking back,

childhood wasn’t simple.

Holidays echoed a little too loudly.

Our family tree felt thin,

and I sometimes wondered

what it meant to be the only branch

growing from a deep rooted trunk,

carved by immigration distance

and the quiet sacrifices of my parents.

 

Yet, those years shaped me with a steady hand.

They taught me resilience born from stillness,

independence born from necessity,

gratitude born from recognizing

how much love two people can hold

when they are building a life together

without a crowd to lean on or

offer their two cents worth of opinions.

 

Cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents,

were characters in other people’s stories.

My world was smaller, quieter,

but never lacking in care.

I learned to read people deeply,

value connection fiercely,

build community intentionally

because I knew what absence felt like.

 

Home was never lonely,

but it was undeniably singular.

I grew into someone who understood

belonging is not inherited,

it is created, nurtured, chosen.

Sometimes the strongest families

are the ones we assemble ourselves

from those we chose to bring into our lives.

 

In time, friends filled the empty chairs,

becoming brothers and sisters in spirit.

People who stood beside me

through life’s storms and celebrations.

The ones who taught me how family

is measured not by bloodlines

but by presence, loyalty and love.

 

Life gave me more than I expected,

a circle of people who expanded my world,

who softened the quiet of my childhood.

Those who showed me that even a single branch,

can grow into a wide, generous canopy

when tended with proper care.

 

Debt is owed to those in my life,

who helped me become a man

who understands how solitude can be a teacher,

connection can be a blessing

and the size of a family

has everything to do with the size of their heart

and not the size of the bloodline tying everyone together,

and be ever grateful for those who stood by me,

and will remain with me throughout

my journey in this so called life.

 

 

 

SOME LAST 40 WEEKS, OTHERS 40 MONTHS, BUT I LASTED 40 YEARS!

It should have and possibly would have been an ordinary morning as I arrived to my office. Once I find one of my few choice parking spots in a near empty parking lot, I get out of my car and grab my laptop bag and head towards the entrance. As I get in the elevator, my fellow rider knew I take it to the second floor, even when I say,

“Floor 13, please.”

We exchange our morning greetings with a smile or a good laugh as we both worked together for a good number of years. Once we get off the elevators, we wish each other a good day as she enters her doorway to her office suite and I enter mine through another doorway.

I scan my card to access the locked door and proceed walking into the suite where my office is located. I expected and even can say waited nervously for those few people who know me all too well to jump out of a cubicle or the hallway before my office and scare me into hiding under my desk. I would pull a George Coztanza, of the long running tv series, Seinfeld when he built a somewhat comfortable retreat under his desk. Whenever he sensed the boss or someone, he particularly didn’t like was about to enter his office he was able to retreat there until the footprints were, well unheard until they were heard.

I was able to unlock the door to my office, walked in and unpacked and booted up my laptop, put my lunch bag down and reviewed the prior day’s notes then I thought I almost got by unscathed. Yet, somehow, not any sooner than when I got situated to start my day the monsoon of interruptions began. The desk phone began ringing, then as quick as I ended one call, the next line seemed to start ringing, my computer’s e-mail started pinging endlessly and my cell phone’s emails dinged and my message notification chirped. In between the noise of technology, an occasional friendly smiling face peered into my office, all with the same words to share with me,

“Happy 40th Anniversary!”

All congratulated me on my milestone anniversary of working at the Y. All I could utter out was a mere mumble, under my breath, a sincere,

“Thank you!“

Some greeted me with hugs, others with a hug and a kiss and some with a small token gift of either chocolate (my weakness) or a variety tea pack for my morning indulgence.

As much as I felt humbled and appreciated, I much sooner have them said nothing than making a scene of it. I always feel socially awkward when it comes to knowing how to appropriately respond to compliments, accepting gifts and even worse, I hate being the center of attention. I think by now, my fellow colleagues all know this about me and enjoy watching me squirm. My gut tells me one of my work harems or work wives must have squealed it loud enough for the organization’s new chief financial officer and vice presidents in my department to become aware of a major milestone in my work anniversary. By now I’m certain all ears picked up on it when I wasn’t really paying attention.

Just as I thought I escaped and was almost home free to my office, out of now where I heard a simple exchange,

“Good morning!”

with the chief financial officer in the hall, he, too expressed his best wishes and shared how proud I should be of attaining this incredible feat. As he kept talking, I felt myself turning every shade of red, again my introverted awkwardness prevailed. Again, the best I could do was let a meager mumble, leave my lips,

“Thank you!”

As the morning continued, I received more good wishes and congratulations and an occasional warm embrace. Deep inside my soul, I appreciated how most meant well and said it with sincerity, respect and love, yet I do realize there are some who said it to just be part of the “in” group or to say they first hand they know me personally.

Unlike previous generations of workers completing a career with one employer is no longer a part of organizational culture. Nor is being gifted the reputed gold watch and being recognized in front of your peers at a lavish at a retirement party. This final gift of gratitude for giving years of service is no longer something happening, if at all, to a much lesser scale. My tenure of forty years, in today’s world of jobs and careers is pretty much non-existent, or as I like to say, my tenure is extinct just like the dinosaurs. Using data available to me, I took look at the census of the association, just as I would have guessed my tenure outlived the majority of our staff’s chronological age.

Most only have knowledge of my being the “payroll guy” who has a story to share on something and everything at the Y is even greater. Many of our current staff may have heard through others of my past background prior to payroll was in programs and with the exception of less than a handful are aware of my past association-wide contributions. Several of my favorite supervisors and mentors tell me I laid a trail-blazed list of accomplishments in my path of securing a legacy which I can call my very own.

When I reflect back on my forty-year career within the YMCA, I’ve managed to pivot within the same non-profit organization which navigated through several key high level leadership changes, two mergers to decrease the independent YMCAs in South Florida and create one larger association with a larger unified footprint. Somehow, I managed to be one of the few constants at our YMCA when all around me has changed over the years.

Affectionately, some call me the storyteller or while others call me the historian of the association. Based on tenure, my experiences in various positions and my memories of how things once were. I am often ridiculed when I share a personal experience or as I call it a parable to allow staff to have a personal relatable connection. I often share my stories when the upper executive and leadership suite share their vision and priorities at the mile high level rather than a relatable level by our direct service workers. From sharing stories before two mergers which created a larger footprint in South Florida to various leadership changes during my tenure. I faced many changes and challenges of our evolving and growing organization. I’ve seen more than my fair share as well as seeing the staff come for their moment in time and then go by choice or otherwise. Each of these staff came in with their own leadership styles, and a sense of how things should be done. Each coming in with an attitude of their predecessor didn’t do things right and they are out to fix or repaired the damage done and then train staff to do it the right way. I’ve survived it all, different supervisors, changed jobs/positions and mergers put me on a fast track for a profound journey of dedication, growth, and adaptability. It's a narrative that intertwines personal passion with organizational evolution, highlighting the impact of mission-driven work amidst changes in structure, strategy, and the broader landscape of social impact.

When I reflect back on my time here, I see how my journey consisted of personal growth, professional evolution, and a testament to the dynamics within an organization over four decades. It's a narrative of adaptation, learning, challenges, and triumphs—a story that intertwines with the company's own trajectory and the broader context of industry and societal changes. Throughout my career, I witnessed the evolution of our industry—from traditional methods to digital transformation. Each wave of change presented new opportunities to innovate, streamline processes, and enhance our offerings. It required staying ahead of trends, continuously updating skills, and leading teams through transitions with clarity and confidence.

Through my own reflection, I explored the transformation from a novice teenage entering the workforce for the first time to a seasoned leader mentoring others and navigating through roles that shaped not only my career but also gave me a sense of identity and purpose. Being with the YMCA for the duration, I inevitably navigated through periods of change; technological advancements, shifts in market demands, and organizational restructuring. It required me to be open-minded to change, adaptable to different leadership styles, resilient to negativity and a willingness to embrace new challenges and opportunities even when experience tells you otherwise.

My profound journey of dedication, growth, and adaptability intertwines personal passion with organizational evolution, highlighting the impact of mission-driven work amidst changes in structure, strategy, and the broader landscape of social impact. Internally, it evoked spectrum of emotions from pride in my accomplishments to humility in facing challenges. Through it all, I have gratitude for each supervisor allowing me the opportunity to serve a cause larger than our own oneself. It's about celebrating milestones achieved, relationships nurtured, and the enduring legacy of collective efforts towards social change. I’ve seen our landscape change to adapting to changes in new funding landscapes, evolving to changing community needs and the dynamic nature of social issues. Each phase, from my early roles on the ground to strategic leadership, contributed uniquely to our organizational resilience and capacity to innovate.

I am proud to have been part of getting our first website launched and laying the foundations of our first Human Resources Department. Both added a new dimension to how we do business as a larger association. The website allowed live updates of sports schedules and updates on pool status due to inclement weather status. I worked with a YMCA human resource professional to implement an association wide salary plan based on the national Hay Plan and developed consistent job descriptions and implementation of the Y-TOPS child care training academy.

Throughout my journey, (yes, one of my favorite euphemisms for being the dinosaur) I had the pleasure to meet and work with some truly remarkable people both in and outside of the Y Movement across many disciplines. Meeting with these individuals was more than a handshake and a polite,

“Nice to meet you.”

I had the pleasure to have meaningful conversation with several celebrities and leaders who shared the same passion of the YMCA as I did. Probably, their lives were touched by the open arms of the Y in their younger years and as successful adults have given back by presenting at national conferences or even better yet participating in local events. The two people whom I met that left the greatest impact on me were First Lady Barbara Bush and Dr. Fred Rogers (aka Mr. Rogers).

I met Mrs. Bush the first time in an exclusive tour of the White House my senior of high school as part of the Close Up experience. At the time, she served as Second Lady to the then Vice President George H.W. Bush. Then a second time, I am not certain how much later I was reintroduced to her at the YMCA of Greater Miami’s Annual Meeting where she was the keynote speaker. Both times she spoke about her passion for early childhood reading programs and stressed the importance of literacy for all ages. Both times I was able to exchange conversation with her about these two topics. When I met her the second time, I mentioned how I met her a few years earlier through the Close Up experience. I shared where she was our unexpected honorary tour guide of the White House and when our tour was delayed and almost canceled. We found out later on our tour her husband and President Reagan where on premises meeting with German Chancellor, Helmut Kohl.

To my disbelief, she remembered doing this tour of our small group and shared how it was a last-minute request presented by one of her staff. It was rather impromptu and not something customarily part of the Second Lady’s goodwill duties. She explained, when she heard our Close Up representative was unable to get to the White House due to the security of the grounds due to the dignitaries on site, she obliged. With a smile, I told her, how much I appreciated she took up the opportunity as it was like listening to history coming alive. She then proceeded asking what my association with the YMCA was and I replied with a smile, that I was the school-age program director.

I don’t recall how we got into talking about incorporating literacy into my programs. I shared how I dressed up as the Man in the Yellow Hat and with my larger stuffed Curious George made my rounds to my programs on a reading day event in our school district and I read one of my favorite Curious George books at each site. With a good laugh at my story, I thanked her again for having the privilege of not only meeting her again, but to have the opportunity to talk with her. What I remember most, was her genuine interest and being attentive in the conversation, much like the grandmother listening to a proud grandchild sharing their story with her.

I believe this was the same conversation I had with Dr. Fred Rogers when I met him at a YMCA child care conference where he was one of the guest speakers and small group facilitator. I was introduced to him in a small VIP reception which I was invited to by one of the conference committee members who got wind that Mr. Rogers (he asked to be called Fred which I couldn’t do – so we settled on Mr. Rogers) was one of my childhood idols and became my role model when I started working with children at the YMCA.

He, like Mrs. Bush was a joy to have a conversation with and hear his recollection of what he enjoyed most of his time doing Mr. Rogers for countless number of years. It’s memories such as these, which help cement your own desires to return the favor by making a difference in the children you serve by leaving your own special mark, in hopes one day, you too will have someone remember you for how well you treated them and the difference you made in their life. In my case, I did and in typical nature to me, there’s a story that goes along with it. You can read it in my blog’s post, “Remember My Name.”

Entering a company fresh out of college or early in one's career sets the stage for foundational experiences. These years are marked by eagerness to learn, adaptability, and the development of essential skills. Whether starting in an entry-level position or a specialized role, the focus is on mastering tasks, understanding company culture, and building relationships with colleagues.

In my early years at the company, I was immersed in learning the ropes of the industry and the specific dynamics of our organization. It was a time of absorbing knowledge from seasoned professionals, grasping technical aspects of the job, and understanding how different departments functioned together. This phase was crucial in laying the groundwork for future growth and provided a solid foundation upon which to build my career.

When I personally reflect on my 40-year journey or career at the same YMCA, I see similarities of my own growth as did the two YMCAs mergers I was part of. My career started at the Greater Hollywood Family YMCA, at the time an independent YMCA was learning its ropes of being an independent YMCA, new to running school-age child care programs but not summer camps, expanding programs to meet the needs of our communities while I was in high school and was eager to learn, adapt and the develop my essential job skills and work ethic. As my YMCA was creating a culture of its own and engaging in growing the mission, I was learning to adapt to this culture and understanding the YMCA’s mission and how it is our guiding principle in all that we do.

Over time I built relationships with my colleagues and families I served. I gained an understanding of how different departments functioned together to come together as one mission-driven organization and the dynamics that made the YMCA truly a very special place to work. I didn’t realize it back then, but I do believe this phase of my career built the strong foundation upon which my career was built upon. As the two YMCAs in Broward, the one I worked with and the YMCA of Broward County became one through a merger we gained knowledge from seasoned YMCA professionals and access to national trainings. Which propelled my career growth in child care and summer camps. This reflection explores the transformation from a novice entering the workforce to a seasoned leader, navigating through roles that shaped not only a career but also a sense of identity and purpose.

 

 

1988 high school graduation to present 

THE WEIGHT I CARRY

I recently read an online magazine piece about a man wrestling with his body image. What stayed with me wasn’t just his vulnerability, but the tidal wave of comments that followed, a ten‑to‑one ratio of shaming, unsolicited diet advice and thinly veiled cruelty.   It reminded me how quickly society tears down anyone who dares to speak openly about their insecurities.  Then, when the person is a man, the silence around these struggles becomes even heavier.  Men often learn early that vulnerability is a liability, not a language.

The author further wrote that as we men age, we become more like our wild‑animal counterparts, less likely to engage in intentional conversations, especially about the tender places we guard.  I’d go further: for reasons I still don’t fully understand, many men don’t cultivate long‑term friendships with other men.  We don’t build new relationships easily and we rarely sustain them over time.  These patterns fray the fabric of our emotional lives and as we grow older, the threads only loosen.  Loneliness becomes a quiet companion; one we rarely acknowledge out loud.

Research shows men are more susceptible to isolation than women.  These are often early markers of depression and when left unaddressed, they spiral, deepening insecurities, shrinking our social circles and reinforcing the belief that we must carry our burdens alone.  Women, despite stereotypes of “catty” behavior, tend to maintain stronger communication networks and live longer as a result.  Men, meanwhile, often retreat into silence, convinced that emotional independence is the same as showing strength.

As I continued reading the article, I realized the author wasn’t saying it’s “okay to be fat.” He was saying it’s okay to be himself.  Its okay to stop measuring his worth against an impossible standard.  That hit home.  Only recently have I become comfortable being the “fat kid” on the playground of life, a role I’ve carried since childhood.

I remember the hierarchy clearly.  The boys with the brand‑name clothes, perfect haircuts, and effortless confidence.  The ones who could make any girl melt with a glance and command the loyalty of every boy in their orbit.  They were chosen first for kickball teams, for the prime lunch tables and first choice for dates for school dances.  The rest of us learned to build ourselves up just to feel worthy of being second choice, or worse face rejection with, no choice at all.

Those early experiences leave marks.  In one of my earlier posts, almost five years to this post, Seeing Myself Through Carnival Mirrors, I wrote about being fat‑shamed throughout middle school and to a lesser extent, high school.  The damage doesn’t vanish with age.  It just settles into the corners of our minds and shapes how we move through the world.  It shows up when we consider asking someone out, when we walk into a gym, when we choose a salad we don’t want because we fear judgment.  Even now, those old insecurities whisper, though not as loudly as they once did.

What people rarely understand is how these childhood experiences become adult habits. The hesitation before entering a room.  The instinct to shrink yourself.  The quiet calculation of whether your presence is welcome.  These aren’t dramatic moments, they’re subtle, daily negotiations with the past.  Over time, they accumulate. They become part of the additional weight we carry.

My own turning point came fifteen years into my YMCA career.  Despite having a complimentary membership, I never stepped foot into the wellness center.  I told myself I was too busy, too tired, too uninterested.  Yet, the truth was simpler: I didn’t want to be seen.  Eventually, needing a healthier outlet than food, sleep, or isolation to the stress I was facing.  I eventually took the bold step and entered the wellness center and introduced myself to a personal trainer.  That first workout was not just humbling but terrifying.  It was also the beginning of reclaiming my relationship with my mind and body.

Here it is many years later, I still work out three to five days a week . Three times with a trainer, the rest on my own with a mix of cardio and weight training.  I’ve accepted that I’ll never be the guy with a 32‑inch waist fitting a pair of pants perfectly or wearing a tight t-shirt showing off sculpted abs.  My body isn’t built for that.  But it is built for movement, for strength, for health and for showing up.  The hardest part of any workout is just showing up.  My workouts help me stay grounded, balanced and remain comfortable in my own skin.  They remind me that health is more than appearance.  It’s mental steadiness, emotional resilience and the quiet pride of knowing my quarterly bloodwork remains in the green, healthy, acceptable range.  

But acceptance isn’t a finish line.  It’s a practice.  Some days I feel confident; other days I feel like the kid waiting to be picked last for kickball.  Growth doesn’t erase the past, it simply gives you more room to breathe around it.

I digress — this began as a reflection on the author’s article, not a confession of my own journey.  But his courage opened a door, and I walked through it.  I hope others will too.

If you’re someone who has never faced these challenges, pause before posting that cutting comment or making that offhand remark.  You may have forgotten how fortunate you are to be blessed with genetics, discipline, or confidence that others fight daily to cultivate.  Not everyone wakes up feeling comfortable in their skin.  Not everyone walks into a gym without fear.  Not everyone orders a meal without calculating how others might interpret it.

When you see me enjoying a meal with my friends or sweating on the elliptical beside you, you won’t know the history I carry.  From the childhood shame, the teenage  bullying and the adult insecurities or the ongoing battles and the quiet victories I’ve overcome.  You won’t know the weight I’ve carried or the weight I’m still learning to set down.

So, here’s my challenge to my relationship circles and to anyone reading this.  When you see someone struggling internally offer friendship instead of judgment.  Listen before you assume.  You may discover you share more than you think.  You may even find that your own story feels lighter when spoken aloud.

But maybe, if we all take a moment to look beyond appearances, we’ll realize something simple.  The simple fact is there is a real person somewhere buried and hidden behind the physical appearances they may have not learned to accept.  One with feelings, emotions and possibly many shared interests as you waiting for a friend to accept them for who they are.  

Its than I realize its not only about the weight I carry but how some of us would rather have a fat head than a thin mind.  

 

GREETING THE SOLITARIAN

I checked in,
The man behind the desk,
Welcomed me by my name,
I cheerfully said, “Hi!” back.

She walks by,
With the hush of her walk,
Not even a hello,
To those she passed by.

Not even,
An acknowledgement or
A nod of her head nor
A wave of her aged hands.

I asked once,
Perhaps twice or once more,
Of the man at the desk,
“Does she always do that?” 

He just smirked,
Then replied politely,
“She checks in and walks on.”
Affirming her routine. 

“I greet her.”
Knowing he can’t say more,
In fear of what she may say,
Or possibly return.

Then one day,
We crossed paths once again,
With all sincerity,
I looked up and spoke. 

“Good morning!”
Without looking at me,
She checked in and moved on,
But I was determined. 

I chanced it,
I purposely showed up,
Just before she arrived,
Hoping to say, “Hello!” 

I smiled,
Gently approached and said,
“Good morning, how are you?”
I thought I saw a nod. 

I tried again,
Over the next few days,
Each time I caught a glimpse,
Of her returning stare. 

By month’s end,
Perhaps even before,
She stopped and shared a grin,
Before proceeding in. 

Over time,
Her grin grew much larger,
To my very surprise,
It stretched from ear to ear.

I wasn’t done,
For the next week or so,
Every morning we met,
Same place at the same time. 

To my shock,
After we exchanged looks, 
I thought I heard her voice,
Faintly, not quite a whisper. 

It was her,
Her face now brightened up,
Reciprocating words,
“Good morning to you too.” 

From that day,
I pushed a bit harder,
A few more words exchanged,
Soon a conversation. 

It started,
With just a warm smile,
I unlocked her gentle soul,
Finding her new rhythm. 

A solitarian,
When her life fell apart,
By choice to avoid pain,
She became socially absent. 

Eventually,
With a spring in her step,
The quiet steps stopped,
To embrace a greeting.

She found joy,
Her expression softened, 
With her voice to be heard,
Took a moment to chat.

In return,
I gifted her friendship,
She told of her life’s tales,
Begging to just be heard. 

Candidly,
This social introvert,
Opened up and shared too,
Bits and pieces of my life.

My simple, warm greeting,
Opened a quiet door,
Turning yesterday’s frown,
Into today’s smile.

 

GENES IN MY CLOSET OF LIFE

Getting all handsome,
For Friday night festivities. 
I thoughtfully picked out,
My favorite slacks and shirt.

I stand by the mirror, 
Seeing how time aged me. 
I never was given genes, 
Where those passing by, turned heads.

All I see is an average guy, 
Nothing above the rest. 
I earned my extra weight, 
Rewarded by those extra servings.

They say my physique, 
Composed of hearty stock. 
Ones passed on to me, 
From generations prior.

My closet’s, a tight squeeze, 
With all the genes packed in. 
Yet, there’s always room, 
For another pair to squeeze in.

Mom’s family gifted me, 
Her gasping breaths and a racing heart. 
I haven’t tried on these genes, 
I haven’t found the right fit. 

Dad’s family gifted me, 
Extra sweet blood and poor filtering.
Of which fit me early on, 
Like a favorite pair of jeans.

Nor was I given genes, 
For health or longevity. 
Both sides gifted me, 
The heaviness of the big ‘C’.

I feel the stiffness of denim, 
The comforts of a starched shirt. 
It’s the hand‑me‑downs, 
I never asked for or wanted.

I step back, take one more look, 
At the man in the mirror. 
I’m all pressed and dressed, 
Ready to go on my way. 

It’s when I wake up with more pain, 
Then when I went to bed the night prior, 
I wonder how another pair of genes, 
Were gifted in to my crammed closet. 

I’m not ready to celebrate, 
But held a pity party for one. 
After all my friends are waiting, 
For whatever brings us joy. 

I’ve lived long enough to know, 
Not every thread is mine to mend. 
But its how I choose to wear them, 
For all my remaining days. 

 

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SILENCE AND SOLACE

One is a lonely number, 
Standing alone in silence. 
With my words spoken loudly, 
Only heard in my own mind.

Time seems to get in the way, 
When it comes to my living. 
Though I try to remember, 
It always comes at a cost.

I’m always the first to call, 
The first to text, 
The first to tap a heart 
On someone else’s timeline.

My own posts sit quietly, 
Waiting for replies, 
That never quite arrive 
Before fading into silence.

Once, we lived the same rhythm, 
Same classes, same jokes, 
Same after‑school rituals, 
All of it feeling unbreakable.

At high‑school graduation, 
Promises of friendship for life, 
Through visits and calls, 
Trying to keep the distance close,

But time, impatient, mischievous, 
Loves breaking promises, 
Especially ones we made young, 
Vanish without warning..

College brought a new rhythm, 
New towns, new school, 
New friends, new loves, 
Unfolding new forms of ourselves.

Overcoming obstacles, 
We didn’t know how to introduce, 
Who we had become, 
To those we left behind.

They married and had children, 
Wedding bands, like tiny compasses, 
Pointing towards a life, 
Balanced between unscripted and routine.

We may no longer walk parallel lives, 
But time still remained steadfast, 
Filled with endless fulfillment, 
With never a dull moment.

When I step into my home, 
Silence greets my every move. 
I welcome companionship, 
With music or TV playing.

With no one to answer to, 
My days are predictable, 
Filled with structure and leisure, 
Even when there’s nothing to do. 

Living within time’s comfort, 
I balance my days with care, 
Anchored with fixed appointments. 
Yet flexible in finding new diversions.

Years later it happened, 
Our paths crossed once again. 
What time tried to tear apart, 
A simple “Hello!” returned.

An awkward embrace followed, 
Then the empty years of silence, 
Melted like the cold winter’s ice 
On a warm sunny spring day.

I welcomed the reunion, 
Leaving a question to answer. 
Why time takes so long to heal, 
A rift begging forgiveness.

Brought together once again, 
Like a vivid dream replayed. 
Pondering over the thought, 
How we let time divide us.

Time kept moving forward, 
With no rewind button to press. 
Robbing us the greatest gift, 
A friendship like close siblings.

We reflected on many shared, 
Past adventures and encounters. 
Memories flooded our minds 
With smiles and laughter.

We celebrated friendship, 
With new guaranteed pledges. 
Renewing old promises, 
Shaped by distance and wisdom.

We promised each other, 
In not letting time take over 
And rear its ugly head, 
Rather let it play in our favor.

I released my inner voice, 
For it to be heard by all. 
With its thundering depth steady, 
My words no longer wavering.

When the words no longer linger, 
I found my own inner peace. 
I am no longer lost, 
In my world filled with silence.

Time gently reminded me, 
I am still alone in life. 
It’s only then I discovered, 
One is no longer lonely.

THE UNSEEN QUIET WAR

Since the dawn of time, 
The land and the sea, 
Stood together, waging 
Their unseen quiet war.

Breaking the silence 
Waves crashing the shore, 
With precision of time 
Passing on a clock.

Every nine seconds, 
Another crest forms, 
Then gaining its speed 
Before its demise.

As if hiding shame, 
Accepting defeat, 
Crawling back again, 
Towards depths of the sea.

Only to attempt, 
One final effort, 
Even knowing its 
Own fate beforehand.

Without forgiving, 
The cycle repeats, 
As the land smiles, 
At the sea’s weakness.

Life’s lessons unlearned, 
Ever determined, 
In overcoming, 
With repeat attempts. 

Watching each next wave, 
Take back its own land, 
Returning it all, 
Back to the sea’s depth.

Whispering last words, 
Muted by the waves, 
Drowning the quiet, 
Neither ever knew.

Tasting the salt air, 
With each gentle breeze, 
The land holds steady 
The sea surrenders.

In one last attempt, 
With its strength worn thin, 
The sea rebounds 
Yielding once again.

The sea’s breaking waves, 
Keep their old rhythm, 
Surrendering softly, 
As they always will. 

 

QUIETENING THE RATTLING IN MY MIND

Peering into the window of my life,
I can’t see much further than tomorrow.
Before the new day brings its next checklist,
Today holds me hostage to tasks to do.

Before attempting the next item,
I release a long held but quiet sigh.
My shaking nervous hand grasps the pencil,
Smearing a check, marking the  task complete.

I struggle finding order in my list.
Knowing time passed is lost in its own abyss.
With no chance of recovering what’s past due,   
I find myself turning against myself.

I grapple with my need for perfection,
Ruminating how I could have done more.
I then thought how I could have done better,
Exhausting all the options in my mind.

At day’s end, my bed invited me in,
For a good night’s sleep after a long day.
Yet, when I awake, I question my sleep,
Believing it was just a quick hour’s nap.  

I return, to review my list, again,
Only to see it has grown much longer.
Without much success, it held me captive,
A distraction meandered in my thoughts.

Suddenly, I felt the firm grip soften, 
Then eventually go limp and let go.
Without direction, I felt all but lost,
Then my senses were overwhelmed with change.

Although subtle, they try to be distinct,
It felt like heaven’s presence took over.
A gentle crisp breeze felt cool to the touch, 
Allowing me to taste my own freedom.

With my eyes seeing beyond the to do’s,
I take chances to seek life’s newfound joy.
I begin walking with poise and purpose,
Leaving the usual sense of urgency.

It was then I heard a gentle, calm voice,
Sharing the stories of a balanced life.
As quick as it arrived, it departed,
Leaving a hint of life’s scent of success.

UNEXPECTED BEGINNING

Some time passed by me,
More than you’re thinking,
But here I’m waiting,
Then you just appear.

I was lost in thought,
Thinking about life,
The choices I made,
Or the ones slipped by.

Waiting for a friend,
Who never showed up,
Leaving me alone,
Still lost in my thoughts.

Suddenly, a stir,
I heard close by me,
It was your presence,
And your gentle voice.

Your very first words,
“Good morning to you!”
Startled me in place,
Then ready to run.

But for some reason,
I was comforted,
Unexpectedly,
Then, I replied back.

This odd beginning,
Of a life friendship,
Gifted from Heaven,
Forged amongst unknowns.

 

WHEN SILENCE QUIETS LIFE’S NOISE

For most of my own life,
I put everyone first,
Leaving me always last.
Just saying, “I’m fine.”

Without even waiting,
A moment to finish,
What’s in my thoughts and say 
Before they just moved on.

Yet, I listen to them,
Share their celebrations,
Offer empathy or
Be there in time of need. 

No one reached out to me,
Extending an offer,
Relieving my burdens,
I carried over time.

I always simply said,
“Don’t worry about me.”
or sometimes replied,
“I am hanging in there.”

Chasing life’s fast pace,
No one hears my reply,
Or worse my words get lost,
In the surrounding noise.

I find solace alone,
Letting my mind be free,
From clutter and chaos, 
To silence which hid noise.

I find my catharsis,
As I walk the forest’s path,
Seeing only darkness,
With trees drowning out light.  

The dirt path carries tales,
Of journeys before me,
Yet, leaves whisper secrets,
As the wind hushes through.

Sharing secrets to life,
Left behind by others,
Trying to find answers,
To their own walked journeys. 

I’m not alone feeling,
Others walked with this ache, 

Only the forest knows,
All that’s been held within.

I am slowly learning,
Others don’t always care,
Tending to the fire,
Then protecting their flame. 

For them life and their time,
Is all about their own,
Without carrying weight,
Of others in their space.

For the forest speaks last,
Sharing its last life’s lesson,
“Find your own happiness.”
And “Pass it on freely.”
 

LIFE AFTER ANSWERING MY CALLING

Morning arrives gently, offering a soft beginning,
I rise with intention, letting my breath settle.  
The shoreline waits patiently, holding its long exhale,
I walk as if the sand is teaching me how to move.

The waves revise softly, shaping what the day allows,
A gull lifts upward, certain of its place here.  
People pass quickly, carrying their bright urgency,
I nod in silence, grateful for my slower rhythm.  

Retirement feels wider, opening space within me,
I listen inwardly, hearing thoughts long quieted.  
I think of others, the ones who shaped my living, 
Legacy feels like footprints reshaped by the tide.

By noon I’m writing, chasing a restless sentence, 
I follow its motion, trusting the path it chooses. 
Afternoon light lingers, checking that I’m present,  
I answer softly, knowing I am here fully.  

Evening gathers gently, folding the day around me,
My chosen people enter, bringing warm laughter. 
We cook together, sharing stories worn smooth,
Night settles slowly, wrapping the room in quiet.  

I breathe with gratitude, knowing life keeps unfolding,
Into a quieter sense of worth and purpose.
Yesterday’s choices delivered this moment I’ve earned,
The gift of the present I open every day. 

 

THE EVOLVING CANVAS OF STORYTELLERS

If you slow down, listen closely with just one ear,
Some carry life stories that you will never hear.

They are the old souls of the family sharing,
Burdens of past generations yet still living.

All they want is some of your time and to be heard,
Yet, today’s youth are just too rushed to hear their word.  

They come from foundations built on their character,  
Where today’s youth believe they’re just a visitor.

Once they pass their tales to tomorrow’s storytellers,
It’s held in long-term memory as if they’re dwellers.

By now, yesterday’s storytellers are long gone, 
Leaving you today’s generation to count on.

Their scattered thoughts are seamlessly pieced together,
Hoping to share it at the next get-together.

Oddly, tradition and tales have made full circle,
As they tell their tales, I heard our angels’ chortle.

Now seeing their painting complete on the canvas,
Yet something in their souls still remains unfinished.