This past summer, as many of you know, I call The Dangerous Summer. It was dangerous because it was different. It was different because it had to be. It was a challenge and it changed my entire outlook on life. I chose to live a better story and I did. I am now. It’s better because it’s dangerous…

So this past weekend I decided to spend the weekend with some of my friends in Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara is notorious for having the biggest, wildest menagerie of party goers on the west coast. I wanted in when I heard that. We stayed with my good friend Coleman in Goleta right outside Isla Vista. Isla Vista is where everything goes down. In fact, the city was preparing for a crowd of 50,000+ people. Yes, that is five, zero, oh, zero and oh. We hit the streets around 9pm and already the asphalt was inundated with energy. walls of people stacked the streets to a point where you’d think the earth beneath us all would have caved in under the weight. There were people vomiting on the side walks, peeing on the walls and drinking until their livers were like the fall leaves. Fights broke out every now and then with one right on top of us. It didn’t feel safe. It was truly dangerous. That made me happy.

I think we’re honestly ourselves when there’s danger. When things are different we act out of instinct with urgency instead of just going through the motions. And if it’s dangerous enough, our character will grow. While all this was going on around me, I wasn’t vomiting. I wasn’t peeing on walls and getting destroyed. I couldn’t start a fight even if I wanted to. I was a different character. My character had the power to roam the streets like a ghost in a shell. As though this was a really good movie and the 3D glasses were actually working and not just giving you a headache. I actually got puke on my shoes, beer on my shorts and blood on my shirt, just from watching.

Around midnight, we posted up on a friends balcony overlooking the crowd below. It was as though we were fishing, a few guys sitting out, a couple friends smoking cigars, just waiting for one of the fish in the sea to walk by and do something stupid. It was quite entertaining really. I saw Bert and Ernie. Quailman was there. Sonic the Hedgehog sped by with a beer in hand. A few Smurfs were running around. I even found Waldo. It was really great. It was poorly lit fashion show inspired by all the inexplicable influences we had as kids. We could have probably done this all night.

Around 2am Coleman noticed a girl sitting by herself on the curb by our hangout. She looked like pretty much every other girl we saw that night: A very tight fitting “costume” that came down just barely far enough to not be considered for public nudity. But this girl was looking distressed and confused. Coleman and the rest of us went down to see what was up with this girl. By the time I made it down stairs, Coleman let us know it was time to go. As we left the scene I saw Coleman turn back and tell the girl on the curb that if she needed anything, she could walk into the house and tell whoever was in there that she knew him and that she could be helped. The girl smiled and nodded with her head sinking almost as if to hide the rain her eyes let fall onto her skin. We left Isla Vista and then drove home.

In chaos, it’s hard to live a story, especially a good one. Story needs characters, motives, actions, a plot… It’s hard to do that when a riot surrounds you. I think God watches us right where we are. He’s not up in the stratosphere waving his finger at us. He’s right there on the balcony and not afraid to jump in when you let him. Sometimes you don’t even know you let him get an opening, but he’s there. He sees our sorrows and our frustrations, our worries and invites us in. That’s beauty. When the door’s open and there’s no question about it. That doesn’t happen in the world. The hinges don’t stay open by themselves.

We’ve all been there. On the curb in tears. Surrounded by the noise of people but not a person is listening to you. It’s a pretty crappy feeling. The first thing that comes to my head is abandonment. That somehow your ink and paper gave up on you.

The door is open. I know it is. I’m going through it. I’m living my own story. The plot doesn’t rest solely on whether or not this girl will go out with me next week or if I’ll get that promotion at work that I want. The story we write needs to include all of us. We need to let everything about us sing out loud rather than trying to find a megaphone for our whispers. Because in the end, you can either have something to say, or a whisper that sounded loud enough at the time. I know I’m going to have something to actually tell. It’s dangerous, I know. We, for some reason, like to find one thing and tell everyone “This is it. This is me”. And that sets us up for the ultimate failure. Because we are so much more than any one thing in this world. We can be so much more than missing a touchdown to win the championship game or loosing your girlfriend that you were with for years to find out she got married to another guy she knew for 6 months. We loose so much when we hold out for that one thing that we think is us.

I’m glad it’s dangerous now. I have a good job where I work for my money. I have friends all over this crazy messed up nation. We seem to find plenty of interesting things to keep us busy. It’s not always massive parties that swallow towns but I know that I am my own person. I am not just a brand or a sport or a relationship or whatever. I can have and do all and any of these. It is beautiful. A Dangerous Life. That’s what I’ll lead.

I remember as a kid always hating going to sit down restruants. I just wanted burger king or taco bell drive through. I never cared about aesthetic. I just was selfish and wanted to eat right away.

Now, here I sit in the bakery by my work… Waiting for my food to come. I never took the chance to have a sit down meal with the people I cared about. So now here I sit. By myself.

“She’s the sugar in my tea, making life so much sweeter for me”

4 years later. Looking back. Somber but makes me stronger.

Do you remember the first time you fell in love?

Maybe it wasn’t the first. I think love is like a chorus to a really good song. You may hear it a few times and be drawn in by it. But if you aren’t careful, that song can loose it’s life. It gets over played and… well, you don’t want to hear it anymore. Oh yeah, I’ve heard that song; I can sing along. And that’s about the only value left in the notes.

I’m writing this as a challenge mostly to myself. I found that this past summer was better because it was dangerous. Instead of planned plane tickets and pre-paid reservations, it was leaving in the middle of the night and driving for hours. I think that’s where I need to start the next love story. If there is to be one… there will be fireworks spread across the stars where the ocean can sit beneath and continue wondering. We will conduct a dangerous symphony that will dare to crescendo until we fill the world with the sound of something special.

Coming soon…

I was talking to a friend of mine a few days ago about this past summer; about the risks and thrills that truly made our summer, the dangerous summer. He asked me why I did everything and why it meant so much to me…

It had to be dangerous. That’s what I told myself. I hadn’t taken a risk for myself… well… ever. I had taken risks for relationships, but never had I given myself the time, the effort and the gift of myself. I don’t think I really knew how great I was. Not to be conceited by any means but the truth is I was depressed a lot of my childhood because I thought if I was dangerous for someone else’s cause, that I’d feel full. That another persons pages could just be transposed into my own story. I think that was arguably the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. So I got a little dangerous… for me.

I remember, coming to the first weekend of the summer. That week leading up was the craziest week ever: friends dropping in from out of state, beach parties and making the drive to Santa Barbara from San Diego and back. twice. All in a week. The friday of that week marked my 19th birthday and I remember playing a show. There was a lot of great energy going about. Everything seemed off to a good start with this summer.

After getting off stage, I got on my Macbook and responded to messages about birthday wishes. Somewhere in the cluster of “happy birthdays!” I found out that my ex girlfriend, someone who I had poured my heart into for 3+ years, had gotten married to a guy she new for 6 months. I think an atomic bomb went off when I read that. The venue fell silent like ghosts by a river where the fall out could stop the lust of the water from obeying gravity. The river dried up and the water was in the sky.

I don’t think I realized it was that big, because I let the volume of the venue come back off mute and I felt my head come back to me. There I knew, I had to make it dangerous for me. I had to make my own story. There wasn’t going to be anyone else there telling me how the next scene was going to play out. That was my job now.

I couldn’t be mad anymore, at anyone. I have a life to live.

So that’s where my dangerous summer was born. The setting is SoCal and the characters are my friends. We go to the beach and have late night parties. Sometimes we do crazy things and other times we just take a load off. Everyday is a little victory. It all makes life worth living.

Let me tell you, life is still worth living.

It’s days like today that it’s a blatent slap in the face that I’m blessed. Right now I’m on my lunch sitting under a few trees feelin a nice breeze. San Diego just feels right.

While no one may love me, I love what I’m doing. I’m in love with the people in my life who are apart of all the teams I interact with.

I have to say it again because everyday is just positive reinforcement on this: Life is worth living.

There’s a family gathered in their “family room”. The tv is on but someone muted it. Mom’s in the kitchen looking over the island at the rest of us. Dad is in his chair. Brother on the couch adjacent to me. Words flying and screaming like rockets thrown to the sky. Their bombs blanket the carpet around. I sit somewhere in the middle. My phone in my pocket. I reach for the one thing that I know can save me. An ear bud goes in each ear and soon the music on and up. 

I know I can’t leave the room with out bruises; at least not right now. Blink-182 is flowing through my veins. I know it’s going to be alright now. As the chords ring out I fade out. I’m not the target, well, not this time. I fade into the deep green couch with a white chord leaving my ears to my hand where I hold what’s left of me.

Things like this have been happening lately. I’ve been having that nightmare again. The one where I wake up and it’s not how it was supposed to be. Part of it feels like a dream but the other half is more like poison to me. It eats through me to wake up every day like that. 

Fort Minor is on now; the music still ebbing throughout me. It’s hard to hide where I’ve been from myself. It’s hard to deny and lie to myself that this is ok, that this feels right, cause it isn’t all there. You’re looking at a rose without it’s petals feeling proud that you could just get the thing to come out of the ground. You aren’t out of the woods yet. It’s like a forrest fire and if I get out then I guess I’m all that’s left…

I’ve been debating on going back. Debating with myself. Throwing it back and forth. It seems to be the only game of catch I’m good at. To go back to the desert where it all began. To come home to a home that’s not your home anymore. Maybe not moving in, but just to visit the walls that saw the magic before the meltdown. It might be nice to drive the roads we once owned. I know she’s not there anymore. I’m not looking for her. The boy is looking for him. Because now, there’s a man, and he’s wondering where it all went. If it can’t be bought and it can’t be made how is it so easy for it to all go away? I’ve seen a lot since then and it hurts to say I still haven’t found my way because at the end of the day I still come home to four thousand square feet of nothing and nobody…

Tough. It hurts. It rips past my skin and fights me where I should be able to win but it’s still an on going battle and these battles just make up this war. It’s that war where both sides don’t want it going on anymore but the blood keeps spilling and somehow both sides are loosing ground. His side is loosing everything that’s around. 

I’ll fight on. Life is worth Living. I’ll find a way to win. Hope is here.

Currently writing this one from the Horton Plaza mall in downtown SD. A lot has been going on lately. Summers pretty much over. Second year of college has started. Plenty of cool stuff going on at work. Personally working on a new site that’ll house this thing and more.

More info to come. I need to get back to enjoying the perfect 75 here in downtown.

Much love.

I know I don’t write much anymore. I guess the prose in my head was set aside for syntax of code. Like I could hide myself in a language of commands and rules. I told a buddy of mine at work one day that I wanted to live in a little corner and just write code and live in that code. He reminded me “Coding is only a tool on the bench. You can’t live in it and be happy.” I think that little talk really helped me step aside from the computers and made me remember why I’m doing what I do.

A little over a year ago, I had someone very special in my life. I think most of you guys know that if you’ve known me over the last 4 years. The reason this person is so special to me is because she never gave up on me. She had the most impossible, thick headed boyfriend and still loved him to death.

When I lost her, I lost my world. I remember coming home to California having to pretty much start my life over. And I don’t think I did a half bad job. Yeah, I made a ton of mistakes, but there’s a ton of great people surrounding me now. I’ve accomplished more than I ever thought I could… and it’s only been a year… It’s incredible.

Today at work, I had a few customers that just seemed frustrated. They almost seemed like they didn’t even want my help, but that’s why they were there… they wanted someone to help them. In this moment, I could see what she saw: a frustrated individual who didn’t know how to convey that all they needed was hope. There was just someone in front of me who needed help. I told myself “I’m going to love this person the same way she loved me”. I helped a lot of people today. frustrated people. People who were confused. maybe a little scared and just didn’t know who could help them.

I think this is why God kept me alive. If I can do this, then I never lost love. I only found, through the hardest way possible, how to give love. If I had some way, to tell her thank you, to show her all the good that’s come from this, I would. But I can’t. 
You see, things like rings can deafen a voice from reaching the ears of this girl. Well, I guess that’d be the story for anyone.

I can’t send you a post card from now to back then, but if I could, it would say, “Thank you. I can love because of you.”

On the way down, I saw you and you saved me from myself and I won’t forget the way you loved me.