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.