Archive for drinking

Something New Every Day

The many faces of a person- my persona shifted from face to face. Today I am this. Tomorrow I am that. Perceptions of myself ever evolving as I sit and stare, stare and stand, in the continuous flow of life. I recently acknowledged, both too myself and in written form, that I am learning something new about myself every day. With no real knowledge of what has sparked this, nor any real need to know, the days have been filled with self-reflection, micro ah ha moments, and a mind which is always on- peculiar being unable to calm the mind in nearly any situation- this is my attempted release.

A deep dark robust taste hearkens to memories of dark chocolate, sweet coffee, and velvety cake, swirling around in the glass, as well as my mind. The precise yet free flowing sounds of Miles’ horn next to me, a slightly uncomfortable feeling in the air, an uncleanliness on my skin that only a humid summer’s night can capture. The sun is still out, but it is fading- I am fading, fading deeper within these thoughts, and within myself. A sultry groove fills the air- thanks Miles.

I am lost without creativity, specifically without writing- this is one of the many things I have learned about myself recently. Not just a hobby, nor a casual pursuit, writing and being a writer is something that I identify as a core trait of my very being, something that at times I have regrettably not made room nor effort for. The feeling of not being true to yourself- my own worst critic.

I take much more pride and harness much more joy out of my career (which I always considered as separate, vast majority of the time very separate from me being a writer) than I have ever realized. My current work and reflection has taught me that.

I pause for a moment, for another sip, to enjoy the air, to find what comes next? Perhaps all of these- perhaps none- but I take the sip anyways. Life of a writer.

I am bothered by myself when I am anything but truthful, true, and honest in my efforts, and in my integrity on life’s values. I have not always been that way.

I find joys in simple things, and in things that my prior versions of myself and others may find mundane and dull. A quiet weekend night at home with my family, a few minutes to read a book, a chance to de-clutter my home, or even a simple conversation with a friend or loved-one. This is not to say that all wild times, and all adventures are behind me, they are not- this is simply to say that I can now appreciate both, and often times prefer the “mundane and dull”. The power of sitting on the floor playing with your son and his toys is simply undeniable, and the greatest concert, party, or wild adventure could not compare…and believe me, I love a wild party.

Another sip, strong, warm, altering…perfect.

I am no longer the one who provokes, who welcomes altercation, who yearns for a moment, any moment to make a statement, a physical impact, and perpetuate conflict in the world. This is part of the reason I no longer play the game. I strive to be strong, to be calm, to find peace, and to bring good into the world and to those I come in contact with. I have no regrets on my self-appointed role and work for the Nation, it is simply is just not who I am anymore. We all grow- we all evolve.

Another sip, and it is gone. Such is life. Drink it up.

My desire to curtail and control my impulsive and addictive personality is another point of my recent thought meanders. It is a rollercoaster of want, desire, need, followed by satisfaction, which is always followed by near-immediate regret and self-loathing.

I am blessed- truly blessed. I want for nothing, yet find myself getting down on occasion. This is another realization (that I already knew, but have rededicated my focus to), a true appreciation for my circumstances, and the will to carry on confidently with them.

Time. Time, is on my side. Yes it is…I don’t know why I said that.

Every day is a chance to better myself, to learn from my experiences, to realize that about myself that I previously have been scared to, or felt it too difficult.

I gather much of my inspiration from my son- he is my little Buddha.

I am learning to not be so hard on myself, to let myself be, and to let go and embrace it. As Laura and I discussed the other day over an evening walk, it is time to “own it”.

I truly have been learning something about myself every day lately, and I hope that I continue to do so. Norek out…

The Intent Observer

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  • Afternoon drinking
  • Observing society
  • Kerouac and Van Gogh

 

The afternoon is winding down, the air has turned from a crisp morning dew to a breathy cool breeze. The sun doing its best to stay present and accounted for amongst a stream of wispy clouds. The veranda outside of the Schaumburg Beer Market is simple, classic, and perfect for a mid-afternoon drink and write. The metal grated table and chairs increase the feeling of openness to the elements, as well as a free flow of life. The wind swirls around, clouds creep by, and I feverishly write. I have grown to love these types of locations, an outdoor seating area nested within a crowded city- evokes imagery of traveling on vacation, the unknown adventure of the living pulse of a city happening all around you- and a nod to the past writers and artists, all of which I have to believe spent countless hours and days in locales just like this- out, in the thick of life, observing, interacting, and watching the intricate dance of people going about their day, each a different story to tell-and there the artist sits- a part of it all- yet strategically removed enough to be detailed observer- Jack Kerouac at the Skid Row diner. Me, in the Schaumburg afternoon, outside patio of the Beer Market. Visions of Van Gogh sitting at a similar table outside of a (now) historic European village comes to mind. Though admittingly the scene here for me is much more subdued and commercialized (it is Schaumburg) than Vincent’s image I conjure, madman painter, inebriated on various drink and substance, genius mind swirling with beauty and inspiration. The conservative well-to-do parade down the cobblestone street, umbrellas, top hats- while he sits stoic, creating, living, taking it all in. For me it is office workers zipping by in their cars, the young family heading over to their fast-food chain of choice. Inspiring locales are still very much alive, they just take more work to find them today in the modern era. I need to find the inspiration around me- remind myself of the beauty that exists within each day.

 

Looking Back…

  • The artist needs to be a part of society, yet remain invisible

Inspiration and A Hard Day’s Work

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Upcoming…

  • Inspiration and Mood Setting
  • Outdoors
  • Suburban Ideals
  • Good Ol’ Fashioned Hard Day’s Work
  • Going With the Day

Author’s Note…

  • This is a short piece that I am including to display the nature of my day-to-day life as a suburbanite, parent and partner. You will also get a glimpse (very small scale) of my drive to seek adventure and go for the unknown in each day.

Instincts and going for it. It has worked so far this morning and afternoon (also the day of Ryland’s 11th month). After an inspired writing session fueled by Grapefruit Sculpin and ambiance and by incense and psychedelic music, I rushed outdoors just having dodged the rain to start to unbury my backyard from the overly earthy attack of overgrown shrubbery and weeds- in a place like Bartlett Illinois, we must be seen as having the scarlet letter for how we maintain- or in this case do not maintain our yard. Two (now three)out there neo-hippieesque souls swimming an endless sea of cookie cutter, drones of well to-do cogs in the suburban idealism wheel- we need to get out- get back to the land and live in the mountains. We are out of place here and it goes well beyond our unkempt yard, peeling house paint, untrained dogs, lack of interest in playing the “hey how are you doing neighbor”, it is partially these things, but more- deeper- it is our outlook, our beliefs, our passions, our goals, our dreams…and our disgust for all things expected and cookie cutter. Having cleared my yard the best I can in an hour or so time frame I return indoors, shirt sweated, mud streaks cast about shoes and socks drenched with stagnant remnants of the day’s monsoons we have gotten. It is in this moment I feel a sense of pride. First for having accomplished a chore, it was overdue, but there is also something primordial, earthy, basic, savage, and manly about working in the yard, using tools, sweating, lifting stone. I am man in this moment. A quick shower washes away the glory and I am back down to modern era, the alpha brute stomping through the mud washed away swirling down the shower drain. I call my dad to see if he wants to grab lunch. The plans seem initially foiled by the fact that my dad is amidst a chain of to-dos hoping from place to place and is catching lunch nearly a half hour away from me. We end the conversation as we will meet up some time soon, but then I think, hell, why not now? I text my dad that I will be driving out to him to meet for lunch. The long and short of it is a great adventure of time with my dad, including some great finds for Ryland at a local thrift store and some more than decent food. Post lunch I head out looking for my next stop to write, and here we are, beer in hand.

 

Looking Back…

  • The mood and atmosphere is critical to the creative day
  • So is the willingness to break routine and go for it

Days of Freedom

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Upcoming…

  • Short blurb on days I am free to do nothing but write

 

Inspiration. These days are key for me- the days I am free to explore, free to create. No have-to-dos. No responsibility. For the day, my duties as a father, husband, and (until recently) corporate cog are vapor. I exist only as an artist, writer, explorer and seeker of my truth. Each day like this is different, but there are some reoccurring elements. Outdoors, getting back in touch with nature- the harmony between myself as an individual, as well as the unifying truth of the ultimate reality. Freedom- I may plan out where to start   for breakfast, where I will take an afternoon walk, and perhaps where to catch a good drink, but overall, time constraints disappear, freedom to change, alter, take a quick turn to a new location, constitute those days. It is this freedom that helps fuel my creative spirit. Beer- right or wrong, booze has fueled the creative spirit throughout time- I am no exception.

What makes up a great day of creativity? Inspiration. Inspiration and an openness to the little gifts life will sneak up and give us each day.

 

Looking Back…

  • The writer needs time, space and freedom to explore themselves, explore the world, and to write

A Summer’s Day Drink

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Upcoming…

  • Summer day writing
  • Patio beer garden
  • The midday crowd

Author’s Note…

  • I wrote this piece a few weeks into my new push to write on a serious level after having just left the corporate world behind. I have several writers who I admire and on this day found myself  imagining myself alongside them, observing the world.

 

Another day out to write. These days became a mecca for me, something I pine for each day (be in the moment Scott). Just a little bit past the noon hour and I find myself seated outside at a patio bar in Wheaton, Illinois. Chair and table, while comfortable and a perfect location to see the entirety of the patio and have the rays of the sun kiss my skin, are amusing to me. A rather cheap plastic (maybe not plastic- but I call everything plastic that is not metal) with a sublimated inlay to give the visual illusion of wicker furniture. Who knew wicker furniture was so sheik and something to be cheaply imitated for the masses. My drinks have arrived. The sun hits my neck in a way that I know my skin will be altered by it- the days of summer. I mention the furniture not as a knock on the establishment (although I am sure that is how it reads- do not pass judgment Scott), but simply as a unique observation (thank you Jack- the observation machine). Life is different now in this career transition, living the life of a writer on these days, the freedom, the art, the craft, the adventure. The world is different now on a Thursday afternoon, Chicago suburbs, at a local ale house. the people I see are different- a wonderful concoction of office workers out for lunch, stay-at-home parents (like me) meandering through the afternoon, latte in hand, clad in hidden mystery sunglasses, the random wanders who neither appear to be office workers escaping the day, nor stay-at-home moms and dads, but rather nondescript (to the casual observer) in their societally chosen lot (and here I am, wanting to escape that, yet I perpetuate)- entrepreneurs, like myself…or maybe they are just wanderers, wanderers in life’s infinite mystery. We’d all be so lucky. As I turn the page, the sun continues its rotation and is now absorbing not just my outer facing arm, but my entire body. Summer days. The patio at Warren’s has quickly gone from my own little slice of solitude to a near bustling party. A table of suburbanite family, followed closely by a young duo of early twenty-something girls (tea pleased, unsweetened, with a lemon). This is merely the start to my evening. Later tonight I meet brother and friends for drinks and dinner in Schaumburg.

I often wonder how the great writers (in my mind) enjoyed their days how did they spend them, in pursuit of inspiration and their art? Would they be out on a veranda, on a warm(ing) summer afternoon enjoying a few drinks, pen and paper in hand? I like to believe they did exactly that. Kerouac, Thompson, Bukowski, how were your days? Thoreau, how was your old-timey day?- Brilliant and simple? My jealously runs deep. The sun is reaching an apex on me, taunting me with its beautiful dazzlement, while scorching my flesh. Oh cruel bringer of ruin and joy- that is life.

 

Looking Back…

  • The artist exist amongst society, while experiencing the everyday happenings through a different lens