Nov 6, 2013

Runnin' Down A Dream

I broke up with her last weekend.  Sandy.  It was a shitty thing to do, right after our one year anniversary and all.  Tuesday, I quietly went to my lawyer's office and signed the papers.  Signed my Hurricane Divorce House away exactly one year after Sandy came ashore and turned it into a watery mausoleum.  It's up to the bank now, but it's as close to a done deal as anything has been in my life since Sandy.  Until this past weekend.  On November 3 at about 2pm, I conquered the NYC Marathon.

Last year, on November 3 at about 2pm, I was here.

I Am The Dumpster King
Standing atop 30 cubic yards full of the remains of my Staten Island house.  My home studio is in there somewhere, my mementos, my furniture and my appliances, my walls and my ceilings.  My record collection and my record label business.  My past.  Greg T. was there that day, along with a motley crew of friends, family, co-workers and complete strangers.  Helping me dig out of the mud and the muck, helping me salvage whatever was left, and let me tell you - there wasn't much.  I saw a different side of humanity in those days and weeks to follow.  The amount of stuff I had lost paled in comparison to the kinship I had gained.

Greg T. and I were supposed to run the next day - two undersized Angry Young Men approaching middle age who had trained separately for 8 months straight, quietly egging each other on and comparing our progress.  It was friendly competition, and it motivated us.  If Greg did 14 miles on Monday, I had to do 15 on Tuesday.  And vice versa.  Greg and I didn't run a single mile together but we always ran with the other guy on our minds.

The general public, the masses - they know Greg T. as The Clown.  On Elvis Duran and the Morning Show, he's The Stunt Guy, The Jackass.  It is a role he fills quite well, and often times it's not entirely an act.  There is an honesty and a bravery about Greg T. that I have always admired, even while watching him fill his underwear with chili, even if I've seen his junk one too many times.

Greg T's morning show peeps - we also know him as The Jerk.  He can be rude, apathetic, neurotic, outspoken, insensitive, moody.  Shamelessly.  We all have different sides.  Greg just likes to show more of his off than the rest of us do.  I've seen him get into it with others even if after nearly (holy shit) 20 years, he and I have never said a cross word to each other.

But the Greg T. I know - the guy I waited at the starting line with - he's a Real Good Dude.  A genuine person.  He is The Clown and he is The Jerk, but he can get away with it because he is also the guy I know, the caring introspective guy a lot of people really love.  On Sunday, I wanted nothing more than to start the race with Greg.  If anyone can loosen you up simply by being more emotional and insecure than you are, it's Greg T.  He cracked jokes and got sentimental and wore a wool scarf that made him look like Randy in A Christmas Story.

The night before the race, Greg sent me one of his trademark four paragraph texts.  Usually these go out to the whole show, and after some sort of controversy.  But this one was just for me - expressing his feelings over what we had gone thru to this point, what I had gone thru last year.  It was a really cool read.  The next morning, Greg smuggled me into the VIP tent at the Marathon Village.  Greg could have said "Good luck man, see you out there" and cozied up to Pam Anderson in the heated tent.  But he stepped up for me, just as he had a year earlier.  We fueled up and stayed warm inside.  We talked about Sandy and about Boston.   We pumped each other up with words of encouragement and got to enjoy the moment together.

At the starting line, I chatted up another celebrity runner, Patrick Wilson.  I was actually hoping to see Wilson, a dude whose acting chops and sideburns I have often admired in movies like Watchmen and Little Children.  Approaching "famous people" has always been awkward for me, yet at my job and in my industry, it's pretty commonplace.  Like most people, I have often been ill at-ease when meeting people that I really admire.  So I'm generally just quiet, put on my goofy grin and try not to drool.

Derrr...why is everyone taller than me...I gotta pee again...
It was easy to talk to the amiable Wilson as we stretched and shivered atop the Verrazano Bridge, a span I had crossed so many times before, only never on foot.  We wished each other luck.  I felt calm.  Relaxed.  This was a long time coming and I was ready.

We went out with the first wave, with the pro runners.  Against the wind and against the odds.  Greg and I finally got to run together.  Over the bridge and out of the borough I'll always be connected to because of Sandy, because of my failed marriage, because of my destiny.

Two miles in, I turned to wish Greg luck as we crossed into Bay Ridge, and he was gone.  Lost amongst the masses.  I was on my own but kept him in my thoughts the rest of the way.  I passed my post-Sandy Park Slope refugee apartment at Mile 7, throngs of people cheering us on.  At Mile 17, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, I saw my Dad giving out water to the runners and hugged him tight.  I stopped for a minute to share the moment with him and I was off again.  When I told my father I had signed up to run the Marathon in early 2012, he told me I was crazy.  Who's crazy now, Pops?  By Mile 18, I started cramping badly.  Maybe he was right after all.  The human body - or at least mine - is not built to endure 26 miles of pavement.  The next four miles, up thru the Bronx and Harlem, were pure hell.

At Mile 23, I was hoping to see a couple of my co-workers from the morning show.  This was the stretch run and I really needed a boost.  On the corner of 95th Street, I got it in the form of a long row of supporters.  My boss was there with his boyfriend, with his people.  My friends.  My people.  They screamed my name from across 5th Avenue and I ran over to greet them.  I wanted to give them all a big hug, to take photos, to share my experience, but I was in the middle of a race.  They sent me off with cheers, a banana, and a big shit-eating grin on my face.

At my job, I'm often the wallflower.  Some of that is probably on me, some of it isn't.  I've spent my entire professional career in radio working at this one place - for different bosses and departments and parent companies.  It has been a volatile relationship, one that, up until recently, has produced more than a little disappointment and bitterness on my part.  But that has all changed these last few years, thanks to where I've landed and who I have landed with.  Thanks to the unmatched generosity of my boss, thanks to the love and help I got from my co-workers this past year.  Thanks to my family and my friends and the volunteers who came to my rescue.  Thanks to all this running.  Thanks to Sandy.

I'm lucky.

Everyone loves a comeback. That was the theme - a deserved one - of this year's race.  50,000 people ran and they all have their story, they all have their reasons.  But the Marathon wasn't my comeback.  It was my test, a rite of passage.  I needed to find out what I was made of.  Maybe I needed to show everyone else what I was made of too.

My comeback hasn't happened yet.  Not yet, not now.  I'm still growing, still learning.  I still have work to do.  Just like you do.  Just like we all do.  This was a great first step but there's still so much to do, higher rocks to climb.  I need to start giving back, to start paying it forward.  You can't be good to anyone else unless you're good to yourself.  This whole running experience has allowed me that opportunity.

And I couldn't have done it alone.  I couldn't have done it without my people.  Sandy proved it.  26 miles' worth of cheering supportive New Yorkers proved it.  Greg T. proved it.  We need each other.

We did it, Greg.  We really did it.  Rest your legs and bask in the glow.  Time for some ice cream.

Jul 22, 2013

Ronnerd's Rude Awakening

I'm always looking at the calendar.  Always.  Every day it's fill in the blanks.

The blanks mean you're not doing enough.  The blanks mean you're alone.  The blanks mean you're a loser.  Blanks are the enemy, blanks are the glaring evidence of an unfulfilled, incomplete life.

So you fill up those blank spaces.  You make plans.  Lunch meetings, family outings, vacations, rehearsals, social events.  You invest your time, your money and your energy into filling in those blanks.  You invest yourself in other people.  You invest yourself in the future.  And the calendar doesn't stop.  The future will be now before you know it.

In the wake of my recent hardships, investing myself in anything can be a challenge.  Everything means nothing after Sandy and all of a sudden some things seem like everything.  But are those things really what they seem - the things I've been writing about?  Are they what they are or are they the romanticized thoughts of a traumatized madman?

Because I could be crazy.  I very well might be.

We are all human, creatures of habit.  Most of us wake up in the morning and sooner or later we all remember to put our pants on.  We have laws and rules and requirements and expectations.  We read labels and we buy products.  We require sleep and attention and care and respect.  We are stubborn and we are selfish.  We want what we want and we want it the way we want it.

You're supposed to have hope and courage and a positive attitude in life, right?  No negative vibes.  No fear.  After a hurricane, after a divorce, after some bad mistakes - it's easy to be afraid, to be bitter - to be damaged.  There are real Sandy-depression hotlines out there.

When I talk to the people closest to me about the circumstances of my life right now - about the chances I'm taking, about what I believe in, about my recent investments in the wake of a divorce and a superstorm, I keep using the term 'straitjacket'.   As in not of sound mind, as in one who never learns, a glutton for punishment.

When you're still recovering from disaster, no matter how hard you run or how high you intend to climb, you're bound to stumble a time or two.  We all have setbacks.  Some hills will always be steeper to climb.  But It's Up To You to choose which ones you're willing to climb and how hard you're willing to run.

And that's how I feel about my life right now, about my choices and the direction I've chosen to run in.  It's an uphill battle.  Whatever tragedy or challenge you're going through right now, there will be another one waiting somewhere down the road.  So why not keep running, why climb the shallow hill when you can conquer the steep one instead?

The answer is easy.  If you take the steep hill and you wind up falling again - failing again - it will be more difficult to recover.  And is your mind - your psyche - ready to be punished again?  What about your bank account, your calendar, your belief system?  What about all those plans you made with hope in your heart?

Is Never Giving Up really the way to go?  Or are you bound to do all this work - convincing yourself that you're making all the right moves, taking risks, having faith in your plan - only to get stuck right in the middle of five hundred yards of shit smelling foulness Morgan Freeman can't even imagine?

It's a lot easier to stay in your cell than it is to chip away at concrete for a few years so you can finally feel freedom.

So you make your plan.  You hope for the best.  You recognize that you're getting stronger and that you needed to.  No matter what happens, you needed to.  You accept your stumbles and your scraped knees.  You keep running until you see the finish line.  But you don't sprint towards it.  Running a marathon means pacing yourself, it means breathing and having the will to go on even when you're in pain.  Running a marathon means being able to finish something you never thought you were capable of.  At this time in my life right now, it's the perfect test.

I'm in Switzerland.  Aarau.  You can't pronounce it and neither could I until a few days ago.  And that's okay.  Because everything that the guy who started writing this blog wanted to happen is happening - it hasn't been a smooth ride but when is the ride ever smooth?  If you want to keep climbing - if you want to be recognized - you have to expect your share of bumps and bruises.

Switzerland is another test, another chance to be brave.  Being here validates that the straitjacket isn't for me.  It's for the dude who doesn't believe in redemption, who doesn't believe in love.  It's for the dude who thinks he's better off going out to bars and bedding different women just because he's divorced and in good shape and lost his house in a hurricane and deserves to be selfish.  For me, that has never been the issue.  Even if I have often been selfish, I have always believed in love.  I never believed more after Sandy took what was left of my fractured life away.

But no one gives a fuck about Sandy anymore - my house has become that turned-over Monopoly card it was destined to be - a cursed headache, an inevitable disconnection.  It's Baltic Avenue and it's upside down, who wants it?  Come and get it.  Let's sign some papers and forget this ever happened.  You can keep whatever furniture's in the shed and whatever else we stored on those last cold winter days of 2012 in that dark destroyed house.  Josh and my Dad played Tetris with my upstairs artwork and my 'you don't need this now or possibly ever' junk up in the unlit attic while Garrett and I tossed my mattress out onto the sidewalk, just one more material item headed towards a landfill.

But me?  The Dude Who Lost It All - not just the house or the material items, but the girl and the studio and the business too.  I still had my Oscar the Grouch boxer shorts but mostly the rest was gone.  That dude?  He's fucking great.  Ambitious.  Focused.  Crazy like a fox.  He is not all the way there yet, but he finally understands that he can get there.  It's not too late and it's not impossible.  Not impossible to be happy.  Really, truly happy.

I passed this sign while running over the George Washington Bridge on Memorial Day.  It's true - You're Not Alone.  Michael Jackson and Olive were both right.  We need each other.  Through thick and through thin, we do.  I have always known this and that's why I have always pined for The Girl.

But the sign isn't only about that.  It's about, 'You're not the only one failing.  Look at all these different shades of faceless people wearing casual clothing who may or may not be thinking about jumping off the George Washington Bridge.'  These motherfuckers are everywhere!

Post-Sandy Ron, The Dude Who Lost It All - he never had to call an 800 # to talk him off the ledge.  He stopped going to therapy.  He started doing pushups and he started running harder.  He stopped trying to sell t-shirts and he started writing His Stoopid Blog.  He was flooded out of his cave.  He took chances, he took risks.  He stopped giving a fuck about failing - as a musician, as a businessman, as a romantic - and he started living.  He started to realize that even though he lost all his shit, he still has a pretty wonderful life.  He may have been unlucky but he was also very fortunate.

It may have been a rude awakening, but it was still an awakening.

The calender is full again, with real engagements and adventures.  There are still higher mountains to climb and a few post-Sandy obstacles to overcome, and I'm blessed to have family and friends who continue to help me through the headache.  To be part of my destiny.  That's why I'm here in Switzerland.  It's only my second trip to Europe and my first in 15 years.  It's not so much a vacation to relax as a time to be productive, to be social, to be brave.  And I'm having a great time.  I miss my dog and my family and I've got my share of bruises, but shedding one's skin is what this year has been all about.  It still remains the biggest part of my lesson.  You Can Change.

I'm finishing up lyrics for the third Return To Earth album while I'm out here, and while I feel understandably disconnected from the project in certain ways, I have never been more proud of my contributions than I have been to the ones I've made to this band and to these new songs, in particular.  RTE is just another part of my life that has taught me patience.  It's the biggest reason why I haven't walked away from something that has almost always seemed like an incomplete destiny, another dead end that I could at least hang over the mantle and point to and say, "Look, I made that.  I sang and screamed convincingly in a signed metal band.  I played with Bumblefoot and with Chris Pennie.  Me.  The kid who was known for most of the eighth grade, and with little provocation, as 'Ronnerd'."

As a teen, I liked good music and I had dimples, I played drums and I took frequent showers.  My parents and my sister were cool and I was a romantic dude.  I wasn't really a nerd, even if I always aced my tests and liked Huey Lewis and the News and Boba Fett and could quote all the lines from Goodfellas and The Honeymooners.  I was just shy.  I was just a coward.  I was losing my hair and wearing braces and having dental bridges put in before I got my drivers license and none of those things made me ooze confidence, but that's life, nigga.  Grow some balls.  Get tough.

I was Roncoward, but I suppose Ronnerd rolls off the tongue better.  And Ronnerd has been put to bed.  Roncoward, Ronliar, Rontagonist, Ronprick, Ronloser, Perv-o-ron, Negatron - they're all dead.  They all jumped off the bridge and they left me behind.  It's just Ronnie now, and Ronnie is Not Alone.  Maybe I lost some years trying to figure it all out, experiencing the things I needed to in order to get to these recent moments of clarity, but y'know what?  That's fine.  At least I figured it out.

The juices are flowing again, and there's no longer anything or anyone holding me back.  I'm writing radio bits and interviewing my idols and kindred spirits.  I'm having fun on Vine and I'm having fun at work.  I love where I live and I love who I'm with.  I'll be back in the studio in a month and running through Central Park in three.  I finally appreciate what I have, I'm finally striving to be the best me.  I'm happy, brah.  Are you? 

If you aren't, I highly recommend it.

May 23, 2013

Don't Call It A Comeback

"If you are going through hell, keep going." - Winston Churchill

This isn't a comeback.  Everyone loves a good comeback.  But comebacks often fall short.  Even the greatest teams, athletes, human beings on this planet fall short sometimes.  It's too premature to call my post-Sandy resurgence a comeback.  I haven't come all the way back yet.

This is a metamorphosis, an awakening.   

This is destiny.

Why Are You Doing This?

I can't tell you how many times I've asked myself that question since Sandy.  Why have you been running like an idiot for the past 14 months?  Why have you been fighting for what you have been fighting for?  Why are you spilling your guts in Your Stoopid Blog?

Why not?

Why not?

I know why.  I know exactly why, I've talked about why in this very space, in different ways.  I've told the people closest to me why, or at least the biggest reasons why.  Writing about it comes naturally, it's good therapy.  Running and writing are better forms of exercise, rehabilitation and stress relief than drinking whiskey.  Turns out your doctor was right.

But to write and reveal.  To share it in this space - that's literally a different story.   

Get A Journal, Ron.

I started this blog a few years ago.  Just another forum to use to promote my burgeoning record label.  Marketing 101.  Then Sandy happened, and instead of shilling product, I started to talk about my life.  I started talking about What Really Matters.  Sometimes all that typing was necessary to get through those first surreal days after the storm, thoughts pouring out of me during those restless homeless post-Sandy evenings in Bensonhurst after spending my days amongst the muck and the mold on Staten Island.  Late at night, it was either lay out on an air mattress with my nutty traumatized dog at my feet and watch some dark shit - High Plains Drifter and Blue Valentine and Shame - or sit at a folding table and type type type away.

My Sandy Experience changed my life - not just aesthetically or geographically.  The life I was leading pre-Sandy was unacceptable.  Mediocre.  Unfulfilled.  I needed to grow up, to grow out of the bad habits that were plaguing me.  I had to learn how to recognize The Devil.  I had to accept the truth about who I was and who I wanted to become in the wake of losing everything.  Sandy's destruction forced me to let go of a lot of things, a lot of history.  It's hard to let go.  But it's often necessary.  You can't create the future by clinging to the past.

There will be worse things in store for me, worse things than a superstorm wiping out my house, my record label, and my home music studio.  No matter how much I've lost, how much I've learned, how much I've grown, there will still be losses in my life that I'll never truly be prepared for.  But now, today - these six months since Sandy came and fucked my practical world up for a bit of time - have been the most interesting of my life.  Not the best, mind you.  But certainly the most interesting, the most I've learned about myself, about karma and about morality.  As for the best, it isn't here yet.   

The best is yet to come. 

Well how do you know that, Ron?  You could get hit by a bus tomorrow.

When superstorms happen, when tsunamis show up, when Boston bombings and Oklahoma tornadoes send shock waves through neighborhoods, cities, nations - the victims never celebrate.  Rather, we universally ask the same question.  It's the same question you ask when someone you love passes away or gets sick or any sort of tragedy invades your life.

Why?  Why me, why us, why now?

A week after Sandy, my next door neighbor came by to share some words and a puff of smoke.  I was in the house alone for the first time since the storm.  All my help had gone home, back to their own less complicated lives.  I was playing my piano in what used to be my living room, surrounded by boxes of my surviving stuff.  It was snowing, a nor'easter in New York City during the first week in November.  It was 37 degrees inside my ruined house.  My fingers were numb as I played a song I wrote about a girl, singing aloud to no one in particular.  The bulldozers rumbled outside, clearing debris, furniture, rubble, history.

My neighbor showed up and we talked for awhile before he asked the inevitable.  Why us?

My answer was simple.

Why not?

If you don't believe that there isn't at least a framework to your story - that the doors you open and the doors you close don't lead to very specific adventures, down treacherous paths or yellow brick roads - then you have yet to be awakened.  If you don't believe that there's a Sandy in your future, or something akin to a Sandy, you're wrong.  The wind doesn't have to bring the ocean with it to stir up a storm in your life.  Sometimes the wind blows you away from things and sometimes it sweeps you up and puts you where you belong instead.

If you don't believe in redemption or transformation or self-affirmation, then you might as well be a zombie or a Communist.  You've obviously never seen The Karate Kid or this past season of Survivor.

If you can't say "I can do this," then you will never do this.

You might not do whatever "this" is anyway, but rest assured you will never do it if you don't grow some balls and get to work.  Sandy broke me out of prison.  Through it all, she has given me more than she could ever take away.  She didn't take my life, she gave me a chance at a new one, a better one.  So how can I not forgive her?  I haven't changed altogether, I have just been fine tuned.  And I wonder if I would have made those changes, those tweaks, if not for her.  Sandy changed my outlook even if she also changed my address.

Some things haven't changed, most specifically the condition of my house.  I still have little faith in the system that is failing me as I type this, the capitalist system that is supposed to rescue me from this national natural disaster yet continues to compound the problem rather than solve it.

FEMA hasn't saved me from Sandy, they just ask for more paperwork.  My insurance company hasn't saved me, they just make excuses for shortchanging me.  My boss saved me.  My friends saved me.  My parents saved me, my dog saved me.  Complete strangers saved me.  Love saved me.  Running saved me.  Writing saved me.  I saved me.

My Stoopid Blog saved me, it has played its part.  It reconnected me to the world, to people I barely knew, to people I really love.

Did you really know who I was before I started writing this blog?  Did I really know myself?  What I publish here has been raw.  It's personal.  But I don't put my thoughts to the virtual page expecting a reaction from just anyone.

After my last post, a woman I have never met reached out to me.

"This was beautifully written and hits very close to home. I've been married for 5 years and have been through the same cycle more times than I care to remember. I'm in the middle of getting off the ride apart...but I'm still dragging my feet and tripping as Im getting off. Thanks for sharing your story."

She reminded me why this is just the least bit important, this relating.  This woman shared her friend's blog with me.  Her friend had recently lost her young son.  I read this woman's blog with tears in my eyes - this brave, amazing woman who has gone through things I can never truly understand - and realized the same things I realize whenever bad things happen to other people - in Boston, Oklahoma, Japan, New Orleans, Sandy Hook, Aurora.  In your own neighborhoods, in your own families.

Your problems mean nothing, Ron.

You're lucky.  You got off easy.  The first time I ran after the Boston bombings, I sprinted around Prospect Park like a roadrunner.  I still had my legs and they still worked and I was grateful.   After Boston, I stopped writing this blog for awhile because I started to ask myself What's the point?  Doubt starts to creep in until you ultimately realize that what you share with people is what brings you closer to them.  What you share with people is what strengthens your love for them.

We have forgotten what it means to open up.  It ruins us - our convenient omissions, our self-denials, our excuses.  Our tall tales and our little white lies.  Isn't Sharing Caring?  Why is Honesty such a lonely word?  Won't the truth set you free?

Why is it so hard for us to really talk to each other, to communicate?  To shed our skin and share our dreams and our fears?  When I run now, I try to make eye contact with people.  Sometimes I wave or I nod or I even say hello.  The Old Ronnie would have avoided that, looked the other way.   But The Old Ronnie drowned on Staten Island.  Good riddance.

That's why you can't call this a comeback.  Sometimes you have to close a certain chapter of your life in order to start a new one, a better one.  Sometimes hurricanes push you to grow up, sometimes people do.  Sometimes you have to push yourself.  When I cross that finish line in November, it will be a different guy running through Central Park rather than the one who started training for the NYC Marathon last February.  When I run now, I don't struggle.  I excel.  I no longer want to just finish, I want to finish strong.

Life is a gift.  It's a fucking gift.  Open up the box and play with whatever is inside.  You'll never know how long you'll have to enjoy it.

Apr 12, 2013

Round and Round

Dad and I were driving back from our weekend warrior basketball game, our Saturday morning Brooklyn ritual that usually ended with lunch and a nice talk between father and son.  Dad would usually come by my house on Staten Island afterwards to say hello to my wife and my dog before heading home to Pennsylvania.  This time, he pulled the car in front of my house to drop me off instead.  He wasn't coming inside.

"Big Ron, you either want to stay on the merry-go-round or you want to step off."

Those were my father's parting words to me as I grabbed my gym bag and stepped out of his car.  "I want to step off," I said without much hesitation.  I was about to walk inside and end my marriage once and for all.  I had been preparing for this for six months, but now I was finally ready.  I should have left sooner.  Maybe I would have never bought the house, maybe I would have never set up my life, my business, and my future on Staten Island.  Maybe Sandy and I would have never met.

But I didn't.

I was still hanging on for all the wrong reasons - for all the reasons we hold on to things that aren't really good for us.  Because I was afraid.  I was afraid to hurt someone, a woman who, at one point in her life, believed that I was The One.  Because even though I realized she wasn't The One, I was still afraid to make a break for it, to usurp my life and start again.  I had failed before.  I had let people down.  I was afraid of change.  Even though change was exactly what I needed.  I was afraid of making another mistake.  Even though my gut knew I had already made one by even putting myself in this position.  Most of my people were telling me to keep trying, people who weren't living my life.  People who could only advise, but not experience.   Others were more direct, more honest.  They told me to get the fuck out of Dodge long before I had even asked their advice.

We never go into our relationships expecting to be labeled Failures.  Often, the greater failure comes from choosing to sticking around.  Time is precious, fleeting.  So too can happiness be.

When I walked inside, she was sitting at her computer desk.  She was reminiscing, looking at poems she wrote about me once upon a time - back when I was The Man instead of a man - cute e-mails and letters we exchanged, photos from our wedding and when we got our dog.  Happier times.  She wanted me to take a ride back into The Past.  "When Things Were Better."  When there was less pressure to make things right.  There is always less pressure at first.  Less of a commitment means less chance to screw it all up.  But the deeper you dig, the more rocks you'll uncover.

As the five years of my life with my ex deteriorated, so too did the affection, the cuteness, the passion.  The photos became scarcer, the exchanges became us just going through the motions.  What's for dinner? How's the weather? What's on TV tonight?

You find yourself trying to get through a week, a day, without fighting.  You don't reminisce over the shitty moments, those are never captured in a frame or put in a scrapbook or a shoebox.  But they're there too - in your head, in your heart.  At a certain point, Maintaining becomes the acceptable norm rather than Growing.  There were enough TV shows, there was enough wine and weed to get us through the week without strangling each other, or even worse, ignoring each other.  At least strangling keeps you engaged.  There were also nights I slept alone in the bed with my loyal dog at my feet and one eye open, a little afraid of the woman in the other room.  Sometimes I even locked the bedroom door.

"Let's just look through these things together," she pleaded one last time, clinging to that last thin straw that was about to snap from holding all the weight of our troubles beneath it.  I declined her offer.  I had been on the other end of this Final Moment before.  Too many times.  We have all been there, on one side of the moment or the other.  Too many unfinished Diner breakfasts, the unavoidably awkward goodbyes.  There is no good side to be on.  Breaking up is hard to do.  But it was time.  We never plan it out, that moment when we're finally willing to step over the line.  It just happens.

Staying static is always the easier way, the more convenient way to keep your apple cart from overturning.  A lot of us accept mediocrity - or worse - because keeping all those happiness apples in place is much less daunting than Trying to Make It Work.  But when you're with someone for the long haul, the work should be fairly effortless, and whatever effort is necessary to bridge the understandably human gaps in a partnership should come without pulling teeth, without pushing each other too hard.  It should come without heated debate and name calling and finger pointing and apathy.  It should come without stress and without sadness.  Otherwise, your apples get rotten.  And if they do, then it's time to get off the ride.  There are other rides to enjoy.

There's a whole fucking world out there.  


It's not like I walked into that house and decided not to love her anymore.  I just decided to love myself more.  I had already reached my breaking point.  Couples therapy, medication, exercise, and lots of passionate speeches couldn't unbreak it.  Only my own fear was keeping me around.  There was money at stake, a house, a dog, my DVD collection.  And so I had to say goodbye and mean it this time.  Because I had said goodbye before.  Many times - through tears, peeling out of the driveway, storming out of the house.  Slamming doors, making threats, sleeping on couches.  I lost 20 pounds just by being married.  I was wasting away.  This was not who I was nor who I ever expected to be.

You don't spend five years with someone without your share of good times, moments, memories.  But you can't live in the past.  What about the present?  Are you having a great time now or are you just Maintaining?  What about the future?  Do you really expect it to get any better?  Do you see yourself Growing?

I stepped off the merry go-round two years ago and I have no regrets.  I cared about her.  I loved her.  We cried in each others arms during those last painful days where we were sharing separate floors of a house that is now a Sandy-devastated disaster area.  "Why are you doing this to us?," she asked through the tears.

Why? isn't just one thing.  It never is.  If you're cheating, if you lay your hands on your partner, if you're lying, if you're an alcoholic or a coke head or a gambler or rotten in bed, that's never the only Why?  The worst offenses are just manifestations of unhappiness, plain and simple.  In my marriage, this was Why?

One of my musical projects, Return To Earth, had gotten signed by Metal Blade Records.  It was a proud moment in my life.  In the music industry, you don't get signed for the first time when you're 35, you get dropped.  It wouldn't change my life, but it would be a nice thing for a long-toiling musician to hang on the mantle.

We had released our second album the previous summer and now we were playing a local show with some friends in support.  One of those friends put the above flyer together to promote the show online.  Band Promo 101.  I had nothing to do with the flyer's creation besides providing the artist with the necessary text and info, then giving it the thumbs-up and posting it online.  It had to be done quickly and not look like garbage, that was my list of demands.

Two weeks before I stepped off the merry go-round, my wife called me at the house.  We were already having a lot of problems and she was in Florida visiting relatives.  Cooling off.  She was the one away and I felt like the one on vacation.  Dad was over, we were having lunch when the phone rang.

"What's with the Tit Flyer?," she asked nastily.  No 'Hello', no 'I miss you', just  

"What's with the Tit Flyer?" 

I could spend a few paragraphs defending the flyer's content just as I spent a full hour trying to talk my ex off the ledge about it, screaming at her over the phone with my father and my dog well within earshot of all of my compounded problems - the jealousy issues, the insecurity, the immaturity.  My lack of any patience or temperance for this sort of bullshit.  I was a beast when we argued.  I had become one.  Because I'd had this argument countless times before.  There was only one Tit Flyer, but there were a thousand Tit Flyer arguments.  I had these arguments before I got on one knee, before I walked down the aisle, before I spent my life savings on a future in Staten Island.  It wears you down.  It wears you out.  It changes you.

The show flyer was an "insult to our marriage," she protested.  But it wasn't the flyer that most insulted our marriage.  It was the person on the other end of the phone.  The woman I had some really good times with, the woman I chose to marry in spite of her problems, in spite of our problems.  The woman I wanted to rescue had turned the knife on me and I was tired of getting stabbed.

So I stepped off the merry-go-round.  And two years later, I am finally me again.  I am A Better Me.  The merry-go-round just goes 'round and 'round.  It never changes, never leaves its axis.  There are no surprises, it can get boring quickly.  My father isn't a particularly profound guy and he probably didn't realize it then, but that may have been the wisest thing he ever said to me.

So the woman left and I stayed in the house, stayed with the dog.  I kept the things that were rightfully mine, and then they all became major problems after Sandy, major headaches.  Part of my penance.  And I continue to grow in spite of them, they continue to be lessons as much as they can be labeled Hardships.  They seem to be all part of the plan.  Life is supposed to be hard sometimes.  And I have continued to heal, continued to grow.  And it's not because I was alone, because I freed myself from the shackles of a sometimes sub-par and damaged relationship.  I just wasn't in the right one.  I wasn't in the one that made me better.  I decided I was finally ready to grow.  To grow up.

For the past two years, I have not officially been In A Relationship.  But I am very far from alone right now.  And I am pretty damn happy.  And none of it would ever have happened if I didn't shed myself of all that weight.  Stepping off the merry-go-round didn't mean I would have to be alone forever, it just meant that this particular bumpy ride was over.  It meant that I could get on other rides and see where they take me.

I don't have to go round and round anymore, I can go up.  I still believe that's where I'm headed.  That step off the merry-go-round was just the first of many, the most important one.  There are still more steps to take, more journeys to make.  The future looks brighter than ever.  Let's go for a ride.

Mar 28, 2013

A Bold Move

What will it take for you to make A Bold Move in your life?  I've been asking myself that a lot lately.  I've been asking myself that ever since Sandy.  Because Sandy was a push, a nudge.  It was a message.  It's a test, it still is.  But where is it nudging me towards?  What's the message?  What sort of test is this?

For me, the message has been clear:  Work Harder, Live Cleaner, Positive Vibes.  Keep fighting, don't give up.  Because if you do, you're doomed, you're dead.  Be strong but give yourself your time to recover from all this, to prepare for the tough days still ahead.  You can't do 2000 pushups in a day even if you'd like to sometimes.  Your house won't be rebuilt tomorrow.  Relax.  Breathe.  Be brave.  Speak your mind.  Take chances.

I talk A Big Game in this space.  I spout a lot of cliches.  Am I just drinking the Kool-Aid?  Isn't it easier to go back to being complacent, to set lower standards for myself, for others?  Sure.  It's easier.  It's always easier to settle.  There's less at stake.

I guess that's why I write this shit down, because it would be so much easier to give up if I didn't, so much simpler to settle for what would be - at best - quiet mediocrity.  I wouldn't feel as accountable for the words I typed, the things I said, the promises I made.  I could just endure this madness alone, quietly, or maybe back in therapy.  The couple hundred or so of you reading this - friends, family, fans, complete strangers - are waiting to see if I'll come back from all this or just shit the bed completely.  Things can't stay static in my story, there is too much that has happened, too much still happening in what has been an uphill battle since the storms came and changed my life forever.  In a strange way, I need that validation.

It's like when I run.  I always time myself.  Always.  Because I always want to beat the time before, I always want to do better.  I want it recorded so I can go back and look at it in a month, and say 'Look at you go, motherfucker.'  I need that.  I need to stay hungry.  I need my hunger to be documented, otherwise I'll sit on the couch and eat ice cream in the dark and no one will be the wiser.

The only way you can begin to Kick Ass is to believe that you can.  If I need to reaffirm those beliefs in My Stupid Blog - if that's one of the things that helps me achieve what I need to achieve - then so be it.  So be it.  I don't mind.  I like to write.  Whether I know what the hell I'm talking about is up to you, the loyal reader.  Either way, I believe what I'm spewing - whether you think I'm a noble warrior or Batshit Crazy Hopeless, I thank you for reading.  Truly I do.

You're welcome, Ron.  It's easy to talk A Big Game, but can you practice what you preach? 

I can either become the man I want to be or I can become A Disappointment, A Sad Case.  You can drive a nice car, you can live in a nice apartment, you can get married, you can start a family, but you can still be A Sad Case - as a parent, as a friend, as a lover, as part of a team.  You can conceal it well, you can fool people for awhile, maybe forever.  But you can't fool yourself.  You have to be real in order to truly be great.  This guy knows what I'm talking about.

Thanks to Sandy, it's easy to label me A Sad Case right now, to feel bad for me.  I turn on NY1 and it's five Sandy stories an hour - all day, every day.  It's my neighbors on Staten Island, my fellow victims across this big city - still rebuilding, still fighting, still in trouble.  The rest of the media has predictably eased itself back into generally ignorant normalcy.  After all, Kim Kardashian wore three separate outfits yesterday.  Priorities, people.

Me Today, me right now - the jerk writing this blog at this exact moment - this is the Best Adult Me that has ever been.  This is The Most Real Me that has ever been.  And I believe the best is still to come, that The Most Real Me has the best chance of becoming The Most Successful Me, the happiest me, the most fulfilled, the most fulfilling.  There is still work to do, still a path I need to stay on.  And I'm right on course.  My fate won't be revealed overnight, not with all the moving pieces in my world right now.

And that's the test - Sandy's gift and Sandy's curse.  Patience.  We're all in a rush, especially here in The Rat Race.  We all have our crystal ball, where we see ourselves further down the Yellow Brick Road.  All noble sentiments aside, you can bet your ass your Magic 8-Ball will be far from accurate.  Odds are you won't wind up in your dream city with the perfect job, the perfect mate, the perfect life.  And if that doesn't happen - and it rarely does - what does that leave you with?  Will where you actually land, will what you end up with be good enough?  Will you be able to live with your regrets?

That's why it's time for A Bold Move.  Not tomorrow.  But soon.  Soon.  You can't just wait for things to change, you have to make them happen yourself.  You have to wear your heart on your sleeve.  You have to emote.  You have to produce.  You have to recognize that no situation can be perfect until you position yourself in a way to make it so.

I lost another co-worker this week, another decade-younger-than-me radio junkie leaving the nest - doing what I never did, what I should have done.  They kicked me out 8 years ago and I still didn't leave.  I came back full-time for 5 more years.  I was getting married, so I needed to put responsibility before risky business.  I was secure, it was a comfortable place, a familiar one.  I needed them to support me and they needed me to fill a particular role.  Things were okay even if they weren't great.  I settled, and 5 years later, I'm still not where I want to be, where I need to be.  It's like being the 25th man on the roster of a championship baseball team.  You know your role, you do it right, you don't screw up.  You're at the end of the bench but you get to be part of a quality team.  Maybe you steal a base or make a great catch in the playoffs and you become Homer Bush or Endy Chavez.  You gain little notoriety, but you can still show up at your cousin's Little League awards dinner and wow the neighborhood kids.

That's not good enough for me.  And it wasn't good enough for my co-worker, Loren, either.  Loren had a similar role on the show.  A lot of grunt work, little glamor.  She was clawing for airtime the way I did when I was her age, and I give her credit.  She worked hard, she put the time in.  She had a passion for what she did even if she complained about it as much as I do.  In our sort of roles, complaining - frustration - can be a birthright.  Loren is driven.  And now she'll be driving up to Boston for a more hi-profile position as my friend TJ's co-host in a very competitive market during a very uncertain time in our industry.  Most radio pros would not forecast good things for my friends' new show.  They're unproven in the roles they're about to take on even if they're proven themselves ten times over in the roles they have been in.  It's risky.  They were comfortable.  It's stupid.  They had security.  It's A Bold Move.

And I think it's great.  Because they had peaked in the roles they were in.  More than likely, in their current positions, this was as good as it was gonna get.  And even tho that's not so bad, it's not good enough for TJ or for Loren, either.  There was still a better option even if it wasn't the more practical one.  Risky business was the way to go.  It's symbolic, in its small way, of what I'm going through.  Only two things can happen:

1) They'll try really hard, they'll make an impact, and they'll ultimately fail.  They'll prove the experts, the doubters right.  And they'll still be okay, they still have the passion and skill sets to land somewhere else.  Even if they sputter out, they're both about to connect to a whole new set of people in the industry they want to work and thrive in who can help send them on more adventures, perhaps even bigger ones.

2) They're gonna kick some ass, they're gonna be great, they're gonna be industry stars.  They're gonna make their dent.  They're gonna make their supporters proud and their naysayers envious.  They're gonna sit down with the ratings in two years and look at each other and say, "Holy Shit, We Did It." 

Isn't that what it's all about?  Defying the odds?  Isn't it all about "Holy Shit, We Did It"?

Either way, they're gonna learn a lot about what they're made of, and that's probably the most important thing.  You'll never grow if you don't take chances.  I didn't talk to Loren about her departure like I did with TJ because I knew I'd hear all of the same things I heard from him.  Cliche things.  Big Game things.  "I'd be a fool not to take this chance for someone who believed in me, for believing in who I can become." 

Go dream the dream, you maniacs.  I'm pulling for you.

Loren and I enjoying the spoils of radio victory.
Me, I'm still feeling shackled by my own post-Sandy responsibilities, by my confused heart, by my concern that Time Is Running Out.  But these are also the things that make me most want to break free, to fly higher.  I have to.  I have to.  I'm not satisfied.  I'm not ready for A Bold Move but I feel destined to make one.  Not today, but soon.

A year ago, I was given a gift.  An opportunity, a chance to Get It Right.  You don't get these gifts often, they're fleeting.  Sometimes they only happen once in a lifetime.  Often, people don't even recognize these gifts for what they are.  Most of us think we have something coming to us, that we're owed things just because we exist.  I used to be one of those people.

A year ago, I wasn't in a position to fight for what I believed in, to earn what was put before me.  I was Damaged Goods.  I wasn't ready, I was unworthy - and so opportunity fizzled out before it could turn into Something Special, something wonderful.  It was a false start.  And it was a lesson.  Better to have a false start and ultimately finish strong than to stay damaged, stay static.  You can keep things the same or you can make adjustments and try again, try harder.

When I lost the first girl I ever really loved over a decade ago, I prayed for her return.  I prayed and prayed and prayed.  I walked into random churches and prayed, I knelt before statues in my bedroom with my hands clasped and talked to no one in particular - begging, crying, pleading for another chance.  I wrote songs, I wrote love letters.  And nothing happened.  I never got my second chance.  

I'm not a religious person.  I was acting this way because I felt I had no other alternative.  I was desperate.  And it was all a big waste.  Not because my prayers weren't answered - because, whether God exists or not, they didn't deserve to be answered.  I hadn't learned anything.  I was being selfish even after I was being punished for being selfish.  I should have been trying harder right then and there, should have been doing the work instead of expecting someone else or God or The Easter Bunny or Batman to do it for me.  Some people take longer than others to finally figure it out.  And some people never learn.

Things are different now.  I am different now.  I'm awake.  And that's the most important difference.  Because The Same Ol' Me was going nowhere fast.  He wasn't a bad guy, he had some really good qualities - but he needed some tweaks.  The Same Ol' You might be going nowhere fast, too.  We all need tweaking.  But do we all want tweaking?  I do.

And with tweaking comes a resolution to find the truth - in yourself and in your expectations, and in others, for better or for worse.  No more excuses.  You're not obligated to live your life in accordance with others, only according to your own expectations.

So what do you want to be when you grow up?  The same little boy or girl you've always been?  Is Self-Realization enough?  Are these words enough?  Action.  You have to take action.  Your life can't be a cliche or a sneaker company's campaign slogan, it has to be pure and true and honest.  It has to be yours.  I'm on target towards A Bold Move - maybe the pieces in my life will move to make it easier, maybe they won't.  It doesn't matter.  I'm in charge now.  Not Sandy, not contractors or Uncle Sam or FEMA or my parents or the girls I loved.  Not the ghosts of my past and not the uncertainty of my future.  Just me, right now.  Stay on the path, dummy.  Stay on the path. 

Mar 6, 2013

Redirecting The Meteor

Sometimes what's really going on in your actual life is too big for anything else, too deep to make writing about it seem like less than folly.  It pushes everything else into the background.  It's this meteor that has entered your atmosphere - hot as fire, massive, an unstoppable orb.

That's me right now, that's me tonight.  Not surprisingly, I want to feel the burn.

I'm a romantic.  If you look that word up in the dictionary (remember dictionaries?), you'll see words beside it like Imaginary.  Visionary.  Idealist.  All fair companions.  Because to be romantic, you have to have imagination.  You have to have a clear vision of the future.  You have to have ideals.

You have to have Big Ideas.

It has always been this way for me, and the objects of my romantic affections have always been girls.  I had a different secret crush every year from fifth grade through high school.  I was writing love letters, leaving mystery notes.  I was fantasizing, idealizing these lovely little lasses that I knew very little about.  But in reality, I never wound up with any of those girls.  I never kissed them or bedded them or took them to the prom.  Up until I was 20, being a romantic meant being a failure.  It was a source of pain and the occasional awkward moment - it perpetuated my shyness, it stunted my growth.

Things changed once I found a girl that was right for me, that I was connected to.  The love letters were given and received in equal share, the admiration and the feelings were finally mutual.  Romance became a rewarding sport.  It was eye-opening magic that made all that rejection seem like another guy's life.  When it all went to shit nearly 7 years later, I couldn't understand why.  How could this have happened?

The answers are always easy once you stop denying the truth and you start understanding it instead.  Romance can't blossom when it's drowned in lies.  If you're not true to your feelings, if you're deceptive to others, your relationships will never be full of romance, they'll be hard to maintain even if they seem manageable.  Instead, they'll be full of shit.  And yet it happens all the time.  It happened to me, it has probably happened to you.  For some of us, it happens over and over again.

We think we can live in denial, we can rationalize until we find a way to accept this fatal flaw as a little boo-boo instead of the massive head wound that it really is.  Most people live with it silently, they take stuff to the grave.  Others may take it to a friend or a therapist or to the nearest bar.

We all have secrets.

I'm done with all that.  I've been done with it.  It's an anchor, it's a curse.  I was doomed from the moment I stopped being a romantic.  I became a "guy."  A wolf.   I started working in two industries - music and radio - that bred wolves.  I grew up in the age of hair metal, where the prevalent themes were spandex, teased hair, and Getting Pussy.  Radio was less complicated, but no more noble.  Radio was the equivalent of Nerds Can Get Pussy Too.

So here I was on the assembly line at The Wolf Factory - girls were starting to notice me, they were starting to pay attention.  And instead of taking that at face value, I ate up the attention like a good little wolf.  I stopped putting the thing that was most important - the thing that made me feel whole - first.  I am not proud of that time in my life, a time where I should have been growing up instead of growing warts (writer's note: this is a metaphor. i do not, nor have i ever had actual warts).

I lost that passion.  I got too comfortable to realize that I was no longer doing my part to earn someone's passion in return.  And so it all went to shit.  Sometimes when it all goes to shit, you wake up.  Or you stay in that coma and you make more mistakes, worse mistakes.  With every misstep, a little more of The Romantic You flakes away.  The scars of acceptance start to form.  Your heart hardens.  You're still in denial about what needs to change.  Your self-doubt and secret shames compound and you start settling.  You start lowering your expectations - for a partner, or even worse, for yourself.  It's not just you, it happens to everyone.  It's a human epidemic, so it's okay.  It's the norm.

We are all weak.

And then the meteor appears.  Maybe the first meteor you ever really saw, maybe the last one you will ever see.  The meteor is this ball of fire, it's science fiction, a fantasy, an anomaly.  It has disrupted your complacent existence and you have no choice but to deal with it.  You can't run far enough away from something that generates that much heat.

More often than not, we don't ask for the momentous things that happen in our lives, whether good or bad.  They just happen.  It's how we choose to deal with them that defines who we are.  I have already dealt with a hurricane.  I have been asking myself over these past few post-hurricane months:  How do I handle a meteor?  And the answer I keep getting is: Bring It On.

Because I feel strong.  Because I need this change in my life, in my attitude, in my destiny.  Just like the hurricane changed things, just like Sandy did.  Sandy could have broken me, an already cynical down-on-his-luck dude looking for answers.  But Cynical Ronnie drowned in the flood, I let him die there.  He was no good to anyone.  Cynical Ronnie would have gained twenty pounds and grown a thick beard and ate ice cream for dinner.  He would have been a real dick.

I'm still dealing with Sandy.  In spite of all the headaches and setbacks, I have accepted it as a blessing of sorts.  My house will be rebuilt.  My life is far from ruined.  I feel lighter.  Things are happening that would never have happened if that dirty ocean water didn't come over for dinner and stay for dessert.

But Ron, how can you idealize something that destroyed your home, your possessions, that set you back financially?  Insurance is fucking you.  Your government is ignoring you.  Your Beatles albums are gone forever!

You can mourn that copy of Abbey Road that you still have on iTunes, or you can believe that something good will come of all this, maybe even something amazing, life changing.  You pledge patience and you shed yourself of all but the truth.  You get your shit together.  You feed your soul through a filter and you leave the dirt and silt behind.  Another romantic notion from a romantic idiot.

You take your drugs.  Running and writing.  That's what gets me through the days and nights, this winter of my discontent.  Running, like romance, takes effort.  It's catharsis.  It's good pain, it's stamina, it's a test. I have plenty of motivation to pound the pavement and I'm getting fit in the process.

It's also about commitment.  A year ago, I got on That Treadmill I Got To Keep In The Divorce and pledged to make proper use of it.  I signed up for the NYC Marathon to test my mettle - it was time to see what I was made of, to see if I could start something and finish it.  Because up til then, I couldn't finish anything - I kept failing.  And the only way not to fail is to keep trying, to keep going, to keep running forward til you reverse your fortune.  That's what running is to me - a romance.  I'm Rocky Balboa in my sweats and Adrian just came out of the coma and said "Win" and Bill Conti struck up the jazz band and I'm running up the steps with all those little kids in tow and I'm already feeling the champion.

My romance with running was supposed to end in November, right before my 38th birthday, when I crossed the finish line in Central Park.  This was a one-time deal.  A happy little chapter in my life that I figured would keep me in decent shape for the middle aged years to come, a time where most folks "let themselves go."

But sometimes romances last longer than you anticipate.  And so instead, there is unfinished business.  Would I still be banging out 12-15 miles a week in the cold and the snow if Sandy had never shown up and taken away my Marathon along with all my possessions?  Most likely not.  But that's what happened, and I'm riding the silver lining all the way to the finish line.  It has become just another blessing.  My body isn't screaming at me to stop.  Rather, it's inviting me to go faster.  And I'm obliging.  When you have as much on your mind as I do these days, running around in a circle for an hour can seem a real treat.

A friend gave me this card at my post-hurricane birthday party in Brooklyn four months ago.  What she wrote inside was very touching, as was her charitable and unexpected gift.  But it was the sentiment on the front that still sticks with me.  To me, it simply means It's Up To You.

Shit is gonna happen to you - your whole life, shit is gonna happen.  You're gonna literally step in shit, you might even step in shit figuratively.  You're gonna pile up a lot of shit in your life, too.  But how you deal with it, what you learn from it - It's Up To You.  If you get all your shit together - if you start believing that it's possible - your past mistakes won't matter anymore.  The future will appear less daunting.  Your history can't be rewritten, but that doesn't mean the later chapters can't be different, can't be better.  You might even find a little peace.  Your dreams might even come true.  More shit will happen, puzzle pieces will move, stars will align, a meteor may appear in the distance.  But at the end of the day, it's really all up to you.

I have learned some hard lessons these past few years.  I have lost some people I really cared about, that I felt connected to.  I have failed at a marriage, I have lost money, a house and a business.  But sometimes it's these little things - like this card I was handed on my 38th birthday, ten days after Sandy took everything - that really open your eyes to what you have gained, no less what you still stand to gain.

It's what lies within me - the romantic idiot - that sent this meteor hurtling towards me.  It's my music, my passion, my imagination, my ideology that has kept the fire burning.  It's me.  And that fuels me - knowing I can still be a bohemian dummy - that I can be who I am - and still attract something so bright.

And according to the card, it's What Lies Within Me that matters most.  It trumps both the imperfect past and the mysterious future.  It's The Biggest Deal.  And being passionate - about love, about music, about romance, about this meteor and all it represents - that's who I am.  There is no cure for it, there are only patchwork solutions.

Being passionate hurts.  Jusk ask Reznor, Yorke, Lennon.  Ask Beck and Prince and Marvin Gaye and Martin Gore.  Ask Stevie Wonder and Tina Turner.  No matter what great music or art or writing comes of it, it hurts.  The less you care, the less you pay attention to what your heart is trying to tell you, the easier it is.  But can you care less?  Is it within you?  Can you just shut it off?  Can you redirect the meteor or is it destined to crash land into your world, light you on fire, and change everything?

It's Up To You.

Feb 18, 2013

Saying Goodbye, Staying Connected

Why are you still here?  Why do you still care?  Why can't you say goodbye?

Two of my favorite people are leaving.

Joe Milazzo is a longtime friend.  I met Joe in 6th grade.  That was the year my parents pulled my sister and I out of the Coney Island elementary school we had attended and we wound up at our zone school in Gravesend, P.S. 215.  It was traumatizing, spending kindergarten through 5th grade with the same kids, the same friends, and then being traded to the local team during your farewell season.  It's tough for grown men, professionals - much tougher for an 11 year-old.  My sister cried that morning as we were ushered unceremoniously into two separate rooms of a new world filled with new faces and new challenges.  Making connections.  I was shy enough of a kid, this didn't make things much better.

Joe was one of those new faces, he was friendly and endearing and made it easy for me to fit in.  In our band class, Joe played trumpet and you could already tell that he had a knack for music.  When you're the new kid, all the cool instruments are already claimed, so I got to enjoy all the glamor and glitz of the trombone that same year.  Joe was the first kid I knew who listened to heavy metal - he lived two blocks away and would invite me over to listen to his Twisted Sister and Quiet Riot records.

As we got older, Joe and I floated in and out of each others lives.  We didn't attend the same schools after grade school, but we always ran in the same musical circles, saw each other at the same shows, came to each others to show support whenever we could.  When I started my record label in 2005, I signed Joe's band, Black Pig, to a very artist-friendly deal.  Because I wanted to work with a guy like Joe.  I've always admired his creative spirit - he's a talented painter and poet in addition to his musical endeavors.  But I've always recognized that Joe Milazzo was a good guy, too.  We signed a contract over some Peronis and a Rice Ball Special at Joe's of Avenue U and I put the Black Pig album out.  The album's title?  It Is What It Is.

This past weekend, I attended Joe's record release party in Brooklyn.  Joe's new solo album is all Joe - the recording, the production, the artwork.  He is a true DIY artist and he chose to release his album the night before he would be traveling to Cuba, where he will be spending the next two months of his life.  We shared some conversation and a few hugs, Joe told me he loved me and thanked me for how I had contributed to his passions in my own small way.  I told Joe how proud I was of him, that I admired his bravery and his Kung Fu attitude.

A few years ago, Joe went to New Orleans with just a backpack and just painted.  He was living off the land for the most part, and he'll be doing the same in Cuba.  Joe is of Cuban ancestry and wants to meet his family, discover his roots, paint.  He's also on a quest to find his grandfather's long lost paintings.  It takes a certain spirit to do that sort of thing - a romantic one - and I've never been that sort of adventurer.  I hope I will be one day, once I find someone to see the world with.  Joe reminds me of my Uncle Sal, who was always one of my favorite people on this planet.  My uncle was fascinated with genealogy - about finding out who he was, about why he was.  Before his untimely death, my uncle saw the pyramids in Egypt, zip-lined thru the jungles of Africa, went down the Nile on a raft.  He explored various parts of Italy and met a lot of our distant relatives along the way.

Before I said my final goodbye to Joe, I asked him if he would be staying in touch.  He replied that, among other things, going to Cuba was an excuse to get him away from exactly that.  Detoxing from it.  Staying connected.  Sometimes disconnecting can be the best thing you can do for yourself.  But in today's day and age - an age of social netstalking and touch-of-a-button access to virtual lives - it's a challenge for us all.  No matter your destination, it is always there.  And often, instead of bringing us closer to each other, it perpetuates the loss we're already feeling in our hearts, in our minds, in our souls.

TJ before he discovered hair products, me before I discovered I loved Scotty B.
TJ Taormina is one of my co-workers on Elvis Duran and the Morning Show.  We've known each other for ten years.  Last week, TJ asked me to step into his studio so he could share something with me.  Over the past 5 years, this has been a bit of a ritual.  "Hey Ron, can you come drop a line for this promo?"  "Hey Ron, can you sing a few bars for this thing I'm working on for my friend's birthday?"  "Hey Ron, tell me what you think of this intro I'm working on."

Last week was different.  TJ asked me to step into his studio so he could tell me he was leaving the show.  He was offered the opportunity to host his own morning show in Boston and he was taking the gig.  I was floored, but so excited for my friend.  I've always been flattered that TJ has invited me to participate in his projects, but I've been even more grateful that he has recognized my talents as an asset, even after he moved higher up on the radio food chain.  That sort of sensibility is rare in our industry and no one is more deserving of a big break than TJ.

Recently, TJ started dating someone special and she is going with him.  TJ is following his dreams and he has someone by his side to share this new experience with him, to be part of the journey.  I'm just as excited for him because of that part of it.  I told him that he had it all figured out, I told him how proud I was of him.  I told him to cherish this time in his life.  I wanted to tell him "Don't fuck it up," but that's the sort of advice a guy like TJ doesn't need to be given.

After sharing the details of his new gig, after explaining how surreal and validating what was happening to him was, we shifted gears and TJ started talking about me.  He was offering words of encouragement, telling me how talented he thought I was, how I had a lot to offer the show and how in spite of his absence, I could still thrive.  It's odd hearing someone ten years younger than you tell you that You Can Do It.  But it makes sense too.  I'm a late bloomer.  I'm just figuring it all out now.  I think TJ figured it out a long time ago.

Still, TJ is taking a big chance.  TJ is not coming back in two months.  He could have stayed a star here in Market #1, New York City.  He's a great product, a commodity - young, personable, intelligent, a student of the radio game.  He started as an intern at Z100 and he has grown leaps and bounds ahead of a lot of his compatriots, including me.  But radio is a tricky business and TJ could well easily fall on his ass up in Beantown.  No matter how bad he wants it, no matter how hard he works, this could turn out to be a misstep.  But sometimes you just have to roll the dice.  I don't think that's what will happen.  Because TJ has it all figured out, he is making a bold move and he's doing it with a clear conscience.

I didn't ask TJ to take me with him and I don't expect to fill his shoes.  I know we'll stay connected.  But I'm happy to see him go.  Because one way or another, TJ's departure is going to mean change not just for TJ but also for me, for my co-workers, for the show.  When someone makes a move on the chess board, it affects all the moves of all the other pieces, it affects their motivation.  TJ's leaving at a time where I've never been more motivated to get things right, to figure out what he's already figured out.

I'm still trying to figure out if I'm strong enough to say connected to my dog.  His separation anxiety has improved enough that I can actually go out on weekends.  But he is still a mess, a major expense.  I try to put it into perspective for my friends:  Imagine you got divorced, then your house got destroyed by a hurricane, and you decided that was the perfect time for you to adopt a baby and raise it by yourself.  That's what my Buttons experience is right now.  But I see it as just another challenge to be grateful for.  Because if I'm ever gonna have a kid, there is no better dress rehearsal than raising Buttons.  He is more than a handful, and he has been my second full-time job since my divorce.  I run him two miles every morning now and he still freaks out on the dog sitter from time to time, he still won't eat all his food, still cries when I leave, still drops a spiteful shit on the sidewalk a couple of times a week instead of going when and where I tell him to.  This is what having a baby is, except babies wear diapers instead of shitting on the sidewalk.  My dog tests my patience and my strength, and I need to be tested if I'm ever to have a family.  I need to be a man. 

It has become just another Bring It On situation.  Bring it on.  What's next?  I saw a lot of familiar faces at Joe's sendoff, and most ask how things are going, and you just go down the list - the house is still a cold hollow shell, insurance and FEMA are still trying to screw me, the dog is still crazy, dating is still uninspiring, love is still so close yet still so far.  But I always end my Ronnie Update on a positive note, just as I always seem to end my Ronnie Blog.  Because in spite of all this strife and all these problems, Ronnie is doing okay.  Ronnie still believes that this is all for a reason, that this will all get better.  Ronnie, somehow, still has hope.

At Joe's party, an old friend told me I looked like a teenager.  This guy and I barely ever cross paths, but when we do, it's just like yesterday.  We got talking about running, about how we both found it and have embraced it, how we consider it a fountain of youth of sorts, how it has played its role in my resurgence.  I've been running for almost a year now, nearly logged 1000 miles on the pavement, and it's now something I look forward to.  It never seems a chore.  When you find something that inspires you, something that you're good at, it's an unbelievable feeling.  It reminds you that finding someone that inspires you, who lifts you up and makes you a better man, is still the most important thing.

Later on at the bar, a girl I'd never met before told me I had a good spirit.  Women tell me I'm handsome now, that I have a nice body, and it fills me with confidence even when I'm not filled with any excitement for the girls.  Confidence is something I've lacked for most of my life, but no longer.  Because I feel handsome, I do have a good spirit.  I feel good about myself, I believe in myself.

Believing in myself isn't the problem anymore.  Believing in others is still difficult.  Because it's the love and affection, the support of the people in your life that can make all the difference.  But you've gotta be given the opportunity to show what you're made of, and some people rush out the door too quickly.  People enter your life and ultimately they all exit.  Some exit gracefully, some exit tragically, some are easily forgotten, there are always that one or two that are impossible to forget.

When people exit your life for a good reason, when they exit like Joe and like TJ do, it's a great feeling.  But when they exit poorly - suddenly, unfairly - how can you ever feel good about it?  Sometimes people hurt you badly on the way out.  We all have our reasons.  I have left more than one relationship because I wasn't doing my part, because even tho things were going well on the surface, I wasn't fulfilled.  I wasn't happy with the person I was.  I could have tried harder, I could have made adjustments.  But I was still lost, I was still fucked up.

But Ron....It Is What It Is.

Fuck that noise.  My kitchen sink residing in my bedroom is what it is.  Not finding a parking spot is what it is.  The weather is what it is.  Some things we can't control.  But we can control ourselves, our own destinies.  We're in charge of our lives, we're just weak.  I am so tired of it.  So tired of hearing people say, in so many words:  I'm fucked up.  He's fucked up.  She's fucked up.  That crippling acceptance that's supposed to justify your bad decisions.  How about you Get Yourself Right?  We're all flawed, man.  We're all fucked up.  Recognizing that is not supposed to be a crutch, it's not supposed to be an excuse for your mistakes.  It's supposed to be a revelation.  Do you want to stay that way forever?  Do you want to accept that bullshit from someone else and still move forward?  I tried that - for five years I tried and I wound up miserable because of it.  Shed that weight and your world will change.  Otherwise, you'll always be stuck in the mud.

The first step is becoming aware of what it is that's really holding you back.  A lot of people never wise up to it, some of us never evolve.  If you recognize what needs to change, only then can you truly be saved.  But if you recognize it, and you still don't change it, that's the most tragic thing of all.  Because you're so close.  Because self-awareness, being able to look inside yourself and be willing to take a stand, that's a gift.  Often it's someone else who enters your life and opens up your eyes to what you need to do to get right, that pushes you to the peak of the mountain rather than secretly gasping for air halfway to the top.  We can be gifts, too.  We need each other, we need help, we need support.  Very often it's love that makes us rise up, that can change the game.  But love is not enough.  Love is the flower you've got to let grow.  You can't pluck the petals and put them in your pocket, it's not the same thing.

Very few people understand the magnitude of what has happened to me this past year and they will never understand.  And that's okay.  Because it's my life, my loss, my pursuit of happiness.  I don't need anyone else to understand because I understand.  I finally understand.  It took nearly four decades, but I get it now.  I know what matters most, I knew it before the hurricane washed most of my world away.  The storm just reinforced what's most important - chemistry, self-worth, love, hope.  Not fixing all the broken stuff inside my house, rather fixing all the broken stuff inside of me.  Getting yourself right.  Staying connected to the people that matter.  Never giving up on them.  That doesn't mean things will turn out the way I want them to.  But I'm finally on the right path.  Nothing seems too daunting, too difficult.  Anything is possible.

My friends Joe and TJ are on that path, they're both inspirations.  They're doing it the right way, the honest way.  They're taking chances, pursuing their passions, making something of themselves. They're not settling.  The minute you settle for less than you deserve, you get even less than you settled for.

If I've learned anything from all this recent devastation, it's that it's never too late to get your shit together.  Before the heartbreak, before the hurricane, I had a decent little life - good job, money in the bank, record label, house, dog.  But I was broken, I was still a coward when it came to certain things.  I'm no longer afraid, and if I can be brave, you can too.  Say goodbye to the worst parts of yourself and you'll never have to say goodbye to the things you want the most in this life.  It's not as hard as you think it is.  You just have to do it.

So do it.