FlyOver Country

First and foremost, let me apologize to my dear readers (both of you).  If anyone else happens to stumble across my work here and wonders at my absence from posting, lemme 'splain.

Life.  Life happened.

Seriously, it has been a bit hectic of a time for me in the last two months, September especially.  I've had to make tough choices about my employment and where I'm living (hint: it's related to employment), I've done some additional not-for-leisure traveling, I've borne witness to and stood in support of my friends having tough times with additional issues, and oddly enough, may even have loved and lost a person I've never met, but with whom I'm told I formed a perfect match.  Some truly scary and nerve-wracking decisions.

Perhaps worst of all (okay, not really an impact on my life and lack of writing, but it sort've works as a tie-in and introduction, so just hear me out) is that America's unlikeliest zen master recently passed after a long and fruitful life. Lawrence "Yogi" Berra died recently, leaving our world a bit more logical, but a lot less colorful.  I've long believed that the epitaph on his grave marker should read: "I really didn't say everything I said."

"No! Really!" (source)

This is especially humorous to me largely due to the fact that he isn't known to have ever actually said that - or half of the other things often attributed to him - but he saw enough mirth in it to make it the subtitle of one of his published books. But that's the irony of it, and perhaps the magic of it too. Yogi was always eminently quotable, especially since his funny witticisms didn't entirely make good sense; it was always the thought behind it that mattered most.

Perhaps this is the primary reason why my good Friend quoted a large passage of Yogi's that discussed fear. On this topic, my Friend quoted Yogi as having the following to say:

Everybody's got fear. Everybody's afraid something bad is going to happen sometime. That's life. But what's important is that you don't let it stop you from doing things, taking risks. Every decision is a risk, every choice leaves a choice behind. You can't let yourself get paralyzed by the fear of what might go wrong. (from What Time Is It? You Mean Now?: Advice for Life from the Zennest Master of Them All)

So it is that I've made peace with my choices in these last couple months regarding my own livelihood...when I wasn't regretting not writing more for this blog.  The whole thing left me fairly introspective regarding a wide variety of other things, such as my faith and the Church (here having the big C, meaning the Christian faith generally, and its various adherents), my friends, their friends, and their ongoing tour aboard the Struggle Bus, and my (non-existent) love life.

You know, the small things.

The first two things were fairly easy to resolve.  It's definitely been the third that's taken most of my time and attention.  I do not claim but one regret in life, and it's unrelated to romance, but I know myself to have been notoriously thick-headed where love abides.  Well, I won't sell myself short; I'm still notoriously thick-headed.

It's a big reason why my friends have regularly attempted to play matchmaker for me, usually without my knowledge. And not always with my blessing, either.  Don't get me wrong; I enjoy that others are looking out for me.  I just usually prefer to forge my own path as it regards romance.  I've just been remarkably bad at it.

Some years ago now I came across a diary of mine that I had long-since stopped using.  (My time as a diarist has been spotty, as you well know now, though I seemed to have a particular fervor for penning the most ridiculous things during junior high and early high school.)  I read through it and noted with a great deal of envy - and hindsight, honestly - how happy and naive I had been regarding my high school romances.  Such trivial things pleased me in the greatest of ways.

But this post is about Fear, not how dreamy I may or may not have found certain females in my high school.  Answer: Not at all...ish. At the very least I never actually used the word 'dreamy'.

Given that hindsight, there are a significant number of choices with regard to my love-life I would have made differently, had I not been so fearful of the consequences that I know now aren't so serious. This has always been my version of kryptonite; I've always been too afraid of rejection, of what other people might say, to have ever been confident enough to have taken the necessary risks. I, unwisely, let my fear stop me from doing things and experiencing life. If I gain those experiences, perhaps I overcome more fear as I find things don't go as poorly as I've imagined they always would.

Again, though I don't have any regrets, I do often find myself playing the What If? game. On my mind recently has been one particular encounter I had a decade ago, probably more, where I had returned to a familiar place for a vocal concert and spent the evening entranced with a particular dark-haired, bright-eyed, and altogether lovely soprano. I did not realize until some time later the identity of this woman, and that I had known her as a youth, though at the time I found her to be a bit snotty and a rather ... rambunctious young girl.  I suppose she was given a bit more leeway back then as her parents were often busy caring for her sibling who was, I think, afflicted by a developmental disorder (I assume the sibling remains alive, but I've been so long out of contact with the family that I haven't the foggiest and would not presume to make the alternate assumption. Is that a result of these sorts of disorders? I refuse to speculate further without adequate foreknowledge since I realize that I, like a certain ill-begotten young man by the name of Jon Snow, know nothing.).

Wait. I swear I've heard that before.(source)

My current self wishes I could reach back in time and smack my youngest self so that my slightly-older self would have thought to have made it a point to talk to this beautiful woman.  She had become graceful, lovely, and, erhm, well-behaved...I suppose. As my vivid memory chokes to life under the heavy cloud of dust, I realize that even this description does her a great injustice. She seemed kind and responsible, a well-leveled head atop alabaster shoulders. My memory of her as a child was being blown away as quickly as leaves before a stiff autumn wind as I watched this woman. I let the moment pass, and only recently have I realized how much more I could have, probably ought to have, done.  I don't mean to suggest I deserved any outcome, but I ought to have at least tried for my own sake.

But would anything have come of my approaching this young lady after the concert?  Would we have lightheartedly reminisced about our wilder younger years (occasionally I must publicly maintain the fiction that I had wild years; I suppose I must've been a terror for a rare minute or two at some point as a toddler), all the while falling madly in love and making plans for an admirably long life together?

Extremely unlikely.

The point, however, is that I never even made an attempt. I let my fear control me and hold me back from taking the necessary risk. Nothing may ever have occurred, but what if it had? I will never know.

This is something with which I know, I know, my Friend never struggled.  I know she always had the confidence to make the hard choices, even if it took her some time to consider all the options. I know that if she ever encountered a decision that needed made, she would make it. It's just one of the many ways that my Friend has done and continues to inspire me.

I haven't had much opportunity to flex these new-found muscles of risk to build my confidence, but I'm trying.  At some point, I hope to be able to approach an alluring young woman, look her straight in her beautiful, clear eyes, and, in the words of the late preeminent philosopher Mr. The Notorious B.I.G., "ask what your interests are, who you be with, things to make you smile, what numbers to dial."

You know what?  This is also extremely unlikely, but you get the gist. When we come to a fork in the road, we should all do as Yogi recommends:

Take it.

Friends, my apologies.

Rather than sticking with the more difficult themes my dearest Friend contemplated, and largely because I am only recently returned from vacation and lack the proper motivation to tackle the mentally weighty, I have decided to make this post about something a bit more ... playful.  Or at least a whole lot less serious.

Today we're talking odor.

[whispering] "j'Hodor HODOR" (source)

Well, fragrances, at any rate.  And how it is that the major personal hygiene companies (coughProctor&Gamblecough) can't seem to leave well enough alone.  I suspect that this may be a bit more prevalent problem among the males, but we all probably experience some version of this.

Have you ever found a particular fragrance - especially of cologne, antiperspirant/deodorant, soap, etc. - that you especially enjoyed, only to have your hopes for a pleasant-smelling future dashed before your eyes like so many well-staved barrels by Saxon marauders?

I have.

From time immemorial, the adult men in my lives wore a very specific scent of deodorant and aftershave; Old Spice is literally the reason that many of us exist.  (Well, okay, so not literally, but without it, our far-more-musky forefathers wouldn't have been so alluring in the eyes of our still-powdery-fresh fore...mothers (is that a thing? I'm making it a thing.).)  For the last several years Old Spice has even described their "Original Classic Round-Stick Formula" deodorant, as well as other antiperspirants, colognes, aftershaves, and sprays containing the well-known fragrance, this way: "If your grandfather hadn't worn it, you wouldn't exist."

Our grandfathers and fathers knew what they were getting, how it smelled, and how it would perform.  And best of all, they had no reason to expect that they would ever have to go without.  It was precisely this sort of predictable, quality, satisfactory excellence they sought.

So it was, needing to resupply myself with a classically-scented antiperspirant (unlike my father who prefers the original formula deodorant, I require something a bit more potent) and with a determined gait, I strolled into my local Target, down to aisle A-28 to make a right-hand turn, prepared to make my selection of whichever strength antiperspirant they had in the "classic" scent.

Wait, whoa, hold on.

"Lois, this is not my Batman glass." (source)

First, a brief word about the "revisionist" history of the "Original Classic" nomenclature.  There was a time - not really even all that long ago, since I was a still a kid - when it was simply just Old Spice's deodorant or antiperspirant; no other additional modifiers or descriptors were needed since that fragrance was synonymous with Old Spice.  You bought Old Spice, you knew what you'd get.  That they've had to label it as the "Original Classic" seems indicative that they're trying to distance their current product offerings from their past, as if they're ashamed of it but have had to bow to the overwhelming demand of virtually all males aged 40+ and continue to produce it.  Or, because the current marketing gurus think that they'll get more of today's young men/flies with flashy ad campaigns/honey.  Heaven forbid these kids accidentally buy something that their fathers and grandfathers wore!

Anyway, returning to the conversation at hand regarding the sheer volume of choices I encountered, have you tried walking through your local drug- or bigbox-stores' hygiene aisles recently?  There are more choices there than in a Crayola box.  (Speaking of which, holy crap guys! Did you know there's a box with 152 crayons?!  I can't recall anything larger than 64, but I'm off-topic again.)

In addition to the now-ubiquitous Axe selections, there are also a plethora of Old Spice's newest offerings like "Bearglove", "Lionpride", "Wolfthorn", "Hawksbush", "Amberlair", and "Goldlamp"...some of which I've made up; can you spot the real ones?  Way down at the bottom, as if trying to hide, are the typical, somewhat standard, scents and styles.  And yet, absolutely NO original scent antiperspirant, of any strength; only the round-stick formula of their "heritage" deodorant.

I suppose that when you're attempting to market your product to the "under 24" and probably even to most of the "25-34" demographic while battling The Axe Effect (in 2012, Axe literally promised to "help you with the girls" as shown in the linked video), you've gotta try some new stuff.  But what the hell do these scents even mean?

I can't really tell you what a bear smells like (uh...the woods, rotting berries, stale cave-air, fresh dirt, and fetid, stinking, raw fish?), let alone what a Bearglove smells like (probably exactly like a bear, but with the added funk of bear-sweat...yumm?).  How am I supposed to choose which of these I'll prefer in the absence of my cherished-but-now-apparently-abandoned classic scents?

I could go to the Old Spice website for a definition.  Here's how they describe the scent of Bearglove:

Can you imagine a powerful, fearsome grizzly bear who can repair military helicopters and also speak confidently about important world affairs? If not, you may not be ready for this Antiperspirant deodorant.

Sheesh. (source)

My Friend had this to say on the subject of ambiguous scents, and specifically on borrowing "Eucalyptus and Harmony"-scented Febreeze:

My first reaction: What does "Harmony" smell like?

Just because it's a noun doesn't mean it smells like anything. It's not like "meatloaf", or "fresh baked cookies", or..."eucalyptus". Harmony is not a scent. Some genius in the marketing department over at Febreze decided that if they put the word 'harmony' on their packaging, it would draw stressed-out Americans in. What perhaps they didn't realize, though, was that they might sell more Febreze with the scent 'harmony' just because curious minds want to know what in God's name 'harmony' actually smells like.

While I am fairly curious - I could stand there and open all of them, sniffing each in turn, and let's be honest guys, we've pretty much all had to do this at some point - it seems that the far better choice would be for P&G and the other manufacturers to give their fragrances more informative names.

So there I stand, thinking about all these damn kids loitering about in the deodorant aisle/lawn, blaring some new-fangled, hip-shaking music, and cutting off the traditional customer base from the classic fragrances due to their incessant need to apply some chemical that supposedly makes women find them attractive, before they themselves ever make it to what I'll called The Age of Old Spice.


Pulling up your damn pants is a big start to being attractive to the opposite sex. I once read somewhere that most women - and I mean actual women, who, in the words of the preeminent philosopher Big Sean "tend to own shit on their own" - actually detest the various Axe smells.  They don't view the wearer as some sexual icon they need to chase, paw at, or devour, but rather as some crooked-hat wearing dude-bro who has too high an opinion of himself without much in the way of actual accomplishments.

It's a beautiful irony.

But regardless of the demographic they target with their ads, men of all ages living in polite society use their products.  Shouldn't it make sense to retain at least a few of the traditional choices to satisfy and keep your longest-tenured customers?

I don't have all day to stand here and sniff different sticks of gel/cream/spray/paste to determine which smells the most like a man and the least like some abstract concept, a bouquet of roses, or some sugar-coated cake.  That will take too long!

And besides, the Lawrence Welk Show rerun will be on air soon!

First, let's begin with a quick synopsis of her entry.

In her discussion of "passions" she provides an anecdote about a friend of hers: "[t]his friend, let's called [sic] him/her "Sam," for practical purposes, was passionate about...let's call it... "olives". [I work well with food analogies.]"  It would seem that Sam's passion of olives drove him to nurture his own olive grove, to strive for great olive-based innovations; his life was wrapped in, made from, and centered around olives.  He eventually follows his passions and takes a well-paying job at an olive farm, which he eventually comes to loathe, the stress ever-increasing, his ideas sitting idle, and his passions subsiding.  He leaves the olive farm and follows a wholly different path, becoming a "park ranger" (a job wholly unrelated to olives, it would seem) and thereby choosing what my friend labels the contented life rather than the passionate one.

"Sam; heard you looooveolives.  Here's some gloves and a basket. Get pickin'!"  (source)

So begins her introspection.  She wonders if following our passions to their fullest is wise, lest they fail; conversely, should we choose a more contented life without burning through our passion. She posits: "Is it worth it to pursue one's passion to an extreme as Sam did, risking every ounce of enthusiasm he had for olive-tending, and losing it all? Or should one find a job from an interest that is not fueled by the fire of passion, but could lead to a content life in the long-run?"  She continues on, discussing her own passion for concert piano, recognizing the difficulty in turning that into a lucrative career and wondering if she ought to have pursued it, perhaps risking her fervor in the process.  She counters by wondering if, not having followed her passion to a musical conservatory, she has preserved her passion, holding it in reserve for more personal reasons, instead to follow a likely less passionate, but more stable career path.

Returning to our own conversation Rockers, I think this is something we've all wondered.  Do we have a passion we can translate to our productive lives, thereby risking our very interest in it should we fail or become burnt out, or should we reserve this passion for hobby, seeking instead to apply our talents in another field?

I'll relate my own brief anecdote on this choice.  My brother-in-law, the story goes, was an incredibly talent rifleman at a fairly young and tender age.  He had spent time at camps for training purposes, had competed in tournaments and showcases, and ultimately had the opportunity to pursue a "career" (I use this term loosely, as I'm not sure this fits with our common notion of what a career is) in riflery, competing for national teams and in international competitions.  He too faced the dilemma of whether to pursue something he clearly had a talent for and passion in, or to retain it as a hobby to continue enjoying it rather than making it a job, and to pursue some other course of productive employment.  He chose the latter, as did my friend, and seems the happier for it.

My friend likewise chose the later, and while many of us lament her not having continued playing as much as she could have, it seemed to have been the right choice.  Her talent was reserved for her personal enjoyment, and her passion for it was not lost.

Okay.  So we've got the background information set in.  I've considered the answer - assuming there actually is one - at great length.

If I have a great passion for something, I seek to maximize my enjoyment in that thing.  (Example: I greatly enjoy hamburgers, pasta, and cake, and have dipped my toes in that well plenty often enough; it's why I now am looking into gym memberships.)  But whether and how I should follow this passion is a question that only raises more questions.

(source)

Firstly, for me, it's important to know my talent level in that particular passion.  Personally, I have a great passion for baseball, hockey, and golf.  To my great dismay, my talent level does not match my passion for these things, and I know that I will never be quite good enough to turn this into my livelihood.  On the other hand, consider virtually any famous athlete; not only did they have a passion for the sport that is now their profession, but they had the talent to make it happen.

Secondly, if I have the necessary talent and the passion, is doubling down on those going to cause me to begin not enjoying it?  That is, will engaging in my passion as a job reduce the enjoyment I get out of doing it in the first place?   Why did I begin engaging in this passion to begin with, and why do I enjoy it?

Perhaps the example with which I'm most familiar is that of a professional athlete, the passion for the sport and their employment in it as a profession, best exemplified I think by the somewhat cautionary tale of Anthony Kim, PGA golfer (a more complete retelling of this story can be found here, which includes the many complexities involved).  The short version is that Kim had achieved three PGA tour victories before turning 25, had competed very successfully in helping to win the 2008 Ryder Cup and 2009 Presidents Cup, and had a career that was looking up when he suffered a significant injury.  He has not played on Tour since 2012.  There is apparently a disability insurance payout well north of $10 million if he is unable to continue playing competitively.

So it begs the question - as asked in the above-linked article - "Does AK want to play anymore?"

It is clear he had the talent and could be successful at it, and at some point he had the passion.  That the passion might have been in large part to his father's dominant will may have led to the collapse, if indeed AK no longer has the passion for golf he so very clearly once did.  But as we cannot ask him, we cannot be sure whether it is (a) the worry that he will not return to the Tour and earn enough to compensate for the loss of the insurance payout, or (b) that he simply does not enjoy it as a profession any longer.

For me, these are the predominant questions as it regards what to do with my passion: (a) do I have the requisite talent to carry my passion to fruition?, and (b) in doing so, am I in danger of losing sight of why I enjoyed my passion in the first place?

I think that if (a) can be answered in the affirmative, and (b) in the negative, then you should pursue your passion, but both must be answered in that way.

In my own life, while I could answer (b) in the negative (the opportunity to work at hockey, to participate and struggle as a member of a team, in pursuit of the ultimate goal of winning the Stanley Cup, is definitely something that could drive me without causing me to lose sight of why I enjoy it - because competition and teamwork and success are important to me), I cannot answer (a) in the affirmative.  I simply am not blessed with enough talent to compete at that level.

Alternately, if I could indeed answer (a) in the affirmative (take the example of "Sam" or my brother-in-law), I would still need to be able to answer (b) in the negative or risk turning my passion into just another job out of which the enjoyment has leaked, relegating my passion into so many sad, deflated balloons.

Cue sad trombone noise.  (source)

But in its essence, and something I think my friend picked up on, is that it's a question of risk.  Am I willing to risk losing my passion in the pursuit of what I think will be its ultimate fulfillment? If things don't work out, will I be able to replace my passion with another, or will its loss have a long-term negative impact?

Essentially, as pointed out far, far, far above (apologies, Friends; this post took on a life of its own), the ultimate question seems to be whether we should take the "safer" road, keep our passion intact, and aim for a contended, balanced life, or dare greatly with the result of either succeeding greatly or failing greatly, but perhaps leading a life of imbalance?

(Note: As you will eventually come to know, I have an admiration of Pres. Theodore Roosevelt the man, though not necessarily the politician.  He had a particularly inspirational speech about daring greatly and risking greatly, so as to avoid residing "with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat", but I believe that to be a quote more about commitment to a choice, rather than selection of the choice; or at least not about so fundamental a choice as one about our very livelihoods. Once we have selected our paths, I think we should be bold in committing to them wholeheartedly.  That said, I do recognize it's possible application in this discussion about passion as well.)

These are things we can never answer with any real surety.  There are so many factors that play in that it's at best unwise to forge ahead without considering them.  But similarly, it would be unwise to let them bog us down for too long, paralyzing us.

Maybe we should not play so cautiously. Perhaps we ought to dare more greatly and follow our passions.  But I personally will always suggest that a little caution is pragmatic.

I have no idea who Marcus Buckingham is (The Google tells me he is a British author and motivational speaker), but he has this to say:

Passion isn't something that lives way up in the sky, in abstract dreams and hopes. It lives at ground level, in the specific details of what you're actually doing every day.

I think for that reason, because our passions - because know that they run a spectrum and may come in a variety of colors, flavors, etc., and are not either entirely yes or no, black or white - are part of our daily lives and form who we are, what we do, and how we view the world, we should strive to deploy them with a bit more of a well-reasoned philosophy than with the sort of reckless abandon that produces stupid things like "#YOLO".  In fact, because we -OLO, we should take a little more care with the fundamental choices.

On the other hand, if we're talking about cake, well then that's different.  We only get so many chances to eat cake.

And we can always sign up for gym memberships.

I have attempted a number of times to write this particular post as the kick-off and re-christening (I may continue to use nautical references from time to time based on my affinity for all things pirate) to this new and improved version of my blog.  All those times have failed...until now.


When I first started this blog, I had big plans to really dig deep into the philosophy I was learning while attending The College of William & Mary (Go Tribe!).  But the more time I spent learning about those social and political theories, the more I realized I was always going to be under-qualified to speak about them in any particularly deep or educationally meaningful manner.  Especially on a blog.

You see, I am not some old Greek man with a long, flowing white robe and/or beard; neither am I a Renaissance scholar with my funny looking hat and Latin name that seem out of place for my time period.

Ridiculous hat, check.  Unnecessarily Latinized name, check.  Smugness is a bonus.

What I am is a scholar of life, though not a particularly accomplished one having only been studying these thirty years.  And yet, because of my life's classroom thus far, I have lived and learned.  Perhaps most important are the people I've met along the way.

One of the most naturally gifted philosophical and intuitive people I've ever met, I met at W&M...while she was a student.  A long white beard would not have done her justice.  A little digital ink needs spilled on behalf of this friend.

She was two classes behind me in school, but a million classes ahead of us all in life.  She was intimately familiar with pain and sorrow, both in her early life and far more recently, but unbounded, relentless joy and a nearly unwavering positivity in life were her constant companions.  She probably understood life and people as well as anyone ever has, and she was courageous in challenging the status quo in a productive, thoughtful manner; she was no rebel, but certainly a skeptic.  She was brilliant, she was sarcastic, she was beautiful, and amongst it all, she was humble.

And most unfortunately, she was with us for far too short a time.

But even living on only in our memories and hearts she still manages to find a way to keep us inspired, rational, positive, and loved.  She always gave of herself first, before all else, sparing no thought to consequence or opinion or appearance.  If it was the right thing to do, she did it.  She was equally altruistic - never seeking reward, recognition, or reciprocity for the good deeds she performed, often unbeknownst to us - and hedonistic - always seeking life's pleasures (especially dessert, and extra especially cake), ethically and without impairing anyone else's pursuit.

This last lesson might be her most important.  It is precisely why I intend to use what scant writings she's left behind to begin a sort of philosophical blog-school in her name and honor - so we can all benefit from her plain-spoken, common sense approach to life, love, and happiness.  I suspect she would have agreed heartily with the words of Siduri, a character in the Epic of Gilgamesh:

"Fill your belly. Day and night make merry. Let days be full of joy. Dance and make music day and night [...] These things alone are the concern of men"

She is the inspiration for the semi-serious aspect of this blog, but she will also bring the behind-the-scenes inspiration for a lot of the humor and levity.  She always provided those in great supply.

And also plenty of cake.