A reputable boxing site just published an article of mine. I don't give a shit if you know nothing about boxing. This is a big deal to me! Check it out:
http://www.eastsideboxing.com/news.php?p=4956&more=1
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Distant
She told me that all the way back when she was a child, she had picked out her first daughter's future name. I laughed and said that I wasn't sure if "Emily Kate" went well with an Italian name like "Perillo". That didn't matter, she said, because she was the mother, had picked out the name in advance, and besides, Emily Kate fits in just fine in the South. This is true, I said, except that I wasn't sure if I wanted to settle down in the South, even though that's where our children's grandparents would be. Leave the South? I was crazy, she thought.
We came from very different places.
A few moments later, we kissed on her front porch. The combination of the moon-lit sky and the fog lights made her face shine even moreso than usual. I rubbed my thumb gently past her cheek, stopping the tear as it cascaded down her soft, pure skin. We knew that the time would come again soon when we could see each other, when we could be together, but what was merely 3 weeks always felt like 21 days. I told her I loved her. She loved me too, she replied back. Then I got into my car and drove away, ready to travel several hundred miles back to school.
The wedding took place on a beautiful fall afternoon, in the very church she had grown up with. It was a church I had come to know better once we started dating. I never felt comfortable there, and I knew I never would about 5 minutes into our first Sunday school class together. I had to bite my tongue after the teacher said in passing that "Gore had the same agenda as bin Laden." Nonetheless, I continued to frequent this church because I knew it was important to her, I knew it was important for us, and I knew that I loved her genuinely.
She deserved to get married in such a beautiful place, though, particularly a place that loved her and understood her so. This was the day she had waited for, a day we had talked about years before. On the third day of our romance, we were making out on my parents' couch, and she pushed my shoulders back, stared me in the eyes, and made it very clear.
"I won't have sex with you unless you marry me," she whispered with the sharpest of conviction.
And on this fall afternoon 4 years later, she could wear that ivory white dress in full honesty. She's always been a wonderful person. I wish God made more people like her. She deserved that day, to walk down her aisle as the women stood open-eyed and the men stood open-jawed at her beauty. I'm sure that deep inside she was beaming as brightly as her famous wide smile. Finally on that day, those magic words were spoken.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride."
She got a kiss from her true love, a man who deeply loved her, a man more than willing to wait, a man who wanted to stay with her in the South, a man who was ok with Emily Kate.
I was several hundred miles away, back at school, a wedding invitation sitting safely on the top corner of my coffee table.
Three years ago, as I drove away from her house for the final time, no U-turn in sight, I thought about how the distance affected our relationship. I didn't attribute the distance to our breakup; there were several rational reasons for that. What being so far away from her did, however, was make the relationship unfairly draining on us both. It was hard to take a break from studying so I could talk to a picture of her after she got home from the gym. It was hard only being able to offer distant words of comfort when she felt scared and helpless. It was hard to drive hours every third weekend to see her for 2 days. It was hard to see her cry when I drove away. It was hard never having a rhythm to the relationship. It was hard to face facts that our relationship could not flourish until one of us was willing to move.
But it was hardest to let go once we realized that we would never do that for each other.
We always stayed on good, friendly terms. Months after our breakup, I thanked her for all the lessons I got from her and from us. I felt blessed for knowing her in such an intimate way. Never before did I have a clue at what it took to make a relationship work. Who ever does, I suppose, but at least I had a better idea now. I was happier with her than I ever had been before, and I was so grateful for our chance to grow together.
But I also told myself that I would never put myself in that position again. I had learned enough about long-distance relationships to decide that I couldn't tolerate the pain that came from always saying goodbye to the one I loved, talking more frequently to a speaker than a beautiful face, with no realistic image of a future together. Any distance could only be short-term. I wouldn't put myself in the position to fall in love with someone I knew I'd never be with.
We had gone on a few dates before, but I had never seen this look on her face. She was far and away the most mature woman I'd ever dated, and I'd always looked at her as this controlled, grounded woman. But on this night, as I warmed her in my arms after hours of incredible conversation in the chilling rain, I saw as giddy and innocent a grin as I'd ever seen. She had been holding in exactly how excited she was to see me. I felt the same. The bond was growing stronger.
On the side of the couch were my dress shoes. I slid them back on my feet, ready to leave her apartment and bid her goodnight. I told her I'd call her in the morning. She knew I meant it. She thanked me for a wonderful night, for all our time together. I was so thankful I had bumped into her on that fateful April night.
Just as I was getting ready to kiss her goodnight and walk out her door, she took a pause and pondered on one thought.
"I wish you lived closer."
We came from very different places.
A few moments later, we kissed on her front porch. The combination of the moon-lit sky and the fog lights made her face shine even moreso than usual. I rubbed my thumb gently past her cheek, stopping the tear as it cascaded down her soft, pure skin. We knew that the time would come again soon when we could see each other, when we could be together, but what was merely 3 weeks always felt like 21 days. I told her I loved her. She loved me too, she replied back. Then I got into my car and drove away, ready to travel several hundred miles back to school.
The wedding took place on a beautiful fall afternoon, in the very church she had grown up with. It was a church I had come to know better once we started dating. I never felt comfortable there, and I knew I never would about 5 minutes into our first Sunday school class together. I had to bite my tongue after the teacher said in passing that "Gore had the same agenda as bin Laden." Nonetheless, I continued to frequent this church because I knew it was important to her, I knew it was important for us, and I knew that I loved her genuinely.
She deserved to get married in such a beautiful place, though, particularly a place that loved her and understood her so. This was the day she had waited for, a day we had talked about years before. On the third day of our romance, we were making out on my parents' couch, and she pushed my shoulders back, stared me in the eyes, and made it very clear.
"I won't have sex with you unless you marry me," she whispered with the sharpest of conviction.
And on this fall afternoon 4 years later, she could wear that ivory white dress in full honesty. She's always been a wonderful person. I wish God made more people like her. She deserved that day, to walk down her aisle as the women stood open-eyed and the men stood open-jawed at her beauty. I'm sure that deep inside she was beaming as brightly as her famous wide smile. Finally on that day, those magic words were spoken.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride."
She got a kiss from her true love, a man who deeply loved her, a man more than willing to wait, a man who wanted to stay with her in the South, a man who was ok with Emily Kate.
I was several hundred miles away, back at school, a wedding invitation sitting safely on the top corner of my coffee table.
Three years ago, as I drove away from her house for the final time, no U-turn in sight, I thought about how the distance affected our relationship. I didn't attribute the distance to our breakup; there were several rational reasons for that. What being so far away from her did, however, was make the relationship unfairly draining on us both. It was hard to take a break from studying so I could talk to a picture of her after she got home from the gym. It was hard only being able to offer distant words of comfort when she felt scared and helpless. It was hard to drive hours every third weekend to see her for 2 days. It was hard to see her cry when I drove away. It was hard never having a rhythm to the relationship. It was hard to face facts that our relationship could not flourish until one of us was willing to move.
But it was hardest to let go once we realized that we would never do that for each other.
We always stayed on good, friendly terms. Months after our breakup, I thanked her for all the lessons I got from her and from us. I felt blessed for knowing her in such an intimate way. Never before did I have a clue at what it took to make a relationship work. Who ever does, I suppose, but at least I had a better idea now. I was happier with her than I ever had been before, and I was so grateful for our chance to grow together.
But I also told myself that I would never put myself in that position again. I had learned enough about long-distance relationships to decide that I couldn't tolerate the pain that came from always saying goodbye to the one I loved, talking more frequently to a speaker than a beautiful face, with no realistic image of a future together. Any distance could only be short-term. I wouldn't put myself in the position to fall in love with someone I knew I'd never be with.
We had gone on a few dates before, but I had never seen this look on her face. She was far and away the most mature woman I'd ever dated, and I'd always looked at her as this controlled, grounded woman. But on this night, as I warmed her in my arms after hours of incredible conversation in the chilling rain, I saw as giddy and innocent a grin as I'd ever seen. She had been holding in exactly how excited she was to see me. I felt the same. The bond was growing stronger.
On the side of the couch were my dress shoes. I slid them back on my feet, ready to leave her apartment and bid her goodnight. I told her I'd call her in the morning. She knew I meant it. She thanked me for a wonderful night, for all our time together. I was so thankful I had bumped into her on that fateful April night.
Just as I was getting ready to kiss her goodnight and walk out her door, she took a pause and pondered on one thought.
"I wish you lived closer."
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Victorious in Defeat
Going back to my elementary days, I've seen countless people that drew my awe because they were just so "cool." As I got older I found myself more and more attracted to these people, though the factors that created this aura of coolness had no doubt changed. When I was more rapidly maturing, I soon recognized that not all who appeared cool actually were; many merely hid behind an image, a mirage whose beauty slowly but surely dissipated as it was more closely approached. I began to notice that not everyone who was cool fit the same bill. Many, in fact, had images that would normally be perceived as anything but cool. They could wear glasses, tuck in their polo shirt, have a big ketchup stain on their jeans. It didn't matter what they looked like. When they spoke, and when they acted, I knew.
You know what made these people ones I'd want to be with, ones I'd want to be? They knew who they were and wore it on their sleeve. They were confident, not in an outward bragging manner, but their words and actions were honest and convicting. There was no effort in hiding their true selves, in creating any fictitious or magnifying image. Far from flawed they were. Just as important as knowing who they were, they knew who they weren't. What separated them from the rest of us was, just as important as holding no reservations in showing who they were, they held no reservations in showing who they weren't.
Do not confuse the person who acknowledges his limitations with the one who is defeated. A fine line exists between the defeated and the determined. Both acknowledge their shortcomings, but one takes a more positive outlook, looking for how outcomes can change, how to better their situation, how to better themselves. They may end up in the same place as the defeated, but the determined get their with heads held highly, prepared for the next journey.
You know what made these people ones I'd want to be with, ones I'd want to be? They knew who they were and wore it on their sleeve. They were confident, not in an outward bragging manner, but their words and actions were honest and convicting. There was no effort in hiding their true selves, in creating any fictitious or magnifying image. Far from flawed they were. Just as important as knowing who they were, they knew who they weren't. What separated them from the rest of us was, just as important as holding no reservations in showing who they were, they held no reservations in showing who they weren't.
Do not confuse the person who acknowledges his limitations with the one who is defeated. A fine line exists between the defeated and the determined. Both acknowledge their shortcomings, but one takes a more positive outlook, looking for how outcomes can change, how to better their situation, how to better themselves. They may end up in the same place as the defeated, but the determined get their with heads held highly, prepared for the next journey.
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