Monday, June 30, 2008

Goodbye to you...

High School.

I remember hating it. I remember wanting to escape. I remember feeling alone. I remember the torture of walking down those halls every day. Yet, even though I can remember feeling like that a few years ago, a part of me can look back and appreciate the simpler times.

A friend of mine died over the weekend. I can recall spending hours with him and an entire cast of people working on One Act Play. I can remember rehearsing lines and laughing about weird costumes we found backstage. I can remember goofing around on the bus between performances and I can recall dominoes at our director's house. Even more, I can recall sitting around with the cast watching the news about the invasion of Iraq.

Why did I feel so unhappy back then? School was always easy and I was done with my day at five. In retrospect, I had some great friends who made me laugh and some really wonderful ones who held me when I cried. I regret letting petty fights, over petty issues, get in the way of me enjoying high school.

As soon as I heard that Tim had died, I did not call my college friends. Instead, I turned to those people that I took for granted for four whole years. And it was they who understood my fears and my sadness. And it will be them who hold my hand at his funeral and comfort me as I cry.

Why can things only be clear in retrospect? I wish that I could have understood how precious those four years were. I wish I hadn't been so eager to escape them. I wish I would have savored late nights on the sandbar. I wish I would have savored nights on the back of a four-wheeler. I wish I would have savored walking the high school track with friends. I wish I would have savored my last high school football game or my last day of school. Instead, I don't recall many things because my mind had already traveled beyond high school.

I hope you rest in peace Tim. You were the type of person who lived each day to its fullest-- always smiling, always laughing, always looking for the positive in each situation. I hope I can learn that from you.

So in just a few days I will travel back home. I will spend the fourth of July with old friends. We will pop fireworks, grill burgers, and have a drink or two. Then we will sit around and talk about our fondest memories of Tim. We will probably laugh. We will probably cry. But I can guarantee you that I will not take those moments---or those great people from my past--- for granted.

Goodbye Tim.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Living Your One Shot...


I recently went to Washington D.C. and visited Arlington cemetery. The sun pelted down as I viewed the endless rows of marble tombstones. Suddenly, the name FLETCHER caught my eye. I got off the tour bus and hiked back to where the tombstone laid.

There is was. My beautiful family name in this beautiful place. I ran my fingers over the cold stone and wondered if the craftsman who carved it knew the person it denoted. As I walked around the monument, I realized that this man's family was buried with him. His wife, son, and daughter surrounded him in death. I walked around the tombstone marveling at all four graves, feeling the stone on my finger tips and the breeze in my hair. My younger brother came and grabbed my hand, "Do you think we are kin to him?"

In that moment, I felt kin to him. Not in the kind of way that bloodlines can define, but I felt kin to him in the sense that we both were in this place, at this time, together. I squeezed my brother's hand and told him, "Yeah. I bet we are."

As we walked away to find our family and our tour bus I took special notice of the view from Arlington House. I could see where both Kennedy's were laid to rest, I could see the sky scraping monument dedicated to Washington, and the top of the Capital building loomed in the distance. I took in a deep breath and tried to imagine how I was connected to everything in this city, in this country, in this world.

We all live by a common truth-- We get one shot at it. We have a short number of years to leave our mark on this world. We can leave behind a small tombstone, a giant monument, just laws and regulations, or the feeling of holding of someone's hand.

I'm already 21 years in on my one shot-- I got to start making it count.