It's simple, in that complicated sort of way...

No Is An Answer

I grew up in a family where the word "no" meant no. "No is an answer," was a mantra that I'm sure can still be heard late at night, when the earth is still, echoing softly down the hallways of the house my brother and I grew up in. It didn't mean stamp your feet and things will change. It didn't mean whine and you will get your way. It didn't mean pout and little "yes seedlings" will sprout into a big ol' "yes tree".

It meant "no". It meant "deal with it". It meant "Get outta my sight if you're going to cry about it".

I forget that other people didn't grow up this way.

When someone proposes something that doesn't agree with my sentiments, direction or intellect at the time, I say "no". And of course, since the word "no", when it comes from me, reflects how I grew up with the word "no", it means "no". It doesn't mean badger me. It doesn't mean piss and moan. It doesn't mean keep reiterating points of why I should say "yes". Because all that means is that most likely my "no" will turn into a "fuck off", we'll get pissed at one another and I will be viewed as a dick.

Now, I've been called a dick before and maybe sometimes I am. I'll admit I can be moody. I'll admit I can be unpleasant. I'll admit I don't have all the answers all the time. But, because I am stubborn- nearly immovable and often impassive- arguing with me on my "no" stance is futile. It only makes me want to say "no" further.

I hate being pressed. Which may be adolescent of me, but it makes me feel like I am being bullied. I made a choice that, after high school, I wasn't going to be bullied anymore. Bullies make me afraid. When I get afraid I get angry. When I get angry words get spoken or actions get taken that sometimes are not agreeable to all parties involved.

I also cannot stand whining, pouting and foot stomping. I wasn't allowed to get away with it as a child, I'm certainly not going to be too empathetic when an adult does these same things that I was punished for as a child. It just doesn't sit with me. Pull up your big person pants and deal with it. Simple. Uncomplicated.

I'm not defending my justification at saying no to a particular point. I'm defending my right to say no, and that no is an answer. And I am also adamant that, when I say no, I am not telling someone they cannot do something, I'm simply telling someone there is something I do not want to do.

Go forward without me if you wish. I won't mind. You certainly have that right.  But, if you're going to stick around, for chrissakes, please don't pout, badger or whine. That's not fair. I'm hard, but I believe I am fair.

What do you think?

Lucky. Really.

So many things I could dwell on lately. What shall we talk about in this episode? What piece of moral fiber shall we flay from the fabric of society?

I have no idea.

Last night a friend of mine told me I was lucky because I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I suppose in a sense that is a relief. I know that I want to write for a living. However, that's not the only thing I want to do in my life and "writing for a living" has posed significant financial and operational hurdles in its own right.

It's amazing how other people see us sometimes. It is important to take lessons from that.

Now, I'm fully aware that I am fortunate being. I come from a good family. I live in a free country. I can read or write whatever I want and not be tortured or killed. But there is a responsibility one must give to life when it treats you well, at least in my opinion. You must return the favor.

That to me is sometimes a chore. Of which I'm fully aware should be the very last thing it should feel like.

I want to do so much. I want to go to so many places. I want to try, taste, feel, experience. Sometimes I'm so focused on experiences that I forget to simply experience my experiences. That's fucked up. Life could easily pass me by!

I also make mistakes. Some of them have been monumental, life-altering or buried in the muck of  moral perjury. I carry my fuck-ups on my shoulders like a sack of bricks. Which is silly and foolish. I don't know where it comes from, but I have my suspicions. Forgiveness is a powerful enterprise. One I have not yet mastered. But I am trying and some days the sack is much lighter than others.

I don't always feel these things this way. Some days drift by without goals, appointments or measures of achievement; usually when I'm out surfing. Some days are extremely rewarding in terms of work. Some days are extremely rewarding in terms of love, children and camaraderie. Some days its great being me. Most days really.

And then I feel I must get back to work. I know I shouldn't take it so seriously. But I feel like I've wasted so much time already. Now is the time. Now I'm ready. For now it goes slowly and I inch toward tiny destinations across a wide swath of landscape. Maybe that's the way it will always be. Maybe one day I'll be less driven and more chill.

Maybe one day I'll finally realize that the journey is the destination.

Maybe... shit, who really knows? Life is an endless well of possibility. It would suck if it were any other way. It's just nice to be called lucky once in awhile.

Perspective. How simple. How complicated.

How Much Does Money Matter?

The writing gig isn't going so great right now. I'm in a down phase. My new website is being constructed. My copywriting clients owe me about $2700. The people I was going to do my next job for ended up as missing persons on Hilton Head Island and the main person of interest in the case allegedly committed suicide. (No joke.)

Did You Know Digression: Even on the days we struggle, somebody out there is having a worse day.

But, that's what this freelance gig has been since I've started; a roller coaster of love. Admittedly, when I do get paid the checks are steadily getting larger as the clients get bigger. When I can get the clients. And they don't disappear.

Now, I have other projects I work on that will hopefully net me an income in the future. But, unfortunately, "future income" doesn't pay the bills. Nissan won't accept I.O.U.s as car payments.  (Bummer.) So, I am forced to come to terms with a conundrum... which is really big word for the phrase "you're fucked".

Bob Bly is a legendary copywriter in today's world. He is also a wealth of information, shares it relatively freely and is generally an extremely nice person. On his recent blog post he posed the question, "Are you a broken man (or woman)?" Citing rabbi Shmuley Boteach's theory that, "the broken American male's only criteria for success is professional success, how much money he makes, how many things he acquires, how far up the ladder he climbs."

So, am I broken? Which leads us back to my conundrum: It's my dream to be a freelance writer for a living. Right now it's very difficult for me to make a living as a freelance writer. When do I throw in the towel and take the money?

I could give up and go work for a corporation possibly. We are teetering on the edge of a recession, but it's relatively possible that I could get a job in the advertising world. I'd probably have to move to a city.

I could give up and go back to tending bar. You can make a pretty nice living tending bar if you keep your head above your vices and don't let people get to you. (Easier said than done.) But I would always know that I quit on my dream. Especially when it felt so close.

I could try and tend bar part time. But I'd have to find a job that let me out at midnight instead of 3 or 4 in the morning so I could still function in the daytime. I'd also have to not let people get to me.

I could keep plugging along and writing. There is plenty of potential and a little bit of savings left.

Money matters. But how much does it matter? What's the price of giving up on a dream? Is my only criteria for success professional success? Or is it okay to want to establish a foothold in my professional realm so I can live a successful life of love, commitment, philanthropy and travel without having to worry about finances ALL the time like I do today? I've never needed a mansion, but I do need a roof.

Personally I don't feel like a broken man. I feel like I'm struggling. It's not professional success I care about, if it was I'd be working in a cubicle for benefits, a salary and plenty of room for upward mobility. It's something larger, the need to live my dream.

Broken people don't fight, they've already given up or given in. Broken people submit. If I quit on my dream, then I'd be broken.

But I don't know. What would YOU do if you were in my shoes? Would it be simple or complicated?

The Rules

When I was in Peru one of the wildest things I had to quickly get accustomed to was the traffic. To me, the traffic resembled a scene out of a Mad Max movie. I may have even accidentally asked directions to Thunderdome in my pathetic Spanish. Sure, there was a flow to automobile movement, but within that flow it seemed like everybody did whatever the hell they wanted.

I don't remember seeing any traffic lights. People didn't come rolling to a stop; usually they slammed on their brakes quickly. City streets looked like the chaos of an ant hill boiling over. Up in the mountains our drivers (even our bus drivers) careened around sharp corners which held no guardrails and sheer drop offs, desperate to win some race I had no idea we had entered or ever saw the trophy for.

Horns constantly honked. Crossing the street was akin to taking your life in your own hands; there were even signs that literally said so. And yet I never saw one accident, or saw anybody get pissed at anybody else. Crazy, right? I can hear the movie preview guy's voice now, "In a rogue nation... where the rule is, there is no rule... people still survive. To drive..."

Now, I'm certain there was a code to the seeming anarchy. Human beings can't live without structure. Even nomads and gypsies have routines, a moral code, certain obligations within their sub-cultures. The United States, for a free country, is very structured. After all, we must make sure our freedoms don't impair or subvert the right to someone else's freedoms. We could get sued that way.

My job as a copywriter is full of rules. Full of suggestions, methods, observations, opinions. Yet, from my study of successful marketing campaigns it seems as if somebody took the rules and twisted them into anarchy. Initially, Subway execs didn't want to use Jared. Starbucks doesn't use tag lines. The Aflac duck tested poorly at first. Apple produced one of the most successful Super Bowl commercials this year without saying a word. They just pulled their new computer out of a business envelope and showed the world how far, technologically, they had come. How simple. How brilliant. Everyone remembers it.

I fully realize we need to acknowledge the rules of business, culture, traffic, etc. to function. But instinct and gut reactions must never be dismissed. Most memorable marketing campaigns stick to one thing and do it well. Its called the USP, Unique Selling Proposition. A product can have many USP's; a coffee mug is easy to pick up, keeps your beverage warm, is easy to clean. But people are going to remember one the most: a coffee mug holds coffee, for instance.

Bill Clinton won his presidential campaign because of this saying in his office, "It's the economy, stupid." It reminded him, everyday, of the USP in his bid for president. "Where's the beef?" "Have a Coke and a smile." "No, but I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico." "Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese on a sesame seed bun..."

Keep it simple out there. Don't get too complicated. Sometimes going with the flow still means you can pretty much do whatever you want as long as you don't hurt someone: like in the case of Peruvian traffic.

Evan Tanner

I've been involved in some form of contact sport for 20 years. When I was 13 it was pee-wee football. I still remember coming off the corner and hitting their running back behind the line... and then practically getting run over and hanging on for dear life until help arrived.

In high school and college I played lacrosse. What those years taught me about being a man is immeasurable. In my twenties and thirties I've played rugby and dove into mixed-martial-arts (MMA) when there was a school or teacher available.

I've learned quite a bit in 20 years of physical contests. Undoubtedly, and with great humility, I know I have only scratched the surface of understanding. But, a scratch is a start and, for now, I am quite comfortable with that.

One of the things I have realized is that size doesn't mean shit without heart. You can have the biggest thighs or biceps in the world, but if you can't take a hit, or can't swallow pain then you will turn from a giant something into a giant nothing. I admit that I find joy in taking the heart out of a player. Especially a bigger player.

It is not a joy that mocks those that fall. I have too much pride in myself and respect in the contest for that. It is the joy of self-knowledge. Here we have met on the field of play, in a sport we are trained in, the odds are even... or sometimes in the other player's favor due to the size difference, and my work ethic, my will, my technique beat yours so badly that you have nothing left to give.

I have taken my lumps, to be sure. Some of the beatings were bad. But they were merely tests. It was Life asking, "Will you get up again?" Getting to your feet makes all the difference in the world. Perfect records mean you've never been matched up properly; you've never truly put yourself to the test. It's always in your losses where you find out what kind of person you are. It's in defeat where your mettle is forged.

It seems like sports rhetoric, but to the men and women who live it- in and outside of tracks, rings and fields- resiliency means everything. The proudest I've ever been in a rugby match is when I took an elbow to the head and preceded to get run over in the first 5 minutes of play. I was utterly embarrassed. But I got up. Later in the game me and my opponent met again. This time I won. Truth be told I began beating the shit out of everyone that came near me (within the rules of the match, of course) after being so embarrassed. I was Man of the Match that day.

Resiliency.

This past weekend Evan Tanner came off a two-year absence to fight Yushin Okami in a 185 pound match up at The Ultimate Fighting Championship in Columbus, Ohio. I have always been a fan of Evan Tanner's. Some guys hate getting hit. Other guys will take it because they know they get to hit you back. Tanner is the latter. It's called "heart".

Tanner was a former champion at the 185 pound weight class in the UFC. He's fought the best in the world. He's been bloodied and pummeled and battered. Other men's hands have been raised after a contest with Tanner, but Tanner has never been a loser. He might have lost the fight, but his opponent had to earn it. And his opponent was going to be almost as sore as Tanner over the next few days. (A "w" always makes things hurt just a little bit less.)

Tanner had a lot riding on this fight. To him it was his biggest to date in a long and storied career. And he was fighting a stud. Okami is considered one of the strongest and most well-rounded fighters in the weight class. His next fight will probably be a title shot.

Tanner is a humble guy. A searcher. A worker. An honest guy you point out to your kids as a role model. Tanner has also been an alcoholic for the last 15 years. The two years it was really bad, the two years that nearly ended his life, were the two years he was out of MMA. He hasn't touched a drink since last October, when he quit cold turkey.

As the fight wore on Okami started to find a home for his left hand in the second round. Tanner, being the experienced veteran he his, was getting frustrated with his mistakes and took a step back to regroup. When they engaged again, Tanner's one, two combos were off their mark. Okami was a step ahead of Tanner.

But battle is a fluid entity and if you want a list of things that aren't going to work, refer to your plan. Tanner needed a new tactic. He clinched with Okami to minimize Okami's strikes. Tanner started working Okami's gut and chin with right uppercuts. But Okami was a veteran fighter, strong and experienced. Okami threw a perfectly-timed knee to Tanner's temple and Tanner's legs buckled. They tumbled to the mat together.

To see what kind of man Tanner is, how big a heart can go, go to www.evantanner.net and read the blog post dated March 4, 2008. I can't wait to see the 37 year-old put the gloves on again. He's the definition of a warrior.

I'm honored to watch a guy like him. Victories and losses are where we find them, it's simple in that complicated sort of way.