715 5th Avenue

For 8 or so hours Monday to Friday (and 5 or so hours every second Saturday), it's where I work.

It is the 15th tallest building in Calgary.

And at 5:40 am, it is where a man whose name I didn't catch woke up.

I had two mandarin oranges in my pocket - my breakfast for the morning - and they became his breakfast. I didn't stay to chat - he was picking up his things to move, and seemed to be in quite a hurry - but I've been thinking about him all day.

Who is he?

Whose son is he?

Was he ever in love?

How did he end up here, smelling of booze and urine and shit, angry at everyone, including a rather ordinary man just wanting to share with him ?

Where was he going in such a hurry?

Does anyone miss him?

And some other, more heart wrenching thoughts . . .

When was the last time he was hugged? When was the last time someone took his hand in theirs, stared deep into his eyes, and told him he was loved for who he was? When was his last kiss? His last happy thought?

And, you know, you don't have to be homeless to be miserable - for all I know, he loves life deeply and was just bitchy that I woke him up. But what about those who live in these houses all around me, those whose laundry I do at work, who have never lacked for anything yet find themselves always wanting more . . . who are ever eating but never full, always drinking but always thirsty, who deny themselves nothing yet have nothing to show for it . . .

Sometimes I just want to give the world a hug.


My friend Ernesto died recently. When you're 27, you shouldn't have to worry about cancer, but there he was, coming to our little meetings every Tuesday night, with the kind of hard questions most Christians are too timid too ask. To be a part of his journey is one of the greatest blessings of my life, and I look forward to seeing him again soon. One of the last times I saw him, he gave me a sword, both because I had recently shared that it was something I wanted to have more than anything else (more on that later), and because he was letting go of things that he had treasured too much for too long. He got it, I think, and I'm trying to realize it more every day - the fullness of a life isn't measured by how much we can keep, how tightly we hold onto things. Rather, it's about how freely we let things go, how liberally we share.

And so, if tomorrow should find me with two mandarin oranges - my breakfast for the morning - in an alley near 715 5th Avenue, and I see my friend, then those oranges become his.

Oh, the things I think about at work . . .

T-Swizzle

Yeah, I know.

Taylor Swift.

This is not going to be one of those creepy "she's the cutest thing ever" kinda things, or a rant against her Grammy's duet w Stevie Nicks (which was pretty bad) . . .

I blame Poreotics.

Go ahead - youtube "poreotics love story" and watch any of the videos w/o the judges comments (or with, if you're into that). Catchy, no? Got the song stuck in my head. And I like it now.

While some of the more cynical in this world may have written off fairy tales as wishful thinking at best and downright harmful at worst, I tend to think they reflect deep seated desires in both men and women. This kind of thinking doesn't originate with me, but that doesn't make it not true. It takes far too much energy for me to remain coldly detached and distant from my heart, and it's a slow kind of death. It is a Miss Havisham execution of a wounded heart.

So while it would perhaps be less risky to give up on romance altogether, that thought has never really crossed my mind. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, after all. Understanding romance in a healthier way? No brainer. Saying a proverbial good bye to love? Never.

Granted, I may seem foolish for thinking that I am / will be / have been involved in an epic love story that unfolds a little more each day, but oh well.

Oh, and the title? While you're at youtube ( I will be hurt if you do not go), check out her collaboration with T Pain.

papa

I want to be a dad, a father, a husband - not in a desperate, my life is over if it never happens kind of way. But I know it's in me to be one - it's a very real part of who I am. I would still live a full and contented life if I never marry, never have children, never start a family - there would just be less people that I spend those precious moments every day with . . .

Now, perhaps you ARE married, and HAVE kids, and you're reading this thinking - you know what, Greg, single life is lookign kinda good right now : you get all that time to yourself, you don't have to worry about feeding other mouths, you don't wake up in the middle of the night because your kids are crying, you don't have to be a peacekeeper / referee / judge and jury / chef / lover / confidant / locked-in-a-death-grip-for-blanket-supremacy every night.

And while it's true that there are things I enjoy a lot about being single (the eating schedule is nice and flexible, and I don't wait for the shower at all), I also blog a lot more. Right now, in my little basement suite, there's just me.

Now, despite how lonely that sounds, (and pathetic . . . yeesh), I'm not really lonely. Just anticipating, looking forward to with expectancy. I can't wait to be a dad - I'm going to, no worries.

Sometimes something as simple as an Office episode can unleash something from deep within us.

small

Last Saturday, after work, I sat on a bench at the bus stop I needed, put on my headphones, and listened to some Sigur Ros and Explosions in the Sky. Maybe it isn't music for everyone, but on a relatively warm, relatively quiet Saturday afternoon at the end of February in downtown Cowtown, I don't think there is anything better. I usually hate urban areas - it feels so lifeless and inorganic to me, so cold and unmoving, imposing itself where it does not belong. But Saturday was good.

I felt really small then, but in a good way - if that makes any sense. All around were buildings where people who live all around me for miles come and use skills and abilities they've been learning all their lives to do a job that doesn't require them to the exclusion of everyone else with a similar skill set. And all around me were condos, apartments, and less sightly living habitations, where tired people lay down tired heads after another day in the other buildings doing that job that does not need just them among the other qualified people, and while working at this job doing things that seem important each day but lose meaning when you try to describe it to others, maybe they ask questions about who they are, where they are going, if they should have asked her to the prom, if they should have taken up that yoga class, and if betting their savings on the Colts was worth it. OR maybe they think about how thankful they are, living and breathing and enjoying another day of a life deeply lived, thankful for their family and for the way they can provide for them while meeting their own needs for meaning in a job . . . maybe they think about how they are just one pay cheque away from getting their son that bike, or taking their daughter to England, or how it's already 4 and I can't wait to go home and kiss my wife and hug our little 2 year old twins.

Every day, there are so many stories unfolding all around me, and sometimes it blows me away. It makes me feel small, in a good way - if that makes any sense. Usually we seem geared to strive for recognition, the spotlight, attention, our moment, praise. We want to be big. We want to MEAN something - whatever that means.

But being small and being okay with that, getting a glimpse of how you fit into the Bigger Story and liking what you see, well, that's a good thing. To me. And even more wonderful is getting to be a part of another's story, especially if it is a beneficial role.

I want to have my eyes more open to the beauty of the stories left untold in the routine of day to day.