Open letter to a friend

This is kind of like when we drove out to see Haley's Comet at 4:00 in the morning. Remember?

As we drove to Lake Afton Observatory, we passed a car on the side of the road. We didn't think much of it.

It was so cloudy that we couldn't see the comet through the telescope. The car was still there when we drove by again an hour later. We thought the guy had a heart attack or something and we stopped to check on him. Turns out, he was just sleeping (or something) and jerked awake when we went to check on him. We scared the crap out of him and he scared the crap out of us when he roared out onto the highway. He probably thought we were going to carjack him. We laughed the whole way home. I still tell that story.

We missed the comet, and much like that, I missed the opportunity to see you one last time. You'd probably tell me, laced with realism, something like "I want you to remember me when I was strong and we had fun."

You're probably right.

I'm so sorry I didn't get to tell you all of this in person. I couldn't come for the candlelight ceremony. I drove down to Wichita hoping to see you either Sunday or Monday.  My rotten luck... I missed getting to see you. Your Mom said you were wiped out Sunday after the candlelight vigil and they were getting you ready to go home.  I missed the serenade Monday because I had to get the boys back home to Kansas City.

So here goes with the stuff that I wanted to say.
First of all, some of the Sig Ep alums were trying to come up with a way to honor you, and we decided to steal the DG anchor and take it to your Mom's. For several of us it would be a second offense, we decided to go a different route.

Instead, we're going to have a memorial placed at the Pavilion of Heroines at the Center for Women's Studies on the WSU campus. Probably more mature. I'm writing the bio, so your legacy is kind of at my mercy. (Insert maniacal laugh and villain-y mustache twirl here.)

Of course, I'm kidding. Don't worry. I'm going to tell people how great you are, because I know you would never do that. But I will, because in addition to the legacy you've created with your students, I want other people to see what you meant to us every day. I'll let someone else choose the photo, though. 

Something you probably don't know.
I still have the copy of "The World According to Garp" that you gave me for Christmas when we were freshmen. It's one of my faves, along with "To Kill a Mockingbird," "Catcher in the Rye" and "On the Road." I'm going to finally write the book you always said I should write, and I'm going to dedicate it to you. You've been as much a part of my career choice as anyone, and you are definitely the inspiration for wanting to get this done now. You chose to change careers and now, I will also. So, if it gets published, you get the dedication.

As I've watched you go through this battle with such grace, I so admire the woman you are. Not only have you raised awareness, you have helped each of us prepare. You truly are a teacher.

I'm so glad I got to spend a few hours with you when I was home back in the spring. I'll miss our frenzied text message conversations, and those occasions when we got to see each other.

This isn't the way I wanted to let you know how I feel, but I'm fairly certain that you know anyway.

I'll never forget you. I am honored to be your friend. If it exists, I'm certain that you will have as special a place in heaven as you do in my heart.

I love you, Kelli.

Joel

Addressing the Midlife Crisis

I've been thinking a lot lately about becoming a grown up and I'm not handling it well. Growing older is inevitable to be certain, but it's time for me to get a grip on things.

The responsibilities of adulthood are the price
we pay for the beauty and joy of being a child.

That thought just stuck in my head yesterday. Sounds like a quote from Whitman or Frost, doesn't it? But it's not. It's mine. I'm thinking of having some t-shirts made. Or maybe one of those posters with a cool stock photo of a kid riding a bike or blowing the stuff from a dandelion.

Not to get all philosophical or anything, but I'm not where I thought I'd be at this point in my life. But dreams of playing in the big leagues for most has to remain that... a dream. Just like Doc Graham says in 'Field of Dreams.' Incidentally, my dreams of baseball glory were dashed when my high school coach cut me because he didn't know what to do with a guy who could handle pitchers, but couldn't really see to hit and could time his 40-yard-dash with a sundial.

I know that's a longshot, but I thought I'd be in New York or Chicago or LA writing commercials and print. Who knew that I'd finish school at the exact time that package goods advertising hit the skids and print started its decline. I always had the journalism degree to fall back on, but if you get fired from the big paper's advertising department, there's not much chance of writing for the news department.

Don't get me wrong. I've got a pretty good life. The suck factor is pretty minimal. I have an amazing wife and two great kids. I have a really cool, but pain in the ass dog. I have a job... and let's just leave it at that.

Lately, though, I've been trying to figure out where my dreams now lie. You can call it a mid-life crisis, but I don't think there's a Harley in my future. I keep asking for one, but Ashley says no way. (Meanie.)

I think it's because I'm missing the innocence of youth, the power of dreams and the thought that I could just pack everything I own into one carload and see what happens next. Maybe it's time to re-read 'On the Road' and Kerouac can set me straight once again. It's also been a while since I've read 'Catcher in the Rye,' which I used to do every June.

I miss being cool. Or at least what I thought cool was. Maybe I never knew what cool was, but at least I did cool things. I performed with an improv troupe. I went white-water rafting. I wrote poetry. I traveled through Scotland and Ireland for three weeks with no plans or reservations. I hung out. I fished and hunted and drove country roads till I got lost. I watched storms. I met people. I felt like I was involved.

Will doing those things again make me happier? Probably. I think it will. Maybe not... I don't really know, but it could remind me of some dreams I once had. Or it could help me find new goals, and remind me that you can still be a cool guy, even if you're past your cool guy phase. I'd like to remind myself that you can approach life with zeal and optimism. Because that's the guy I was in my late 20s. I'd like to see that guy again. I want my boys to know that guy.