a dear friend of mine was having a special birthday — you know one of the dreadful birthdays with a zero at the end?
i was lucky enough to be invited to the party.
the hostess asked everyone to bring a story of their favorite memory of the birthday boy, because it’s a shame that people usually only do that at funerals. totally rotten timing for the corpse, not to mention a being a tad anti-climatic.
& this story — you weren’t just supposed to jot something down on a napkin — you were supposed to like think about it & actually print it out. then @ the party, everyone took turns reading the stories while the birthday boy tried guessing whose was whose.
this took a while — I hang out with a bunch of writer-ly types, some of whom are rather VERBOSE, and you know who you are…
anyway — my friend is a super cool-cat. one of those guys all the women want & all the men want to BE? you know the type — they kind of make you vomit a little bit because they’re so damn awesome, but not this guy. several people, myself included, mentioned the fact that not only is he tall, dark & handsome with perfect hair, no less – but he was also his high school valedictorian, lead singer & guitarist in a punk rock band — I mean a groundbreaking performer, used to play at raul’s on the drag & even LA (how rockin’ is THAT?), an accomplished, best-selling novelist & historian, oh – & a kick-ass lyricist, bass player & showman. plus, he’s funny as hell & that humor comes out in everything he does. & i probably left half-a-dozen things out.
& he’s a loving & devoted husband & father. couldn’t leave that part out, because that’s the most important thing of all.
so, anyway — one day, he up & decides he wants to become an artist. like a month later, & i’m seriously not kidding, he’s showing in a gallery on south congress avenue. not too shabby. next thing, he becomes a blues-man. changes his whole musical schtick, pulls out the standing bass — you know one of those huge things, like a 10-foot-tall guitar – & starts composing & yowling like muddy waters or something. if muddy waters was like somebody you could actually stand listening to. you know what I mean.
many of the stories said my friend is a master of reinventing himself.
yeah, that’s right, everybody nodded & said.
then, another story said something profound. or, at least it was to me.
that my friend wasn’t reinventing himself, he was simply calling upon parts of himself that were there inside him all along.
it makes it sound sort of easy, doesn’t it?
easy enough for anyone to do it, right?
i guess in the back of my mind i was thinking…. hmmm. i’ve always wanted to be a potter. not a stoner. i mean like throwing pots. ceramics, okay? i seriously imagine myself doing it. sounds like fun, you know? wouldn’t have to get all artistic — lopsided pots can look kinda cool, in an avant garde sort of way….
you’ve got something like that in mind for yourself, i’ll bet.
come on, yes you do.
i don’t mean self-improvement especially. more like self-enhancement. making yourself larger than life.
or, how about larger inside your life?
just a little something to think about.
because i sure am.