The List

One day this past July, I found myself upset about turning 30, which did not make any sense; I turned 30 in November. At the time of my actual birthday, I did not want to think about the mile-marker I was passing. I even jokingly told someone "If I don't celebrate turning 30, then it doesn't happen."

A few years ago, a close friend of mine turned 30. His celebration was a spectacle. A yacht was rented. Friends from across the country were flown in. Caterers were hired. There was an open bar. It was the equivalent of a wedding reception, for a single person.

While it was a great party, I wanted to celebrate in a different way. My primary focus at the time was on repairing my ankle and my health; I did not have the energy or desire to turn my birthday into a large event. I wanted to do something small, yet big. I wanted to do something with a small group of close friends; something from my list of things to do in this lifetime — my "Bucket List."

Skydiving.

It was exactly what I wanted to do, but there was a problem. On the day I had scheduled to jump out of an airplane, it snowed. Apparently skydiving and snow do not mix, so the outing was rescheduled for the spring.

Eventually the snow thawed and the make-up date approached. Then there was another problem: the friend who was crazy/brave enough to go with me needed to reschedule, multiple times. I began to think that my friend would never go, that the nerve had been lost. My thoughts snowballed.

I began to think about what I had wanted from life. I had everything I asked for. I had the job, the home, the car. From the superficial checklist, I had everything but the relationship. In dinner-party-small-talk, I could call my life a success. The problem was, my life was nothing like what I had envisioned. It was boring. I thought it would be different. I thought there would be more.

Do you remember when you reached this point? 30 is not a magic number. You may have reached this moment earlier in your life, or later. What did you do?

I became fixated on skydiving, and may have bullied my friend in the process. I had talked about doing this for so many years; it was time to take action. How could I move on with my life, if I couldn't call my own bluff and jump out of that plane? Life may not be what I imagined, but if I rolled over now, it never would be. I was prepared to jump on my own.

While I was prodding my friend to either commit to a make-up date or to bail out now, I started thinking about my list. It had always existed in my head. Now was the time to commit it to paper; to make it a reality. 50 Things to do Before You Die. At first, I couldn't think of that many. I looked for inspiration online. As I was collecting ideas, I found one that changed my thoughts.

Attend a concert.

Initially, I felt pity. Who was this unfortunate person who had never heard live music? I had gone to my first rock concert when I was a teenager, and had been exposed to live music in general before that. Then I realized, I could be reading the list of a teenager who lived on a farm in Iowa. Someone who, due to age and geographic restrictions, had limits to what they could achieve. But someday, this person would be old enough to drive.

Suddenly I realized it would be impossible to limit my list to 50 items. There had been a point in my life when I dreamed of attending a concert. I dreamed of moving to a large city. I dreamed of skydiving. Life may not be all that I had envisioned, but looking back at the road I've traveled, it was anything but boring.

My friend did eventually reschedule the skydiving adventure, so I did not have to jump alone. I do regret not taking any pictures, but film can never truly capture an experience like that. Since turning 30, I have not only gone skydiving, but I have also completed a triathlon, participated in Bay to Breakers, and visited the Seattle Space Needle.

Here is my list. The goal is to complete at least one item per year, and to also add at least one item.

• Learn to surf.


• Visit Stonehenge.


• Visit Paris.


• Visit the Colosseum in Rome.


• Sleep under the stars.


• Ride a horse.


• Run a marathon.


• Complete a triathlon.


• Participate in Bay to Breakers.


• Ask a stranger for a date.


• Drive on Route 66.


• Ride a rollercoaster.


• See the Grand Canyon.


• Visit San Francisco.


• Visit Las Vegas.


• Get a tattoo.


• Get something pierced.


• Join a protest.


• Donate blood.


• Get kicked out of a bar.


• Crowd-surf at a concert.


• Sing on a stage in front of people.


• Live/work in a high-rise building.


• Visit the Seattle Space Needle.


• Visit Ankgor Wat.


• Set foot on each of the seven continents.


• Climb one of the world’s Seven Summits.


• Ride an elephant/camel.


• Travel India by train.


• See the Taj Mahal at sunrise.


• See elephants/tigers in the wild.


• Participate in a Carnival parade in Brazil.


• Visit the statue of Christ the Redeemer.


• Dive the Great Barrier Reef.


• Climb Sydney Harbour Bridge, Sydney, Australia.


• Catch sunset over Ayres Rock, Australia.


• Visit the source of one of the world’s great rivers.


• Climb an active volcano.


• Participate in Burning Man.


• Attend the Olympics.


• Partake in a Japanese Tea Ceremony.


• See wild game on an African safari.


• Drink beer at Oktoberfest in Munich.


• Attend a football (soccer) game in a country where it matters.


• Visit every capital city in Europe.


• Sip a mint julep at the Kentucky Derby.


• Stroll along the Great Wall of China.


• Walk the Inca trail at Macchu Picchu.


• Run with the bulls in Pamplona.


• Visit a concentration camp.


• See the Northern lights.


• Drive a husky sled.


• Get a dog.


• Swim in the Dead Sea.


• Visit the pyramids of Teotihuacan.


• Visit the pyramids of Chitzen Itza.


• Visit the Great Pyramid of Giza and the Great Sphinx of Giza


• Climb 1,652 steps to the top of the Eiffel Tower.


• Read "Anna Karenina" and explore Moscow.


• Ride a cable car in San Francisco.


• See a Redwood tree.


• Walk across the Golden Gate Bridge.


• Walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.


• Visit the top of the Empire State Building.


• Visit the top of the Sears Tower.


• Visit the top of the CN Tower.


• See the Ruins of Pompeii.


• See the Parthenon/Acropolis in Greece.


• Swim with a dolphin/shark.


• Go deep sea fishing and eat your catch.


• Learn to speak a foreign language and use it.


• Buy a boat and learn to sail.


• Grow a garden.


• Skydive.


• Participate in Escape from Alcatraz.


• Bungee jump.


• Bike the Pacific Coast Highway.


• Raft through the Grand Canyon.


• Fly a plane.


• Drive a race car.


• Watch the launch of the space shuttle.


• Travel into space.


• Complete an Ironman race.


• Participate in Ironman World Championship - Hawaii


• Float in a hot air balloon.


• Visit a nudist colony.


• Create your Family Tree.


• Restore a classic car.


• Drive across America from coast to coast.


• Ride a motorbike on the open road.


• Ride a mechanical bull.


• Volunteer/teach.


• Publish an article.


• Write a book.


• Be someone's mentor.


• Get a masters degree.


• Find a job you love.


• Be free from debt.


• Buy your own house and then spend time making it into exactly what you want.


• Attend a service for every major religion.


• Make a list of your five weaknesses/most annoying qualities and work on them.

What things on your list have you already done? What are you still hoping to do?

Life: The Previous Chapter

I had a blog once. Back when no one really knew what a blog was. It started out as a simple webpage; I was a beginner learning how to build websites, and I kept a log tracking my updates. October 7 — Changed the background color. November 11 — Added a header image. You get the idea. Then I added an online version of Tetris. Word got out and next thing I knew, friends and coworkers were playing games on my website. I had an audience.

That's where all the trouble began.

It started simply enough. I don't remember what I wrote about. Random thoughts and observations I suppose. If you know me, you know I have trouble determining where the line between Appropriate and Too Much Information is. I had even more trouble when I was younger. One day a friend upset me; instead of voicing my discontent, I was chose the passive-aggressive path: I wrote about it and posted it online.

People loved it.

They loved reading about the drama and the conflict; outrageous stories that started in a bar and ended who knows where. Traffic accidents. Relationship problems. Gossip. Things that are present in your life, but you are probably smart enough not to share with everyone.

Eventually the over-sharing caught up with me, and I deleted my blog. Fast-forward to today. I'm a little older, hopefully a little wiser, trying to "express myself through my blog and make a meaningful statement" while avoiding mistakes of the past.

How's that for a mission statement?

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A few months ago I was catching up with an old friend, who gave me grief when I replied "Nothing is new with me."

"We haven't spoken for years and you're telling me that there is absolutely nothing new with you?"

"No, nothing new. I still live in the same apartment. I still work at the same job. I haven't made any new friends, but I haven't lost any old friends. Life is the same. Still. Treading water."

Oh, except one thing. I'm not the same. Maybe I should fill you in on the last few years. Before I stopped writing, I was twenty-seven. I had recently quit smoking. After years of interviewing, I finally got the great job I wanted. I was in love. I was training for a marathon.

In hindsight, twenty-eight was not a good year.

I read a few books by Dan Millman once: Way of the Peaceful Warrior and The Inner Athlete. In one of them, Dan made the argument that there are three institutions that are the foundations of our lives, the University, the Gymnasium, and the Temple. Not a bad structure to talk about life. The University is the home to all things intellectual. Your job. Your education. Your finances. Your mind. The Temple is home to all things spiritual. Your family. Your friends. Your religion or set of spiritual ideas. Your soul. The Gymnasium is home to all things physical. Your nutrition. Your exercise regimen (or lack thereof). Your sleeping habits. Your body.

I dropped out of my University around the same time I stopped writing. A co-worker took advantage of my naivety and used me as a stepping stone. I looked like a fool and I was furious. After that, I dug in my heels and put on the brakes. I turned down promotion opportunities. I went to job interviews arrogant and unprepared, whether I was conscious of it or not. I accumulated more debt. I became jaded.

What really burned me was that I had called this person a friend. Being honest and asking me for a favor would have resulted in the same career advancement, and no bridges would have been burned.

Work was not the only place where I lost friends. In the interest of staying on the right side of Appropriate, I'll only say that some relationships and situations with friends and family were strained. My heart was broken. The altar of my Temple destroyed.

I was consumed with anger. How could these people treat me this way? Looking back, I now see how I ran my first marathon with such a great time; anger is great fuel, and nothing says "Screw you, you think I can't. Just watch me." quite like a marathon.

It was a rainy night in February when my Gymnasium finally caught fire. I love to run outside, but living in Chicago makes that difficult to do between Thanksgiving and St. Patrick's Day. After a frustrating day, going for a run is the easiest way to clear my head and improve my mood. On this particular Tuesday, snow was still on the ground, but the temperature had been in the 40s all day and it was raining. I was excited to lace up my shoes and deposit my frustrations on the running trails.

At the one-mile mark on the trail is an underpass that frequently floods. I should also mention that I love running in bad weather. The days I come home soaked to the bone and covered in mud are the days my smile is the greatest. I spotted the puddle from fifty-yards back and decided that I would aim to see how high I could make the water splash. In the back of my mind, as my foot was about to strike the puddle, I thought "What if that's not water?"

My foot did not break the surface, but instead slid left. Meanwhile, my body moved right. Alarms in my head went off — ICE! The next moment I was sitting in a deep puddle of water. My foot didn't break the ice, but the rest of my body did. The ice wasn't the only thing that was broken.

There I was, a runner in the middle of the woods. In the dark. Alone. Soaking in a puddle. In February. Broken.

I heard a primal yell unlike anything I had ever heard and saw a group of birds take flight from a nearby tree. It took me a minute to realize that the sound was coming from me. After I stopped yelling, I did a quick scan and saw there were no other idiots out running. If I needed help, I was going to have to find it on my own. I managed to roll over and crawl up the hill to the parking lot. I sat on the curb for a minute or two, but quickly realized I was not going to find any help there either. I got up on my feet and began an awkward hop-walk towards Lake Shore Drive. I still hadn't decided where I was headed. Home? A hospital? I was only focused on moving. One painful step at a time. I was surprised when a woman pulled over and asked if I needed help. People who pay attention to their surroundings, and offer help to complete strangers — that is something I don't see every day.

She was a tourist.

The woman gave me a ride to my home so that I could collect my insurance card and ID, and all the other things I should probably carry for every run. I made a splint from wooden spoons and sports tape, and waited for a friend to pick me up and drive me to the hospital.

As I was sitting in that puddle, pissed off at my work and my friends and my life in general, I realized that this may not be the lowest moment in my life, but it was certainly going to make the top ten list. I think everyone I know has had a moment like this in the past few years. Do you remember yours? What do you do when everything has fallen apart? You rebuild.

Breaking my ankle, surprisingly, was one of the best things that could have happened. The first thing my doctor instructed me to do was "Moan a lot" which I found hilarious. Not many people get to experience having a broken leg, he told me, and I should take advantage of the situation. Relax and let other people take care of me for awhile. It was a subtle way of encouraging me not to over-do it, and it reminded of something that I already knew; my family, both the one I was born into and the one I shaped through my friends, is a group full of amazing people who would do anything for me. I learned how to ask them for help, and brick-by-brick, I slowly began rebuilding my Temple.

At the time, I had an amazing boss at work who insisted that I stay at home until I was off my crutches. Insisted. More than once I offered to come back to work; she would have none of it. It felt like I was given a vacation from my life. Time to reflect. Evaluate. Identify what I wanted to change. I decided to re-enroll in my University.

Out of the entire experience, Physical Therapy was what I enjoyed the most. When I met with the trainers, I felt like an athlete. We talked about all the areas of my fitness, starting with what stretches and training I had been doing before the accident. From there we developed a training plan to get me healthy as quickly as possible. They even had me doing upper-body exercises, which didn't do anything for my leg, but did wonders for my spirit. The Gymnasium became the focus of my life. One week after losing the crutches, I "ran" a 5K race.

Still, I was frustrated. I was fixated on what I had been. I had just run a marathon and was in the best shape of my life before the accident; afterwards I had pain with every step I took. Being a "runner" had always been a part of my identity. But what kind of runner are you when you can't run? I spent more and more time riding my bike and swimming in the pool. These were things the physical therapists had instructed me to do; these were things I could physically do that didn't cause pain.

I recently read an article by Julie Wainwright, Five Life-Changing Mistakes and How I Moved On. One line in the article spoke to me:

"I never got back to myself. I became better than I was."

At some point, I decided that I should participate in a triathlon. I was already swimming and cycling, and I knew I could always walk the run portion of the event. This became the new goal: complete a triathlon and complete the healing.

I still haven't returned to the shape I was in before the accident. I haven't got back to myself. I have a metal plate and four screws in my leg. My left leg is not the same size and shape as my right. But now, I can swim a mile in Lake Michigan. I have a revived interest in my education and career. I have renewed faith in my friends and family. Oh, and I can run a mile faster now than I ever could. I'm not who I was. I'm better. I'm bionic.

I was in one of the last start waves during the Chicago Triathlon, so I had plenty of time to observe the day. One thing you may not know about triathlons: the swim is brutal. People are hitting and kicking each other. Swimming on top of and underneath each other. It's contained chaos. As I sat on the seawall watching the race I noticed something unexpected; not everyone starts swimming when the horn sounds. In each wave, a group of people chose to tread water and let the more aggressive swimmers take the lead. Eventually the water became less crowded, and the treaders began to swim.

I've been treading water for too long; I'm ready to start swimming again, and I want you to swim with me. If you see me slacking off, call me out on it, and I promise to do the same for you.

Phillips Brooks once said, "Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men." I think that is a great way to summarize the past few years of my life; having it as a tattoo around my ankle, highlighting the plate and the scars, is an even greater way to commemorate this chapter in my life. I've earned these marks; I'm ready to turn the page and start the next chapter.