When I was young I was jealous of my friends with dads that had neat and orderly garages. Every tool had its place. Sometimes there were hooks and sharpie outlines drawn around each tool so that it was clear to everyone where each one belonged. Their lawnmowers started on the first pull, their driveways were paved and their cars were waxed. I longed for order like that. To take care of things. Our lawnmower sat out all winter and had to be revived every spring. Our driveway had puddles so deep that my brothers and I named them after the Great Lakes and I’m not sure anybody ever put soap to that old Bronco II. It wasn’t until I got older, much older, that I realized that my Dad was also teaching me to care for things, just in a different way. He made me take my pigs out for walks around the property for exercise. Exercising a pig! Can you believe it? I had to shovel the manure and put down fresh straw for them every week. I had to give them baths and clean their ears out with q-tips. I hated doing that stuff, but I loved caring for those pigs. He taught me to care for other animals too and for the river that ran through our backyard and the animals in it. I had to care for my cleats and my glove and my jacket too, because there wouldn’t be another one if they were lost. He taught me that education is something that nobody can ever take away from you. That if my worst problems are money problems, then I’m doing pretty well. That you can hike the same trail 10 times in a row and every time will be different. The light will be different, the wind will be different and I’ll be different. I’ll take all this over tools hanging from peg boards every day of the week.

COULD BE ME, COULD BE YOU

My sister-in-law's father was imprisoned, beaten, tortured and eventually murdered by the government of Iran in the 1980's only because he was a Baha'i, the country's largest religious minority. Her and her mother and sister escaped to Turkey, then gained asylum in Germany before emigrating to the US and becoming citizens. And now her uncle is being beaten and tortured in Evin prison in Iran for the same reason. Two years ago I was dating a girl who was doing her dissertation on the online university that Baha'is set up for themselves because they were being denied admittance into state run schools. Then one day she was alerted that those involved were being arrested, computers confiscated and servers shut down. After a short time, she could no longer get in touch with her contacts, people who were putting themselves at risk simply by talking to her. People who she, and to a lesser extent, I, had developed relationships with. And I just don't know what to say about all of this. I guess I'm just trying to get the point across that these are real people, not just news stories. We take education and religious freedom for granted. I dropped out of college 11 times. I feel like a dipshit for squandering opportunities that others are dying for. I don't know what to do about it other than going to the DMV Thursday morning, finally replacing my Tennessee license with an Oregon one, changing my voter registration to Oregon, and writing my Congressmen.

ENJOYING THE SILENCE

04/23/12

KAUAI, HI

Sometimes it’s easy to forget who we are. We spend our lives surrounded by friends and hobbies and neighborhoods where our identity is determined for us. Everyone has their roles to play. It’s only when we venture out of these comfort zones that we have the opportunity to reinvent ourselves. To be what we want. To dream without limitation. I’ve had a lot of opportunities to be by myself in the last few years. And for a person who doesn’t like himself, there is no worse torture. You can’t lie to yourself. There is no denying who you are and what you have made of yourself. So you can choose to continue in the misery or to do something about it. And if you choose right, eventually you begin to enjoy the silence. When you look inside, you like what you see. The things you live for become even more enjoyable. You look at every facet of your life with gratitude, even the setbacks. You see beauty, awe and grandeur where before there was none. And in those moments when you are surrounded by family and loved ones, you are reminded of that core, that unchangeable part of your soul that was always there, even when you didn’t see it.

ROSCOE

I miss my dog Roscoe. I took care of him for 2 years after my grandma died. He lived to be 17, almost 18. One night, toward the end of his life, when all he could do was sleep and eat, he got up out of his bed and painfully walked down the hallway to drink from his bowl. As he returned, he paused in the doorway for a moment, then came over to me so that I could scratch behind his ears and pat his head. He turned and went back. As he laid down he let out a big sigh. An old man. An old friend.

As I write this

I can feel him

sitting on my feet.

The weight of him.

The touch of

his fur.

Breathing.

In and

out.

As men march off to war,

he knows more,

is more,

and means more than that

and moments like these

will never be

forgotten.

INTEGRITY

Whenever I’ve got a big flight exam or test coming up I like to complain about it to my friends and ask my family for prayers. I am usually super stressed and talking about it helps. And a lot of the time they tell me something like,  “You’ll do fine, you always do.” Or, “Just relax, you got this.” And it DRIVES ME CRAZZZYYYY!! I don’t “got this”. I feel like all people see is the success. They don’t see the failures, which are twice as many. They don’t see the times I’ve tried so hard and come up short. The times I threw the book across the room and laid on the bed face down. Or the times I drove home from the airport during flight training nearly in tears because I felt like I’d never get it or I was too stupid. Or the time I nearly quit mid-flight and told Marcus to fly us back because I was done. They don’t realize that the only way “I got this” is to work my butt off. There have been plenty of times when I didn’t put in the required effort and the result was less than desirable. Sometimes they say, “I bet if you took it right now you’d pass with a 70%”. In my mind I punch them in the gut. Nothing gets the negative self-talk going like phoning it in and doing much worse than I am capable of. The only way I can feel good about it is to over-prepare. In school, my mom used to tell me to shoot for 100% and settle for 90%. That never made sense to me. I would always calculate how many assignments and papers I could skip to squeak by with a 90. And a lot of times I ended up with an 80 and I would be disappointed. I just can’t do that anymore. I don’t think passengers want a pilot who just went in and took it and squeaked by with a 70.  And I certainly couldn’t live with myself. When I won the award for outstanding 1^st year flight student, I was blown away. I had no idea where I was in comparison to the rest of the students. And when I won again for outstanding graduate, I was honored. But mostly I felt like a phony. All I could think about were my shortcomings. The times I gave it less than 100%. And there was sooooo much I didn’t know. Flying for SeaPort the last 2 years has taught me so much. And there is still loads to learn and perfect. But getting this job with Pinnacle (Delta Connection) has given me a renewed sense of confidence in my flying. I’m finally getting that chip off my shoulder. I know what I know. I’m a good pilot. I’m a safe pilot. And there is plenty of time for growing.

I WEAR MY SUNGLASSES

I’m so mad at sunglasses right now. I’ve had like 60 pair in the last year and a half and all have failed me. First there were the Smith Shelter.

Then I found out they were for big heads and realized how ridiculous they looked on me so I sold them to Brady Pearson since he has a huge melon. Then I got the gold framed Smith Serpico. 

These are about the stupidest, blingiest things ever. They are huuuuge and cheaply made. The screw holding the whole thing together fell out while I was in Costa Rica. So I traded them in for the silver ones (less bling). Screw fell out on this pair in Mexico about half the time of the gold ones. These still live in the center console of my truck with one lens popped out due to the missing screw. Such a bad design. By this time I was fed up and went back to my 1999 Oakley super machismo glasses. They have lived in the glove box of 2 of my cars and now my truck for the past 8 years (no case) and I can’t find even one scratch on the lenses. They just look horrendous. So I decided to quit fooling around and go with the benchmark of quality aviator glasses, Ray Ban. My girlfriend at the time was nice enough to buy them for my birthday. Ain’t that sweet? Well when I opened the box I had to fake excitement because they were waaaay too big and heavy and slid off my face…even after I had adjusted them. So I gave them to a friend who has a slightly bigger face hoping he’d wear those instead of the super cheese ball Ray Bans he found at the park and I bought the small version of the Ray Ban aviator. 

Ugggghnnn! Waaaay too small. The arms have to be bent out to fit around my already skinny log-shaped head (just call me loghead). And the coverage is horrible. They let so much light in I’m constantly getting headaches from squinting. They’re almost as heavy as the large size and also slide down the nose. I hated pushing them back up like nerds with pocket protectors and the top button buttoned up. Then the nose piece broke off when I was trying to adjust them. Sugar! (fake cuss word). I can’t catch a break. So I splurged and went all out and got the Maui Jim Kapalua frames. 

I was never a fan of rimless sunglasses, especially since this happened:  

But these are so sick! They are light and stay in place, coverage is good and they look spectacular. However, they are fragile and the lenses scratch easily and Maui Jim's polarization isn't nearly as good as Smith Optics and Oakley and it's impossible to keep fingerprints off them, but I was willing to live with all that. A few weeks ago as I was getting into the plane I completely smashed them. They have been mostly bent back into place but they are still crooked. And I am angry. And the lenses are a little too dark for my taste. When I take them off after wearing them for a while I feel like I’ve been out of touch with reality or like I can breathe again after being underwater. To add to the madness, my good friend John Frey gave me a super sweet, super expensive pair of Giro cycling glasses.

They are so dope. Problem is, they don’t sit close enough to my face and every single ride I am getting dirt and mud in my eyes. And I won't even mention the sweet Giro pair I appropriated from Jacob in Mexico when the Smith's broke...

 ...then lost. Or the white ones Blake got free with a snowboard purchase and gave me...

...which I left in a gas station bathroom in Olympia, Washington changing for Baktash and Layli's wedding. I think I’m just gonna start wearing a welder’s helmet. Or maybe I’ll get tinted contacts. If  you’re still reading this rant, God bless you.

DEAR MOM

When I was 13, I was very small for my age. Only Brandon Ewing was smaller than I was. And what was worse, I had a very sensitive stomach and couldn't eat most foods. And so I think my mom was worried for me that I wouldn't grow up and be a strong, tough man like my dad. I got picked on a lot mostly because I was a smart ass and had a mouth on me and wasn't afraid of making the bigger guys feel stupid, even if they beat the crap out of me afterward. I played baseball and so did my older brother but we were on different teams. I played with the 13 year-olds and him with the fourteen and fifteens. Well one day they were short one player and were going to have to forfeit. I was there with my glove of course, as always. So they gave me a jersey that was way too big for me and put me on 2nd base and batting last in the lineup. My brother was at shortstop as usual and he was very good. By the third inning all of our batters had been struck out, 3 at a time, and I was to be the last out. As I walked up to the plate the crowd began to laugh because I was so small, especially compared to the other kids, and the baggy uniform only made it worse. The first pitch came, I had never seen anything that fast before and I jumped back. And they laughed again. The second one came exactly the same. I couldn't believe it. I stepped out of the batter's box and looked up at my mom. She was standing with her hands on her mouth. I heard her say, "C'mon Jamie, you're not going to hit anything if you don't swing the bat." I looked down the 3rd base line at the coach. He gave me a couple claps, not expecting much, and I stepped back into the box. The 3rd pitch came just like the other two and I took a swing and smashed the ball over the right fielder's head. A stand-up double. I looked back at the stands and my mom was jumping up and down and clapping. She was so excited. And for a minute I thought maybe she wouldn't worry about me so much.

 Mom on the left and my brothers and I wearing our baseball team jackets (I'm giving the thumbs up).