#394

It's a little painful to go back and read old posts here; the writing is shitty. But I tell myself: Quit whining; artists, athletes, musicians, whatever the craft – everyone must practice. And practice and practice. We know this, thanks to Malcolm Gladwell and his 10,000-Hour Rule, "It takes decades to become an overnight sensation," and so on. So we can't be sunk by insecurity when we're only a practicer. Or, as I prefer: a novice, a neophyte; kind, inconspicuous words for someone who still sucks at something. But beginners we are, and begin we must. Otherwise, nothing. And then we practice, and there's pain, for the audience too; think of beginning violinists, new standup comics, even the baby Beatles, who played for years in Hamburg, Germany's red light district. We can't all be Beatles, but we can all begin. And we should. My early M 'n' m posts are especially bumbling, but I'm so obviously in love and excited and thankful for them, brimming and rambling, annoyingly – but I hope that comes through, if nothing else. And I keep writing because I enjoy it; like I enjoy reading, and opening presents, and watching Iowa State win football and basketball games. But writing is even better. Time disappears. I'm soothed. I feel energized, happy, unconfused. Some people do Sudoku, play tennis, cook. Whatever works for you, do that. It used to be playing basketball for me. For Michael, I think, it's music; he plays the bass and the cello. Megan loses herself in the visual arts: drawing, painting, sculpting. But M 'n' m are young; there's so much they haven't tried: snowboarding, sailing, mountain climbing, scuba diving, acting, orchid growing, hunting, making souffles, spelunking, fly fishing, woodworking, world traveling, space traveling (in our lifetimes, it seems), volunteering in various ways and places... obviously, the list is long. Nearly limitless, in fact.

The kids and I flew to Grandma and Grandpa's in Florida for a long weekend of flawless weather, ocean-swimming, boating, shopping, enjoying the beach. And stuffing our faces. Seafood, key lime pie, donuts, and Grandma's bottomless snack vault. It was perfect. We're grateful. At least I am, and Michael too; it's Megan who remains stingy with her 'pleases' and 'thank-yous' and it drives me effing crazy. I continue to growl at her about it. Which doesn't seem to help.

I complain, sure, but I also realize that Megan without her obstinacy wouldn't be Megan. And I love Megan. So I want Megan to be Megan, but with a little tweaking here and there. And I know some people want me to be me, but with a little tweaking here and there.

I read this from Tom Brady, about his kids' reaction to his Super Bowl loss, and it being a teaching moment: "That was the first time that I'd seen my kids really react in that way. You know, Benny was crying, Vivi was crying and they were sad for me and sad for the Patriots. But I just said to them, 'Look, you guys, this is a great lesson. We don't always win. We try our best and sometimes it doesn't go the way we want.'" Brady, by the way, was named the NFL MVP again this year (he's won three times) and passed for 505 yards in the 41-33 loss to the Eagles. Not bad for a 40-year-old.