Coming Down

I've been coaching basketball now for more than 30 years.  I still love the laser-like focus I get during a close game.  The rest of the world disappears, it's just me, the players, the refs, and maybe the other coach.  After all these years it still takes hours to let go after the game has played out and everyone's headed home.

Tonight was one of the few times I've had to coach both teams.  The first game we won by a basket, the second we lost by a basket.  The second game finished about four hours ago, and I'm just now beginning to ease off a little.

One of the things that definitely helps is music.  After so much time and so many different artists, my two favorite musicians are still the guys who were my favorites when I was a teenager - Jimi Hendrix and Keith Richards.

I flirted with playing the guitar for a while, but it didn't take too long to realize that these two hands were not made for playing the kind of music I had hoped to produce.  It's ironic that although I hold pencils, pens, and paper clips all day, my hands look like the were made to turn wrenches, something I definitely inherited from the old man.

I can't even type efficiently to this day.  My fingers are often dyslexic.  Reading has always been easy for me, but the fingers still insist on reversing letter orders.  So tonight I've been slowly coming down, listening to old Stones, Hendrix, and Maytals tunes, and now struggling my way through typing this roundabout stream of semi-consciousness.

Good night.  Soon, I hope.

Soul Fishing

This is a post I meant to do earlier.

I had recently guided a gentleman from Texas and two of his sons.  The place I took them to was one I wouldn't take local clients.  It could be spoiled too easily.

We had a good talk about favorite rivers.  Sometimes it's not an entire stream, but a certain run on a given river that has an almost indescribable quality that keeps you coming back for more.

There are just some places that reach a little deeper than most.   I call this soul fishing, a term I stole from "soul boarding" which is snow boarding in true, deep, light powder.

After fishing these soulful spots I have always come back happier than when I left, often with a feeling that transcends mere happiness.

Here are a few pictures from one such stream of soul.

Expedition Arctic

Maybe it's the approaching 50th birthday, maybe too much time alone, who knows.  This has been a strange period in life lately.  Still passionate about teaching.  Still passionate about fly fishing.  The hunting bug has waned the past couple of years.  Still passionate about coaching track, not so sure about basketball right now.  I have too much on my plate that I seem to be doing kind of half-assed, by my standards.  The job is still getting done, but not with the same degree of enthusiasm or attention to detail as before.

Friday we had a class field trip to a local creek.  It was the coldest day in years.  Twenty-one degrees with the wind whipping at times.  We managed to pull it all off, but I had to play the roll of cheer-leader all day, not just for the kids but also for the bus driver, transportation director, teachers back at school, and the interns from the local non-profit who were putting on the whole trip.  I almost thought of canceling the whole enchilada, but decided a little adventure and adversity would be good for the little darlins.   So it was up to me to fire up the troops.  I'm not the rah-rah type by nature, but you gotta do what you gotta do.  It makes me wonder about the kind of doubts and hurdles encountered by people who have had to lead others through challenges that were infinitely tougher.

Digging out of this rut has been much tougher than I had imagined.  Constantly looking for sources of inspiration and ways to bring back discipline.  Still working on finding something that will stick for more than a month.
                                                             

What it really looked like.       




                                                   What it felt like.