Suddenly Sixty?

December is always the coldest month for me. My mother's birthday, Roxanne's birthday, and Christmas fall within the span of a week. Add to this the nomal confusion and chaos of holiday time in broadcasting, then factor in the fact that I get eight hours a night of stories about people in love at Christmas time. It's a recipe for depression. So I get depressed. Then I get mad.

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Roxanne was the angriest person I ever knew. It's part of what made me love her. She could not settle for being mildly upset at something. It had to be full tilt boogie, go to hell and stay there. Her birthday today would have sparked a rebellion. I expect that she would have said that world damn well better end on December 21, 2012, because there was no way in hell she was going to turn sixty the next day.

She's never far from my mind, but she seems more present than ever lately. One of the ironies of The Year Of Essentials is my discovery of how un-essential I am. Out of need, as she did, I have drawn more and more from the fires of my inner anger. I accept the things which have happened to me and around me, but much of what surrounds me disgusts me.

Today's lesson: I can only control a small part of my world, but, hey, you have to start somewhere. It's time that I pick up some of the spirit of anger... but more on that when the new year commences. For today, I just want to remind myself how much of who I am came from our shared experiences, and how far I've come in these days since being on my own.

Happy birthday, pila moya, It's not been an easy year for me, but it's not supposed to be easy, is it? I've learned how expendable I am. I have been reminded how fragile I am. It hurts. Yet it strengthens my resolve to grow. It may take me years to finish my job here. then again, it may be over tonight. I'll be just as glad either way, because my faith tells me to accept what is meant to be. Send me what strength you can, and I'll make it last as long as I need it.

StevenK

The Over-Examined Life

"The unexamined life is not worth living" -- Socrates

"You overthink everything. Get up off your big ass and do something instead of finding reasons not to, then taking it out on those of us who have a life." -- my best friend Cathy The Super Fan

This in a nutshell, is the ping-pong conversation that has been looping in my mind for the past 33 months. That was when when Cathy decided I would be better off if she rescued me from sitting around waiting to die. I love her for that decision. I also wonder if it was worth it, considering everything she has put aside in her own life. She's made an incredible investment of time, love and heartache in me. Cathy has earned the right to tell me it's time to man up, climb out of the pity pot, and quit nitpicking every element of my life.

For the record, everyone agrees with her.

Everyone.

They all told me.

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My friend Kristi agreed with Cathy.

My daughter Rachel agreed with Cathy. Then Rachel called me a turd head. It's always been her pet name for me, which should give you a clue about her opinion of my analytical routine.

Three of my co-workers agreed with Cathy. They may be growing tired of the questions, too. One of them threw something at me.

Several Facebook friends whose opinions I respect agreed with Cathy.

The woman on the all-night shift at the Thornybird's agreed with Cathy.

I played Matchbox Twenty on the radio, and they sang about thinking too much.

Cathy's husband Lew said he agreed with Cathy, but really, what would you expected him to have said? "Yeah, Cathy's so full of crab shit her eyes are green. Now you have to leave, because you're sitting on the couch, and that's where I'll be sleeping for the next week."

Even Delilah told a caller the other day that he thinks things through too much. No, that caller was not me.

---

Why do I bring this up? Because it's 3 o'clock in the morning, I'm awake, cold sober, and I'm alone. Taken in combination, those things make for a miserable life. So the questions take root and grow. Friday night always seems lonesome to me. It always makes me scared. Scared that every Friday night will be like this one, sleepless and alone. And - here comes the duality of the Southern thing again -- scared that if I do find someone, I'm setting myself up for another broken heart.

I sometimes wonder If I'll ever get out of this emotional place in which I take so much comfort. I still feel like I'm being disloyal to Roxanne if I give away a part of my heart that doesn't belong to her. No, that's a fallacy. I don't think there is any part of my heart doesn't belong to Roxanne.

So I just sit here thinking, examining, questioning, and become more scared, so scared that I can't move. So scared that when Just Friends asked me if I wanted to go out tonight (a moment I've been waiting for for a long time) I felt so out of sorts that I said no. I wonder if I just threw away a golden opportunity out of fear, and needless paranoia. Or did I finally smell the coffee and realize I'm chasing an impossible dream.

It also may be that I'm beginning to realize a painful truth. Pursuing this fascinating woman is costing me more in pain, doubt, and distraction than I can handle. As I wind toward the end of The Year Of Essentials it may be time to just cut my losses. It goes counter to my instinct. I'm not a quitter. Oh man, I sound like fucking Nixon.

I have to think about it for a bit. At the same time, I wonder if I'll ever stop picking things apart. These are the things that happen in my mind when it's three o'clock in the morning, and I'm alone.

---

Though I'm an analytical wuss, I'm a good person: intelligent, witty, articulate, clever (that's not ego talking. I have to be all those things in order to do my job).... but people just can't get past this hideous exterior. Cathy tells me not to worry because "it's their loss," but I don't agree. People who don't see past my physical appearance, whatever you want to call them, short sighted, narrow minded, or just realistic, will simply go on to someone else. The people who judge me based just on my size, those people will never have the time to realize what they have missed. Because for them, there will always be a more presentable person waiting to grab a piece of their hearts. It's no consolation to me that those hearts will often end up broken. It saddens me, for that is a heart that I would have treasured.

In the years before Roxanne, and the years since, I've had several friends who said, "you have so much love. It must be killing you to hold it all inside. I hope you find someone to give it to." Forgive this how this sounds, but I think they're right. And the tumblers in my mind fall into place and here comes another question: Is it only women who already have that special love in their life that are able to recognize a man who is able to love that way? Or am I so scared or so chickenshit or so... I have no clue what it would be called, that it's me who chokes off every opportunity, as I did tonight?

One of the first posts I made on this blog was called Any Road Will Take You There. I took the title from the George Harrison song. Roxanne loved it, and so do I. It gradually dawned on me that the only time that being lost bothers you is when you're actually trying to get somewhere. Connecting the dots, that must mean that finally, after all this time, I actually am trying to get somewhere -- even if I don't know where.

I'd like to think that there's a place for me deep in someone's heart, a warm safe place perfect for sharing that special joy that makes all the hearts and flowers and love songs come to life. I do feel selfish at that thought. In Roxanne's eulogy, I said that many people never have that type of special love. I was lucky enough to have it for thirty years. Dare I be selfish and try to find someone else to love? Boy, do I think about that a lot. The answer is always the same.

Yes. Yes, because a year and a half ago someone came along and lit up that part of my heart that I thought was gone. That could not have happened if I were not ready.

Yes, because for whatever reason Roxanne is gone and I'm still here, with a huge hole in my heart. I don't think it's selfish to try and heal that. I think it's only natural. Finally and most of all, yes, because it's 3 o'clock in the morning and no one who has a heart full of love should feel the way I do right now.

---

Today's lesson?: I should have asked all these questions a long time ago I should've asked all them when I was 19 but I'm glad I didn't because I met Roxanne, I fell in love, and the world finally made perfect sense.

Everyone tells me that I trust my mind so much more than my heart that I depend on it too heavily. It's hard to argue that they're wrong. Here I am at 3 o'clock in the morning knowing I can not stop myself from endlessly asking questions. You know, sometimes I really wish I still were seven. It was so much simpler then. If you had candy you were happy. If you didn't you were unhappy but you knew why.

So, after another round of questions, where do I stand? Could everyone be right? Let's see... three o'clock on Friday night, no date (there's a shock) and I'm no closer to an answer than when I began.

Fuck me.

StevenK

Year Four

The days leading up to this weekend have been a blur of thoughts, plans and memories. Among the celebrations, disappointments, and gut checks of the past three years, there is one fact which stands out among all the rest: Somehow, beyond my comprehension, I am still standing this long after Roxanne's death. The thought grips me, although the specific significance escapes me. My own personal thousand days... some diamonds, some coal, all triumphant, all lonely.

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I don't know how I should feel. Proud, scared, awestruck? I'd like to think I am defiant, but defiance isn't something I can measure. When you're running on fear, it's easy to look brave. Honesty time: I always had faith that I could reach this point. But truth be told, I doubted I would reach it.

On the worst days, I have trembled on the edge of sanity. I'm still not sure that I didn't cross into the danger zone a few times. On the best days, there's still the loneliness to keep my excitement in check. The loss is immeasurable. Forgive me for repeating an oft-mentioned point:

I love Roxanne as much now as ever.

The feeling inside me has not faded with time. It's only natural to wonder if that's healthy, and if it is choking my progress.

---

I have so few pictures of Roxanne. She hated being photographed. This is one of my favorite pictures of her. Roxanne always looked at life a little askew, with a healthy dose of irony. She took delight in facing and conquering whatever challenges life brought her way. I have tried -- with varying degrees of success -- to make use of the things I learned from her

Out of necessity, I have had to move on in some ways. I can not move on in others. I know people who, within three years, have fallen in love, even married again. The thought is vulgar to me. I know I could love again. I think about my friends Cathy and Lew. I see the special life they have built, and I wonder what I could have, if I find the right person.

But finding the right person? Oy! I can love someone new. Just Friends taught me that, and I am in her debt, even as I wrestle with devastation. My heart, never strong, rests uneasy from my failure to lasso the moon for her. I knew it was a long shot. I knew there was no logical reason for her to make such a leap of faith. So, faith notwithstanding, I find it hard to fault her for trusting common sense. Besides, who says that any door remains closed forever?

So... back to this weekend. I was expecting an onslaught of emotion. it never came. Maybe the depression saw me and ran. Maybe it has become so much a part of my life that I no longer notice it.

In any event, It has been an easier weekend than I imagined. I think I know why. If I'm right -- and I am -- I can use this knowledge to form a strategy for the future.

Recently, I've been learning to burn anger for fuel. It's something Roxanne did, perhaps to excess. Certainly she could control the flame better than me. She could tiptoe on the threshold with no danger of exceeding her limits. I doubt if she felt if it was possible for her to overreach. She believed that anything was within her grasp, given proper resources and enough time. I can't say I envy that skill. I appreciate its complexity, but that scheme would never work for me. I can open the burners and scream "damn the torpedoes," with the best of them. But at the zero hour, I would hesitate, just long enough for things to go awry. Yes, I have learned the value of limited fury. Its power is staggering. Once I become its master, look out!

Today's lesson? I must constantly be on the watch. Every day, there comes a selfish moment. Every day, the thought strikes me: I want to die. In the next moment, I'm overcome with shame that such doubts dare enter my mind.

Every day, I want to live, and to dash headlong into life with the strength of a teenager. I'm more confused than ever. I'm more certain than ever. I'm happier than ever. I'm more depressed than ever. I'm more paranoid than ever. I fly from extreme to extreme with abandon. And, even though I've yet to grasp the significance of this, scary as it may be, I'm enjoing the hell out of this ride.

And more than ever. I am convinced that this place, this place I find myself as I commence my fourth year alone, is exactly where I am supposed to be. That's what faith tells me. And I've long known that if LIFE 4.0 is to be something more than a countdown to death, that faith is what will make it happen.

Dear Roxanne,

Do the days pass as slowly for you as they do for me?

I often wonder how you spend your time. I do know you enjoy every day. You lived that idea to the fullest, and taught me to do it, too. And I try. It's just that without you there, the days just aren't fun. They're nice enough. I find pleasure and beauty, but pleasure and beauty are meant to be shared.

I hope you are as content as you can be, with just enough longing to make you anxious to see me again.Even here, I see you everywhere, in my surroundings, and in my thoughts. You are there in all the things we shared, the idle happenings which come too often and too precisely to be coincidence.

I sometimes dream of you, and honey, the wonderful thing is that now, when I do, it no longer hurts. I am able to be happy that in some reality, we were able to spend a few moments with each other. It makes me eager to see you, and have you show me all about the world that awaits us. Faith tells me that it will be even more wonderful that the one we shared here.

Beautiful things await us. Until then, pila moya, I shall be with you the only way I can, in my thoughts and in the daily events which remind me of you. And until then, I shall pray for faith, the faith which conquers all.

StevenK

The Song Remains The Same

After is week like this, I realize again how important music is to me. It's been one hell of a week... a hell of a good week, a hell of a bad week. I have flown atop the clouds; I have wallowed in the filth. I cursed my friends and drank to my enemies. I took counsel from someone who will break my heart, and betrayed someone who will dress my wounds. This week, I have said things I never imagined I would say (good AND bad), and likewise, I have heard things I never imagined I would hear. And I lived. Smiles and tears, alert and afraid, I LIVED! Truly, this was the textbook example week for the concept of the duality of the Southern thing

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The week began with an abnormal fixation. My father died over 30 years ago. usually, I'm fine on Fathers Day. This year, on the spur of the moment, I took almost half of my show talking about my dad, sharing memories and talking about his love of music. The next day, as I was on the air, I seemed to see a reminder of Roxanne at every turn, even hearing her voice as I imagined the things she would say to me. I had multiple technical and protocol problems at work -- not my fault, but within my control -- causing me to have an atypical complaint session with my bosses. Moments after arriving for a planned evening with friends, I bailed (at the request of my superiors) to cover a repetitive SNAFU at my job, only to get my car stuck on an embankment as I tried to leave. Moments later, I got a "never mind" phone call. The words which spilled from my mouth over the ensuing five minutes would be familiar to any sailor or stable boy.

Back in the non-radio world, I did one of the bravest things I've done since Rox's death.... so brave and personal that I'm not ready to blog about it yet. My daughter brought me distressing, tragic news from within her husband's family. I got to spend wonderful time with a dear friend I'd not seen in months. I clawed and circled with the one person who's always there for me, right or wrong. I caught another person whom I considered a friend in a bare-faced lie... a lie which cost me a chunk of money. I capped off this noteworthy week by oversleeping and missing a birthday party for one of the few non-radio friends that I have.

After a week like this, I need music. I need to listen to something which grips my heart and my mind. I need to honor my pain. I need to know that the pain will bring forth something precious and beautiful. I listen to Jackson Browne, and think about how his most poignant work came as he was coming to terms with the suicide of his wife.

I listen to John Lennon, to Jim Croce, to Harry Chapin, and to Bob Marley, and wonder how they must feel -- wherever they are -- that in our world, we are denied all the unwritten songs and untold stories a full lifetime would have borne. I listen to the symphonies and operas of Mozart, and I know that grace and beauty have no limits. I listen to Warren Zevon, and I see how that same grace and beauty can be personified in the way a man chooses to face his own imminent death.

---

I do not remember a time in my life when I did not retreat into music. I should have known all along that I would end up on the radio, serving a daily helping of love songs, party songs, rebel songs, desperate, triumphant, futile, celebratory... there is no end to the moods they evoke. Music is God's most perfect form of communication. You can hide from spoken words. You can hide from printed words. You can hide from pictures, preaching, and philosophy.

But a song.... The right song, at the right time, rushes into your soul, past all your walls and defenses, and instantly strikes at your heart. This flood of emotion is something from which you can not hide. It binds itself to you. Tightly. Each of us can remember one unfamiliar, unknown song which we heard one day by chance. The thought behind the music strikes us so deeply that our mind refuses to let it go until we hear it again and can identify it. Months, sometimes years pass, but it stays there, imprinted on our soul.

---

So after a week like this, I return to music. And as always, the music awaits me. The song, as Led Zeppelin says, remains the same. It is essential, probably more so in 2012, The year Of Essentials. From the beginning, it is the song of my life, and now, it remains the song of LIFE 4.0.

Today's Lesson? Maybe there is none, except the lesson we learn whenever music comforts us... that all life is weaved in communion with its surroundings. No matter how threadbare it becomes, we still can find song after song after song to ignite the things we feel in our soul. And when we rise, or we fall, or we die trying, there will be a song we will then sing.

StevenK

The Phone's Dead, Not Me

I threw quite a scare into some people yesterday. In addition, I received a strong reminder about how much I mean to one special person. It reinforces to me that even though I sometimes don't know where I'm heading, I am far from lost.

I did not come in to work on time. I did not answer the phone. My absence prompted some caution and some fear. For all my personal quirks, professionally, I am a rock. My responsibilities at WABX and our partner station WIKY are paramount in my life. For me to be missing, and unreachable... that's a scary scenario.

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What happened was this: I managed to fall into such a deep sleep that I not only overslept work, but did not hear either the alarm or phone. This never happens. I have sleep apnea. Also, I take diuretics to expel the excess fluid which my heart produces. So I seldom sleep more than three or four hours without interruption. Yesterday I did. I went to bed at seven o'clock, and was still out of it at 5:30. Not to brag, but I'm very dependable. When I did not show up for work, it caused more than small bit of anxiety. Especially for my best friend Cathy. It fell to her to get the "we can't reach Steven" phone call. It's a call she's long dreaded.

Cathy and I talk about death more than most friends do. As I have frequently mentioned, I never expected Roxanne to die before me. Likewise, Cathy's father had not planned on having to carry on without her mother. Cathy's first husband died before he turned 40. The one good thing about the circumstances of my wife Roxanne's death is that I was not there when it happened. Had I been, I might have never been able to deal with it as calmly as I did.

What with my bad heart and significant obesity, Cathy knows she may well be the one to find me when my time comes. Add to this my fascination with death, along with the knowledge that I have spoken and blogged about thoughts of suicide. I know how Cathy must have worried while speeding to my house. I know she felt a great sense of relief when I sat up in bed with a shocked look. And I know, from the tight hug she greeted me with, how scared she had been. An hour later, her heart was still racing. Fear is a devastating emotion.

Today's lesson? It's nice to be loved. I have often mentioned my lack of success at romance. But that doesn't mean I'm unlucky in love. There are many degrees of affection. For all my complaining, and my contempt at being alone. I know as long as I have Cathy, I'll never be unloved. I am often luckier than I realize.

StevenK

Fire Is My Deadly Friend

My mind is rambling tonight, which is not unusual. 12 years at WABX today. Great ride, sometimes bumpy, with a sixteen-month interruption. But with all the changes in radio and in me, I'm looking tonight for a focus of direction in my personal life. The past months have found me spending too much time amidst the ashes of my dreams, licking my wounds. They needed it; that's for damn sure.

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As I began emerging from the shell last year, I foud it most intoxicating to dream. Dreaming fed my inner fire. It gave me inspiration, and a target at which to aim. My dreams, one dream in particular, became oh, so personal, and oh, so embedded as to become part of my psyche.

Dumb idea.

There's no other to say it, my dream was met with ridicule. Blame no one but me. As I was told often, by more than one person, I grabbed at every teasing glipse of sunshine, determined to find the warmth and heat of its promise. I turned a deaf ear to anyone who dared say that I was chasing the wind.

Everyone but me seemed to know there was nothing there. Finally, for my own good, they put me in my place with such ferocity and frigidity that I shrank back into my coccoon. What a familiar place this was to me, with no energy for anything beyond mourning my dreams, and reminding myself how much I despise it when people do things for my own good.

---

I often wonder of I am one of those people who needs an imposssible dream, a shining, unreachable goal on which to focus. The one I had is now in ruins. I'm told that the fire that fueled its pursuit came terribly close to incinerating me. I think that's bullshit. But people who refuse to face their fatal flaws always think that any criticism is bullshit.

It's no exaggeration to say I am an addicted to the fire. I need that fire to excel. It's likely that I need it just to survive, if only because I've learned to use it as a reason to go on. I also know it can turn on me, with deadly consequences. It's already come close.

Today's lesson? As with all things in life, I must keep my pasions in moderation. This time last year, I was dreaming high and mighty, and damn, I accomplished miracles. But I also burned bridges -- of which I have few -- and scared away my best and possibly last chance at happily ever after. I know I'll ride the rocket again. I know how to ride; I know how to steer. Now I must learn to govern the throttle.

StevenK

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Champions

I know my Roxanne is smiling tonight, and not alone. As with the rest of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, I know that somewhere, she is taking note of the NCAA basketball championship won a few hours ago by her beloved Wildcats. I smile to think of how, with blustering enthusiasm, she is regaling anyone who will listen with tales of her love for the program. I know this, because this is how she lived. And even in death, the things that matter endure.

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In the statement I posted at her death, I described Rox as a proud Kentuckian, by way of New Jersey. She loved her adopted state of Kentucky. In lockstep with most other Kentuckians, basketball -- and the fate of the University of Kentucky team -- was one of her passions. You can credit me, or blame me, for that. In 1980, as we watched (at my insistence) UK facing Louisiana State in the final game of the season with the Southeastern Conference championship on the line, Rox looked at me sternly, and in all seriousness, growled, "I'm missing The Love Boat."

---

This is Roxanne's one and only tweet. She joined Twitter only for the specific purpose of welcoming Coach John Calipari to the Big Blue Nation. She missed the official start of practice by just under three weeks.

My duty was clear. I had to bring her into the fold. It took a few years, but eventually, she found a taste for the Big Blue Kool-Aid. In time, she became more stricken with Cat Fever then even I was. She even once changed doctors, because hers wanted to refer her to a specialist educated at Duke University. Her death, on the brink of the John Calipari era at Kentucky, was cruel in its timing. On her last day of life, she joined CoachCal.com, the coach's website. She signed up for Twitter only so she could sent a tweet to Cal. She did (see photo). It was the only one she ever sent.

But sadness be damned. I know if Earthly perceptions continue in whatever lies next, her smile today will be as bright as ever.

Me, I'm happy. The team I love, the team I've passionately followed all my life, sits atop the world. And understandably I'm also sad. This championship, like the first two of my lifetime, came without her at my side. But in her way, she never leaves me, because, as I've said so often on LIFE 4.0, she is such a part of who I am, that we are inseperable.

Today's Lesson? Joy and triumph may only be felt in this existence. No one knows. But if they can span the gap between here and wherever she now calls home, my Roxanne is having the time of her afterlife today. And why shouldn't she? God knows she's earned it.

StevenK