Year Six

I hear the voices; I see the images almost every day. I know which seat I was sitting in in the emergency room at Deaconess... I kept looking up, expecting to see Roxanne walk around he corner snap her fingers and say " they'll never get the best of me."

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I see the supervisor coming to my and saying "we have some information about your wife." Of course I noticed the odd verbiage. I see myself walking in a daze, as she said "let's go into this room." And finally, I hear her telling me to wait in there, and saying "The coroner's going to come talk to you in a moment."

That pretty much told me what had happened. It's not the coroner who tells you about a miraculous recovery. And I realized that day that whatever would come to pass from here on, that I had died as well. All the things we shared: the jokes, the looks, the rules for our game of life, those were all washed away.

And I was left with no comfort zone. It was five years ago.

---

I was talking to a friend of mine before I went to work this morning. She told me "you focus too much on being alone." I tried to explain that I enjoy being alone when it's an option, but not when it's required all the time. It's just not a romantic thing. Because of my physical limitations, it's painful to walk. I often need somebody there to do things for me, simple things that I used to take for granted, such as carrying in a load of groceries from the car, or lying down on the kitchen floor to fix something under my sink. I don't say this to elicit sympathy. I say it just to make sure that I'm not falling into the trap of feeling sorry for myself. I really don't mind being alone from the emotional standpoint.

Of course it would come in handy if I had some more mobility, but you play the hand dealt to you.

What I am saying is that I don't want to think that the rest of my life is just going to be a repetition of the same sort of day over and over and over until the inevitable moment when my body finally gives out.

I need a sounding board, someone who can listen to me and let me flitter about until my turbocharged emotions wind down. I lost that quite a while back and haven't again found it, even though I've needed that in spades over the past year.

I've been through a negative period, one I'd not wish on anyone. Personally, I lost almost everyone whom I held close. Medically I was in constant treatment, with frustratingly slow progress. Professionally, I went from a position I knew well and at which could flourish, to one where I was uncomfortable and uncertain. The supervisor who prompted me to jump into news left, and the stations have been sold. I've virtually disappeared from the speakers, steered toward the background. I'm a professional. I understand the strategy behind all the moves, and I'm okay with it, to a point. If you start taking things personally, you drown.

Still, it colored my judgement. Day by day, immersed in negativity, I grew less confident of myself. It smothered my spirit, and left me reeling to the point where I cared about very little. People were having to tell me, "Dude, clean yourself up. You look like a bus station toilet." It was so bad that I knew I couldn't even blog about it until I had emerged from the other side. And I burst into the light just in time.

But I learned a lot. More to the point of LIFE 4.0, I learned a lot about myself, and about who I could count on. I toughed it out and came out alive and stronger. I always re-purpose myself each year, knowing that nowadays I judge my years by September 29th. It's hard for me to believe it's been five years since Roxanne died. Believe me, if she were still around, I would treasure every bit of alone time that I had. As much as I love her, she was the most intense, most focused, most balls-to-the-wall New York bitch from hell that there's ever been. Anyone would need a breather every so often. I guess this is all by way of saying that for my own survival, I may start acting weird -- even for me. I have exerted myself so much in the past couple of months physically, that it leaves me sore.

---

So, back to focusing on being alone, and the whole "life goes on" thing. What do you say to people when they say you have to carry on, have to go on living. What do you say when you just desperately want them to understand that you can't go on living, because you don't exist anymore. Physically I'm still here, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. There is still a being in my body. there's a soul here, a spiritual entity, a consciousness, a life force.

But its not me. Not at all. That person, that spirit, that soul, that emotional bundle of joy and paranoia and genius and idiocy was so intertwined with her that its gone. As to what I have left, it's a good thing. There's a lot of love, a lot of compassion, a lot of fire. There's a giving, loving spirit. Forgive the immodesty, but there's a lot of intelligence, a lot of talent, a lot of ambition.

I can't second guess God, but perhaps what He's trying to tell me right now is that I need to learn to love myself, and to accept myself, because that truly is the first step. Once I do that and I'm able to find that permanent peace, and that joy, then nothing else will matter. Eternity is a long time. Probably, one day I will reach a point where I look back and say "Wow, remember how it was right after Rox and died I didn't have to deal with anybody? I could just have time to myself. What I wouldn't give for that right now."

The hardships of which I've written today will be long forgotten, because like all of our bad times, the memories soften the harsh edges.

And I won't remember what it's like to have to be alone.

Today's lesson? I don't relish trying to do this alone. But I have no choice. Again the duality of the Southern thing comes into play.

.

Dear Roxanne,

Pila moya, this is really getting into uncharted territory. Almost everyone else has left. I may need to learn to fly. I certainly need to learn to love myself. You were always so good at that. Slip me some pointers on how to love myself. You told me in a dream last year that I needed my radio wife. You were right, as usual. And so, as always, you've been there. I know that when I talk to you every day and laugh and cry and pour out my heart, that you're taking it all in. And you're waiting. As I am. Five years without you is so long. Someday soon, cute and loveable honey, someday soon.

StevenK

The Dreams We Share

It's appropriate that it should rain today, on what would have been my Roxanne's 61st birthday. It is perfect backdrop for a tale of a wistful visit from another reality. Rain, dark skies, they give a strange comfort. And comfort, in moderation, is what I need today. As fate would have it, that's what I find... the comfort of dreams.

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Exchanging dreams. At the start, it's one of the wonderful things about falling in love. Where do you want your life to lead? What will will do to reach the sky? There's a certain awe in realizing that you have found someone who touches you so deeply that you eagerly share your dreams. Roxanne was the person who touched me like no other.

So we told each other our dreams, wept and prayed over them. We made them our own, and fueled them with our determination and our combined strength. All couples who are really in love mold their dreams. As life goes on, the dreams may change, or even disappear. When they do, you form new dreams to replace the old ones. The cycle endures, maybe even beyond death.

---

So, on to the tale of the the wistful visit.

One of the casualties of this miserable year is that so many of the people I depend on are no longer as close as I'd like. It's the fluid nature of life. Circumstances change, events come and go. Maybe next year, things will be better. So my vision of Roxanne came at at time when I needed it most.

It was as though she was right beside me. I saw her face; I heard her voice.

It was several weeks ago, around the time of my birthday. I was about to begin my move into the news department. Thata's when, one evening, she came to me. Roxanne said she knew I needed my radio wife. And I do.

I've often written about how demanding it can be to married to someone in radio. It's tough to deal with the endless hours, and the parade of swollen egos you encounter in broadcasting. And you learn early that your spouse has one of those inflated, sensitive egos. So you learn what to say, and what not to say, and all the many ways you can be of support and help.

And you learn how to coax the things you need, as does any equal person in a marriage. It's a wonderful partnership, which makes for a wonderful life. Your wonderful life together. Me, I could not ask for a better companion than Roxanne on life's journey.

And to those dreams we never achieved, well, that's as it should be. Some things must remain beyond our reach. Were we to grasp them all, they would cease to be dreams. they would lose their magic, and they would count for nothing more than signposts along the well-marked roadway.

Today's Lesson: The logical life, the predictable life, is not the life of a romantic man, nor a determined woman. The life which is most blessed, is found on the trail Roxanne and I walked, with rocks and mud, celebration and sunshine, joy today, sorrow tomorrow; and always the promise that Heaven will bring forth all things in due time, so that by the end, we would still have reason and laugh, and to cry. As I note her birthday, I celebrate the years of sharing, the gift Roxanne gave me on my birthday, and the life that continues across the chasm. As I wander into new areas of my career, it's a great comfort to know that the things she would say to me are embedded in my mind so firmly that I can call upon them without fail.

Happy birthday, my darling. It seems every year I tell you that I rely on you more than ever, and this year, my need -- and my love -- has never been deeper. You have been my comfort, even as are you are still, in those half-waking moments, and in my visions. You took my dreams, made them our dreams, and helped me live out so many of them.

For the dreams, for the sacrifice, for the anger, for the kind touch that comes from years spent living and dreaming, my most devoted thanks. I love you, pila moya.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W.B. Yeats
"He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven"

Year Five

What a strange time.

Where do I find myself as Year Five dawns? My life has changed so much in the last few months. I'm so lost, and I've been spending so much time in the dark place, feeling alone.

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Moving into the news department was exciting, difficult, degrading, and exhilarating. As enthused as I am, I'm working with unfamiliar procedures, and new people. I've lost one good friend in that department who was victim to downsizing. I have little contact with the people I worked with for years as Delilah producer on WIKY and night announcer on WABX. Most frustrating, I lose the satisfaction that comes from a job well done. On the air as a DJ, and as a producer, I know I'm good. In the newsroom, I'm the weakest link. That's not a complaint, but is does dishearten me.

I've lost my other anchor points, too. I finally gave up on Just Friends. Even I know when I should ease off. It broke my heart to toss that dream aside, not to mention leaving me emotionally impotent. Fuck it, I need a friend more than a lover, and heartbreak aside, she is a great friend. Even Cathy, who is the best friend I've ever had, has become scarce. The demands of her family and her job have left her no free time. She's always there when I need her, but it's not fair to her for me to always ask. She means far too much to me, and I am far too indebted to her, to ever be upset. But the fact remains, that due to the demands of life, things we all have to deal with, she's unable to be there, and I miss her.

---

I'm learning to be alone, and to deal with it. All the things I've used for stability and balance have fallen away from me. My confidence in my professional abilities, my determination to find love, the companionship and devotion of the people I'm closest to. I understand nothing is permanent. Maybe these things are just moving aside in order for others to fall into place.

There are so many new roads ahead for me. For the first time since Roxanne's death, I'm starting a new enterprise without her guidance. I need it. But I hope I can survive without it. I believe I know what she'd say to me in just about any instance. Even the fact that I've made it to today, made it through four years without her... I'd have never thought that was possible. As I've said many times, I'll be along when I finish my earthly tasks. The difference is that now, I have so many new tasks. So many new challenges, both personally and professionally. It's a burden on my time, and a burden on my soul. Odd as it may sound, I'm not offended by the distraction. It's made it easier to cope with late September, which is the red zone to my dark time.

But there's another difference. To be blunt, I really want to live. I lost that fire for a while, along with all the other things I've crutched on to keep going. To defend myself, it's understandable. In the process of losing so much this year, I came to the realization that I no longer am a person of significance. My efforts are fruitless, my opinions are dismissed as inconsequential.

As I start Year Five, I have come to realize that I, and only I, am responsible for finding the motivation to keep moving forward. And with that enlightenment, the duality of the Southern thing again rises to confront me. It's a difficult moment when you take off the rose-colored glasses, and look honestly at your surroundings. I may realize that I was wrong to think that many of the things I lean on are essential to my survival. And if they indeed are not necessities, but only indulgences, it becomes hard to look past their shortcomings. It's easy to forgive and make allowances when you know you life would be unbearable if you didn't. It's not as easy when you begin to wonder whether life would be better if you just cut your losses.

Today's lesson? As I note the start of my fifth year on my own, I find that I am truly on my own. That's all I need to say.

Dear Roxanne,

I miss you so much. I hope you have all the happiness and love that we've been taught awaits us when we reach the next life. Find your light and find your peace, pila moya. And look in on me when you can. I'm going to be counting on you an awful lot.

This is not going to be easy. And it shouldn't be easy. I want it to be hard, so I can call on all my skill, and all the things you taught me, and all the things we learned together. I'm running down this new road, looking around frantically to find you. I know you're there, even if you escape my sight.

I'll make you proud of me, as you always have been. All those new things I'm going to learn, all the mistakes I'm going to make, they're going to haunt me longer, because you won't be there to restore my faith in myself. All those new things I'm going to learn, I won't be able to share them with you just yet. But I will, one day. Until then, warm fuzzies and big smiles. Please stay by my side. I have work to do.

StevenK

The Newsman

I am scared shitless. I've known this was coming for a while, but I didn't know to what extent. For some time, I've discussed the possibility of doing more work in the news department. I enjoy my duties with the Delilah show, and I loved being on WABX in the evenings. But that's too close to an entry-level position to provide for the future. Radio. like many industries, is becoming less labor-intensive. The more I can do to make use of my experience and ambition, the better for everyone.

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Yes, I have a new job. I'll be the anchor of "Evansville In The Morning", our half hour news cast at 5:25am on WIKY. In addition, I'll be doing traffic reports on the WIKY morning show and morning news for WABX. Although I was unprepared to move fully into the news department, here I am. The sad thing is that this opening was created by downsizing, but that's the nature of business in today's economy. I'm eager, and scared. As enthused as I am, I'm working with unfamiliar procedures, and new people. Most frustrating, I lose the one anchor point that has made my life easier for the last four years: The knowledge that I'm damned good at what I do. That's gone.

Everyone treats me great, and they've certainly made me feel welcome. But I'm a professional. I have the ability to honestly judge what I do, without metting my ego get in the way. And I'm not good. I will be, but that will take time. I've already been criticized as being an imposter, an actor playing the role of a news person. I have a challenge, one I'm undergoing alone. Alone. I need Roxanne, and she's not here. I think that's what scares me most of all.

Today's lesson?It's still so strange to me starting my work day at the time I'm used to finishing it. Lots of adjustments. New role, new boss, lots of "fish-out-of water" feelings. And for the first time in a long time, I'm jumping into a new endeavor alone. I mean, a REALLY long time. The last time I shifted careers without Roxanne's hand to guide me, Jimmy Carter was President, and gas was about 75 cents a gallon. This is going to require me to reach inside, and find confidence and ingenuity enough to cover my shortcomings. If that sounds like "If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit," it's not. I don't need to use bullshit. I have enough talent and strength to find my way. And if that sounds overconfident, good. I love when people understimate me.

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

The Next Great Passion

Sometimes when I miss Roxanne more than usual, I break out the DVD's and watch something we shared, or something of hers. Tonight, it's Egypt.

Roxanne made it a habit to seek out new fascinations. She believed -- and there is considerable scientific research to back this up -- that continuing to learn new things kept her mind sharp and slowed the mental effects of aging.

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Rox developed a passion for the ancient Egyptian civilizatiion, a passsion which she never fully succeeded in spreading to me. We had planned to see the King Tutankhamun exhibit in Chicago, but never worked out the specifics of getting away from work at the same time. I shall always regret that. It would have been a grand sight, one which would have set her ecstatic.

In examining who I am now, I realize that I did take much from her. She was consumed by what she learned, and eager to share it with me. In typical Roxanne fashion, she clung on to her new knowledge. Every tidbit made her appetite more voracious. And as she told me of the magical things she discovered, her eyes danced, and her spirit rose like the dawn. It is this dedication, this determination to learn, that I turn to when I need an example of how to live.

Todays Lesson? One never knows when the next great passion will reveal itself, or from where it will come. Sometimes I need to remind myself that life after Roxanne is not just about dealing with the things in my path, and overtaking the things that lie in the way. It's also about keeping that path open and unencumbered, in order to welcome the things which I meet coming toward me. It has talken me over two years to realize this. It seems so elementary. And it seems so right that I would come to realize it in the Year Of Essentials

StevenK

Useless Beauty

Regular listeners -- and I hope that's you -- know that I mercilessly trash Valentine's Day every year. This year was no exception. It's not the day itself I object to. It's the general feeling that only pathetic losers are unattached, coupled with the nonstop flow of syrupy sweet emotion, which only serves to remind us of what we're missing.

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As you may or may not know, one of my tasks in the rock penthouse is to supervise the Love Songs With Delilah show on our partner station. The nonstop flow of Valentine's love doesn't help when it comes to feeling less alone. It's my job, so I usually insulate myself from the sentiment, much as a bank teller gets no particular thrill from grasping hundreds of dollars in her fist. Sometimes, though, it adds up, and the cynic in me takes over. That's when I start thinking that there has to be more to life than wandering day to day and making sure people get their proper quota of classic rock that really rocks.

This evening, I saw something so beautiful that it made me cry. My tears brought into focus the reason that I hate being alone. Those tears, and the powerful rush of emotion that brought them on, will die with me. Their story will never be told because I have no one to share my beauty and tears. I hope to love again someday, if only so beauty and tears will be something more than just my sad companions.

Today's Lesson? I may feel better tomorrow. I probably will feel better tomorrow. I may even do something positive to help myself deal with my fatalistic attitude. Tonight, though, I'm going to cry. It's what I do

StevenK

The Year Of Essentials

One of my radio mentors would ritually strip his station bare every January 1. He would remove the recorded promotional announcements, and the liner cards that act as reminders of things the DJ's are supposed to mention (events, contests, sponsors, etc) Announcers were left with only the music, and their own creativity. Why? His thinking was that leaving the DJ's with a bare canvas would give him the chance to objectively evaluate everyone's priorities. If you have freedom to do anything, what you choose to do will say a lot about how you perceive yourself as a personality, and about how you endeavor to entertain and serve your listeners.

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Just the basics, Just the primal, just the facts, ma''am (does anyone else even remember "Dragnet?" ) This programmer was one of the most intelligent people I've ever worked with. So, in the grand radio tradition of swiping someone else's good idea, I hereby wecome the new year, which I christen:

2012: The Year Of Essentials.

I want to dedicate this next year of my journey to making certain that LIFE 4.0 will support whatever lies ahead. Insuring that my house is in order will not be particularly exciting. It will be hard, boring work, which is why I've left it till now. I have needed the excitement and a sense of velocity in order to to keep me motivated.

But we all reach a point when it's time to eliminate the distractions and fix things from the bottom up. That is my loosely scripted goal for the year. Looking back at 2011, I get breathless. My expectations were far surpassed by my achievements.

Our achievements, really. Cathy deserves at least half of the credit for what I've done. She has been there with me every step of the way, except of course for my fumbled try at romance. Maybe not having Cathy at my side was the reason I fucked that up. Do you suppose I should take her along next time I have a date ( or a "was it a date or not") Granted, it might be a little awkward. It also might make a hell of a blog post.

Today's Lesson? Building on a good thing. In setting my course of action for 2012, I'm keeping alive the spirit of The Year Of Rule Six. Why give up a good thing, especially when it's successful? I plan to continue practicing continuing to practice brutal honesty, and circling the wagons. It's worked pretty well so far. I hope 2012 will be as special as 2011, but as for specific goals? I'd rather just fly as hard and fast as I can, and see where I land. It should be a bountiful year. If, as the saying goes, the fun is found not in the destination, but in the journey, it doesn't matter where I end up on December 31.

But I'll betcha it will be somewhere terrific.

StevenK

Time

   The Christmas season has been a real bitch this year. Especialy today. This would have been Roxanne's 59th birthday. I wonder how she would have approached turning this corner. I doubt that she would move gracefully into her sixties. She always said that she would be a rocker to the end, which she was. I miss that in-your-face defiance, and I always regret that of all the things I absorbed from Roxanne, her confidence was not among them.

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   I imagine we would have spent this birthday as we did many others, looking back over the year gone by, and smiling about the days to come, which we knew would be better. Like most couples, we thought there would be plenty of time. It didn't work out that way, but that's where faith comes into play.

   Perhaps I'm just raggy. Although the Year Of Rule Six has been a great year, it's ending with three disappointments.

• I had hoped that by Christmas, I would have my house in the shape where I could have guests. I'm still a long way from that. I did put some things up for Christmas, at least. Aside from my wreath, I'd not decorated since Roxanne died.
  
• My weight loss has stagnated; I suppose that's to be expected after the rapid advancements I'd made earlier in the year. I'm still shrinking, but at a slower rate.
  
• I'm wondering if I made a serious misjudgement in falling so hard for Just Friends (as if I had any say in the situation.) I fell hard and deep, the way I do anything which arouses my interest. Maybe there are people who can make logical decisions about love. Not me. Things are fine, we're still great friends, but it's looking like that's where she and I will stay. Mark it as lukewarm. On the good side, we're still close. There are far worse things than having a good friend, especially as I have few really close friends. But it's really awkward --and honestly, more than a little sad -- knowing you've polished up your heart, and offered it to someone, only to have her say, "ehh, maybe later." I do realize that without this infatuation, I might not have gained the confidence and social fluency that, gradually, is becoming a part of who I am. So, I'm at a crossroads with her. She says to give it time.

   Time? Time is a tease. Give it time? How I wish that time was mine to give. To most of us, time seems infinite. That was what Roxanne and I used to think. In reality, time is infinite, but our personal share of that time is not.

   The hole that Roxanne's death left is healing, but oh, so slowly. It weighs on me, as her birthday comes so close to Christmas. Not having family locally, I can't hide in the trapping of the holiday. What the hell, I was on a roll with Thanksgiving, so I suppose if Christmas is less than outstanding, I can deal with it.

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   Today's lesson? Never, EVER, assume there will be time. Act, while the moment is at hand. Joy is fleeting; regret lingers like stale smoke.

Is it dangerous that I still judge each step in terms of comparison to my life with Roxanne? It's perfectly understandable at this time of year. But I worry I'm using her memory as a crutch. I hope her legacy involves more than giving me an excuse to tiptoe through life. I want to run, singing loudly, eyes wide open, I want to revel in all that fate delivers, whether blissful or terrifying.

I want it all.

StevenK

A Holiday Worth Giving Thanks For

   Thanksgiving Day.

   It's my third one on my own, and it's been easily the best of the lot. Holidays and I sometimes don't mix well. Two years ago, I was still getting my footing after Roxanne's death. Last Thanksgiving was just depressing. So this year, I decided that instead of fighting the day, I would make it mine.

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Isn't that facial expression indescribeable? !!! My BFF Cathy wondering if I will poison anyone by throwing together a Thanksgiving meal.

   It was an uncertain day in some ways. My best friend Cathy and her husband Lew, knowing I sometimes feel like an odd sock on holidays, made sure I knew that I would be welcome with them. Their family always does it up right on Thanksgiving. Cathy had an early work day, but would be off in plenty of time to join in the celebration.

   Still, I declined their offer to let me tag along to their family get-together. It was an incredible invitation, and a testament to what special friends Cathy and Lew are, but theirs is a family gathering, and pretty crowded, too. Plus, I was scheduled to be on the air Thanksgiving evening. Nothing like getting stuffed, then have to get up and go to work.

Here are the products of my culinary labor. When motivated, I can be productive.

   Truth be told, it was not a totally happy Thanksgiving. I have a friend who's been going through the wringer lately, and is wrapped in misery. I've been there myself, much too often over the years. Closer to home, there's some teenage drama with relatives, so I'm worried. But worry doesn't help. There's not much I can do about either sitation. Trying to take a cue from Cathy, and not fixate on things I can't change, I did my best to let those concerns alone. This is a holiday, after all.

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   So, on with the holiday! This is all new to me, so I opted for the path of least resistance. I took the traditional route: Food, good food. I'll brag for a moment. I'm actually a pretty good cook. As I never cared for turkey, I made a chuck roast with corn and rice. Nothing fancy, but warm, happy and filling, much like I strive to be in my new life.

My friend Kristi baked a pumpkin pie. There was so much left over! (Yeah, right.)

   As I said earlier, I worked on Thanksgiving -- that's a fact of life in broadcasting -- so I shared my Thanksgiving meal with some of my holiday shift co-workers, and with my friend Kristi, another member of the "gotta-work-on-Thanksgiving" society. We have shared a running joke for several years about spending Thanksgiving together, so it was fitting that we finally go to do it.

   Kristi brought a pumpkin pie, fresh from her oven, for us to share. I liked Kristi a lot even before she brought me pie. Now I like her even more. Pie will do that to a fellow.

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   Today's lesson? Call it reader's choice: You get to pick. Either I was damned lucky, or things in LIFE 4.0 are getting easier with time.

Maybe both things are true. I do know that I am damned lucky. And I'm pretty certain I'm learning not to let distractions and misfortune throw me off my stride. Today, to quote "The Quiet Man," was a fine, soft day. It was a day filled with camaraderie, accomplishment, caring gestures, homemade pleasures, and long-ago promises finally fulfilled. It's a day that was much needed, and for that, I give thanks.

StevenK

Hello, St. Louis

It had been a long time since I'd been anywhere. St. Louis was familiar, even if I'd not been in a long time. It could be fun. Except for two trips to Mt. Vernon, and one to Boonville, I'd not been out of Evansville in well over two years. I was due, that's for certain. The question is: Was I ready?

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It started simply enough. Saturday morning, I posted a link on one of our stations' Facebook page giving details of the parade to celebrate the Cardinals' World Series title. I wasn't even thinking about the fact that my best friend Cathy is a Cards fan. (If you're new to LIFE 4.0, meet Cathy.) It crossed my mind that I'd not been to St. Louis in ages, 2005 to be precise, and 1995 before that. Each time, I'd been passsing through on my way out west, so maybe those don't even count.

My best friend Cathy properly attired in her Cardinals shirt. Usually, she stands out from the crowd, but not that day. Several hundred thousand St. Louisians were showing their colors as well.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained... We hatched a plan that afternoon. We would head to St. Louis Sunday morning, and see the parade. It was supposed to be a nice day, and it's an uncongested drive. I-64 from Evansville is usually sparsely traveled until you hit the St. Louis suburbs. What the hell, we'd try it. If the three-hour drive knocked me out (which it could, because of the swelling in my calves) I'd drop Cathy off where she could watch the parade and pick her up after it was over.

It was a fantastic day. We left about 9:00, so after a lunch stop, we hit downtown St. Louis about 1:00. The parade would start after the Rams game, about four o'clock. People were already lining up along the route, so we parked and walked the four blocks to 15th & Market, right across from the American Theater. Windy as can be, and some rain here and there, but who cares? It was party time. How often does your city's team win the World Series?

It was just one of those days that makes life special, Everything went right. We found a great spot right by the barricade, and set up our chairs. Yes, we brought chairs. Cathy may be tough, but I'm not. No way could I stand for four hours. Between the two of us, we took about 200 pictures, and several videos. You can see the pics on my Facebook page. (Hey, friend me if you're not one already) and Cathy's videos on here.

Manager Tony LaRussa even waved in our direction! The following day, he announced his retirement, so we can say we saw him as Cardinals manager on the last day of his glorious career.

   I hope this doesn't sound like bragging, but I far exceeded expectations, I walked without a lot of difficulty, and actually stood for almost 45 minutes once the parade got underway. We met a lot of nice Cards fans, some of which were impressed that we drove all the way from Indiana.I got to run through Jack In The Box, and Cathy introduced me to Imo's Pizza.

And there's a great sense of satisfaction in knowing that I accomplished something which I really thought was beyond my ability.

Today's lesson? Consider the road not taken. It's impossibile to know what we miss by playing it safe. Had I been sensible and done the "right thing," and not pushed myself to the limit, I would have missed one of the most wonderful days of my life. It's good to know that the spirit of The Year Of Rule Six rocks on, loud and proud.

StevenK

Year Three

The days that followed are blurry, but I remember that afternoon perfectly. Two years after the fact, it's still painful to recall. The phone call, the trip to the emergency room, the waiting, the conversation, the trip home, the obligatory phone calls. And late that night, the blog post which would become the foundation of LIFE 4.0.

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They say people deal with grief in different ways. If so, I suppose my method of coping is as good as any. How does one judge something like this? If success is judged by the ability to survive, grow and prosper, I'm sitting pretty well.

I wonder if Roxanne would have ever imagined I could last two years without her. The fact that I judge things by how she would perceive them should tell you how deeply she still lives in my heart.

I think she'd be proud of who I am today. I think she would be glad that I look to end each day as a better man than I was the day before. I think she'd enjoy reminding me that she was right when she repeatedly told me I would outlive her. I never believed it. Between my weight and my heart, I expected she'd be the one left on her own.

I think Roxanne would laugh at how unprepared I was to carry on without her. It would be a laugh of support, though; knowing now that I somehow got through, at least so far.

I think she would be glad I have surrounded myself with a few close friends. I think she'd be especially glad I have a best friend like Cathy, who always looks out for me in the way Roxanne did. Cathy and my other friends are special people.

I have come to lean on these friends, and have learned to depend on them. It has not been easy -- that's my fault, not theirs. It's been so hard to open up, because Roxanne and I kept such sparse company with others.

I think she'd shake her head at the idea of me wanting to fall in love again. And I'm certain she would grimace in frustration at how deeply I've been smitten by the woman whom I've referred to on this blog as Just Friends.

Roxanne would not be jealous that I am once again speaking of love. But, knowing how I always wore my heart on my sleeve -- and apparently, still do -- she would tell me to TCB and not let my need for love impede my day-to-day life. And I may find the being able to do just that will be my biggest challenge as year three of LIFE 4.0 begins.

I hope Roxanne would tell me to be strong. I learned strength from her, but I probably did not learn enough. Most importantly, she would tell me to find my way, not the way I think she would have chosen for me.

Today's lesson? Just as 2011, The Year of Rule Six, has worked out pretty well, perhaps year three of LIFE 4.0 will follow a similar unplanned path. I'm a big believer in serendipity. If I somehow stumble into the light, I'll smile and be thankful.

Dear Roxanne,

I hope you have found a place of blessing. I hope you are not lonely, except of course for the part of you that waits for me to join you. These two years have been the hardest and lonliest of my life. I do hope you're proud that I've embraced my new friends, and have come to revel in their company.

I hope you know how much of your memory and your spirit lives on in me. As you did in life, you bring inspiration to my every waking moment. Now I need that inspiration more than ever, as I try to move on, as my own man.

As I have decided to again jump into life, I have realized that my new life may be worth trying it with someone at my side. It may never happen. It may crash and burn. It may last the rest of my life. I have poured my heart out to you so many times wondering if I'm being disloyal to you.

No one could ever take your place, pila moya. There is not a breath I draw, not a beat of my heart that happens independent of you.

I wish you angels on your pillow, my cute and loveable honey. You've always understood me better than I have myself. Please smile at all the changes. Please dance when you feel my joy. As I find my own path through whatever time I have remaining, send me blessings. I need them.

Blessings, Bruises and Blood. Happy Birthday To Me

This year on my birthday, I'm actually taking time to stop and smell the roses. And, as the lyric goes, it was a good year for the roses... even if it meant sifting through a lot of fertilizer. In some ways, I have grown quickly. In other ways, it's a bit slower. As I mark my second birthday since Roxanne's passing, I realize how blessed I am, how easily I bruise, and how bloodied I have become.

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Blessings: I have grown more and accomplished more in any one year than I can remember since 1979. I've documented those successes in this blog, being able to legally drive, losing serious weight, restoring my will to live, igniting my desire for love, and many lesser things.

My friends who compose my inner circle are my salvation. They have motivated and sheltered me. They continue to do so. Likewise, by bosses and co-workers at WABX, WIKY and our South Central Media partners allow me to express myself honestly, roses and thorns alike, on the air, in social media, and on this blog.

Bruises: As my love of life has reappeared, it's become too easy to take things personally. A thick skin has never been part of my armor. I'm learning to grow one, but only through repeated episodes of being roughed up.

Due to the nature of the radio business, I have lost people I have come to depend on. My duality (see previous post) swings toward the negative pole more often than I'd like. Though I'm improving my health, I have had to force up to one casualty of time... I have begun walking with a cane.

I am responsible for the bruises of other people, for the scars and warts I have left on those I love most. I've tried to grow, but it's sometimes brought on a lot of emotional kicking and screaming. I've left some scarred earth in my wake. Thanks to the forgiving nature of my friends, I at least have burned few bridges.

Blood: The most challenging thing I've face has been falling short at my biggest gamble: being bold enough to romantically bare my soul, only to be shot down. Yes, over the last year, I have learned to reach for the stars. So far, I've failed every time. I am making little progress at what I hope wil.l someday be a love life. I must learn patience.

Professionally, I have often been excuded from things I've always been involved with at work. Compartmentalization and specification, I tell myself. But it could also be planned obsolesence.

Bloodiest of all, I bear an everpresent, terrifying thought. There is a loveless, unfulfilled sense of longing which overtakes me more often than I'd like.   I can't help but wonder if this is how it's going to be from now on. Is the rest of my life just an extended glide with no new peaks? Still, I would not turn the clock back a year for anything. Maybe two years, just for another couple of weeks with my Roxanne. I would do that for a couple of days, for a couple of hours, even for the chance to hold her and whisper "In love you" in her ear.

Today's Lesson? I am miles from where I was last year at this time. Then, I was so mired in the present that I couldn't even think ahead. Today, I not only think ahead, I anticipate tomorrow. I can't wait to see where I will be a year from now.

The Best Month, The Worst Week, And The Duality Of The Southern Thing

Life in July was beautiful, all hearts and flowers, so I'm going to enjoy it as long as I can. Life often sends me flowers, but I suspect it's because it knows it's fixing to screw me again. Or maybe it thinks I'm already dead.

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Life has a habit of sneaking up on me. I didn't expect to ever be able to drive again. I didn't expect to drop one-fifth of my body weight. I damn sure did not expect that I might ever wonder if I could again have feelings for someone, and certainly not this soon. That, in a nutshell, was my July.

I also didn't expect to follow the best month in recent memory with one of the worst weeks ever. It's been such a thrill ride, I have to ground myself every so often. But not yet. I'm having too much fun. And it's been too long since I had fun.

If I were down the hall on our partner station, today's WORD would be "symbiotic." (Go ahead and look it up. that's why I linked it.) Oh, what the hell; it's an adjective describing a dependent, not necessarily beneficial, relationship between two entities which simultaneously co-exist. It's what Patterson Hood calls "the duality of the Southern Thing." In this instance, in my life, fun and danger. I'm dangerous when I have fun. When I have fun, I get reckless. In my world, the fun and the danger are intertwined. Leap forward and fall back. Positive and negative. Yin and yang. Jeckyll and Hyde. Dichotemy, symbiosis; these are what you'll find in the double helix building blocks of misterkellys neighborhood.

Country boys like me know about this two-way street. We learn it in infancy, starting from the time Mama first tells us about about the merciful God of salvation and forgiveness, who, by the way, won't think twice about pitching you into the fires of hell to roast for eternity if you don't mind your P's and Q's. Duality of the Southern thing.

So, about the best month... July was incredible. No other way to say it, this was the best month since I began this site. This was one of the best months of my life, ever. As for the first week of August, it was such a disaster that I'm not up to describing it. Suffice to say that I can't write about it without breaking personal confidences. The things which made me sad have nothing to do with my new life nor with my work at the radio station. They're unassociated with anything covered in my blog, so I'll politely decline. I mention it only because it fits with the theme of duality.

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It was easy to write about the great things that happened to me in the best month of LIFE 4.0. You can find them farther down the page or in "previous posts" to the right. Months like July make it easy to share my joy with you. Over the past decade, I've become adept at sharing both the good and the bad (duality again). May I look back for a moment at how this all came to pass?

Radio stations usually try to outglitz each other. That's all well and good, and WABX has cool contests and cutting edge technology that dwarfs 'em all. I have a great time every night acting silly and preaching the trinity (rock, loud rock, louder rock) but I like being honest about myself. I don't mind being the butt of the joke if I deserve it, and it's refreshing to have the freedom to throw up my hands and say "I don't understand life, but it must love me because it fucks me every chance it gets."

This goes against all the rules of radio. We are supposed to be Mr. Hip Radio Personality... poised, confident, debonair, with nary a flaw to be seen. Nice work if you can get it. But that's not me.

I realized at an early age, as the old Don Williams song went, that I was smarter than most, and I could learn to talk like the man on The Six O'Clock News. So I did. But look past that, and you'll find that I am what I've always been, a good ol' boy from the hollers of Kentucky, full of piss and vinegar. More days than not, I could use a haircut and a bath. And I plead guilty to a fascination with certain round parts of the female anatomy. But I was brought up right, in a loving, God-fearing home. I've been baptized twice. I've been in prison twice. I'm a redneck and a shit kicker, as well as a gentleman and a scholar. Once again, the duality of the Southern thing rears its heads.

I'm being who I am, even given the duality of my own nature. I have nights when I quote Scripture, then play "Shelter Me" by Cinderella, and start riffing about the virtues of a wet t-shirt. (If you've seen the video, you'll know what I mean. If not, good, because that means you don't watch TV, and you listen to the radio. Good for you. Watching TV when I'm on the air will cause you to burn in hell. Back to the Scripture quotations. It's the... say it with me.. it's the duality of the Southern Thing)

So rather than being Mr. Cool Radio personality, I began to share dreams and failures with you. After my wife Roxanne died almost two years ago, I took the final step, and launched this blog. I continued to speak of the dreams and failures -- now unfiltered. I could, and did, talk of setbacks, fears, thoughts of suicide, and my rampant insecurities which pre-dated Roxanne.

I told of my lack of willpower and abundance of "don't give a damn" which allowed me to swell past 550 pounds, and of of the realization that I was headed for the edge, acting as if I wanted to die.

Readers and listeners learned I had no license to drive -- hadn't had one since back in 19-mumble-mumble-harrumph -- but continuted to drive anyway. I finally stopped when the forces of Karma, and my best friends, took a stand, and threatened to get some long shears and start chopping at a certain body part. (That's just too much of a risk. It's just a damn water pump at the moment, but I do have hope for the future.)

On my blog, and on the air, I pressed ahead to rebuild myself. I spoke of the realization that I was headed for the edge, acting as if I wanted to die. And while I did not particularly want to die I'd not have been sad. I miss my parents something awful. And Roxanne waits for me. (At least hope to God she does. LIFE 4.0 is bad enough with her; I don't want to think about being alone through eternity. Please be patient, pila moya; I'm trying to hurry.)

I spoke about my quiet, safe place where I hid from the real world, wrapped in my cocoon, sheltered from any need for emotions other then lonilieness and confusion. Survival. That's all I was capable of achieving. That's no way to live. Seems so obvious now, but without my inner circle, I'd never have realized it.

I'm blessed enough to have a great circle of people who look after me. When I wrote the post about the pills which I was saving for a quick exit, should I need one, my friend Kat threatened to place her foot firmly in my tailfeathers. (Think about it. If I don't fear death, why would I get scared of a foot up my ass? But I do.)

I've often mentioned my best friend Cathy and her husband Lew. They're without parallel in my live. I would likely have died without them. That's not an exaggeration. At one low point of my health, Cathy made me go to the doctor so he could look at the swelling in my legs. He was so concerned about what he saw, he put me in the hospital at once. It's scary to think where I might be had she not been so diligent. It takes a special kind of friend to pull you up from the brink of disaster when you're stopped giving a damn about yourself. My friend Kristi, who knows us both, has told me she's amazed how much Cathy's done for me. She's not alone there; I'm amazed, too.

And Kristi... Oh, there is so much in her soul and in her baggage which is akin to mine. She looks out for me by sending me diet and excercise tips, and by making me feel useful. She always brings a fresh perspective to whatever I'm obsessed with at the time. I've leaned on her hard since Roxanne's death, far more than I've had the right to. There's nothing I'm afraid to tell her. (She and Cathy are the only people in the world I can say that about... and, my friends, I hope you both realize what a great compliment that is to each of you.) My friend Todd could be my bartender, considering the hours he's spent past midnight listening to me. Rob is quickly qualifying in the department, too. See? I do have some friends who aren't women.

They make me feel it's important to stay around. That is not easy job. Once the emotions start snowballing, I become convinced that I've overstayed my time in this world. Again, I lean on someone in my inner circle. Sean Roberts, who preceeds me on the air on WABX, hit the nail on the head when he asked me "Don't you want to see what's waiting around the bend?"

Smart guy, that Sean.

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From one day to the next, the change is unnoticeable. Gradually, I came to realize that my cycle of euphoria and depression is the same one everyone goes thorough. My endurance increased. I lost weight, LOTS of weight. My efforts to drive again, which I estimated at a five percent chance, came full circle in July. I can now drive legally for the first time in twenty years. Most astonishing of all I was blindsided by a fascinating woman. (Let's call her "Just Friends", as explained in my previous post.)I wasn't ready for that. I'm still not ready; neither is she, which is exactly where we leave things as the best month yet comes to an end.

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So where am I in August of 2011? I'm better. I'm gone from desperation to survival to living. I've lost almost a hundred pounds in the last six months. I've unearthed enough confidence to begin displaying a real photo of myself on my Facebook avitar. I have gone from crying on my pillow every night to crying on my pillow every night -- I'm still working on that one. I have new friends who respect me. They believe in me; I had better not let them down, and you know, I really don't think I will. I am actually starting to like myself. That's been a long time in coming. And I'm not really upset that so many of the sentences in this post begin with "I."

I still have so far to go, and so much to deal with. Living publicly in cyberspace has plenty of drawbacks. I have to be careful not to violate privacy. It would be easy to get people in hot water. Thus, some things remain unwritten, so as not to cause pain. When Just Friends came into my life, I had the new-media verson of The Conversation. "Here's what you're in for," I warned. To my delight, she was cool with it. "No one's ever blogged about me before," she said. I hope it wasn't just optomism that made me see a gleam of flattery in her eye. Still, we remain Just Friends. More on that later.

And, the one good thing which came about this week, I finished the last court appearance and the last payment associated with my driver's license. The final curtain call in a twenty-year chapter of my life.

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Now that things are above board in the legal sense, I can get on with the things I intended when I began LIFE 4.0. So how is it going? Nothing new with Just Friends. We're still friends, which is fine with me. That's exactly where things should stand. I wanted more in my life; now I have more in my life. No grounds for disappointment there. I am fuller and richer, and I love her for that. But as I said we're friends, and that's the best thing.

I know I'm riding a major infatuation, but I've never believed infautation is a bad thing, as long as all parties recognize it for what it is. It's a way to feel happiness, satisfaction, a conduit to action. I welcome anything which makes my path easier. I'd forgotten how much fun a knot in your stomach can be. I try not to think for the long term. I am a patient man. Maybe someday love will take root. I really doubt it, but that doubt alone is no longer reason enough to let it pass me by. Happy ever after? I doubt it. I'm not being negative; I am being honest. The number seven has always been special for me, so I'll give love about a seven percent chance. But I gave myself a five percent chance of getting my license, and yet here I am, tooling down the Lloyd, blasting the Drive-By Truckers, and singing off-key "...ain't about the races, the crying shame. To the fucking rich man all poor people look the same..." Such is the duality of the Southern Thing.

Cathy reminded me yesterday of something I often say, that I am a freak show. It's an honest comment, if not a flattering one. I like to think, in keeping with today's theme of duality, that there is a gem of a man inside this container, if he can just climb over the bullshit. I've been wavering around 500 pounds for a few years now. Clothing that large is expensive. Even basic hygiene is difficult, given that a year ago, I could barely stand for five minutes. Many people, many good people, can not look past the freak show to find what's underneath. Shit, many people I see every day can't do it. I made my peace with that long ago, but it still gets disheartening somtimes.

The flip side of that is that every so often, I come across a beautiful soul who does indeed look past the wrapping. That happens too seldom, but it did happen a few weeks ago, and that, my friends, was the best part of the best month. Once again, the duality of the Southern thing comes into play, because I am both overjoyed and saddened. I'm joyous that she has risen above human nature to see past the freak show. And I'm ashamed that I was worried that she wouldn't, and that I could so underestimate her strength of character. I should have know she would choose the righteous path. I'll bet she even got the "African Queen" reference in this paragraph. As to the Drive-By Truckers reference, well, there'll be time to learn.

At least, I hope there's time. I really do. It used to be I'd go to bed hoping I would die in my sleep. That doesn't happen very often now. That is real progress.

Today's lesson? As the white lines on the Lloyd fly past and the hot August wind blows against me, I reflect on the best month, and on how my life is now defined. It's not the life I want, nor the life I expected. I've come to accept over the past 22 months that the life I dream of is forever gone. But I have a good life. It's a life I can love. Damn, that's been a long time in coming.

And Sean, buddy, you're right. I do want to see what's around the bend. I do believe it'll be something wonderful.

StevenK