I thought I was supposed to write these things once a week. What happened? Well, life happened I guess. Life happened and somehow the blog fell to the last important thing on my list. Have you ever felt so drained that your entire body just doesn’t want to move? Like everything around you is just melting and you have to stay in place to just watch it all happen?
That’s what a lot of this year has been for me. Things have happened this year that have been hard to deal with. The pain of this year has cut me down deep. I am trying to cope, trying to be, but when I feel like the walls are melting, I can’t write. I can’t do things like that. I just have to watch them melt until it’s over.
Then when it’s over, I know there’s just a big puddle of feelings I have to pick up and hopefully shed off of me layer by layer. Life does get harder. Decisions become an everyday thing and with everything that’s already happening in the world, it feels like utter chaos.
Pay attention to anything on the news and feel immediate horror at the United States government. Add that to life’s regular dramas. Add that to “quarantine.” Add that to grief. Add that to no Disneyland! Add it all up.
It can be a lot.
It’s not always easy to just look on the bright side.
There is beauty everywhere. Yes. Sometimes it is so hard to see though. This week I was walking and going down my (as of late) usual downward depressive style of thinking. Everything is bad. Everything is this. This means this. If only this would change, then… I remembered something.
I decided to flip my thinking for just a moment. I turned a channel in my head.
I said, “I am grateful for the beautiful home that I live in. I am grateful for a partner. I am grateful for all the trees around me.“
I kept going. I kept saying what I was grateful for.
“I am grateful for the show Sex and the City.“
I kept going. It kept helping. It was like my mind was tuned in to another station and for that moment, those dark thoughts could not live there. I was on the depressed channel and I changed it to the gratitude channel. That moment felt good. It felt right. Everything felt ok. The walls stopped melting. Just for a minute. Then, when my thoughts trailed back to a dark place, I watched the walls melt again, but it melted less and I felt just a little bit better.
There’s things all over about gratitude journals, gratitude this, gratitude that. I’ve tried it before. It didn’t do much for me. For some reason, this time it did. Maybe I needed it this time now more than ever. Saying the words adjusted my world.
Taking a moment to thank the universe for what I’ve been blessed with adjusted the loop in my mind.
Things get dark. The darkness is important, but so is letting a little bit of light through.
I have a boy. His name is Pj Aguirre. Although he’s not physically here with me now, I know that he is here with me now...
It was three years ago, the two dogs had been living with my brother, Gordo, in Arizona, and only one dog was allowed in his new apartment. Pj had been mine since I was 10, but he stayed at home when I went to college. He came to me from Minnesota on a plane in 2003. When he landed, my heart melted in a way that I never thought it could. I was only 10 years old, yet here was this beautiful dog that I was completely infatuated with. My first email address and AIM account was [email protected]. He was my sweetheart.
When Pj returned to me, I was living in Hermosa Beach renting a room in a crowded family home. I was paying 700/ month. I had little space and was not comfortable at all. Pj started peeing all over the house like he’d done so often in the past. It was causing problems.
I knew Pj and I were going to have to move. I had to find a place for us and I had to re-pottie train him. I found a house a few miles away in Redondo Beach that was way out of my price range. I knew that I could swing it but barely. I liked the roommates too… but most importantly, there was a yard for Pj! I convinced the landlord to let me move in even though I hardly had enough money to live there.
Pj continued to have small accidents when he would get upset about something, but… He got way better! Having Pj was the first time in my life that I started making decisions for someone other than myself. He made me want to live a little differently. When Pj came to me, I started sleeping in a little more so I could cuddle with my boy. I started letting time pass by a little softer without much concern to “do” anything. Although we never spoke to each other, our spirits were/ are entangled. A silent, powerful bond.
We were inseparable, Pj and I. Work? Yes he went. Sometimes he’d work doubles with the other employees there. Store? Yep. Car rides? Yep. Road trips? Yes. Restaurants? Yep. I once went out to eat with my friend, and after took Pj to dine at El Pollo Loco. We went everywhere together. We were a team.
Often times I’d look at my boy, smile, and sing:
You are my sunshine
my little sunshine,
you make me happy
when skies are grey,
you’ll never know Peedy
how much I love you,
so please don’t take my Peedy away
He’d give me a slightly dirty look asking me to please not smother him so much and “please mother don’t sing in public!” A casual eye roll. His personality was that of a fancy British male. He liked the finer things in life: human food, looking sharp, and good posture. Pj was a fancy boy. He demanded to be respected and that’s what he got. My prince.
If I tried to play fetch with him, he would laugh in my face. A tennis ball? Yeah, right. Those were for dogs. He wasn’t like other dogs. That’s what made him special. Pj was just himself. He would stare into your eyes for long periods of time. He was always quiet, I don’t remember him barking the last five years of his life.
He wouldn’t come up and lap my face with kisses all the time, but every once in a while, he’d walk up to me while I was laying down and give me one distinct lick kiss. I knew how much Pj loved me and those rare kisses meant everything to me. Each night he slept, he needed to have his butt right up next to me. Not exactly “cuddling,” but always touching. He followed my lead everywhere I went. He actually loved Yoga too. He’d plop his butt right down in the middle of the mat mid-downward dog.
He loved putting his head out the window in the car. He loved to eat things he wasn’t supposed to. He loved shining his beautiful eyes up at you to guilt you into giving him some food. He loved breaking into the trash can. He loved stealing dark chocolate bars out of my purse (yes he digested it fine.) He loved smelliness. He loved me.
My brother called him a garbage disposal. Pj was my troublemaker, my calm boy, my partner. He was an extension of me… I would constantly tell people that we were twins, didn’t we look so alike?
Pj taught me how to love without conditions. I never really got mad at Pj. If I did, it was rare. I didn’t get mad at him because I wanted him to know how loved he was, even at his worst. For some reason, I just could not be mad at his face. Yes he was the most handsome boy in the whole entire world, but it was more than that. Maybe after not having him for so long, I felt I had a lot of love and care to make up for.
Pj taught me commitment. I was committed to him and everything that I did in a way revolved around him. Sacrificing certain things didn’t matter, I loved coming home to Pj. It was better than anything in the world.
I remember the way that he would look up at me like, “Mother, are you serious?” When I’d dance around him like a maniac, or when I’d do something ridiculous, or when I didn’t give him food, or pretty much all the time. He was my sweet boy, my handsome pants, my little guy.
The other day I was at a random café that I had never been to… I say a prayer to Pj while I am waiting for my coffee and English muffin. I get my coffee and go out to the table outside to wait for the muffin. Just then, I look up and the sign that is engraved on the front counter reads, “You are my Sunshine.” I start crying.
In that moment, I felt Pj’s eternal presence. I felt Pj right there with me. I knew he heard my prayer.
I feel him every day. I feel Pj. I actually feel stronger with him by my side now, even though sometimes it’s so hard, and typing this right now I may cry because I miss him so much.
I know my Pj was more than a dog. He is a soul. In the end, I had to make a decision to put Pj to sleep. It was the hardest thing in the world. It was the only gift that I could give him though. He had given me so much in his life. I told him to tell me when it was time. He told me in that unspoken way of how we so often communicated with one another. I felt him tell me. When his soul left his body, I felt him leave too. It was heart wrenching. I sure am grateful to have had him for as long as I did, 17 years is a long time. I wish we had more time here on Earth together, but I know he is here to guide me whenever I need him. I know he is at peace too. He told me that. He is the light in the sky now, my forever sunshine.
How often do you pull someone aside, look them in the eye, and say, “Hey I just want you to know, I love you and I appreciate you?’
If you’re me, it’s not too often… I got as close to death as I ever have been last week. Ivan Ariel Aguirre died Monday, November 11th, 2019. Ivan was my little cousin. He was 20 years old. Growing up, he became like a little brother that had gotten too cool for me. He and my brother, Gordo, had been best friends since they were babies.
Seeing Ivan’s body at the viewing was surreal. My brother and I first saw him from a distance. Tears stormed our eyes and sadness took us. As we stepped closer to Ivan’s body, our tears grew heavier. When we got to the casket and stood next to Ivan’s body, something in us halted. The tears rested. For just a minute. I looked at Ivan’s body and I whispered to my brother, “He looks completely at peace.” I kissed his cold cheek. I whispered to him to make me a famous actress. My brother kissed him too and whispered something about ASU winning the championship.
If you know the Aguirre’s (my dad’s family), you’d know they were incredibly “cool.” 6 brothers, 1 sister. All good looking kids, all tough as they needed to be. Mexican. Grew up poor. Their dad left early in their lives, and their mom was at work all the time to support them. My Nana is one strong lady. She remains kind to this day. The Aguirre kids grew up knowing little about anything though. They made up for this by acting like they knew everything. Instead of being sad, “don’t be a sissy”, make a joke. Instead of being mad, make fun of someone. Or shut down completely. Completely lose yourself in your emotions, and don’t accept them. Ignore it or run from it. Whatever you do, make sure you don’t show what’s inside. Stay “cool.”
Emotions are not something my Aguirre family grew up being comfortable with.
The funeral is held at Brophy Chapel in Phoenix, Arizona. There are 500+ people that show up. People are standing in the back. I have never seen a more crowded church in my life. During the eulogy, my Uncle Ariel, Ivan’s dad, talks about Ivan, or as he called his alter ego ‘Gorj.’ Towards the end, he asks anyone that considered Ivan to be their “brother” to join him on the stage. Football guys. School guys. Fraternity guys. My brother. Ivan’s brother. I kid you not, 100 guys walk up to that stage. A movement. They join Ivan and his dad breath in breath with each other. Ivan’s “brotherhood.” All these guys marching as one, standing as one, to honor Ivan. There is not one dry eye in that church…
Sam (Ivan’s brother) and Gordo
Ivan touched people. He didn’t leave anyone out either. If his buddy got kicked out of the fraternity and school, Ivan stayed friends with him. Ivan was loyal. He wasn’t “too good” for people. He’d play guitar with the homeless guy on the street. He’d talk to anyone.
Each guy took turns to speak about Ivan. Every one called Ivan their “best friend.” These boys said Ivan was someone that always had his door open (literally in the frat house.) My brother told the story how Ivan would drive an hour away from his busy college life to help him with his math homework. Well, as my brother points out ‘do’ his math homework. My brother accredits Ivan for being the reason he got into ASU, his dream school. I know that’s true because Gordo and math have never got along.
What stood out to me most was when this one kid goes up and grabs the mic… He talks about how Ivan and him would talk about song lyrics and what they meant. They’d talk about everything. He said Ivan was the only guy he’d kissed on the lips, besides his dad. Most important (to me) he said,
Ivan didn’t just love. He would tell you how much he loved you. He would say it. He would pull you aside and tell you how much he loved and appreciated you.
This 20-year-old Aguirre frat boy? Showing his feelings in the realest way. To his boys! His girlfriend went up and talked about what a good boyfriend Ivan was. He knew how to love. He knew how to speak that love. He could commit to someone in a deep, beautiful way. He could tell his friends how he felt about them. His friends. He could tell anyone how he felt about them.
Ivan was a frat kid. He partied, but kept his almost 4.0 GPA and full-ride scholarship at Arizona State University. He traveled out of the country, even when his family didn’t have the money to do so. He made that happen. He made things happen. Ivan was handsome. He was good. He was funny, God he was funny. He was so full of love and I never knew it! He was better than I. He is the reason I believe with my whole heart that, “Only the Good Die Young.”
Buddy, you were a light. A light that was so bright for this world. And so you go. Now, you’re with us somewhere. Or you’re some place better. All I know is you gave yourself to every single person. You showed your truth. An Aguirre. This tough exterior. This cool guy.
You broke down those walls that have been built up for who knows how long.
Ivan loved. He loved fiercely. For that, Ivan, I will keep with me every single day of my life. Thank you, kid. You showed me what real love is, and real love means showing it. It means speaking it. Real love means showing people that you care. It means having an open door and accepting everyone just as they are.
Gordo, Ivan (Light coming out of his chest), Gabby (Ivan’s sister), Me, Sam (Ivan’s brother) (2001ish)
Quote from Ivan:
If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you’re going to have something special.
One of my professors at San Diego State told me a riddle two years ago. It went like this:
“So you have a bag. In it, you must fit a bowling ball, three volleyballs, four softballs, and two golf balls. You put the golf balls in first, then the volleyballs, then the bowling ball. You have run out of room. You put the softballs in first, then the bowling ball, then the volleyballs. You have run out of room again. You put the bowling ball in, volleyballs, softballs, and finally golf balls. They all fit. You have to put the largest ones first or there will not be room for the others. Think of this as your life. Your priorities. If you do not put the most important ones first, the other things you seek will not fit. Time them appropriately and everything will fit together perfectly.”
This class (Management Information Systems 302) was one of my least favorite classes I ever took. I did make some rad new friends in it, which made it slightly more favorable. But all in all, this class was a dud.
No skills or assignments I learned in this class changed my life, but this quote did. No, I will call it a story. This story did. He told us it preceding our college graduation. An uncertain time. The story has stuck with me since. It showed me a perspective I had never thought of before. I remind myself of it constantly. Lexi, don’t worry so much remember “ball story, ball story, ball story!”.
I actually mutter this to myself often. I talk to myself a lot… Anyway, in my interpretation, I believe I was told me that I was allowed all the beautiful gifts of life: love, career, passion, balance, and fun so long as I put them in the proper order.
I used to party. I used to party a lot. Like most of the people I know from college, we used to do wild things all the time. I used to do things like fall through roofs and crash mopeds when I would drink. Others didn’t go quite so far, well most others. I have some of the most embarrassing stories that I’ve ever heard. Truth. In college, I valued partying a lot. It was everything to me and it was the most important thing. Relationships would falter because of it, along with most other things in my life that took a back seat. But that was what was important to me, so that is what I did. No regrets. I threw fun ass parties (lol). But, as I got in trouble with the law (more than once) and those around me, something happened that really changed me.
I finally realized that other things in life were more important to me. It is a part of getting older for all of us, I am sure. I saw that trying to start a career that I would want to wake up for in the morning, living a healthy life, and spending time with my family were the most important things to me. Knowing that I was earning my money in a genuine way was important. Acting and being able to express myself creatively was important. Being there for my friends at any moment was important. Doing the right thing when no one was looking was important. Having God in my life was important. I started putting the biggest balls first for me. It felt freeing.
Everyone’s path is so different. We all have different balls (ha). I think that this “ball story”, yes so glad I have a “ball story” I can refer to, has taught me in many of the decisions that I make. I am who I am because when I start to remember what is most important in my life, right now, I can decide which path to take. I can decide where my time is better spent. I can see that I don’t need to force things in my life that are not working. Maybe it is not time for that ball, or maybe that ball doesn’t belong in my bag. Ya know?
I needed to share my “ball story” because I think it can help those of us who think that everything is supposed to happen right now. Forcing relationships that aren’t meant to be. Forcing anything that sucks the soul out of us (dramatic, I am, I know). And mainly, forcing balls that aren’t supposed to go first. I question things all the time.
“Why can’t I be in love? Am I not trying hard enough? Why don’t I make more money? Am I in the right industry? I want it all and I want it now!”
But that’s not how life goes. I think that if I put the right priorities first, I will get all of these things in due time. If I put my biggest balls first, then all the rest will fit too. Well shit, I hope. Then I will have the coolest, most colossal bag of balls you’ve ever seen.
If some of my words didn’t make you laugh, maybe this chubby pic of me with my fave ball will.
I go for a run. I park my car a few blocks from the beach like usual and take my first few strides toward the cement boardwalk. I get a little traction and gravity has me. It is a cool night and I can feel the subtle wind brushing against my ears. The night begins to creep in and before I know it the only sign of light is from the antique like lamps briskly passing in the corners of my eyes. I cannot see the end of this man made path that allows me to walk hand in hand with miles of sand. I can see the family watching the Broncos game in the house to my left. I smell the warm aroma in their home. I hear the waves crashing yards away from me. I can feel all of this around me, but the darkness does not allow me to see what is just steps ahead.
I run. I keep going until it ends.
Running in darkness allows time to stand still for me. When I cannot see the end, I take in each moment, because what else is there. I am not counting seconds. I am focused on what is around me. I am focused on the life that is taking place inside of each home. The eternity I hear in each crashing wave. There is no lingering in my mind of when I will be done or when I will need to turn around. There is just going.
Just movement.
I try to imagine my life through these types of lenses. Although the daylight comes with each sunrise, we are all in the dark. We do not know when we will reach the end. We do not see the exact path we are on or where we will step next. We just see, hear, and feel exactly where we are. We try and pave the best path that we can. We use our today’s to try to make better tomorrow’s. We plan, plan, and question whether we are creating our own journey with each action we take, or whether we are just precarious pieces in an unusual game.
I want to take this darkness and uncertainty in where my life is and make it beautiful. I want the confusion to be just as comforting as my nightfall runs. The abyss of the future and not seeing the end of my path allows me a gift. It allows me a present, the present. It allows me now. It allows me to just keep going.
Imagine. If you were to see each gift and every tantalizing piece of adversity you will face in your entire life, would you keep on? If you could see your life like a long paved road and see each place you will falter right in front of you, could you continue? Would you want to? All the work you will do, the tears you will cry, the moments of happiness that will bring you to your knees.
If you could see everything in your future and determine exactly what steps you should take, would you want to know? Our mistakes after all are what make us who we are. If we knew, it would mean nothing. It would just be the turning of a page in a book we have already read. It would already be written. You would know what is going to happen and it would never be as good as the first time. Life would become a means to an end.
This is each of our own stories though.
We have to write our own pages. Many of us are only in the beginning of our books. We are the authors and no one else can write it for us. Each journey has so much depth and everything we experience in our lives is genuine because it is real. It happens in real time and there is no way to predict what will occur. No matter how much we plan or expect, life will happen. There is something beautiful about the emptiness of an uncertain path and not knowing what is ahead. It is filled with so much opportunity. It is filled with so much doubt. It is filled with so much life.
Just look around. Take it in. And take the next step. Keep moving. You never know what may lie ahead.
I suppose you can say I am going through a “pre-quarter” life crisis right now. This is a term I have tokened for my early twenties blues. This whole job-seeking thing post graduation has been kicking my ass, and all I seem to do lately is complain. I envision what I want in life, and I compare it to my reality. Much to my despair, I am worlds apart from my goals. I find myself stuck in a rut, and the voices in my head become too loud to hush. Then, something changes. There are times when life is passing day-by-day staying seemingly the same, and all we are waiting for is the next best thing to come along. A raise, a vacation, a relationship.
Until something changes… I wake up lying on the couch after falling asleep the night before on the couch. It is 7:00 am and the sun is glaring on my face and I feel an uncomfortable knot in the pit of my stomach. I’m not exactly sure what it is. It is probably just a feeling I get after a weird dream.
Ignore it.
I try to go back to sleep and soak up those last sacred seconds I have before I am to pick myself up and enter the world as a civilized adult.
It doesn’t work, something isn’t right.
Within minutes I get a call from my mom. The phone rings and I pick up on the second tone. She tells me a close family friend of ours had died that morning. What was unsettling is that we had just seen him two weeks prior. His daughter had just gotten married. We just saw him. He was just here. Living, breathing, hugging, cussing. I quickly snap out of my lethargic state and get ready to go. My mom and I are leaving in an hour to drive back “home”. Home is about five hours away. We pack our things and before I know it we are on the road. It is 8:30AM.
Not what I am expecting for what was supposed to be a “normal” morning in my standard day by day life.
Driving into town, I see the cunning skyline of the Las Vegas strip approaching. I feel the nostalgia as I pass by the old hotel I used to work at. I feel the dry, crisp air touch my face and bring about a whirlwind of familiarity. We drive straight to our friend’s house to be with the family.
We hold. We hug. We cry. We remember.
The most unsettling realization is that it takes significant life events, such as this one, for me to finally open my eyes. All of a sudden, in an instant all of the setbacks that seemed so important in life become trivial, practically transparent. Working those long hours becomes unimportant, that scratch we have to fix on our car doesn’t matter, and the stress of doing anything “on time” evaporates.
What truly matters is only real when something life-altering occurs. When something happens that shows us how delicate life is and how small our problems are. We get so caught up on worrying about the past, future, and how to control our present to what we think it is supposed to be. It’s an odd realization when an event occurs that disrupts casual everyday life.
Instead of my day’s to do list, I see my childhood friend who has just lost her father. I see her brother who will never hold his dad again. I see a wife who has just watched the love of her life die in her arms. And everything suddenly becomes clear. Time stands still to me. Despite the causality, love is still present, and relationships are still strong as ever.
We joke, we play, and we reminisce. We learn for that moment to not take life for granted, but instead to take it as a gift we are given every day. Clearly this is not a viewpoint any emotional human being can maintain. But in that instant, we are free.
My visit back home brings me back to every feeling and every emotion I’ve experienced in my past. I feel the same. I am older, but still the same. Going home makes me feel like I have left something there; a piece of my heart. Surrounding myself with all of these beautiful people reminds me of what a beautiful life I have had in the past, and what a beautiful life I still have. It brings me back to the relationships that have been formed, the love that has been shared, and the sensation of sincerity and innocence that childhood brings. I frequently see those childhood notions washing away, being replaced with cynicism and fear in adulthood.
The feelings I have from coming back home leave me confused, but also grateful. I came back home and it was warm, hopeful, and sad all at once. I allow myself to feel all of these things and be grateful for every burst of emotion. There is always a piece of home embedded in me, and in all of us, and it’s easy to forget that in the seemingly hard struggles of everyday life. The unfortunate truth is that for most of us, it takes a tragic event to realize how good we actually have it, but I guess that’s just how it is.
This adult life doesn’t come with instructions, nor does it say it will be easy. It just allows us changes and choices. It allows us the opportunity to grow older and create our own realities. I am learning to embrace the uncertainty and understand that I can always go “home”.
Home is inside me. It’s inside all of us.
R.I.P Paul. You were always the first one to put me in place. I know you’re still here. Thanks for bringing me home.
