Check out the new stats on my growth here. More blog to come.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Thomas-Townsend-Ordinary-Hero-One-Mans-Quest-for-an-Epic-Journey
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Just a small town girl, livin' in a . . .
I've been thinking and talking a lot during the past year about our journeys through life: my journey, your journey, my family's journey, our nation's journey, Don't Stop Believing by Journey.
If I am totally honest, I've come to the conclusion that their is no conclusion. Whether I am a product of the TV and movies that I have poured into my head over the past four decades or just flat out actor/artist crazy, or both, I existed for much of my life with the conception of reality as episodic. I don't know when exactly I woke up and I realized that most of the decisions I have made in my life where made with the insane misconception that in somewhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours and twenty minutes, the whole of any situation, whether comic or tragic, big or small, epic or minute, can and would be resolved. Basically, my life was nothing but episode after episode with their own story arcs, rising actions, climaxes, and denouements, repeated one after another. My decisions were based not on seeing my life as a whole, but with no more thought for the future than what would be the cheery ending at the bottom of this day's/week's/month's episode.
The pure irrationality of living life as if you are Arnold Drummond, or Ironsides, or Denise Cosby, or any one of the fading stars visiting Fantasy Island, has led me to bizarre and strange situations. I have carried with me exactly one friend from high school. Most of the rest, I have not seen since. I have carried one friend with me from college. Most of the rest, I have not seen since. Don't get me wrong. I have 500 friends from high school and college on Facebook, but when it comes down to it, I find it nothing but a false since of connection, like an expanded town gossip page from days of yore, when one's apple pie baking victory, out of town guests, and traveling more than forty miles from the center of town was written up by someone's elderly aunt who had nothing better to do that listen in on the party line. I do enjoy the successes and mourn the tragedies of these wonderful people who knew me during my formative years. I wish them all well and I have no intention of deleting that Facebook account anytime soon. I even send notes from time to time to some of the folks I have met along the way. But back to the point, because I have lived life as if I was the star or at least major supporting character in my own life's ABC Movie of the Week, I made decisions that led me not to make lasting friendships and to a walk away from phases of my life as if shutting a door and not looking back, even on the great and good times.
One day, I don't know when, I woke up, peeled my children's bananas, fixed our breakfasts, ate my eggs, drank my coffee, walked to the sink, looked out at the barn dominating our backyard view, and realized that though I had lip serviced the idea that "all my decisions have led me here", that I never really contemplated the real meaning. It sounds pretty obvious that we are all products of our decisions, but what struck me was the paradigm with which I applied to my reality. I stood there and looked back and my children, and thought of my wife, who was either already out at dance class or I was giving her a rare Monday sleep-in, and knew that for this happiness we had as a family to continue, I had to buy me a new paradigm.
In this past year of self-contemplation and goal setting, I seem to have found great areas of my life that needed strip mining and replanting in both a spiritual and physical sense. In the previous decade, I began shedding the baggage I carried, starting with the poisons I put in my body, mainly cigarettes and booze. The past six years have seen me struggle with the monkey I wish on no one's back: sugar (food in general). It was if I had stepped out of myself that morning and could
do that cool thing in sci-fi where the person stands in front of a holographic projection of a computer screen and moves pictures around, kind of like the Xbox Kinect now that I think about it. I saw that I had sorted my life into these episodes and movies and such. And there I was, commenting on my lack of self observation, eating humble pie because I was not quite as clever as I thought I was, and realized what a fecally gifted cranium I possessed. Maybe it was seeing my children's lives out in front of them, or maybe it was knowing what kind of life my wife deserves for always seeing the man I want to be when the man I am is not him.
Ogres are like onions. We all know that. I guess I am like a cake the size of a house. That cake is my life. It is not about anything but the little bites of fluffy cake and sweet frosting that see you to the end. Bad analogy. My life is like a box of chocolates . . . That is old and done. My life is a house. I build a little more on it every day. I am going to be able to leave it for my family and for future generations to be proud of or be a tar paper shack out in the holler. I have to make sure each stage is planned and execute with diligence and care lest it all fall down with me inside.
That morning I embraced who I had been. I looked at him and I loved him and I pitied him some. I forgave myself. I pulled him close to me and, then, I threw him out the door. That isn't me now. I am not cursed to the same mistakes. I can remake who I am and how I treat the world. Not only can I be the man my family wants and needs me to be, but I am already him. I am both the marble and the sculptor. I bought myself a new paradigm.
Months later, I am still on the journey, but I have seen changes in the way our family operates or the choices I make. It is the difference between checkers and chess. Life is chess but we are all taught to play checkers, it seems.
And for the record, Journey rocks. I watch the first season and a half of Glee because Kallie showed me the first episode when they sang a Journey song. It never lived up to that again, in my opinion. Others, even in my own household, would disagree. Here's the chorus:
Don't stop believin'
Hold on to that feelin'
Streetlight people
If I am totally honest, I've come to the conclusion that their is no conclusion. Whether I am a product of the TV and movies that I have poured into my head over the past four decades or just flat out actor/artist crazy, or both, I existed for much of my life with the conception of reality as episodic. I don't know when exactly I woke up and I realized that most of the decisions I have made in my life where made with the insane misconception that in somewhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours and twenty minutes, the whole of any situation, whether comic or tragic, big or small, epic or minute, can and would be resolved. Basically, my life was nothing but episode after episode with their own story arcs, rising actions, climaxes, and denouements, repeated one after another. My decisions were based not on seeing my life as a whole, but with no more thought for the future than what would be the cheery ending at the bottom of this day's/week's/month's episode.
The pure irrationality of living life as if you are Arnold Drummond, or Ironsides, or Denise Cosby, or any one of the fading stars visiting Fantasy Island, has led me to bizarre and strange situations. I have carried with me exactly one friend from high school. Most of the rest, I have not seen since. I have carried one friend with me from college. Most of the rest, I have not seen since. Don't get me wrong. I have 500 friends from high school and college on Facebook, but when it comes down to it, I find it nothing but a false since of connection, like an expanded town gossip page from days of yore, when one's apple pie baking victory, out of town guests, and traveling more than forty miles from the center of town was written up by someone's elderly aunt who had nothing better to do that listen in on the party line. I do enjoy the successes and mourn the tragedies of these wonderful people who knew me during my formative years. I wish them all well and I have no intention of deleting that Facebook account anytime soon. I even send notes from time to time to some of the folks I have met along the way. But back to the point, because I have lived life as if I was the star or at least major supporting character in my own life's ABC Movie of the Week, I made decisions that led me not to make lasting friendships and to a walk away from phases of my life as if shutting a door and not looking back, even on the great and good times.
One day, I don't know when, I woke up, peeled my children's bananas, fixed our breakfasts, ate my eggs, drank my coffee, walked to the sink, looked out at the barn dominating our backyard view, and realized that though I had lip serviced the idea that "all my decisions have led me here", that I never really contemplated the real meaning. It sounds pretty obvious that we are all products of our decisions, but what struck me was the paradigm with which I applied to my reality. I stood there and looked back and my children, and thought of my wife, who was either already out at dance class or I was giving her a rare Monday sleep-in, and knew that for this happiness we had as a family to continue, I had to buy me a new paradigm.
In this past year of self-contemplation and goal setting, I seem to have found great areas of my life that needed strip mining and replanting in both a spiritual and physical sense. In the previous decade, I began shedding the baggage I carried, starting with the poisons I put in my body, mainly cigarettes and booze. The past six years have seen me struggle with the monkey I wish on no one's back: sugar (food in general). It was if I had stepped out of myself that morning and could
do that cool thing in sci-fi where the person stands in front of a holographic projection of a computer screen and moves pictures around, kind of like the Xbox Kinect now that I think about it. I saw that I had sorted my life into these episodes and movies and such. And there I was, commenting on my lack of self observation, eating humble pie because I was not quite as clever as I thought I was, and realized what a fecally gifted cranium I possessed. Maybe it was seeing my children's lives out in front of them, or maybe it was knowing what kind of life my wife deserves for always seeing the man I want to be when the man I am is not him.
Ogres are like onions. We all know that. I guess I am like a cake the size of a house. That cake is my life. It is not about anything but the little bites of fluffy cake and sweet frosting that see you to the end. Bad analogy. My life is like a box of chocolates . . . That is old and done. My life is a house. I build a little more on it every day. I am going to be able to leave it for my family and for future generations to be proud of or be a tar paper shack out in the holler. I have to make sure each stage is planned and execute with diligence and care lest it all fall down with me inside.
That morning I embraced who I had been. I looked at him and I loved him and I pitied him some. I forgave myself. I pulled him close to me and, then, I threw him out the door. That isn't me now. I am not cursed to the same mistakes. I can remake who I am and how I treat the world. Not only can I be the man my family wants and needs me to be, but I am already him. I am both the marble and the sculptor. I bought myself a new paradigm.
Months later, I am still on the journey, but I have seen changes in the way our family operates or the choices I make. It is the difference between checkers and chess. Life is chess but we are all taught to play checkers, it seems.
And for the record, Journey rocks. I watch the first season and a half of Glee because Kallie showed me the first episode when they sang a Journey song. It never lived up to that again, in my opinion. Others, even in my own household, would disagree. Here's the chorus:
Don't stop believin'
Hold on to that feelin'
Streetlight people
I am grateful for innocent children, eggs over medium, strong coffee, and Journey, among many other things.
Friday, January 27, 2012
The Post-Television Watched Syndrome
I lived my life around television for too much of my life. It always astounds me how our culture uses popular media as a bridge building vernacular in everyday communication. Whether it is wrong or right that our children and ourselves delve deeply into fantasy worlds of cardboard-like sets, one liners, action stars saving the day with duct tape and a PVC pipe, or little blue gnomes living in mushrooms, the fact is we often use the common ground we find in what we have watched to jump start communication with the people around us.
I know I am odd, but I don't think I am alone when I realize I mark the years by what movies I saw, or television I enjoyed, or music I was listening to. I am proud that I saw the original three Star Wars and Indiana Jones movies when they first ran in the theaters. I remember the year in school when the AMC started a $1.00 movie night during the week, and I saw every movie that came out that year, including Good Morning Vietnam, and four other movies, at least six times each. I watched the series finale of MASH with my dad. And I can make many a man cry by saying, "Mean Joe Green drinking Coke."
I am not making an argument for turning on the flat panel and letting the children vegetate, but I was noticing today, observing, how many times in my day the shows I watch, whether when I was a kid or with my kids, bond people in a way that the medium should not have that much power to do, and you are reading this posted by someone who is in the entertainment field.
It is stupid to write a journal entry about something as insignificant as the fact that most of the people we know watch a lot of TV, but bear with me.
I mentioned Blue Clues on Facebook and friends (who I dearly miss) tale time to comment and share. Think about these memories, if you can, for a second: Mister Rogers, Electric Company, Superfriends, Spiderman and his Amazing Friends, Yogi Bear, The Simpsons, The Cosby Show, I Love Lucy, I Spy, Hawaii Five-O, Different Strokes, The X-Files, Bugs Bunny, Star Trek (all of them): They all have some special memory for me I have shared in conversation with strangers and friends as a common point of reference. They also bring back amazing memories as I wrote them down.
So many memories, I feel like Mike TeeVee and the Oompa Loompas are doing vocal warm ups under the kitchen sink.
I know I am odd, but I don't think I am alone when I realize I mark the years by what movies I saw, or television I enjoyed, or music I was listening to. I am proud that I saw the original three Star Wars and Indiana Jones movies when they first ran in the theaters. I remember the year in school when the AMC started a $1.00 movie night during the week, and I saw every movie that came out that year, including Good Morning Vietnam, and four other movies, at least six times each. I watched the series finale of MASH with my dad. And I can make many a man cry by saying, "Mean Joe Green drinking Coke."
I am not making an argument for turning on the flat panel and letting the children vegetate, but I was noticing today, observing, how many times in my day the shows I watch, whether when I was a kid or with my kids, bond people in a way that the medium should not have that much power to do, and you are reading this posted by someone who is in the entertainment field.
It is stupid to write a journal entry about something as insignificant as the fact that most of the people we know watch a lot of TV, but bear with me.
I mentioned Blue Clues on Facebook and friends (who I dearly miss) tale time to comment and share. Think about these memories, if you can, for a second: Mister Rogers, Electric Company, Superfriends, Spiderman and his Amazing Friends, Yogi Bear, The Simpsons, The Cosby Show, I Love Lucy, I Spy, Hawaii Five-O, Different Strokes, The X-Files, Bugs Bunny, Star Trek (all of them): They all have some special memory for me I have shared in conversation with strangers and friends as a common point of reference. They also bring back amazing memories as I wrote them down.
So many memories, I feel like Mike TeeVee and the Oompa Loompas are doing vocal warm ups under the kitchen sink.
First Day bled into First Night now First Midnight
I made a promise to myself to begin, today, in making sure I write something here each day. I am sharing my journey not so much in thinking that I am entertaining enough for you to want to read this, but more to keep me honest in the things I say and the things I am doing. Some of the posts will be silly or foolish. Some may not be. Thank you for reading this far.
It is after midnight, after a long day, after a night with little sleep, and I am making sure I write something here.
If I were to tell the truth, which there is no reason not to do so, the surreal feeling I have with exhaustion, the slight (or not so slight ringing in my ears), and the feeling like my head is a large lump of tofu ready to bounce off my shoulder and break apart into bread-like chunks is very much like the feeling I had when I smoked my first cigarette. I started when I was 17 and smoked until I was 33, and most of that was a two pack a day habit. I am glad to say I have been nicotine clean since then, and loving it. But, yes, the feeling of this exhaustion is not unlike that light headed high you get from the first smoke. It is both disgusting and euphoric.
There is a moment in this type of exhaustion when you sit and listen past the ringing, and you think, just for a moment, that the veil of reality is gossamer thin and you can just glimpse the movements of the cogs of reality. You think that just a moment that the logic and motion and beauty of the universe is about to coalesce before you. Then, nothing. The dog barks, the wind blows, your wife laughs at some inane website from the other side of the room, and the feeling is gone and you just have to go to bed.
I am so fortunate to have her in my life. I know all things happen for a reason and in their own time. She was definitely worth the wait.
Good night.
Two footnotes on the video montage: the music is James Taylor and I do know I misspelled a word in it. I hope you like the photography and music as much as I do.
It is after midnight, after a long day, after a night with little sleep, and I am making sure I write something here.
If I were to tell the truth, which there is no reason not to do so, the surreal feeling I have with exhaustion, the slight (or not so slight ringing in my ears), and the feeling like my head is a large lump of tofu ready to bounce off my shoulder and break apart into bread-like chunks is very much like the feeling I had when I smoked my first cigarette. I started when I was 17 and smoked until I was 33, and most of that was a two pack a day habit. I am glad to say I have been nicotine clean since then, and loving it. But, yes, the feeling of this exhaustion is not unlike that light headed high you get from the first smoke. It is both disgusting and euphoric.
There is a moment in this type of exhaustion when you sit and listen past the ringing, and you think, just for a moment, that the veil of reality is gossamer thin and you can just glimpse the movements of the cogs of reality. You think that just a moment that the logic and motion and beauty of the universe is about to coalesce before you. Then, nothing. The dog barks, the wind blows, your wife laughs at some inane website from the other side of the room, and the feeling is gone and you just have to go to bed.
I am so fortunate to have her in my life. I know all things happen for a reason and in their own time. She was definitely worth the wait.
Good night.
Two footnotes on the video montage: the music is James Taylor and I do know I misspelled a word in it. I hope you like the photography and music as much as I do.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
First Blogalogalogloglog
The first words are always the hardest.
I sit in a bus waiting to start work. The surreal nature of riding around on a big orange bus should seem freeing, and at times it is.
I made smart choices today. I exercised, I ate correctly, and I am keeping positive.
Possibly more later.
I sit in a bus waiting to start work. The surreal nature of riding around on a big orange bus should seem freeing, and at times it is.
I made smart choices today. I exercised, I ate correctly, and I am keeping positive.
Possibly more later.
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