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Look, I know that my posts are generally of the “ha ha” variety, even if I’m the only one laughing. I don’t intend to change that, but sometimes you just gotta talk about some deep shit, know what I’m sayin’, hoss? Of course you do. So, if philosophy doesn’t mix well with your tall non-fat soy chai latte, than move on, Skippy, cause this one ain’t for you. I’ll be back soon enough with fart jokes, Dear Abby and bitching about traffic - you know, the usual. Until then, I get my Nietzsche on, so deal with it suckas!

For quite sometime now, I’ve been pondering the nature of reality. A big part of that came with the awesome swag bag I received upon the death of my father in January (it also included a jar filled with peanut butter and sadness and a Starbucks gift card), while smaller contributors most definitely include the addition and subtraction of personal relationships, a busy work and music schedule and perhaps the onset of premature senility…or not.

Whatever, the case, I’ve been thinking a lot about how differently we each see the world around us. Wayne Dyer, the father of the modern self help movement, wrote a book called “You’ll See It When You Believe It,” turning around an axiom clearly built on cynicism. During major election years like this one, the phrase “perception is reality” is frequently tossed about on Sunday morning talk shows by blow hard cable news anchors who get paid a lot of money to yell and scream while their hair remains Aqua Net-ed to within an inch of its existence.

Ironically, the idea that reality is what we perceive it to be is often more true than I’d like to admit. In far too many instances recently, I’ve felt like I was living in the, as Seinfeld described it, backwards bizarro world. When my father died, all the things I thought I would feel didn’t really impact me and things I never expected hit me like a sucker punch to the kidney.

I made the comparison to someone that it was like doing a workout I had never tried before and waking up the next morning sore in places where I had no idea muscles even existed. A recent trip to a pilates class would seem to have confirmed that hypothesis.

My perception, in that instance, was clearly flawed. That may be because I didn’t have the necessary experience (thankfully) to understand what was happening or it may be because I was just completely blindsided by the surge of emotions. It doesn’t really matter now. Again, it’s all in perception.

My dear friend, Katya, can look through the lens of her Canon (or Nikon Lite as I like to call it) and see things few people would ever be able to see. Where most of us would see just a boring stand of trees, she sees a colorful landscape of infinite possibility. And, yet, she constantly works to improve herself and lives with a sense off humility rare to someone with her gifts.

Every time my band rehearses or performs, we manage to find as many problems and things to fix as we do inspirations and reasons for praise. Maybe that is the nature of the artist - to constantly strive for more, for better.

Like everything else, it’s all in how we see it - in our perception.

I have no doubt I personally see things very differently from most. I’m, admittedly, a pretty different guy. But, I think we all are, which is why it’s a miracle we’ve even been able to establish a common language let alone forge lasting relationships with one another since we emerged from the primordial ooze. The complex interactions between modern humans are complicated, confusing and rife with miscommunication. There are times when I feel like I’m screaming the lyrics to a Harvey Danger song:

You miss the point completely
I get the point exactly!

Lest ye think that I don’t understand my own personality quirks and thus place this burden of wrongdoing off on my fellow man (or woman), not to worry. I get the point exactly and, in many ways, I relish my own oddity.

There is great freedom in being different and, as my most wise ex-wife once said, “You don’t need to be with people less crazy than you. You need to be with people whose crazy matches your own.” This from the same woman who penned columns about boobs and alternative punishments for odd driving behaviors while still in college (yeah, B, I found all of your old columns when cleaning out my hard drive tonight). Wisdom, it would seem, comes from unlikely places, not to mention in small packages.

Mostly, I do my best to be a good person and, much like the medical oath, do no harm (except to Pop Tarts, which I will devour with impunity). I feel I’m a pretty good guy. I have my share of faults - the mark on the back of my neck where the aliens put in the implant and the fact that I’m so charming, people cannot help but find me fascinating chief among them. But, seriously, I never do anything out of malice or ill will. I just don’t have it in me.

That’s never been more true than in the last few months. As confusing as things have been since my dad died, I have done everything in my power, to use a baseball axiom, to play the game the right way. In some ways, I’ve gone to extremes to face things that, in the past, I may have avoided. I’ve been open to new things and honest with people in ways that normally scare me. Mostly, I’ve tried to do right by not just others, but myself. Don Miguel Ruiz wrote in his book “The Four Agreements” that you must “be impeccable with your word,” and I’ve tried to follow that advice, speaking my own truth even when that didn’t always result in comfort and stability.

Unfortunately, perception still gets in the way. It’s frustrating, but perception is reality as they say and all I can do is the best I can do in the moment.

The real truth is I just want to be happy, play music, take pictures and enjoy my life. Hey, if a bevy of hot cheerleaders whose bus broke down on my street need to borrow my shower is one part of the equation, who am I to argue? God, you listening? You owe me since you killed my dad!

That’s a joke, God, but seriously, where are the cheerleaders?

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P.S. My dad would have loved a conversation about this - especially if it involved righteous indignation, fart jokes and cheerleaders. I really miss him.

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