You picked up this book and, for that simple act, I want to thank you. Possibly it was the cover which drew you to it. I envision a picture of my face, with my hands over my ears and screaming, while my kids hover “innocently” in the background. This is kinda how I picture my life. Or, maybe it was the title?, which implies that a journey of some sort was undertaken — it was — and an idiot (yours truly, though a very lucky idiot) was able to tag along and reap the thoroughly unexpected benefits. Once again, the divine plan was smarter than this author. And I am no longer surprised by it.

Though at first I would not have admitted it, after what happened initially, that I am someone who has been blessed beyond reason. What did I ever do to be showered with such good fortune? I have often asked myself.  This question has been a constant refrain in my life. Maybe I am just now finding the answer, and just now being comfortable with it.

            If, by reading just the preface, I will make you laugh or compel you to think about your own kids for a minute; or after reading the book, I have offered a unique perspective on things or related something you didn’t already know (which is very difficult these days with TV sadly taking away all life’s mysteries), then I have far exceeded even my wildest dreams. And, for this I am grateful. It was my goal.

            No easy task influencing anyone’s thinking. This was a difficult lesson for me to learn and it took years. I may have actually accidentally changed someone’s mind years ago, in my youth, and subsequently thought it was the norm rather than the exception. Not a great jumping off point, if you want peace in your life. Though I can’t say the road wasn’t rocky, I learned this valuable lesson and am somehow better for it. Life has a way of teaching you things, even if you are a reluctant pupil.

            It has taken five decades to write this book. Not the actual writing of it; that took about 2 years. I had to live the 50 years, in order to have something I would consider worthy of sharing. In this respect, and in many others, I am an elitist: if it isn’t awesome, it’s tiresome. I had tried several times, to be sure, to write something of interest, and had always found the results either lacked profundity (usually) or was not remotely funny (often). And, I threw them away.

Note: I was always told never to do this. And those folks who told me this may have been right … if I were Ernest Hemingway. I am not Ernest Hemingway. I am not even his brother, Bernie …

I simply needed to live a life and make careful mental notes about the experience. My desire to “create” was not in proportion to anything noteworthy I had to say. Maybe finding this equilibrium is what it means to be a writer. This book took work. Getting it to where I wanted it, like the perfectionist I am, didn’t help streamline matters. It was like
giving birth … but without the fun of the sedatives. I have heard people call art a labor of love. Labor? That I’ll give you. Love? I’m too young to know that answer yet and I’m 50 already.

And, like labor, or so I am told, when it’s over, you have no problem once the baby comes in doing it all over again. There is a life lesson in there somewhere. I have always been one to look deeply into life’s truths and mysteries; sometimes believing that some great thinker had to contemplate these realities first in order to intelligently access them. And despite this predisposition of mine, sometimes the answer can be very simple. If nothing else comes out of all my experience, that much I do know. And, that may be something worth passing on.   

Hardcover, $27.95
5.5x8.5
ISBN: 978-159858-517-9
144 pages

Available at fine bookstores everywhere