Musings of a Wandering Writer

Dear America, Lately, it has dawned on me that the opportunity to hear stories first-hand about the greatest hits of the last century is slowly but surely slipping through my fingers. I've been spending a lot of time recently looking into what life was like during the Cold War and some of the surrounding events that I didn't even know had happened. Sure, the internet is a thing I suppose, but maybe the old-school fella in me yearns for the chance to ask questions and hear the answers without spell-check. It's amazing what the generations before us experienced, and although I wouldn't knock my own personal travels, I worry that I may never get another chance to ask about "back then." How many folks are left that marched with Dr. King? Who can still speak to what it was like to live in the USSR? Does anyone still remember the last time that people got drafted? It fills me with unease to acknowledge that there is even a limited amount of folks who will be able to...

Dear America, He watched it happen from the back of his convertible on a warm and clear evening. He wore a light-colored shirt and linen shorts, and the gal next to him sat with a blue dress and an expression of easy-going contentment. They each had ice cream cones in their hands as the sun set on their summer and the crispness of an orange autumn took center-stage. It had been a season of adventure the likes of which had not been seen for some time. It had all started with a top-down drive to a sleepless land, but so much more had happened since then. There had been a magic city built upon the waves, surrounded by palm trees and neon lights followed by a boardwalk and drifting songs. These were only the highlights though. There had been more, oh so very much more. "What happens, now?" The gal asked as she finished her cone. The man noted that the sun had nearly set. He had yet to take his sunglasses off and, to be honest, he didn't want to. He worried about what would ha...

It was sizing up to be the perfect kind of afternoon. I’d gotten all my emails out, I’d punched my timecard, and I had a new episode of my latest television series waiting for me in my living room. Flecks of water sprinkled onto the street while I waited for my Chinese food to be delivered, and I gracefully stepped out of the way of some woman who was hurrying down the sidewalk. When the delivery girl arrived, she wasted no time in handing the food over and practically ignored me when I wished her safe travels. “Time is money, I suppose.” I muttered to myself as I walked back to my apartment. It was a modest place on a modest floor, with a loft and an office to type away my thoughts and the occasional film review. Of course, I had no patience for writing at the moment. I had Kung Pao Chicken to munch on and a spooky drama to engross myself in. With my blinds already closed, I sat in for an enjoyable viewing. The show was somewhat scary, set in a cold part of the American West. It...

Dear America, Lately, I've been plagued by a series of nightmares that have given me a lot to ponder. I wish I could say these nightly terrors are of more conventional things like monsters, masked killers, or a series renewal to  Keeping Up With the Kardashians , but alas, it's something a bit harder to define. It's a mirage of mercy, forgiveness, and closure that I'm not sure is even possible or deserved. Why do people apologize? Is it truly a selfless act to make the aggrieved feel better? I suppose that when I was a younger man, I may have thought so. These days I wonder if it's simply a selfish desire for that sweet release of catharsis. If you're looking for answers, I'm afraid I still don't know. Long ago, I had a friend. We'd known each other in a galaxy far, far away and our friendship had extended well beyond state lines. We were different and went down wildly contrasting paths, and somehow we managed to stay connected years later. At some p...

Dear America, I've been away for a few days. Did you miss me? Don't think for one second that I've been giving you the cold shoulder! I've merely been on vacation taking in the wonderful sights and sounds of an American summer breaking free from the shackles of a pandemic. For the majority of my life, I've always considered my heart to be in New York City , but my soul will always belong to Miami. Maybe it was a bit too much Miami Vice , but Magic City has always spoken to me on a deep level. It's a land of beauty, neon lights, sunshine, and some of the best damn coffee you'll ever have ( uno cortadito, por favor! ). In every sense of the phrase, it is my holy land, and I had always regretted not having actually ever been there. Last week, I finally made the pilgrimage to my promised land and it certainly didn't disappoint. The smell of the ocean mixed with the scent of good food and cigars, while the pastel colored buildings stood like bright towers. T...

Dear America, Happy Juneteenth. Yesterday, while wandering the streets, I observed a most remarkable thing. My roaming took me directly across from a dock where slaves were auctioned and I even walked right past a place where similar slaves were temporarily housed before being shipped off to whatever horrors awaited them further inland. I found this remarkable as less than thirty minutes prior to seeing these places, I came across a sign celebrating none other than Juneteenth. What a sign of evolution, if there ever was one! An atrocity that took a war and countless sacrifices to end is now a memory with a holiday created to signify its destruction. Something I particularly marvel at is how time trounces even the most resilient of things until they are nearly all but forgotten. I'm sure many thought the Soviet Union would always exist, and even more than a few probably assumed a Castro would always lord over Cuba. To be fair, new evils emerge as time goes on, but so do great accomp...

Dear America, I had an uninvited guest drop in while sitting in the drive thru for coffee yesterday. The gentleman fell on my lap and I could hardly contain my discontent, however I suppose some thrill seekers will try all sorts of things when they're at the end of their rope. Now, I did not drive off with this guy as I think we can all guess how it would turn out: he'd try to bolt as I'm crossing an intersection and I'd be left with a head-on collision while he's off getting laid somewhere. I sent him packing with the flick of my wrist and he went off to serenade some dame by the dumpsters. If you look closely, you'll see what I'm talking about If you're not from the east coast, I suppose I should give a little context. Since around April, my little corner of the free world has been host to a brood of cicadas that only appear every seventeen years. They're about the size of your thumb, they've got red eyes and orange wings and they sing a loud b...

Dear America, Lately, I've been dwelling on the concept of perception. How do we see others, and how do we see ourselves? I imagine most of us have wondered how we're perceived by our peers since high school. Why do we care though? Is it validation? Perhaps a tie to ego or sexual urges? I'm sure some psychologists somewhere could properly explain it. One of the things I've toyed with as a writer is imagining how someone else perceives themselves. Have you ever looked at a person and wondered "I wonder what he/she sees when they look in a mirror?" It's a big question, I think. A lot of this great country suffers from depression, low self-esteem, loneliness, and a deep addiction to SpongeBob SquarePants re-runs (for the record: I am not a member of the latter). What a dark and terrible world some of these reflections must be. It takes a great deal of empathy to even consider looking at the world through someone else's eyes. Do they see monsters in their...

Dear America, It was around the time that Eric Carmen's "Hungry Eyes" began to blare from my radio that I saw that sleek gem on the horizon. I've been all over this planet, and yet I have yet to find anything that beats the Big Apple. I know I've made it when I see the One World Trade Center gleaming in the sun like a shining middle finger to the bastards who thought they could knock you down. The thing I learned about New York City during my first visit (before I even made it through the Lincoln Tunnel) was that no one can keep New York down and I'm proud to say that this includes pandemics too. One of the things I love most about New York is that there's a story on every street corner. Everyone is on the move, completing a new chapter, and keeping the hustle alive. Over there is a wiseguy munching on antipasto in Little Italy; across the way in Chinatown a socialite argues on the phone about what college her kid is going to; in Chelsea a couple of firefi...

Dear America, As the weather gets nicer, I've been taking the time to literally stop and smell the roses (or at least some flower-equivalent of that). It's not all it's cracked up to be, honestly, as I think those vile plants are trying to kill me as allergy season has threatened to put me in an early grave. With that being said, it's given me something to think on as I hit the sun-washed streets. Regardless of how dark or bad things can get in a person's life, I think everyone has those moments where the stars align and everything is just damn-near perfect for a split-second. These moments don't need to be climactic, and I'd wager they rarely are. It's those moments where everything's at peace and it all clicks into place. It's at those times that I try to hold on with both hands and remember it all, because (believe me) they go quick and something in the back of my mind tells me you only get so many. * "Now, wait a minute, I'd like to ...

  Dear America, Recently, I was given some bad news that I have spent a good chunk of the past week reflecting on and trying to put past. One of the things I have most tried to emulate in my life is a drive to accomplish everything I put my focus on. It doesn't always work out, but there's a lesson to be had in every failure. Having recently finished reviewing The Wire , there was a line of dialogue in the series that has managed to stay with me as I apply myself to examining this most recent disaster. * "Tell me something, Jimmy. How exactly do you think it all ends? A parade? A gold watch? A shining Jimmy McNulty Day moment? When you bring in a case so sweet, everybody gets together and says 'aw shit, he was right all along. We should've listened to the man.' The job will not save you, Jimmy. It won't make you whole; it won't fill your ass up." I'm not a cop, but there's truth in Lester Freamon's words that apply across the board to t...

 Dear America, It's been exactly one year since I started this blog and my letters to you. A lot's changed since that fateful day that I cobbled together my first letter and offered you to join me for that cup of coffee. It seems like we're finally bouncing back. We had a few false steps and more than a couple scrapes last year, but the wheel turns no matter what happens. I wonder what the future has in store for us? Do you think the rest of the year will get better? They got those vaccines going around, but there's still a pandemic out there, and there's plenty of other badness just outside my window. I'm not going to be doom-and-gloom though. I know it was going on even before some bug started going around making people sick, but this fascination with only the negative isn't healthy. If you ask me, it's time for some fresh air and a little optimism. Last year, I asked if you'd slow things down and just enjoy the moment. Now, I'm asking for y...

Dear America, How are you? I'm doing terrible, but don't worry, I'm working on it. Considering we've entered a new year, I would've thought that maybe we'd have a chance for a fresh start, but I think we both know that's not really true. A new year doesn't mean a new beginning (with the exception of getting another Playboy pin-up calendar), it merely means a continuation and new chapter of a story that started long ago. The baggage of history transcends time, and no matter how many balls drop at midnight, someone has to carry it onward. I suppose that we can use this time to re-inventory that baggage though. Is that girl's number worth keeping in that back pocket? Do the memories of a hope at what could've been need to go on? The sentimental sap in me would argue that I should be a hoarder of the highest order, but life's a little like an airline where they only let you carry so much. The trunk is damn near-full, so something needs to be put ...

Dear America, Whether you spend the coming days scarfing down pumpkin pie or railing against the pilgrims, there's something special about Thanksgiving that I think deserves to be recognized. Regardless of one's culture, it is incredibly humbling and retrospective to think about what we have and what we can be grateful for. One thing that annoys me about this particular holiday though is that we usually just say "thanks" to the sky for something someone else gave us and accept that this is good enough. Most of life's gifts are given through the actions of someone else. Our parents gave us life and tolerated our nonsense for 18+ years; our partners currently tolerate our shenanigans and knowingly live with us; and our families/work/obsessions give us reasons to keep going. I want to challenge you, on this Thanksgiving. Think about what you have and where you've come since last year. Some of us have crossed oceans; changed careers; and/or even started entirely ...

Dear America, With the dawn of more and more free time, I've really picked up the slack on my little walking excursions and began to cover some serious ground. How well do you know you're surroundings? Have you ever been driving to work, or coming back home, and wondered "huh, where does that road go" or "what's that over there?" Lately, I've been indulging my curiosity by traveling down any road that catches my fancy and exploring the city that I have called "home." Typically, I just pick a direction and start heading that way and find my way back as best as I can. Sometimes, I know exactly where I am, other times... well, let's just say that I've been in some situations where I started to entertain the thought of calling a taxi. This dude was just trying to get his bronze on when I snapped a photo of him real quick. Tourists... To be fair, I know I'm lucky that I can live in a town where such adventures are permitted. There a...

Dear America, "You've won." He told me with a note of finality. There was no one left to prove my worth to. I'd risen through the ranks of being a lowly grunt who thought he knew his shit to a mid-level wiseguy saddled with too much regret and eventually reached the status of a respected professional in my craft. I was one of the guys now, but instead of confetti and fanfare I found myself wondering where to go to now, or even whether to actually believe the man. What at first seemed so simple: establishing myself as a voice to be respected, had become a white whale ever-vanishing beyond the horizon. The idea that after ten years of small triumphs; taking my licks; and plotting in vapor-filled rooms that I could now finally relax left me speechless. The only rungs left on the ladder were ones I had no interest in climbing, but now that I had time to take in my surroundings, I dwelled on whether I even wanted to stay. They say a shark cannot stay still or else they los...

Dear America, Lately, I have been fantasizing about the joys of apathy. Whether it is work, romance, friendship, or building the perfect tabletop role-playing game, I find that I perhaps care too much. At the office, I consider part of my paycheck is that I should care about what I'm doing, but I am also a hopeless perfectionist. My coworkers get paid around the same amount as I do, but I produce the majority of work and shoulder burdens they don't. I don't really hold it against them, as I kind of admire their willingness to not give a fuck. I've spoken on Daoism before in my letters to you and that I really appreciate it, but it's an appreciation that is akin to a visitor observing a foreign land. Of the many things Daoism teaches us, it preaches going with the flow of the river of life (a nice way of saying not to give a fuck). Such a concept is kind of hard for me considering I feel like I spend most of my time either swimming upstream or attempting to build a...

Dear America, For the past several days there have been riots and protests in America and I don't know what to write. It's pretty rare for me to ever be at a loss for words, however the conflict we're facing is hardly simple. Personally, I don't like to write about politics, although I do enjoy reading about it and discussing the topic. It would seem that the festering wounds of the 2010's, which injected a heavy dose of steroids into our tribalistic tendencies, has only continued to balloon outward. I don't know what it is about the people of my generation, but we seem to have a fascination with categorizing viewpoints and putting people in boxes. This habit has the tendency of putting us in a situation where we frequently can only decide whether we are for or against something. For the most part, I try to avoid the box whenever possible. When people ask me if I'm a conservative or a liberal, my answer is routinely "I'm just Brett Calhoun." Th...

Dear America, Things are going pretty well considering we're still in the middle of an international pandemic. I am fortunate enough to find myself at a crossroads where I have options on where I want to take my life. I've spoken before about starting a new chapter, but I don't know what to figuratively write about. Do I take the safe bet that continues my story where I am now with the possibility of building something great on a foundation I am familiar with? The other path leads me down a newer path full of unfelt experiences and a new locale with unknown pitfalls and possibilities. This quandary has made me revisit my personal philosophy that everything has a price, and - if you're willing to pay it - it can be yours. Being an American, the most common wish I hear from colleagues, strangers, and friends is that they'd like to be rich. I suppose that some people have a bit of a head-start in such aspirations, like the children of entertainment figures, busines...

Dear America, It's been a little while since I last wrote. I want to point out that I'm only going to write to you when I feel that I have something worthwhile to write about. I hope you don't hold it against me, but I'd rather say what I mean to say and leave it at that. I tend to open my mouth a bit too much in the real world anyways. I've been pretty busy this past week. A major undertaking of mine (aka going back to school) is finally done and I find myself crossing the finish line wondering where to run to next. I'm eager to get back into writing. Not this blog shit either. Real, genuine, story-telling. I'd like to write a book that is so good that people want to read it, as opposed to require convincing to even buy it. I think it's a fair request, but pretty damn difficult to execute. I don't resent any of my previous scribblings by any means either though, as they helped me reach where I'm at now and where I will eventually go. Beyon...