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Just Like a Car Crash

The author is in a pretty good mood for a guy who cracked up his car last night.

Mood music for this post: “Stigmata” by Ministry:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbMbTx6HyvE&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Last night, on the way home from an OA meeting, I cracked up the car. Badly.

The good news is that nobody was hurt, though my car is another story. The front end is smashed in. Oddly enough, the headlights, while popped out of place, are intact and working. Even the front bumper looks unscathed. The grill and hood are a mess, on the other hand.

The other person involved in the accident was very nice, as was the cop who pulled up, surveyed the scene and took the report.

Now I’m sitting here remembering 1997, the year my 1996 Ford Escort was smashed no less than three times.

Now I have to work from home, call the insurance folks and file the accident report with the Haverhill Police, Registry of Motor Vehicles and my insurance agency. This, on top of an already jam-packed day where I’m trying to get a lot of work done ahead of the trip to Washington later this week.

But strangely enough, I’m not depressed. Much. I don’t even think it would be accurate to say I’m stressed. Much. I’m certainly annoyed. A lot. But I’m not undone. Not one bit.

I’m not binge eating or drinking.

I’m not melting down from an onrush of fear and anxiety.

I’m just intent on doing what needs to be done today, and I feel calm.

Compared to how I reacted after those 1997 accidents, that’s some heavy-duty progress.

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Pieces of Mind

This happens every time I have a week of travel.

By the time Sunday rolls around, I reach a point in the afternoon where I sit in the chair by the living room window as my brain cracks into pieces. I feel a buzz, even though I’m sober. I feel some bloat, even though my eating has been clean.

Mood music: “Ace of Spades” by Motorhead:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxJwP0izGgc&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

I feel like a wheel that’s spinning so fast that it looks like it’s completely still.

I feel the need to go into hyper-active mode, even though that’s the last thing I should be doing today.

It’s been a good day. Good Mass this morning, a fun Lego run with the kids this afternoon, and the weather is spectacular.

But I’m preoccupied.

I’ve gotten to do a lot of writing the last two weeks and now I’m looking at a week where there will be a lot more editing than writing. Deadline for the May print edition of CSO Magazine is coming up soon and I got a week behind while I was in California. There are guest columns to edit and post, and a book proposal to tweak.

During the RSA security conference, an editor for a security book publisher approached me about writing a book. But my idea veers too far from their normal content, and I’m doing some tweaking to fuse my idea with some of what they’re looking for.

If it doesn’t come together, so be it. But until then, I’m going to preoccupy myself with ways to come up with something they can sell.

One way or another, the book is going to get written. It’s in my head and will scrape the inside of my skull until I let it out.

Then there’s Source Boston, one of my favorite annual security conferences, which is coming up the week after next.

My want is to work the conference hard each day and write a lot of articles from it, but that aint happening because Sean and Duncan are on school vacation that week. It’s also Sean’s birthday and there will be a kid’s party to help pull off somewhere in there.

It’ll all work out fine. It always does. But planning how to balance the work thing with family has always been a challenge for me.

In the end, Sean’s birthday will win out. It’s more important than the other thing. Wife and kids come first.

All these things are examples of me obsessing about things beyond my mortal ability to control.

I manage that instinct a hell of a lot better than I used to, but it never fully disappears.

The fear-anxiety part did disappear, and that’s made each day a gift.

But lying around care-free? Not gonna happen unless I fall asleep.

Ah, the life of a control freak.

As long as I keep it from becoming a control freak-out, it’s all good.

Welcome to my world.

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Scenes from the Airport

The author finds airport amusement where he once found hell. Here’s what happens.

Mood music for this post: “Learn to Fly” by Foo Fighters:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VQ_3sBZEm0&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

I sit here at 6:23 a.m. San Francisco time, sitting at the gate for a flight home in an hour. Considering what I just passed through, I got here pretty quickly and calmly.

Let’s back up.

When I got here, the TSA line was as long as I’ve ever seen. Directly ahead of me in line were 40 or so tweens headed on a trip to Gettysburg and Washington D.C.

Finding MY food was more trouble than I expected, but I found what I needed. I also found some coffee that was made following my friend Ken White’s recipe.

A few minutes later, I found a Peet’s Coffee stand and things immediately started looking up. I tossed the “White” blend in the trash and got my rocket fuel.

All things considered, I’m in a chipper mood. I keep thinking of airport disaster movies and it makes me laugh. I find myself searching Youtube for some Lynard Skynard videos. Some of you might remember that half that band went down in a plane crash. That’s how my gallows humor works.

I have plenty of reasons to be happy. I’m going home to my family, who I miss. Our security conference was a smashing success. And each night here I caught up with many of the cool people I’m connected with on Twitter.

The weather has also been pretty brilliant, though strangely cooler than it was back home this week.

But there are other reasons to feel this way.

For one thing, I stuck to my plan of recovery and kept my strict alcohol-flour-sugar-free eating program intact. I also didn’t feel the edge around people drinking booze that I felt on the last trip.

I wasn’t perfect. I drank A LOT of caffeine, even by my standards, and smoked more cigars than I normally do. Maybe that’s why I didn’t feel the edge around the liquor.

Ah, addictions. You put two of them down and three more pop up.

But when I think of how much I’ve polluted myself on past trips over the years, this is pretty good behavior.

There’s actually an even bigger reason I’m in a good mood: Trips through airports used to terrify me. It was one of the top freak-out items on my OCD-anxiety itinerary. I’d live the weeks leading up to a trip worrying about whether the plane will drop from the sky. Long lines would send my blood pressure soaring until my head was ready to go supernova.

Sitting on the plane for five or more hours was pure hell because closed-in spaces triggered anxiety attacks, the kind where you have trouble breathing and you see spots in your vision.

I would get home and collapse from the exhaustion.

So here we are, years after I started the therapy and found the 12 Steps of recovery. Oh yeah, and Prozac.

The TSA line doesn’t freak me out anymore. I chatted easily with the fellow overseeing the traveling tweens and with a couple of the kids. All the kids were actually very well behaved and polite.

Being on a plane now brings me peace. I look out the window and see how vast and amazing this country is. If the weather is gray, the pilot will fly us above it to a sky of blue.

photo-by-mbshane

Maybe I’ll get some sleep. Maybe I’ll listen to my music or read, or some of each.

Then I’ll land in Boston and get a ride home from a good friend.

Then I’ll see my wife and kids, who I’m eager to see again.

I was talking to a good friend at a meet-up last night — Ed Bellis, chief information security officer for Orbitz — and he asked me if I ever return to the darker feelings of my past.

Sure I do. Managing a mental disorder and its related addictions is hard work and you never stop feeling the ups and downs of life. Nor should you.

I still feel anger and even a little fear sometimes. But instead of those things controlling me, they are now more minor occurrences.

I still get tired. And with addiction, you’re always half a second away from potentially slipping on your darkest habits.

And I definitely go through a day here or week there where depression sets in. That’s normal.

But I told him — truthfully — that there are some things about the old me that will never and can never return.

I can’t see ever having the anxiety attacks and fear I used to have, though I suppose anything is possible.  I’ve seen too many of the things I missed to ever turn back. Even if I lapse back into periods of anxiety (I hope not!) there’s no turning back.

My eyes have been opened to a whole new world and going back to the dark room — which is something I used to crave — is now one of those things I’d dread instead.

Another friend, Jen Leggio (@mediaphyter on Twitter), asked me how I manage to write something new in this blog every day while maintaining the writing load I carry on the work side.

My answer is simple:

Back when fear, anxiety and depression led me to binge eat and spend 80 hours a week working out of fear that I might not please everyone (Man, that was fucking dumb), I was constantly wiped out. I would sleep all the way through my weekends.

As a result, writing was hard and stressful.

Now that I’ve learned to get out of my own way, writing comes easily, whether it’s here or in the security realm. I can write a lot more because I don’t feel the least bit of stress about it. I love it, so I do it.

The other thing I chalk it up to is Faith. As my Faith in God deepens, I realize that the things I used to freak out over are trivial items that I can’t take with me into the next life. So getting worked up about them seems pointless.

I know there’s always the chance I can slip backwards. Indeed, setbacks are a natural part of recovery. I like to call those moments growing pains.

But yeah, in the big picture, I’m one grateful SOB.

Now to board the plane. I’m in the middle of my annual reading of Helter Skelter, so I guess I’ll do that until I happily pass out.

End music: “Times Like These” by Foo Fighters:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhzmNRtIp8k&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

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An OCD Diaries Primer

A collection of posts that form the back story of this blog.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:19n9s9SfnLtwPEODqk8KCT]

The Long History of OCD

An OCD Christmas. The first entry, where I give an overview of how I got to crazy and found my way to sane.

The Bad Pill Kept Me from the Good Pill. How the drug Prednisone brought me to the brink, and how Prozac was part of my salvation.

The Crazy-Ass Guy in the Newsroom. Think you have troubles at work? You should see what people who worked with me went through.

The Freak and the Redhead: A Love Story. About the wife who saved my life in many ways.

Snowpocalypse and the Fear of Loss. The author remembers a time when fear of loss would cripple his mental capacities, and explains how he got over it — mostly.

The Ego OCD Built. The author admits to having an ego that sometimes swells beyond acceptable levels and that OCD is fuel for the fire. Go ahead. Laugh at him.

Fear Factor. The author describes years of living in a cell built by fear, how he broke free and why there’s no turning back.

Prozac Winter. The author discovers that winter makes his depression worse and that there’s a purely scientific explanation — and solution.

Have Fun with Your Therapist. Mental-illness sufferers often avoid therapists because the stigma around these “shrinks” is as thick as that of the disease. The author is here to explain why you shouldn’t fear them.

The Engine. To really understand how mental illness happens, let’s compare the brain to a machine.

 

Rest Redefined. The author finds that he gets the most relaxation from the things he once feared the most.

Outing Myself. The author on why he chose to “out” himself despite what other people might think.

Why Being a People Pleaser is Dumb. The author used to try very hard to please everybody and was hurt badly in the process. Here’s how he broke free and kept his soul intact.

The Addiction and the Damage Done

The Most Uncool Addiction. In this installment, the author opens up about the binge-eating disorder he tried to hide for years — and how he managed to bring it under control.

Edge of a Relapse. The author comes dangerously close to a relapse, but lives to fight another day.

The 12 Steps of Christmas. The author reviews the 12 Steps of Recovery and takes a personal inventory.

How to Play Your Addictions Like a Piano. The author admits that when an obsessive-compulsive person puts down the addiction that’s most self-destructive, a few smaller addictions rise up to fill the void. But what happens when the money runs out?

Regulating Addictive Food: A Lesson in Futility. As an obsessive-compulsive binge eater, the author feels it’s only proper that he weigh in on the notion that regulating junk food might help. Here’s why the answer is probably not.

The Liar’s Disease. The author reveals an uncomfortable truth about addicts like himself: We tend to have trouble telling the truth.

Portable Recovery. Though addiction will follow the junkie anywhere in the world, the author has discovered that recovery is just as portable.

Revere (Experiences with Addiction, Depression and Loss During The Younger Years)

Bridge Rats and Schoolyard Bullies. The author reviews the imperfections of childhood relationships in search of all his OCD triggers. Along the way, old bullies become friends and he realizes he was pretty damn stupid back then.

Lost Brothers. How the death of an older brother shaped the Hell that arrived later.

Marley and Me. The author describes the second older brother whose death hit harder than that of the first.

The Third Brother. Remembering Peter Sugarman, another adopted brother who died too early — but not before teaching the author some important lessons about life.

Revere Revisited.

Lessons from Dad. The author has learned some surprising lessons from Dad on how to control one’s mental demons.

The Basement. A photo from the old days in Revere spark some vivid flashbacks.

Addicted to Feeling Good. To kick off Lent, the author reflects on some of his dumber quests to feel good.

The lasting Impact of Crohn’s Disease. The author has lived most of his life with Crohn’s Disease and has developed a few quirks as a result.

The Tire and the Footlocker. The author opens up an old footlocker under the stairs and finds himself back in that old Revere basement.

Child of  Metal

How Metal Saved Me. Why Heavy Metal music became a critical OCD coping tool.

Insanity to Recovery in 8 Songs or Less. The author shares some videos that together make a bitchin’ soundtrack for those who wrestle with mental illness and addiction. The first four cover the darkness. The next four cover the light.

Rockit Records Revisited. The author has mentioned Metal music as one of his most important coping tools for OCD and related disorders. Here’s a look at the year he got one of the best therapy sessions ever, simply by working in a cramped little record store.

Metal to Stick in Your Mental Microwave.

Man of God

The Better Angels of My Nature. Why I let Christ in my life.

The Rat in the Church Pew. The author has written much about his Faith as a key to overcoming mental illness. But as this post illustrates, he still has a long way to go in his spiritual development.

Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely. The author goes to Church and comes away with a strange feeling.

Running from Sin, Running With Scissors. The author writes an open letter to the RCIA Class of 2010 about Faith as a journey, not a destination. He warns that addiction, rage and other bad behavior won’t disappear the second water is dropped over their heads.

Forgiveness is a Bitch. Seeking and giving forgiveness is essential for someone in recovery. But it’s often seen as a green light for more abuse.

Pain in the Lent. The author gives a progress report on the Lenten sacrifices. It aint pretty.


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Post-Travel Blues (A.K.A. Pretty Vacant)

The author reflects on the zombie-like state he tends to be in after a whirlwind trip, and the not-so-smart way he used to handle it.

Mood music for this post: “Pretty Vacant” by the Sex Pistols:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmHhB9zV_rQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

So here I sit in my favorite chair by the living room window. The sun shines through. A thick cup of coffee is on the table beside me. I’ve gotten some rest.

But there’s still a lot of white noise going off in my head, kind of like a TV that’s turned all the way up when the cable goes out and the sound of static fills the room. And if you stare me in the eye, all you’ll see are a couple of vacant holes.

This is typically what happens when I return from a security conference. I sink into a depression of sorts. I come home on a mental high after a successful trip, then the day after, as I come down from that feeling, the mood sinks downward. Call it a coming-down-from-the-mountain feeling.

But I handle this sort of thing in a much healthier manner than I used to, though. Let’s take a look at the before and after…

2005:

This is a good place to rewind to because it was my first trip to the RSA security conference. I was edgy as hell, having been warned a hundred times that this was a grueling conference, with vendor briefings from dawn to dusk, and the need for lightening-quick keynote write-ups.

I had only recently started treatment for OCD . My mind was raw and bloodied as the therapist led me back into my past to figure out how I got to be such a freak.

My boss and office mom, Ann Saita, did her best to make me feel at ease but I was in Hell anyway.

At the time, I was terrified of flying. I walked into the hotel and started to assess the sturdiness of the building in the event of an earthquake. I woke up the first morning of the show — the busiest day at that — with a 102 fever. This was a classic case of mental illness causing physical sickness.

I wrote about seven stories that week: The quick, crappy kind. At night I went hopping to the various parties, sucking down all the free wine and gorging on whatever food was there. I got home and spent the next week sick in the  body and soul.

Before we fast-forward to the present, it’s important to note that at the time one of my problems was that I was a people pleaser. Specifically, this meant pleasing the bosses and showing them that I was indeed the golden boy they had been hearing about. The thought of coming up short was simply too much to take. But somehow I got through it, and each trip back to San Francisco has been better than the last.

2010

So it’s five years later and I’ve gone through years of mental rehabilitation. I wrote seven stories this time, just like I did five years ago, plus two podcasts.

I still woke up today with the post-travel blues.

But the comparisons end there.

Here’s what’s changed:

— Part of recovery for me has been accepting that you can’t let your life hinge on pleasing others, whether it’s your boss or your mother. Free of that burden, a conference like this becomes a lot more fun.

— I wrote as much as I did simply because I was interested in the content and thought the readers would be interested, too. In fact, I had a blast doing it.

— I kept my eating strict and stayed sober at the evening events, though, truth be told, I’m still trying to figure out how to talk to people without a glass of wine in my hand. I’m pretty sure I did fine.

— Like last year, I enjoyed the company of others like I never used to before. I ran into a lot of people I collaborate with online, and it sure was great to see their faces.

— Instead of dreading the airplanes, I enjoy flying. I love looking out the window with the blue sky above and the clouds below. When the clouds go away on a cross-country flight, you can see the snow-covered Rocky Mountains and the desert canyons, and you realize just how vast, varied and spectacular this country is.

— When I come home I embrace Erin, Sean and Duncan with more zeal than I used to. I loved them just as much back then, but the mental haze kept me from showing it very well.

Come to think of it, I was like that without the travel. Now I allow myself to feel the joy of being back under the same roof as them.

I got the kids to school this morning, got my snuggles in with them and got some time with just me and Erin.

Life is grand.

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Back to Boston

It’s 12:45 a.m. west coast time as I write this, and I’ve just packed for the morning flight home after a week of pounding the pavement of San Francisco during the RSA security conference and the nearby Security B-Sides event.

I was in OCD overdrive the whole time in terms of writing, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Seven articles, two podcasts and scheduled a high-profile interview for next week.

I kept the OCD in check in all other respects and enjoyed the company of old workmates like Rob Westervelt, Mike Mimoso, Eric Parizo and Dennis Fisher tonight. I spent the week getting better acquainted with folks in the security industry. It was great seeing Jennifer Jabbusch, Dave Lewis, Jack Daniel, Todd Kimball, Martin McKeay, Erin Jacobs, Chris Hoff, and many, many others.

The security industry is full of fascinating characters who are all trying to make their own corner of cyberspace a little safer. It’s a joy to cover their work.

I started the trip obsessing about a busted VPN that cut me off from the programs I use to post articles as well as Microsoft Outlook, though I can’t say losing the latter bothered me much.

The worry was a waste of time. Derek Slater and Joan Goodchild got my stuff on our site faster than I would have. It illustrates the value of letting the little things go.

Most importantly, I kept the eating in check and stayed sober.

All little gifts that amount to one huge Blessing.

Tomorrow will be the greatest gift of all — returning to Erin, Sean and Duncan. I always miss them terribly on these trips and have to figure out how to take them with me on future journeys.

I’m ready to be home.

It’s 1:13 a.m. now, an hour I haven’t been awake for in a very long time. I’m going to put on some Avett Brothers and go to sleep for three and a half hours. That not much, but I can sleep on the plane.

Thanks again to everyone who watched out for me this trip.

Sleep time. Here’s my bedtime music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDYq8-3wta0&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

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Sober in San Francisco (Aint Easy)

The author has been sober and on a rigid eating plan to control his addictions for some time. But nothing puts him to the test quite like time on the road.

Mood music for this post: “Saints of Los Angeles” by Motley Crue —

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XFMVHRZztM&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Here’s the thing with security conferences (and conferences in general): a ton of food is lying around and booze seems to ooze from every building.

That used to suit me just fine when I was a binge eater and wine guzzler. It offered a welcome respite from the pressure I was always putting on myself to succeed at these events. But then that’s what addicts do — pollute themselves to kill the pressure or the pain.

Luckily, I don’t feel that kind of pressure anymore. But the temptations can run hot when I’m on the road.

So here I am in San Francisco for the RSA conference and Security B-Sides events. I’m at a lot of events that involve drinking and instead of wine I’m sucking down club sodas and Red Bull. And, truth be told, I still have trouble feeling at ease in the crowd without the wine buzzing beneath the skin of my forehead.

But here’s the good news, kids: When you’re open about your recovery, people look out for you.

This morning, at the B-Sides event, one of my newer security friends warned me that the taco truck on the street below might not have food I can eat, and suggested a place around the corner that would be a better option. He knew about my limits from reading this blog.

Later, at the evening parties, people pointed me toward the non-alcoholic beverages.

I’ve been reminded again and again on this trip that there are some kind souls out there. Because I’ve opened up to them, they’ve accepted me for who I am without reservation.

It’s true that anonymity is a critical tool for those of us in recovery. Everything said at an OA or AA meeting stays there. One must never out another person.

But I chose to out myself, partly because it’s easier for me to stick with recovery when I don’t have to make up strange excuses for why I can’t eat at a certain place or have a glass of alcohol.

A lot of addicts worry about being scorned and seen as a freak by those around them if they reveal too much. To a certain extent, it’s a valid concern. To be sure, there are plenty of shitheads out there.

But my experience is that those people are a very small minority.  Since just about everyone has a few skeletons in the closet, they can identify. And that seems to make everything better.

As a dear friend of mine likes to say, if you can’t get rid of the skeletons in your closet, might as well make them dance.

So to those of you looking out for me while I’m here, I thank you.

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Early Morning

I slept in this morning, which means I didn’t roll out of bed until 6 a.m. San Francisco time. Back home it was 9 a.m. It feels like I slept half the day away.

That might not sound right to those of you who sleep more normal hours.

But the truth is, I prefer getting up at 4 a.m.

The house is quiet. I can write as the coffee seeps into my bloodstream. It’s peaceful. When I reach the office before 6 a.m., I feel like I own the place for a couple hours. I blare metal from the iTunes library and get to work, and nobody’s there at that hour to be bothered by it.

So sleeping late, while a pleasure for some, is an annoyance to me.

No matter. I’m covering a lot of ground out here, so the body was pretty depleted at bedtime. I feel good now and I’m ready to take on this city again.

Security B-Sides is this morning. I can’t wait for the talks and the article or two I’ll get out of it. Back to the RSA conference around lunchtime to interview some folks from Microsoft for a podcast I’ll put together tomorrow morning.

Later.

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Friends Who Help You Heal

The following was written one winter in a moment of absolute clarity.

Mood  music:

[spotify:track:27xIf7tzHPQFX068pFYlAh]

Today was sunny and warm in San Francisco. After the never-ending winter back home, I got what I needed today: A walk all over the city with my good friend, Rob Westervelt.

We started by walking along Fisherman’s Wharf, then Golden Gate Park and covered a lot of ground in between.

It brought back memories of when I came here with Sean Marley in 1991. We flew into San Francisco, rented a car and spent the next 10 days driving all over California, sleeping in the car, going days without a shower and eating pasta from cans. We went as far north as Eureka and as far south as L.A., where we spent a weekend before driving back to San Francisco. Too bad I spent half the time letting my fears get the better of me.

I’ve said it before: Too much dreary, cold weather sinks me into a stretch of melancholy. Today was excellent medicine. Now I’m relaxing in the hotel room writing in this diary and listening to Danzig and The Decemberists.

It was especially good to spend the day with Rob. We’ve been friends for a few years now, having worked together at Searchsecurity.com. We were a potent team, creating a lot of great podcasts and video together. We’ve gone on long jaunts through San Francisco and Las Vegas. When we worked in the same building we’d get together for morning workouts in the office gym.

We’ve kept the friendship going strong since I left to be senior editor at CSO Magazine, having lunch frequently, sometimes once a week.

He used to be Catholic and converted to the Jewish Faith. I did exactly the opposite.

He’s one of those guys I can truly be myself around. We laugh a lot.

One of the many friendships God sent my way to help me through some of my greatest trials.

I truly believe that The Holy Spirit manifests itself in the people around you, those who stick with you when your spiraling downward and when you’re on the way back up.

That, my friends, is another tool of recovery.

There have been times in my life where I didn’t have many friends. Good friends moved away or died, so for a long time I was afraid to get too close to people.

Doing so in the last three or so years has been a big leap of Faith.

It has helped me recover and find a new happiness.

Tomorrow the RSA security conference begins and I’ll see many more friends from my industry.

It’s good to be alive.

 

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I’m On My Way

I’m sitting at Gate C21 at Logan Airport, waiting to board a flight to San Francisco for this week’s RSA security conference.

My VPN to the company network isn’t working, which means I’ll have to send my articles to somebody else to post. That pisses me off. It’s a lack of control. But it’ll all work out in the end. I’ll write my stories and they’ll get posted.

Gotta have a little Faith.

A lot to be thankful for in the meantime. The power finally came back on in the house and I was able to leave the family in good shape. And I got a ride to the airport — at 3 a.m. — from a dear friend.

Funny thing about Kevin Littlefield. He’s one of those guys I went to high school with and couldn’t stand back then. He had a loud mouth and was always getting into trouble with the department head of our shop.

We worked a summer internship for an architect in the summer of 1988 and he could be a punk.

After graduation we lost touch. Then we found each other 20 years later on Facebook of all places. Since then, he has shot photos at my sister-in-law’s wedding and I’ve hired him as my taxi to and from the airport on business trips.

I always look forward to these rides. He’s one of the funniest people I know and can strike up a conversation with anyone. He’s a professional photographer and part-time taxi driver (not a real taxi, but you get the picture). He has five kids and loves Dunkin’ Donuts. Nobody’s perfect.

On the ride in he delighted me with stories of his recent trip to Dallas. He went to the School Book Depository where Lee Harvey Oswald fired the fatal shot to JFK’s skull in 1963. They wouldn’t let him take pictures of the sniper’s nest.

What was more trying for him is that there are no Dunkin’ Donuts down there. He was forced to drink Starbucks. He’s always making fun of my Starbucks habit. All I can say is: Hahahahahaha!

It’s funny how life works. You can dislike someone in high school and want to pound the life out of him. Then, 20-plus years later, you can count that same person among your dearest friends.

Yet another Blessing tossed my way.

I guess the laptop problem isn’t such a big deal after all.