WTF?

Yo Gusby,

WTF, man? I can get behind you wanting to blow off some Fall-to-Winter transition steam by sending us a giant windstorm... but did you really need to break the gate? Did my dogs really need to find the wide open gate at 3:45 in the morning, and go charging through it together, only to separate and go in different directions once they were past the front corner of the house?

I thought we were past little things like this.

Trust: Abundance, or Lack?

Hey Gusby and friends,

I was listening to a radio morning show this morning, and they had a married couple on-air that was bickering back and forth over the husband's spending habits. What it boiled down to was that she didn't trust him, which leads me to my question to all of you.

How much trust is there in your relationship?

I think that in my relationship with my spouse, there is an abundance of trust. I have faith that she's happy in our relationship and that everything she does is in both of our best interests, or at least certainly not against our best interests. If she calls home towards the end of the work day, saying that an unplanned happy hour is forming up, I know that just means she wants to spend some outside-of-work time with coworkers who have become actual friends. I don't rummage through her internet history, or snoop in her phone, or watch the bank account like a hawk, because I trust that everything she's doing falls well within the guidelines of maintaining and growing a healthy, happy marriage. I'm pretty sure she feels the same way, but if she does snoop, search or rummage, she doesn't tell me, because there's nothing untoward to find out. I just don't do anything untrustworthy.

On the flip side, I have been in a serious relationship with someone that I didn't trust, who also didn't trust me. If she called after work to say she was going to be late, I paced around our apartment wondering who she was with (most of the time, this was justified worry, as I found out later that she had been cheating on me). If I called after work, she usually got into the car and came to where I said I was going to be, sneaking around to make sure I wasn't with some other woman. (I've never cheated on anyone. Ever. Nor have I ever given anyone a real, logical reason to think that I might be.)

After having both types of relationships, it was a pretty easy decision to make as to which one I prefer, and nearly 8 years of marriage attests to that choice. So what about you? Do you trust your partner implicitly, without the need to ask for any details about random changes (like a sudden happy hour, or long hours in the office)? Do you trust your partner implicitly, as long as you get some sort of explanation? Do you trust your partner in theory, but sneak around to try to find out what they're up to on their phones, or computers? If you and your partner have a secure level of trust, what steps do you take to work on and maintain it?

Smoking?

Hey Gusby,

Throughout my teenage years, I kept hearing things about smoking. It causes cancer, emphysema, lung damage. It causes you to experience decreases in your senses of smell and taste. It blackens your teeth, and makes you smell bad. I also kept hearing about how hard it was to quit.

As a result of what I had been taught, I was "one of those", who looked down on smokers as weak-willed individuals who didn't have the forethought or strength of personality to avoid it, or quit. I was preachy and annoying, often spouting off about how, "if I wanted to fill my lungs with smoke, I'd stick my head in a bonfire."

Shortly before my 19th birthday, I decided that it was patently unfair of me to judge people who were in a situation in which I had absolutely no firsthand experience. It was egotistical, and just plain rude. (Sort of how heterosexual bible-thumpers claim that homosexuality is a choice, a wrong choice, and something that can be "fixed.")

In order to ease my guilt over judging others, and also to put myself into a situation where I could offer firsthand, beneficial advice to people either trying to avoid smoking, or to quit, I decided to become a smoker. I'd like to point out that I now realize just how silly this decision was. Instead of ruining my own body, I could have just kept my mouth shut. Alas, hindsight.

I came up with a plan. I would begin smoking socially, only going out when other smokers were with me. That quickly turned into going outside to smoke whenever I felt like it. Which ended up burning about a pack a day. I was taking frequent, short breaks from work. Smoking in the car on the way home from work, because traffic was annoying. In short, I became a full-time smoker.

After only three months of this, I realized that I was well and truly addicted. If I didn't have my morning cigarette, I got crabby. If a meeting I was participating in lasted for longer than an hour and a half, I got cranky. If I was stuck in a car with a non-smoker for longer than 30 minutes, I was annoyed.

Another three months went by of me fulfilling my addiction to cigarettes, and I decided that I had been a smoker long enough. The cravings had plateaued, and I didn't feel as if I could get any more addicted. So I quit.

I just stopped buying cigarettes. I still lived with a smoker, and still went out for frequent breaks, but I didn't actually smoke. Cold turkey. I was successful in dropping the habit for almost two months. I didn't feel the cravings anymore, and I knew that I could continue along this line of non-smoking indefinitely.

After almost two months, I went out for a night on the town, and I ended up smoking a single cigarette. I thought to myself, "I just quit cold turkey for this long, surely one won't send me flying right back into being a smoker."

Yeah, I was wrong. That one cigarette lead to being a pack-a-day smoker for the next nearly 10 years. Since then, I've tried (unsuccessfully) to quit a few times. A couple times of cold turkey, once with the patch and an anti-depressant, twice with Chantix.

Somewhere along the line, I convinced myself that I wasn't strong enough to quit. I don't know where it happened, or when, or why, but I pigeon-holed myself into the role of the smoker.

The problem isn't actually quitting. I can finish a pack, and just not buy more. In fact, I did it just yesterday and except for sleeping like crap as a result of nicotine withdrawal, I actually feel pretty good.

For me, the problem is staying quit. You see, Gusby, I like smoking. Beyond the physical changes that manifest as a result, the stimulation of pleasure-centers in the brain, etc, it gives me a reason to be outside. It provides an excuse for getting out into the sun, and taking deep breaths of fresh summer air. Those 5 minutes away from life and stress have become more important than nicotine.

So you respond with, "Well go outside anyway!" and I do. I take the dogs, and I sit on the deck and I relax... but it's just not the same. It's not as satisfying. I come back into the house and don't feel as if it helped. Which leads me to believe that the addiction is far more physical than I thought it was.

The fact of the matter is, I know I should quit. I know I have to quit before mid-to-late November. I know if I quit now, the arrival of my daughter will be significantly more enjoyable for me. I know that I can quit now, but I don't want to quit now.

Maybe the knowing I can quit is just pure ego on my part, and I'm deluding myself. Or maybe I really can. But until I want to quit, there's just no way to answer that question.

And that, Gusby, is where I need your help. I need your help in wanting to quit smoking. I know all of the arguments, the health benefits, etc, and that's not enough. I need... something more... to help me want to quit.

The "Perseid Meteor Showers," or...

"Trouble in Paradise."

Thursday morning, I awoke at 5:34am, excited and eager to be off on my solo hiking trip. I confirmed the weather report that said I could expect clear skies and perfect temperatures, so I finished packing the car with all of my gear. After a quick stop at Caribou, and in downtown Minneapolis to drop Kris off at work, I was off. Traffic was light, the sky was clear, and the morning was good!

By 11:00am, I was parked at the Cascade River State Park campground, which is only 10 miles south of Grand Marais, MN. The Park Ranger Station had a weather report up from the day before, which said I could expect thunderstorms after 1:00am on Friday morning. No big deal, I was going to watch the meteors from 9:00pm to 12:00am, so later showers wouldn't kill me.

Hopping on the trail, I decided to take the western side loop of the Superior Hiking Trail, which follows along a 3.8 mile stretch of Cascade River. This section of the trail was almost stupidly challenging. From the trailhead to the end of the loop, the overall elevation gain was maybe 300 feet, which is normally a very easy walk in the woods. This side of the river was almost exclusively up-and-down. Climb 75 feet up, climb 74 feet down. 120 up, 50 down. 90 up, 110 down. I was wearing 30lbs of gear on my back, and carrying an extra 30 lbs around my midsection. And then I discovered the first lie from my early morning weather report. What was supposed to be a day of 76 degrees with a 10 mph wind coming straight off Lake Superior turned out to be a day of 90 degrees with no wind.

The bugs were horrendous. The heat was nearly unbearable. My hands swelled to the size of oranges, and made it nearly impossible for me to open my water bottles to keep myself hydrated, which was especially important because I was sweating so heavily that I looked like I was walking through a river. After nearly four hours of struggling to hike through this section of trail, I was fatigued, overburdened and dangerously close to just turning around and coming home.

At the end of the western loop, you come to County Rd. 45, which gives you a nice, easy 0.3 mile hike to reacquire the Superior Hiking Trail heading north, during which time I decided that I wasn't a quitter. No matter how hard it was, I was going to get to my campsite and watch these grains of sand and debris die a fiery death in the atmosphere of our home planet.

Crossing over 45, I discovered I was still 0.7 miles from my selected campsite. I know, 3/4ths of a mile doesn't seem like that far. When I tell you that it is, please trust me. It was agony to force myself to start moving up the trail again.

An hour later, I had arrived. I hiked through the campsite and back down to the river, so I could refill my water bottles (properly filtered, of course), and relax. Honestly, this was the greatest part of the trip. I spent nearly an hour at the river, alternatively just sitting around enjoying the view, and plunging through the chilly depths of the slow-moving water. I can now say that I have gone skinny dipping, and it was fantastic.

5:00pm rolled around, so I hiked away from the river and back to the campsite, where I spent some time setting up the tent, cooking dinner, changing into my camp clothes (PJ pants, new socks, etc). That lasted all of an hour, leaving me 3 hours to kill before night fell.

I tried to light a fire, since there was a convenient pit for it, and I was bored. Rain the day before had turned every downed piece of wood into a sodden, rotting mass, so it was incredibly difficult. An abundance of birch bark let me get a few flames going, however, and it was then that I discovered the Superior Hiking Trail has a Chipmunk Fire Brigade. As soon as I had a very small fire going, a chipmunk approached within 10 feet of me, and started yelling at me. When the fire died out, he left. Later, when I tried again, he came back and yelled at me again.

Around 8:00pm, the bugs, which had been a major irritation, came out in full force. It was miserable. The repellent I had with me didn't work worth a damn. I finally discovered that if I pulled my sleeping pad from the tent, and went to the rockiest area of the campsite, and lay very still, I only had to kill one bug every 15-20 seconds, instead of 6 at a time every second. I spent an hour trying to keep my blood inside of me, watching the sky darken.

At 9:00pm, with the sky still relatively bright, the first star came out. My heart accelerated, and I settled in for a show. And then the clouds rolled in. Quickly.

Over the course of the next two hours, I stared at the clouds defiantly, hoping for a break where I could see something... to my dismay, all I saw was a grand total of three stars. I went to bed, an exhausted, angry, frustrated and disappointed mess of gelatinous muscle-goo. And then came the storm.

I don't know if you've ever experienced severe weather while huddling in a piece of plastic wrap, but it can be quite inspiring. You can be awed by the power of the wind and raid. You can be afraid of the groaning, creaking trees overhead. You can be shocked by the lightning strike only a half-mile away. However I felt at various times throughout the nearly-sleepless night, I survived with no injuries.

At 6:45am, I awoke to a steady, heavy rain, without the thunder-boomers of the previous hours. By 7:15, I had finished my slow breakfast and the rain gave no signs of letting up, so I set to the task of breaking down camp. Rolling up the sleeping pad, stuffing the sleeping bag, changing into my hiking clothes, gathering up and packing away all of the food and garbage, and packing down the tent. It was a dirty, wet adventure that left me soaked to the core and grumbling about the trials and tribulations of hiking. But I thought to myself, "At least the rain will keep the bugs down, and help keep me cool."

8:00am, my pack was packed, and I hefted it onto my shoulders. Taking one last look around to make sure I hadn't left anything behind, I stepped back onto the trail... and the rain stopped.

Silently raging, I started hiking, fighting my way through swarm after swarm of biting insect, while trying to maintain my footing on the now-wet root system that makes up the vast majority of the trail. If you've never been hiking, roots are slippery in the best of times. They've been worn smooth by generations of hikers and weather and are incredibly dangerous. I am sure that roots account for 90% of hiking injuries, though I have no facts to back this up. Today, however, these roots were also wet, making them triply dangerous.

Halfway back to the car, 2.1 miles to go, I slipped on a root. Flailing wildly, trying like mad to make sure that if I fall, I'm going to fall in such a way that results in the least amount of injury, I end up slamming my knee into a tree and then into the densely packed earth. It could have been worse. A lot worse. I could have sprained something. I could have broken something. I could have been bleeding. As it was, however, I just in pain.

Luckily for me, the eastern loop that was my route back to the car was significantly easier than the western loop of the day before. There was one major uphill hike, and then a very smooth downward slope for the following 3.1 miles. I managed to stumble and limp my way back to the car, take a few moments to catch my breath, and then begin the five hour drive home.

After fighting construction traffic, lack of music (I forgot my CD collection, and my MP3 player) and a throbbing in my knee, I made it home shortly after 4:00pm.

In a day and a half, I drove 550 miles, hiked an extremely challenging 10 miles, killed millions of mosquitoes, slept in a violent thunderstorm, and fell down like an idiot.

I got about 40 minutes of time to sit on a couch and recuperate after I got home, before I had to put on dress shoes (my blisters were not happy about this), and go to a thing. After the thing, I fell asleep... and slept like the dead.

It's time for a little "Me Time"

A few weeks ago, I declared that I wanted to take a span of time to myself, in the form of a solitary hike along a portion of the Superior Hiking Trail.

My family, and especially my gorgeous wife, have been supportive of this decision, as they're generally fond of hiking and backpacking, as well as being understanding of a person's need to just escape and unplug for a night.

Recently events, however, have started to turn what should be a relaxing adventure into a mass of stressful organization.

First and foremost, my maternal grandmother is in town from Florida for ten days; in fact, she's arriving about an hour from the time of this writing. I think it's wonderful, and I can't wait to see her. It's been a couple years, and I'm looking forward to getting to spend some time with her. Unfortunately, the first "family group night" is scheduled to happen when I'm scheduled to be somewhere in the middle of nowhere between Duluth and Grand Marais.

This raises the issue of transportation. Since we're a single-car family, it means Kris will be without a mode of transport for approximately 36 hours. Normally, this wouldn't be an issue since she rides the bus to and from work, and a night at home alone would be good for her as well. With the family group night, however, this adds in someone having to pick her up to bring her to my brother and sister-in-law's house, as well as home after the party.

Tack on the fact that Dante should be in attendance, and that means someone other than myself and Kris (who normally pick him up) will need to retrieve him from his mom's house. Normally not a big deal as my parents have always been extraordinarily helpful in this regard. I mean, like, super helpful. Of course, that leaves their car with quite a few occupants, as well as having them go pretty far out of their way to return Kris and Dante to our house after the party.

After the party on Thursday night, there is Friday night to take into consideration. My mom has finished Chapter Four of her dissertation, which is apparently enough to be considered eligible to "walk" at commencement, and participate in the Ph.D. hooding ceremony. Yay Mom! What that means for me is that on Friday morning, I'm going to hike off the trail and back to the car, then drive nearly five hours to get home. As soon as I get home, I'll hop in the shower, put on some fresh clothing, and immediately leave to attend the hooding. From what I can tell of the schedule, it's going to keep me busy until around 10pm.

First thing Saturday morning, around 9am or so, Dante and I are going to need to get up, get dressed and head back downtown for a second time to watch the commencement ceremony. Luckily, that should only keep us busy until 4pm, but then we get to come home to clean, because we're having "family group night, take two" at our house on Saturday night.

It's at this point in the planning where I sit down to ask myself, "Is it really worth going hiking for a night, if you're not going to be able to have a moment to breathe until sometime on Sunday? Can't you go some other night?"

And as soon as I ask myself the question, I respond with a resounding, "Yes, yes it is. And no, no I can't."

You see, Thursday night, the night I'm planning to be miles and miles and miles away from civilization, is the night of the Perseid Meteor Showers.

I've been trying to see this meteor shower every August for the last ten years, and have never been able to. This year, they're supposed to start about 45 minutes after sundown, so the sky will be perfectly dark. The moon is supposed to set only 20 minutes after the sun (and it's currently just a thin crescent wedge), so there won't even be moonlight to interfere. In addition to the perfection of the darkness, this year's shower is supposed to contain 60-100 meteors per hour, as opposed to the normal 40-75, so there will be an abundance of meteors to watch sizzle through the black night sky. Add to that the fact that I'll be 70 miles from any major city that might throw up some light pollution, and I'm in for one hell of a show!

I know that this mini-vacation of mine is throwing a monkey wrench into a night of family fun time, and I know that it's selfish of me to force other people to drive around town picking up and dropping off my family, but after a decade of attempts, this is the best opportunity for me... quite possibly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see a full-bore meteor shower in all of it's dazzling glory.

I can't wait!

A short piece on passive aggressiveness.

Gusby, I like to consider myself a pretty straight-forward guy.

If I'm upset by something, I tell the source. If I'm annoyed by something, I tell the source. If I need to ask for help from someone, I lay it out exactly as I see it. If I need to compromise, I do so.

Maybe it's unfair of me to expect the same behavior from others. See, when someone asks me for help, I either say I can, I can't, or I can if this changes/happens. I am as honest about my needs and expectations as I wish others would be.

That means that if I ask you for something, I would like to hear, "Yes, I can do that if you do such and such." Or, "No, sorry, I cannot."

What I don't want to hear is, "*huff* *sigh* I suppose I can do that." Because if I ignore the passive-aggressive parts, what I hear from you is, "I can do that." and I take you at your word, because I expect to be taken at my word.

If what you meant to say was, "Yeah, I'll help you, but can you meet me halfway?" then we enter negotiations where my primary goal is always to find the best solution possible for all parties involved. Sure, it includes selfishness on my part, I won't try to deny it at all... my secondary goal is to get everything I want.

Unfortunately, when people get passive-aggressive, they're not being honest about their needs or desires, which only ends up hurting them.

I read between the lines, I hear the message you're trying to convey, but if you're not being honest with me, I consciously choose to ignore the subtext and just go with the text. And I do this because I am honest with you. I try very hard on a daily basis to remove all subtext from my communications, and I think I'm quite successful.

I feel it is a measure of my respect for you that I be honest and forthright in all of my dealings with you, and I would hope that you would extend the same respect for me.

Fatherhood 2.0

Hey Gusby,

About 12 years ago, you decided in your ultimate wisdom to gift me with a child to raise, and for that, I thank you. I'd be lying if I said it has been easy, but I'd also be lying if I said it wasn't worth it.

Being a father has been the single-most rewarding thing I've ever done. Especially when my child asks me to do something that I have absolutely no idea how to do. It's moments like those when I realize that he thinks the world of me, that I'm his own personal Superman. I know it's not going to last forever, but with my beautiful wife carrying my second child, I can certainly extend the process.

And that's what this is really about, child 2.0.

Though words are feeble, and entirely incapable of accurately expressing my feelings on the matter, they are the only medium in which I feel qualified working. So here goes:

I am in love. In love with my charming and sexy wife, who expends as much effort on a daily basis as a professional weight-lifter, to grow this new little person. In love with the endless possibilities who this new person is and might become. In love with the situation that has developed to allow me to stay home with the latest Luopa addition.

In all of my years, nothing in my life has been as rewarding as what I am currently doing. The white-collar work, the blue-collar work, even the education I have (which I value quite highly)... None of it can compare to the feeling of complete rightness I experience every day now.

I still find it incredibly difficult to believe that I have again participated in the miracle of creating human life, even when I walk into what will be her room and see the little crib, and purple walls, hand-made quilt and books and toys. I know she's coming, but how is it possible that I had something to do with it?

With this child, things will be very different from the first time. I will be in her life in a major way, on a daily basis; able to play with her, teach her, grow with her. I will be there to laugh every time she falls down, before picking her up and surrounding her with warmth and safety. I will be there to see her first steps, hear her first words, see her reaction when she tastes a lemon for the first time. I will see her first tooth, and be there for her first haircut.

I am excited to perfect my pony-tail-making skills, to learn how to put hair in curlers (because apparently that's important), to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off and made into smiley faces. I am eager to attend dance recitals, and gymnastics classes, and science fairs. I cannot wait to re-experience the world through the eyes of one of it's youngest participants, when a walk in the park becomes an introduction to something never previously seen.

Thank you, Gusby, for everything.

Fear

Gusby, I'm struggling with a distinct surplus of fear.

Many years ago, I made a promise to myself. I promised that I would no longer make decisions out of fear.

"A life ruled by fear is no life at all."

A quote from a journal entry of mine, dated three and a half years ago.

I was working then, as I am now, to improve myself. I was taking journeys into my subconscious, to flesh out the reasons behind the paralytic fear that was gripping me. What I came up with is that the reason I ever did anything was because of fear.

Afraid that if I didn't do well, something bad would happen. It didn't matter what the objective was, just that the motivation to do it was fear. Everything was, "I will do this, because I am afraid that if I don't..." It got to the point where I ended up afraid to try, because failure might happen... and I was extremely afraid of failure.

While I still hold fast to the belief that things accomplished through healthy, loving motivation end up being more beneficial in the long term, I find myself still subjected to fear.

I want that to change. I do not want to be afraid, and I do not want to do things simply because I fear the alternative.

I am going to change that. I am going to put my trust in you, Gusby, and have faith that together we can break this cycle of fear. I will do the things I need and want to do, not because I hope to avoid the alternative, but because they are the right things to do. Because they will bring love and joy into my life, and help me share that love and joy with others.

For now, they will be baby steps, and I am sure that while I will make constant forward progress, I will also experience challenges and setbacks. I am also sure that everything I face will be surmountable and will teach me more about living a life without being afraid.

I refuse to let fear drag me through my life; I am in charge. I have the ability to shape my present and future in a way that I enjoy.

Sleep? Yeah, I do that sometimes.

When I was 12 years old, I started sneaking out of my house at night. Not at 9 or 10, to go over to a friend's house, but around 2 or 3 am. What I did during those starlit adventures is the stuff of another blog. Not just another post, but an entirely new blog, not normally dedicated to my spiritual self.

For the last 17 years, I haven't managed what people would call a "normal" sleep schedule. At least not for more than a couple months at a time.

One week, I'll be up until 8am, and sleep until 4pm. The next week, I'll be in bed by 9m, and fresh by 7am. It usually travels in phases, and these phases usually last 3-4 weeks at a stretch.

The point of all of this is that while some may see this as a detriment, I have now seen and experienced things that "normal" never get to see.

Standing outside at 3:00am on a crisp January morning, the wind brisk as it nips your cheeks. The fog that rolls in with the breeze, soothing and muting the sounds of the suburban environment, making houses and cars appear as nothing more than ghosts of their former selves. Looking up at the branches of trees, where the moisture from the fog has collected in a beautiful crystalline lattice, sparkling in the light of the stars. The stars themselves, fading in and out of visibility as thicker patches of the thin cloud cover try to obscure the majesty of the heavens.

Or a pre-dawn morning in late July, when the sky is just beginning to turn the faintest shade of pink, splashed across the eastern horizon. The surrounding sky starts as that odd mix of light blue and steel gray, but as you crane your neck and start to move your vision to the west, it darkens and into the deepest shade of blue the human eye can make out, where the stars struggle mightily against the coming sun. The sound of crickets and cicadas, of birds beginning to sing, and yet it's still quiet enough that you imagine that if you knelt down, just a little bit, you could hear the worms and insects toiling away beneath the bright green grass, covered with dew.

An August afternoon in the Boundary Waters, where the song of the mosquitoes tries to lull you in for a nap. The bright sun, streaking through the few clouds brave enough to dare the warmth, to shimmer across the mirror-like stillness of the small lake that you're camped next to. The sound of an elusive lake trout breaking the surface for a bug, small ripples sliding closer. The fresh air, resounding with the minuscule and infinite sounds of a living, breathing forest, reminding you just how small you really are in the universe.

Some people claim my inability to remain "normal" is something that needs to be fixed. I say that you've missed out on some of Nature's most awe-inspiring moments by always sleeping at night.

Introducing an Impressionable Soul to Alternative Spirituality, Do I or Don't I?

By popular demand, here it is.

Dante doesn't have a specific religion. He attends a Catholic private school, has a non-spiritual mother, a Lutheran mother/great-grandfather/grandmother, a non-religious-but-highly-spiritual father/grandfather, a Catholic grandmother/great-grandmother/great-great-grandmother.

When he was a few months old, he was non-denominationally baptized by an ordained minister of a cult. When he was nine, he was Confirmed in a Catholic church, as part of his education. I think Confirmed is the right word, anyway... He takes communion now.

As far as I can tell, Dante is more Catholic than anything else, but he has been in a Catholic school for the last three years, where they have more religion than science classes.

The only thing that all of these beliefs have in common is that there is a God (a.k.a. Gusby).

My struggle is this: Do I introduce Dante to the specifics of my belief, even though they vary greatly from all of the beliefs that he's been taught up to this point?

He knows some of them, like that on the rare occasions I attend a Lutheran church service, I do not take communion. He knows that I have spirit guides, and power animals, and that I meditate and take shamanic journeys. He also knows that I channel energy through my hands, to help balance and restore the natural order and health (physical and spiritual) of whomever I'm practicing on.

He has never really asked me why I don't take communion, nor has he asked if he can have spirit guides or power animals, or what happens on a journey or during meditation. He seems fairly interested in Reiki, but seems unsure if he should ask or not.

Catholics, Lutherans, non-denominational cults... they all have rules for a "proper, Godly" lifestyle, and some of them are pretty hard to follow. My belief structure has one rule for a proper and Godly life: Do not intentionally harm. That's it.

It's similar to Christ's Golden Rule, but with subtle differences. According to the "Treat Others as You Wish to be Treated," I can be nice to people and still harm myself. Hell, I've done it before. Living according to my rule, I strive to make sure that every single one of my actions brings no harm to another or to myself. (Smoking really has to go, since poisoning myself is harmful, heh.)

If placed in a situation where I have to say something that hurts someone else, I strive to make sure that my words are coming from a higher place, a place of goodness and right. You may not like to hear that your actions are self-destructive and dangerous, and it may hurt you to know that I think you're making the wrong choices, and you may think that when I say these things, I'm breaking my own only rule. I disagree. Sometimes, we all need to hear things we don't like, in order to put aside our harmful ways and pick up the mantle of right action.

As the basis of a belief structure, I think I've got a solid cornerstone. After decades of soul-searching, study, experimentation and analyzing results, this rule, this cornerstone, feels right. And I've learned to trust my feelings.

"That's all well and good," you may be saying, "but what does this have to do with teaching Dante?"

Good question. Before you can weigh in with an opinion that is more likely to be listened to and taken seriously, you needed to know more about the decision, as well as what I'd be teaching him. A well-informed voter is more likely to elect the most beneficial person for the job.

Now, this may seem like an easy decision. I'd be teaching Dante, essentially, that I love. Unfortunately, it's a little more complicated than that. You see, all Bible-based organized religions are contradictory. Some more so than others, but all to a certain extent. In order to give Dante enough information to make his own well-informed decision, I would have to expose the contradictions of the Bible-based religions, as well as explain where and why I disagree with other teachings.

Believe it or not, this is not meant as a crusade to get Dante to stop going to church, or as a way to break him out of organized religion. My goal, the entire reason behind this struggle, is merely to educate my son, so that he understands he doesn't need to blindly believe everything he is taught.

There are other beliefs out there, some may be right for him and some may be wrong for him (just as they are right or wrong for all of us), but I want him to retain his open mindedness, rather than just swallow what he is spoon fed.

*** Spoiler alert: If you strongly believe in organized religion, I warn that you might be offended if you read further. ***

I do not want Dante to grow up as a sheep, as the vast majority of our society does. Blindly following a religion, just because it's easier to be told what to do and what to believe than it is to make the decision for yourself. The simple fact that your parents hold a specific belief does not require you to think the same way, to believe the same thing.

If you want children for the sole purpose that they would think exactly as you think, feel exactly as you feel, go buy a clone.

I wish for him the ability to analyze, rationally, his beliefs... and I wish for him the ability to set aside rationality, to just feel, to be, to live. Both are equally necessary. I feel that in this day of age, in this society and culture, too many people are choosing the extreme. Living a life based solely upon the rational and analyzable, or a life based purely upon emotion without the ability to use logic.

I wish for him to be a good person. To be caring, loving, friendly and happy. It is my belief that my spirituality will help him achieve that more quickly, easily and completely than any organized religion, with fewer pieces of guilty baggage hanging around.

And if he chooses to believe other than myself, I will stand beside him, supporting him through thick and thin, regardless of any troubles he might face.

So there you have it... my struggle.

Thoughts?