Sacred Grounds

I bought fancy coffee today. Yes, yet another insignificant event from which I gleaned importance as year number 40 approaches. This was indeed an event because I usually buy the exact same coffee every time I go to the local grocery store. The brand I buy is good (to me), not great. It is cheap but not the cheapest. I rarely buy coffee while out and about, and I will not be a “regular” in any coffee shops any time soon. What this adds up to is that I hardly ever get the enjoyment of a high-quality coffee. More importantly, that means neither does my wife, even though she prefers a better coffee to my preferred brand. Even writing that out makes me realize how selfish I have been in the coffee department.

Don’t be fooled—that is an important department. I begin to wonder if that bleeds over into other facets of life and relationship. See there, how I made it important? I made the fancy coffee this morning and am drinking it right now. I can honestly tell the difference, which is something I did not expect. Although I knew it was a possibility, it is still surprising. I am not going to completely switch my coffee buying habits, but that option is on the table—literally. My wife also seems happy with this purchase, which makes me happy in return. I have to start figuring out if it is correlation or causation between the price of the coffee and the happiness of my wife while drinking said coffee. I am sure there is some upper limit to the coffee happiness factor when it comes to price, but it could take some experimentation to solve. I also wonder if I tell a fib about the price of our next coffee choice and see if there is any affect there. Would that be a white lie? We can use that white lie as our creamer. Yes, that was bad, I am aware, but I also thought it was worth the attempt. Plus, I don’t use creamer because I am a 39-year-old man, so the joke is on you.

When I was 30, I did not drink coffee. This would not have been a chapter if my book was about turning 30. I viewed coffee as an older person’s drink and refused to admit that I was rapidly approaching that category of person. I also did not truly appreciate the taste of coffee and the culture surrounding it (which I am still working on). I also did not have anything close to a wife at 30. The fact that someone else might care about what type of beverage I purchased would not have entered the conversation, much less crossed my mind. I would have bought the cheapest form of coffee known to man. All that would have mattered is if that alluring drug known as caffeine came in significantly high quantities. Taste? Would not have cared. Aftertaste? Would have cared even less. I would have been greedy and selfish. I would not have cared at all about sharing with others or their thoughts surrounding this topic.

At 39, my mindset on all these coffee-related items has changed. I feel guilty from basically forcing my wife to drink bad coffee for a couple of years now. Sure she could have said something. Sure she could have purchased her own coffee if she so desired. At 39, that is not the point of this chapter. I should have done a better job at this coffee-buying thing because it is not a small thing at this stage in life. It means more at 39. I also have finally agreed on a less important topic—that it is OK to splurge a little bit. If we have the means to do so, it is OK to pay a little more for things. Especially on things that make those around us happier. Sometimes you have to take enjoyment and pleasure wherever you can find it in life. Sometimes that place is coffee. If spending an extra dollar or two every now and then leads to even a tiny spike in enjoyment for loved ones, my 39-year-old self says it is worth it. We should do it every time.

That is quite the lesson to learn in one morning and with something as simple as buying better coffee. One of the most enjoyable things for me, at 39, is to see my wife happy. If life gives us such a simple opportunity to make others happy, we should jump at it immediately. A lot of times we think that it takes big efforts to make others’ lives better—bigger house, better school, larger social circle. But there are opportunities to make this happen every single day. They come in all shapes and sizes, and a lot of them are free of charge. Some we pass by every day without even considering them. This coffee buying thing is one simple example of this. We need to seek those chances out as often as we can. We need to be ready to seize the opportunity when it shows itself. Things that seem so small to us are not necessarily seen in the same light by others. I am not sure if my wife even notices the impact that a slightly better coffee has had on her morning, but I do. That cup of coffee is another small building block that contributes to the foundation of a happy and enjoyable life. I now realize the impact that these simple pleasures have on a loved one. I should also note the impact on myself while I’m at it. We’ll all be slightly better off with a little more enjoyment in our lives. That enjoyment is all around us, just look. Smell it, taste it. Drink it in.

I Like Dogs (a sappy post)

I like dogs, so much. I love my dogs. They are the best. They bring so much joy across so many avenues.

The walks. The greetings. The tricks.

The dedication. The love. The licks.

But, sometimes when I look at them, I get sad.

When I look at my two dogs, I know that I do not get much time with them, in the grand scheme of things. They are not on this earth for long, and we know that. But do they? Do we want them to? In my opinion, it would be better not to know. I know we always, as humans, say things like “live for today” and “life is short”. We know that to be a fact, and that fact can ruin many of our days, having that insight in the back of our mind. I also know it can make our lives better, knowing that we need to live for now and such. But how many of us heed our own advice on that matter?

Few.

Maybe dogs not knowing makes them happier. Mentally healthier. More fun.

It is hard to fight the urge to think too far into the future. They do not have that worry. Every day is new. Every walk is cherished. Every meal, perfect. They are great, maybe for that reason.

They are the absolute best. I hope my own dogs will be around long enough for my newborn to enjoy and get to know them. I hope he will remember them for the rest of his life. He would truly appreciate it, and they deserve to be remembered.

I know I will remember them forever.

I like dogs.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

Back to Work

I have been off of work for 13 weeks. I am lucky enough to work somewhere that allows for 12 weeks of ‘parental leave’, so I took them, plus an extra week for good measure. I spent that time, obviously, with my new (first) son and his lovely mom, my wife.

The time was glorious for many reasons.

But earlier this week, I went back to work. I thought I knew how I would feel about it, and I was correct. It was not the most exciting morning of my life, to say the least. But you gotta do what you gotta so sometimes. Again, I was grateful for that time, but I did not want it to end. But, back to work I went.

Busy. Bored. Bummed.

But there is a major positive surrounding this feeling, the feeling of going back to the 9 to 5. I know now, clearer than ever, what I want. I want my life to feel more like it did in those 13 weeks. No timelines over my shoulder. Me being in control of my day. Morning deck coffees and mid-afternoon walks with the family. I also want to start writing more, like I did everyday while writing my first book. Even if it is just a little something, like this post.

Family. Freedom. Flexibility.

For quite some time I have complained about the limits that depending on the 9 to 5 puts on a life. I have been poking around some ideas about how not to fall further into this trap, but I have yet to truly act on anything. I likely won’t for a little while longer, considering the kid needs some time to settle in, and my 9 to 5 can provide that for him. But now I know for a fact that I need to make something happen. For myself, for my family, for my sanity.

What it will be, who knows? I surely don’t. But I will pursue it with a renewed vigor moving forward. I will do my best to set a good example for my growing son in this ever-important area of life: being happy with what you do for a living.

Those 13 weeks, those weeks that flew by in the blink of an eye, have changed my life in many ways. It is time for me to do the same. For all of us.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

His First Month (#5MinuteBlog)

I haven’t written a post, or anything, in awhile. Possibly, because I have a new baby. He will be a month old in a few days. That timeline likely runs close to that of my last post. I’ve been a little busy.

This has been the most life-changing month of my life. Yes, I know, that is an obvious statement, but no less true.

For those of you with children, you do not need me to explain what it has been like, you already know. For those of you planning on children...get ready.

Stressful. Beautiful.

Tired. Alive.

Scared. Ready.

When the month started, I was not completely sure how we would make it through. But here we are, we made it. I have learned so much, both about myself and what it will take to be a father moving forward. I have also (re)learned that my wife is a complete rock, and a complete rockstar. It is amazing to see her in action. I can’t wait to have a courtside seat to keep watching her be a mother.

There is a lot of work still to be done, again, obviously. But, I am proud of this first month, for all involved.

Wish us luck.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

I Love This Game

Baseball- I Love This Game

Pine tar. Tobacco. Seeds. Spit. 

Chalk. Bunts. Balks. Bumps.

Warning tracks. Cracks of the bat.

On deck circles. Donuts.

Sacrifices.

No-hitters. Grand slams. Walk offs.

The crunch of steel on concrete. The smell of leather caked with clay.

Squeeze plays. Double plays. Superstitions.

The peanut gallery. Peanuts. Cracker Jack.

Yankee Stadium. Fenway Park. Wrigley Field. The Polo Grounds.

Unwritten rules. Pinch hitters. Nicknames.

The Babe. Chipper.

Hammerin’ Hank. The Splendid Splinter.

The Georgia Peach. The Mick.

The Big Unit. Big Papi.

The Ryan Express. The Iron Horse.

Shoeless Joe. Three Fingers.

The Say Hey Kid. The Kid.

Retired numbers. Outfield statues. 

Major League. Field of Dreams.

The Natural. Bull Durham.

A game of catch with your dad. A game of catch with your son.

Jackie Robinson.

Nothing quite compares.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

T-Minus One Month (#5MinuteBlog)

T-Minus 1 Month (a #5MinuteBlog)

OK, I’m officially getting nervous. I haven’t been until the last couple of days, but now the nerves are almost fully onset. Is that proper wording? I’m nervous.

See, I am about to become a first time father at 41. The times, they are a’ changin’. I heard a guy say that once.

My nerves are countless. Health of the baby and mom, obviously, come first. Fatherhood, not a small thing, is in a close second.

Will I be a good father? How will I be a good father?

What kind of world is my little guy going to grow up in? I would like to think it is better than any world we have ever lived in, but there is no way to tell for sure.

Excitement. Pride. Difficulty. 

All of those things are coming my way. I hope, and plan, to handle it as best as possible.

I wish I could write more about this, but I’m nervous.

Wish me luck. More to come.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

Expat (#5MinuteBlog)

Expat (a 5-minute blog, no edits, nothing fancy, just going with the gut)

Expatriate, better known in its shortened form, “expat”. Defined as someone who lives outside of their native country.

But doesn't it feel like it has more meaning than that?

I have seen and heard this word glorified in many places. Even with such a simple definition, there is a mystery surrounding it. To me, the biggest question is why. Why do people become “expats”?

Adventure? Opportunity? Escape?

When I say the word, I think of Hemingway and friends, the “Lost Generation”, sitting in a café in Paris, drinking something strong. I think of artistry and wandering. There is just something about the word, but I can’t quite figure out how to describe it properly.

Have you been an expat? Are you an expat? If you were to become one, where would you go?

New Zealand? Chile? Thailand?

Perhaps it is really a state of mind. Seeking something new and different. Being someone new and different.

It is an interesting concept to me. An interesting word. I think about it often, and wonder what that means.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

Active Duty (#5MinuteBlog)

Active Duty (a #5MinuteBlog)

I was on active duty in the US military once. Actually, twice, or at least on two separate occasions.

I loved it. I hated it. I got out, twice. I put it in my rearview. I miss it every day.

I have been off active duty for somewhere around seven years at this point (with some stints in the Guard and Reserve to hold me over). I have yet to find anything, in the professional world, that even approaches it. I never thought I would admit that, but here we are.

I hear a lot of talk these days about accomplishing the “mission”, yet the mission was never as clear to me as it was during those eight plus years of my life. They dragged by once upon a time, but when I look back...a snap of a finger.

The feeling I get when I think about my time is interesting. I’m torn. There is a dichotomy. Like I said: love, hate. But one thing is for sure, and that is the pride I feel for my time in. Some of the best people I have ever met or worked with were introduced to me during that time.

Men who were counted out. Women who were not expected to accomplish much. Friends that over-achieved despite everything.

Camaraderie.

Families went through struggles. Co-workers were injured, or worse. Some were lost, even after their service ended, at least physically ended.

I never accomplished as much as I could have while active, but I am still proud. I wish I would have done more with my time in, but that fact doesn't haunt me. I am glad it happened. I am glad I chose to make that decision to join, for whatever reason that I made it.

Some things, few things, in life have a significant and lasting impact. This is one for me.

Thanks to all of those who do it. I hope it means as much to you.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

New Music (#5MinuteBlog)

New Music (A 5-minute blog- no edits, nothing fancy, just gut)

I know I am getting old. That is the whole premise behind my writing and my podcast. Midlife. But not much makes me feel older than new music. I don’t like it.

But, why?

This happens to every generation, I suppose. My dad, to my recollection, did not enjoy my childhood music. Beastie Boys, na. Guns N’ Rose, no thanks. Rage Against the Machine, HELL NO.

But there is something about this one, this generation of music. It is bad. There is no heart, there is no soul. I am not speaking for ALL new music, just most of it. My parents lived through perhaps the best generation of music ever. The Beatles. Dylan. Creedence. Jimi. Zeppelin. This list could go on for quite some time.

My generation had some memorable music as well. Rap and/or Hip Hop was brought to the forefront. Rock and Hip Hop joined forces. Dr. Dre. B.I.G. Rage. Beasties. Nirvana. Sublime.

But this new stuff.

I can’t single out one band or act that I would say is carrying the torch for good music. It could just be me getting older, or it could be that this newer music is, in fact, not good. I moved across the country five years ago. Since that time, there is only one new (to me) band that I have started listening to-- Turnpike Troubadours. Other than them, I listen to the same stuff I have been listening to for years. Because it is good. I always wondered what the mark was for when you were getting old.

This could be it.

But what I am wondering is why. Why do we not, hell maybe even refuse to, listen to new music? I am sure there is some good stuff out there, just like there was when my dad, Fred, refused to listen to any of my music.

Maybe I am just upholding a tradition as old as time. Maybe I am just getting old.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

More Than a Meal

Pork (roasted). Ham (sliced). Cheese (swiss). Mustard (yellow). Pickles (dill). Bread (Cuban). 

Salami (maybe)?

It sounds simple, maybe even cheap. But there is a richness to it. There is more to it than you think. At least there is for me. 

Also, “cheap” was kind of the point, originally.

The Cuban sandwich, or Cubano, has always been special to me. I never saw myself creating that sentence, but here we are. I grew up in Florida and this sandwich was everywhere. You could get one in a nice restaurant. You could get one at the corner gas station. You even made them in your own home.

I figured I would be eating Cuban sandwiches on a regular basis for the remainder of time, but I was wrong. When I moved away from Florida, there was not a Cuban sandwich in sight, unless I produced one for myself (without the Cuban bread, of course). 

And that is when I began to truly appreciate this culinary and cultural masterpiece. 

Since they are now so difficult to come by, when I see one on a menu, I order it. No questions asked. That first bite brings me home. I can’t help but compare whatever is in my hand at that moment to those I had in my youth. They usually don’t compare, even if it is just in my biased imagination. But I doubt it is.

My first stop when I return home…you already know.

The silver lining of no longer being able to find my beloved Cubano on many menus is the fact that I have had to adapt. I have had to work on my own, homemade, sandwich. And I have progressed rapidly, but with much work left to do. Some may say that I make the best Cuban for (many) miles around. Some may.

Cuba. Miami. Tampa. Hell, maybe even Key West. The origins of the sandwich remain cloudy, and that adds to the greatness. A rivalry of sorts (between Miami and Tampa) over the dish remains to this day. Some may find this strange. Both fine cities claim to be the birthplace of the mysterious meal. In Tampa, add salami. In Miami, never. 

I side with Miami.

If you have yet to have a Cubano, do yourself a favor. If you have not had one in quite some time, recall the past. If you have never made one in your own home, there’s a first time for everything.

Next time you see this delicacy on a menu, order it. If only for me.

I have a strange passion for this sandwich, I know. It means a lot to me. It goes well beyond the pork and the pickles. 

I love it, for some reason. I love it, for many reasons.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

A Superstitious Mother’s Day (#5MinuteBlog)

(this is a “5-minute blog”: no edits, nothing fancy, just going with the gut)

Superstition struck on Sunday. It was also Mother’s Day. These two things are connected.

I did not buy or do anything for my wife. You see, she is pregnant with our first child, who isn’t due for another two months. She received a few gifts and/or “Happy Mother’s Day” comments from friends.

I felt uneasy about it. 

Maybe it is the old baseball player in me, a sport full of superstitious people. Or maybe I am just weird. Either way I found it slightly unsettling, the gifts, and luckily my wife (mostly) agreed. 

So, I didn’t get my wife anything for Mother’s Day. But we are both OK with that. I look forward to this time next year, to more than make up for it.

I can’t wait.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

Dog Walks & Flat Tires (#5MinuteBlog)

Dog Walks & Flat Tires (a 5-minute blog)

The dogs wanted to go for a walk today, before it got too hot. I agreed to take them, mostly because they are annoying, but also because I love them.

Once I announced the news, we spent the next five minutes attempting to calm down enough to slip a leash on. A daily struggle. Once that task was accomplished, we loaded up the car. The two dogs and me.

Upon backing out of the garage, the car was making a strange noise, one I hadn’t heard, luckily, in quite some time. Yes, I had a flat tire.

I parked the car and decided to continue with the plans. We took my wife’s Jeep to the location of our planned walk. But I knew I had some work ahead of me, at some point, when we returned.

To be honest, I planned on leaving the car in the garage overnight and dealing with the issue in the morning, considering we can’t go anywhere anyways. My wife had to bring it to my attention that I probably should not leave the car sitting on a completely flat front tire for an extended period of time. She was right. Once I made the (correct) decision, I was actually a little excited about the task at hand. Weird.

So I got to work. Changing a tire is not the most difficult thing in the world, but it is somewhat of a perishable skill. It took me longer than expected to figure out where exactly to place the jack. It has been ten years after all. Once I figured that out, it went fairly smoothly. I threw on the spare and plan on heading to the local car experts tomorrow, in hopes that they have a replacement for me.

It made me feel good. Again, not the hardest thing to do, but it still feels damn good. It’s the little things.

Sweat, dirt, accomplishment.

So my skills are refreshed. I feel good about myself. I am still sweating (I live in Texas). As long as this spare tire shuffles my car to the shop tomorrow, I consider this a success, even though we never want a flat tire.

I got lucky that this happened at my house. I got lucky that I had nowhere to be by a certain time. I am lucky that I can afford a new tire tomorrow. I know these things. But I can still appreciate the act. And I do.

It’s the little things.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

We’re Spoiled (#5MinuteBlog)

We’re Spoiled (a 5-minute blog)

In this day and age, we have many advantages. We have many opportunities. We have the ability to have an easier life than those that came before us.

But we don't appreciate it.

I did not appreciate it today, even though I was doing something that was not available even five years ago. It was something simple, yet I couldn’t help but complain, internally mostly, but I also picked up that phone to send a text, in complaint (think about that). I had a supposed appointment, a standing time. The other party went over by more than 10 minutes and I was not thrilled. I am spoiled.

I was close to forgetting that the appointment I had was a luxury. It was something most people don't even have access to. It was something I have only had the privilege of enjoying for the last few years. It was something that was making my life easier.

And yet, I complained. I was not satisfied. I am spoiled.

I see this a lot, likely every day. Complaints about slow internet (the INTERNET!). Complaints about slow service (SOMEONE ELSE is serving you). Complaints about how stressful life is (REALLY?).

I am not immune from this malady, the complaining.

We all do it at some point. It is almost natural, in a way. But what are we REALLY complaining about? Take a look around, you, we, have it pretty good. There are very few things in life that we should truly complain about. Very few.

So, let’s get better. This includes me. Let’s appreciate what we have, and quit being so spoiled.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey) 

The 5-Minute Blog

I have mentioned the concept of the “5-minute blog” several times (mostly on Twitter). Perhaps one day it will be a trending hashtag, #5MinuteBlog. I have realized, however, that I have not explained what it is very well.

So, this is what I am doing here…

I want to blog more. I want to share more thoughts. Almost daily, I want something creative to do. Writing a 5-minute blog provides me with the opportunity for all of these. This post, itself, is a 5-minute blog.

It is just as it sounds. I take 5 minutes and write about something I am currently thinking about, or should be thinking about. I do not edit (for the most part) and I do not overthink. I go with my gut. I go with what I am interested in. Novel concept, I know. This forces me to just put something out there, to share it with the “world”, and to scratch my writing itch for the day.

Not all days will have a 5-minute blog. Not all blogs will be 5 minutes. But a lot will.

I hope you enjoy them. I will.

-Houston Bailey (@HoustonBailey)

Embrace Monday Morning

I went back to work today. I went back after a five-day weekend or mini-vacation or whatever you would like to call it. The trip had a little more travel than I would have liked for such a short timeframe. But it still worked out to be extremely relaxing. My wife and I traveled to the lovely and previously unexplored (by us) Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where I was surprised by the beauty. We went for a few hikes and did a little camping. We kayaked near some of the more popular sights in the area, which was a great experience. We enjoyed some time with my sister and brother-in-law. We took this trip to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary. Basically, we did whatever we wanted for a few days, including relaxing at a beach while grilling steaks and drinking beers. It was a great trip, if just a little too short.

After the trip came to an end, the exhaustion set in—and it was worth it, without question and without doubt. Sometimes that exhaustion is in itself a form of relaxation, or at the very least will lead to it. We had mosquito bites that numbered in the hundreds between the two of us. We hadn’t eaten enough, and hadn’t had enough water to be considered well-hydrated. We were tired, and I then I had to go back to work. After spending a handful of days enjoying freedom, I was now back in self- induced imprisonment, caged in by cubicles and emails. I went from walking amongst the tall pine trees to sitting amongst the printer and copy machines. Those ever- closing walls felt like they were moving towards me a little bit quicker today. I spent five days doing what I pleased, unbound by meeting times and due dates. Today I was trapped by the work that I missed while I was busy not thinking about that work. Today, I was bored, but not the good kind of bored (and that does exist). I was bored because I was stuck in my cube with nary a ray of sunlight. Bored by the never-ending flow of communications that I am supposed to read and respond to.

Over the previous few days, I was the good kind of bored. Sitting there, staring at the water with nothing to fill my time. I had no calls and no work to do. I was forced to relax and unwind. We should have that forced upon us far more often. This should be a common occurrence. As we know, it is good for the soul.

At previous points in my life, I would have focused strictly on the negatives listed above. These damn cubicle walls and this damn computer. I would have immediately dropped to a new low in attitude as soon as I walked through the doors. I would have instantly let those good memories from just hours before escape from my mind to make room for negative thoughts. The positives of the trip—which far outweigh the negatives of being back at work—would not have entered my mind. Sad but true. There would have been a high likelihood of me wasting some of the time off by focusing on the impending doom of what we call Monday morning. You can forget about enjoying Sunday. The thought of that Sunday flight, in the back of my twenty-something brain, could have even crept over and touched the joy of Saturday with its dirty, sticky hands. You can see how easily each day would have impacted the one before it, which is a weird, cruel trick we play on ourselves.

Now, I still know that Monday morning is coming, but I am ok with it. I did not let that unexplainable feeling of dread impact my Sunday. I was also fully aware, on Saturday, that we would be traveling back home the following day. No impact that I could feel. I am not sure if that was a conscious effort not to let those thoughts creep into my mind, if that is even possible. Perhaps it is a more natural and instinctual occurrence as you get older. Those nice and relaxing times get fewer and further between. There are less of them waiting for you to enjoy. This long weekend, I focused on the positives of the situation versus the negatives. Instead of focusing on the feeling of being trapped on Monday, I focused on the complete freedom I was experiencing on the several days prior. I appreciated the fact that no real schedule existed or that there were no phone calls to make. I felt the opposite of imprisoned on this trip, and I appreciated each second of it. I realize now how time off, especially time like this, makes you appreciate your overall use of time. True gratitude is a difficult thing to attain. But enjoying your time with friends and family can get you there, to being grateful.

Happiness can be achieved when you realize the importance of seemingly polar opposite situations. When moments make you feel trapped and bored and thinking about a major life change, embrace them, and contemplate their meaning. That embracing and deliberating will make you that much more thankful about the coming good times. Yes, those good times are coming, they always do. The good makes it all worth it, even sitting in a cubicle on that Monday morning. And when those good times do show their face, look them in the eye. Talk to them and debate them. Hug them, laugh with them. Remember their names and their faces. Make friends with them. When you get back to that desk on Monday morning, whisper their names to yourself and you will be reminded of a better time. You will not miss them, but instead look forward to that next time you get to see their sweet, free faces.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

New Orleans

New Orleans (a ‘5-Minute Blog’)

There is just something about New Orleans. Something I can’t quite put my finger on, but can feel in my gut.

If you have been there, you know what I mean. You likely feel it too.

It is gritty and grimy and unique. It is beautiful and ugly and strange, simultaneously. It is one of very few places on earth that can pull this off. When you walk the streets you feel a little on edge, but you also feel right at home. This place makes you want to eat, drink, and be merry. It also makes you want to think and explore and maybe even stay.

There is something about this place.

The people. The river. The Quarter. The food. The accents. The history. The culture. The dirt. The art. The mystery. As an outsider, a visitor, I can, and do, appreciate all of these things. Most places do not have more than one of these elements, much less all of them.

I love you New Orleans, even with all your flaws. I hope to see you again. Soon.

There is just something about you.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

A Life Changer

There are very few moments in your life that change things completely. This was one of those.

I felt our baby kick for the first time. Things are now different, forever, for the better.

My wife was about five months into the pregnancy before I got the opportunity to feel this sensation. That was the kid’s doing, not my wife’s choice. We had tried previously. She had been feeling some movement, some kicking, for a couple of weeks at that point. They were not yet strong enough for me to be able to partake. But at this moment, he gave it his all.

My hand was placed on my wife’s stomach, too gently at first. She redirected me, pushed my hand in slightly harder, and pinpointed the place I should focus on. It worked. He kicked. Life changed. 

I had seen various ultrasounds at this point, which were absolutely amazing. But the kick was different, special. That’s my boy in there stretching his legs, feeling out the environment, making us aware. 

He is getting ready.

I wish I could properly describe the feeling, but there is no way to do it justice. He kicked at my hand, but hit me in the heart. I am going to be a dad. A father. He was letting me know. 

I am ready, too.

Nervous. Happy. Excited. I never knew I could have such strong feelings from such a little kick.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

The Day I Almost Quit

Growing up, baseball was everything to me. Or so I thought. 

I do not remember the exact point in which I started playing, because I was too young to remember. I do know that I would wear a baseball hat in my crib, I’ve seen the pictures to prove it. One time, at around three or four years old, I snuck out of a hotel room and wandered off down a beach, alone. I was spotted a handful of minutes later, by frantic parents, only because they could see my baseball hat in the distance.

I began t-ball, like many others, at 5-years-old and my playing career lasted through the end of my high school days. Between those two points, I played the game for countless hours. Outside of going to work, I can’t think of anything I have done more in life than play baseball, even though I haven’t played in over 20 years at this point. Time flies.

For most of that time, I loved it. I looked forward to getting outside in the brutal Florida sunshine and improving my skills. I looked forward to the competition and loved trying to be the best. If I wasn’t in school, you could likely find me on the diamond. I played it with my friends, my enemies, and my father. I learned a lot from the game, lessons that you can only get through sports.

But there was one day where it almost came to an end. I was close to quitting the thing that I loved most.

I was in 10th grade, with no car, at the time and therefore was still being driven to my games by other people. This particular day, it was my mother’s turn. On the way to the game, her car broke down. This was before cell phones rose in popularity, or affordability, so it wasn’t as easy as placing a call to a teammate to scoop me up. I was scared I was going to be late and tardiness is a thing I dread, even to this day. Something hit me and I just felt like this was it, this was the day. Previously unseen emotions started to flood over me and I just wanted to give up on the sport. I figured if I was going to be late, if even for only this one game, I may as well quit. I was suddenly feeling burnt out on the game, due to all those countless hours mentioned earlier.

But maybe there was more to it. Perhaps I was burnt out on life, as the previous couple of years had not been easy on me. Family stuff. Maybe I thought that the car breaking down was some kind of sign, some kind of excuse just to let it all go. Perhaps it was, in fact, other things, not baseball, that was causing me to feel this way. 

When I close my eyes, I can still feel that feeling, I just can’t explain it in writing. I am sure we all have something similar. 

To be honest, I can’t remember what happened next. I don’t know how I made it to my game that night, but I did. I do not recall the outcome of the game, or how I played. But I played. I kept with the game that had brought me so much (including my beloved nickname: “Bump”). I finished out that 10th grade year and the following two years of high school. I was even named team captain my senior year and won the MVP trophy- something I had been working towards my whole life I suppose. That is something I am still proud of, the captaincy. 

I am glad I didn’t follow through with whatever that feeling was, that feeling that existed on that lone day, for whatever reason. I would have regretted that decision up until this day. I would not have made, or kept, some of the best friends I still have. I would not have learned the lessons provided to me in my high school years. Honestly, I don’t know how my life would be different if I had quit that day, but it would be. If I did not have baseball, the game I love, those last two years of high school, I wouldn’t have had much else. Sometimes not having something to focus on can lead us in a bad direction. I am not sure what my focus would have been at that point.

Sometimes we have that moment, that seemingly little decision, that can impact our lives in a disproportionate way. Looking back on it, this was one of those moments for me. I made the right decision. 

Baseball. I am glad I stuck with it. I am glad it stuck with me.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

Finding the Positive

(a 5-minute blog: no edits, just gut)

Maybe more than ever, we must find some positivity in negative situations. It sounds obvious, but we are not very good at it, for whatever reason.

We all know that the times we are living in are strange and not exactly ideal. People are out of work, people are trapped at home, some people are worse off than that. But I have seen some positivity in this situation. 

Here, around my neighborhood, people are out. I don’t mean out at restaurants and bars- that is not currently allowed. I mean they are out, like outside. I see tons of people going for runs with their kids and walks with their dogs. There are always SOME people out and about, but now there are A LOT of that going on. People staying sane and healthy.

They are enjoying themselves as much as possible.

It is nice to see people relieving their stress by getting active. Everyone is waving and smiling as they pass, from 10 feet away of course. It makes me happy to see and hopeful that it will continue after all of this is over.

I guess we shall see.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)

The Neighbor’s Dog (5-minute blog)

(5-minute blog)

I am not sure what tense to use at this point, so I will say “my neighbors have a dog” until further notice.

I say this because I am not sure if they still have a dog or not, but I like to think positively.

This dog, like the neighbors, is sweet. Nice, friendly, patient. He has never barked at our two dogs, who are committed to barking at any dog they see, ever, always. When our dogs bark from the deck, while glaring at him, he sits calmly and looks from the other side of the fading fence. It is almost as if he embraces the interaction.

I typically see my neighbors walk him on a regular basis. In fact, I sometimes attempt to spy on them to determine if they are yet on a walk, so we can avoid them on ours. The barking and all.

But, I have not seen him on a walk in about two weeks at this point. Our dogs have not witnessed his patrolling of the yard next door, proven by their out of the norm quasi silence. 

The “beware of dog” sign still hangs from their wooden gate, like a ghost of sorts, but no sign of the protector.

I am not shattered, but saddened by this. I had never met or petted the dog, but I felt like he was a good one. Most are, if not all. I feel sad for the human neighbors, if in fact their dog is no longer with them. I, luckily, can only imagine how that might feel. I can only imagine taking down that sign, hands wobbly. It would likely hang in perpetuity. 

It is a strange feeling, feeling sad for someone or something you never met. But we all have felt it. Each time I walk out onto my back deck, which overlooks the neighbor’s yard, I take a peak over for the once daily sighting of the dog next door. The sweet, quiet, good boy. The boy who would bring out his favorite toy, in hopes that somehow we could play with him, from across that fence.

I have not caught a glimpse in some time, and I am afraid I never will again. I can’t help but be sad. I can’t help but think of the inevitable. 

But I shall hold out hope.

-Houston Bailey (@BumpBailey)