Standing Outside the Fire

The great thing about coming back home to Long Island is the off-chance, the random occasion, that you see somebody out whom you haven't seen in ages, and whom you are actually happy to encounter. This happened to me tonight at Applebees with an old friend of mine, Dennis Regan.

Dennis and I were in Scouts together, so we saw each other every Tuesday for 6 or 7 years (if not more), in addition to all the camping trips and other weekly events that we Scouts used to partake in.

One time, on a trip to Washington DC, Dennis and I formed a band with a couple of other of the guys; we called ourselves the Hot Scouts of America. We even wrote a creed, in the form of a Batman & Joker-sort, out of cheese-in-a-can written on Ritz Crackers, which proclaimed that we were the Hot Scouts and any intruders shan't mess with us. Man, we were cool.

Dennis and I really haven't stayed in touch since he delivered the convocation at my Eagle ceremony in 2004. I was really glad to have one of my best friends in the group induct me into this selective group that we had all striven to be a part of ever since we joined, as Cub Scouts, back before we had any sense of what Scouting was or what it would mean to us.

Scouting taught me how to be part of a community; it taught me how to give back to others and how to let myself have fun at the same time; it taught me values and morals--personal integrity--that I carry with me from day-to-day, wherever I go; it taught me how to appreciate others and all that other people do for me.

I hope Dennis looks back on his Scouting experience as fondly as I do. It's something I don't talk about too often, but something I'm damn proud of. It has made me who I am today, without a doubt. And it's funny, in the ironic/"this must be a sign or a symbol for something" kind of way that earlier today I finally--after three years have passed--hung up all of my Eagle Scout plaques in my room, as a constant reminder of the values and good memories in my life that I should cherish and keep with me always.

As I finish typing this rather reminiscent blog, it is only fitting that the shuffle on my iTunes brings up the one song that will always remind me of Scouting: "Standing Outside the Fire" by Garth Brooks. Now, I'm not really one for country, but the Baiting Hollow Scout Camp would always play this song at their end-of-the-week campfire, where they showed clips from the week to all the campers, who got the opportunity to hoot and holler at the counselors who became friends that week, or their fellow Scouts who were caught in the act of goofing off.

But I can use Garth Brook's song as a metaphor to my own life: a reminder to constantly stand outside the fire, and look at both my own reflection in the flames and the images of those people who are surrounding me, joining me in my campfire in my camp, where I am the counselor, constantly stealing glances to my clipboard, planning activities, and living my life one day, one week, one summer at time, with the help and support of those who currently surround me (my campers) and those who are there to surround me and support me for the long run (my counselors-in-training). Everyone I meet has their choice of camper or CIT; they have to learn stand outside the fire themselves and make their own choice.

Sometimes, you just need to run into someone from the past like Dennis Regan to remind you to take a step back and see where you've been and where you're going.

Speed Limit LI

Driving down the road, looking into my rear-view mirror, I see the reflection of trees coming through the sunroof onto my sunglasses, trees that pass by with each mile per hour; and I am singing soulfully with the windows down, my hand out the window, feeling the air whip by with each mile per hour; and I know that I am home in Long Island, where the trees overhead and the wind all around and the music in my ears all remind me that this is where I should be, for each mile per hour in a day, everyday.

Where the Ocean Meets the Sky

Sometimes on lonely nights I like to take a drive to the beach and stare out onto the water and think. Tonight, since I'm in Delaware and the closest "beach" is an hour and a half away--and not just a drive down Nicolls Road to Corey Beach, as it would be at home--I decided to drive to nearby historic New Castle, where Delaware Avenue collides with the Delaware River in a fantastic view of the Delaware Memorial Bridge that connects this small state with New Jersey.

I don't know exactly what it is about the ocean--or any body of water for that matter--that leaves me basking in wonder and amazement. It may be the salty air, or the marriage of land and water, or the infinite distance that is the horizon. Sometimes it is the reflections of streetlights or the light of the moon bouncing off the water, or the sound of the choppiness in the waves, or the 10-foot long reflection of my body being stretched along the water, a shadow being cast by the light of the moon onto the massive canvass of the ocean; whatever it is, I am at home around the beach or water.

Tonight, as I was walking along the path adjacent to the Delaware River in New Castle, I was remembering a phrase that my dear friend Cos had uttered to my friends and I nearly three years ago to the day. It was after a long night of heavy drinking down the Jersey shore, where we rented a house on the beach in Long Beach Island for a week--ten guys, recent college freshmen, on vacation together with no inhibitions and endless supply of beer and food.

It was one of the best weeks of my life.

One night during that week, we were all sitting on a bench on the beach, facing the ocean, feeling blissfully peaceful (and no doubt foolishly drunk), when Cos uttered his now-infamous proverb: In 5, 10 years, this is where I want to be. This is where we all should be. We want to be there--(pointing out to sea)--where the ocean meets the sky.

We all proceeded to vision ourselves in 5 or 10 years down the road, being in this same place of contentness and resolve, that we bought into Cos' madness and repeated his oration of being where the ocean meets the sky, until we all doubled over laughing at the absurdity of the statement.

Despite the absurdity, now three years later, I am still facing the water, striving to be where the ocean meets the sky, wanting to own that feeling of infinity, of limitlessness, of bliss with a hint of uncertainty, and hope that, whether in Corey Beach, New York; Long Beach Island, New Jersey; or here in New Castle, Delaware; I'm on my way.