Lights. Colors. Action.

        Autumn in New England, where I live, is spectacularly beautiful. It’s not just the colors that explode as the leaves change. It’s the lighting. Like a gigantic stage production that gets a new lighting director and set designer, the look and feel of the fall changes everything. Cyndi Lauper only had it part right. Money does change everything. But so does lighting and scenery.
       I actually feel differently in the fall. By “feel”, I don’t mean in terms of emotions like happy or sad. I mean as in how I experience life. It’s not just the external change of seasons. It’s an internal shift of experience. The world feels different.
       I call it “The Sunday Effect”. You know how Sunday feels different than any other day of the week? The minute you wake up, you know it. No matter where you are or what you’re doing. You just know it’s Sunday. The same is true for Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or even Saturday. The atmosphere, the vibe, the ambience, the way life feels, is fundamentally altered on certain days. And during different seasons. I experience this viscerally. Vividly. In emotional technicolor. Does anyone else share this sensation?  
        Color has always been very important to me. After all, I painted my house purple. Some of my clothes are very colorful. When I look at certain colors, I actually get excited and happy just from looking at them. So it’s no wonder that when the canvas of my world changes color in the fall, I go through an internal change as well. Looking at all the reds and yellows and oranges, all of which used to be green just a little while ago...well I’m off and running.
       Scent is also very evocative, maybe the most of all the senses. And fall smells much different than summer. Who can’t instantly recall the scent of fallen leaves? Just thinking about that smell takes you away quicker than a Calgon bath. Takes you to someplace else. Not only in your mind, but in your heart.  And actually smelling all those fallen leaves is like going to a different planet. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. Magic.
       The sun plays a major role, actually the starring role, in this epic transformation. The trajectory of The Great Light In The Sky significantly changes as we progress from summer to fall. It’s not only that the sun is lower in the sky during autumn, but it follows an entirely different path. So the world is lit in a dramatically new way. The sun’s new trajectory alters the mood and the atmosphere of the world. Indeed, of my life. It’s all new and different.
       You can’t beat June, July, and August for fun, but autumn has it all over summer romantically. What’s better on a crisp Saturday afternoon in October than walking through leaves with someone you love, going home, lighting a fire, making dinner, and then jumping each other’s bones in front of the fire place all night?
       What is your experience of fall that touches your heart? How does fall feel differently to you? Let me hear you. I’m listening.   

© 2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and Wrongs) Reserved

I encourage Comments. So let me hear you.

The Best & The Worst

      Two years ago today, my dad fell and broke his hip. Sixteen days later, he died.   
      My dad had fallen, of all places, outside of his lawyer’s office. None of my siblings who knew this called to tell me. That actually didn’t surprise me. I had been out of the family bullshit loop for a while. That also meant I was out of the information loop. I spoke to my nephew that night, and at the end of the conversation, he said “Papa fell and broke his hip. He’s in the Newton-Wellesley Hospital”. I love my nephew to death, and I don’t blame him for not telling me right away. At least he told me.
      My nephew was with my mother. Nobody had been to see my father yet. I called the hospital and spoke to my dad. He sounded terrible. Scared and confused, I could hear the panic in his voice. I told him I would be up to see him. I hung up the phone and called a friend. He offered to take the ninety minute drive up with me to see my dad. I'll never forget that.
      By the time we got to the hospital, my dad was on morphine and sounding much better. I, however, was still quite shaken. So I pulled the I.V. out of his arm and jammed it into mine, sending a nice jolt of the magic elixir coursing through my veins. Then two doctors came in and explained hip surgery to my dad and I. We followed them as best we could, both being doped up and all. The doctors asked me why I had the I.V. in my arm. I told them that was none of their business. They changed the subject. They were very optimistic about the up-coming surgery. So were my dad and I. Morphine does that to you.  
      A little later, my friend came into the hospital room to hang out with me and my dad. We watched the American League playoffs. The Yankees lost. That always made my dad very happy. At about 11:30 p.m. we left. I kissed my father good-by and told him he was going to be fine.
      I was the only person in my family who saw my dad that night. And that was the last time that he was ever close to being himself again.
      The next two weeks, he slipped in and out of paranoia, extreme agitation, delusion, and quasi-lucidity. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to see my dad before he started slipping away. I spent three overnights with him after that, including the night he died. They were the worst three nights he had. So I saw my dad at his best and at his worst during the last two weeks of his life.
      That’s the way it always was with him. I saw the best in him, and the worst in him. I loved him dearly for all of it.
      I miss you dad...     

 © 2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and Wrongs) Reserved   

 I encourage Comments. So let me hear you.

Maybe I'm Crazy

         Maybe you think I’m crazy for nakedly sharing how I feel on a website. Closer to the truth, maybe I think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But there are worse things than being bonkers. Being asleep at the wheel, for one thing. Which is what I was for over a year and a half after my dad died.
         Those were My Dark Ages. Twenty months of sleep walking through life. Six-hundred days of not knowing who the hell I was or what the fuck I was doing. The “Who”, the “What”, and the “Why” of my life were questions that I grappled with long before my dad passed away. I was actively engaged in a quest. After he died, I went into depression. And although I was doing most of the same things I was doing while he was alive, I stopped involving myself in finding any answers. I was just going through the motions. I didn’t believe that I would ever find what I was looking for. In fact, I no longer knew what I was looking for. And I stopped believing that I would ever find any relief in the answers if I found them. So why bother searching? All of a sudden, absolutely nothing made sense. Nothing mattered.  
         Pundits speak of "The Big Three" changes that create maximum stress and trauma in one's life. Death. Moving. Divorce. In the span of nine months, I experienced the first two outright, a taste of the last, and a bludgeoning of a few other losses. My father was dead. I moved out of my home. My girlfriend of over four years and I split. And the hits kept coming. My band, which was like a great little boys club, broke up. I loved the guys in my band. Still do. My twin brother, one of those band members, and I had a huge falling out. I had been estranged from most of my family for quite some time. But after my dad died. whatever emotional connection I had left to them basically disappeared. There seemed to be this vacuum that was sucking away everything that I cared about in my life. I unconsciously determined that the only way I could handle all of this was to stop feeling.
         All this pain inside of me had no place to go. But it had to go somewhere. It had to be released. So it started eating it’s way out of me. Like an tiger trapped in a cage made of raw meat. The animal had to be free. And if I had to be eaten alive in the process, so be it. And that’s exactly what started happening.
        I used to think that depression was when I felt so much pain that I got...depressed. But that’s not it. Depression happened when I stopped feeling, and then turned those feelings against myself. All that anger became self anger. All the hurt became ammunition in a merciless barrage of self-criticism and self-judgment. In order for my pain to eat itself out of me, it had to get positively aggressive. It had to turn itself against me. Which it did. As a result, I hated myself. I hated my life.
        I had people in my life who loved me, but I couldn’t feel it. I knew it, but I couldn’t feel it. Because I couldn’t find one drop of self love anywhere within me. It didn’t matter what they said or did, because I was still no fuckin’ good. These people could see that I was in pain, but they didn't know just how bad it was. I couldn’t possibly let them in on that. Because that’s about as unattractive as it gets. They see that, they are gone. Then I’m really alone. I didn’t see a way out.  
       Before I became too self destructive, I broke out of that self manifested hell and into a whole new world. And I’ll tell you more about that another time.
       What happened to me during My Dark Ages, both internally and externally, set me up for the transformation that I experienced this past summer. This worst period of my life actually helped me heal.
       Let me leave you with this. Real Change is possible. Outright Metamorphosis does happen. More often than we know. Even though I asked to change, prayed for it, for years, I never thought it would happen to me (does that sound too much like the beginning of a Penthouse Forum story?). But it did happen. I changed. Dramatically. From the inside. If you want it bad enough, keep asking for it, keep doing for it, you shift. Not necessarily when we want, and usually not through the door we expect. I'll be writing more about my story. I'd love to hear some of yours. Go to the Life Change page and tell about something that changed your life. Or post a comment.

© Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and Wrongs) Reserved

I encourage Comments. So let me hear you.

Dress Without Repress

        Have you ever wondered why you look great in certain outfits but in others you could haunt a house? Women probably have, but not many men give this question much thought. I have. And like everything else, it’s an inside job.
        If what you’re wearing reflects who you are on the inside, you look like a million bucks. Regardless of what you have on. You feel great wearing what’s you, and you exude a palpable ease and confidence.
        Put me in a pair of khakis. Really nice ones that fit great and that are ironed. Better yet, pleated. Add any pair of shoes that go with khakis and make them brown. Give me a collared shirt with an insignia over the left or right nipple. What do you have? A Nightmare. The kind that makes you wake up sweating and screaming for your teddy bear. Why? Because those clothes have absolutely nothing to do with what’s inside of me.
        Years ago, when I was young and foolish, I would let my girlfriends “dress me”. After the torture session, they would stand back and say “You look so nice!”.  I would stand there mortified, my head flush with blood, dreading being seen in public donning this clown outfit. Which is exactly what it felt like. Because in their quest to fashionably domesticate me, they were choosing only what they liked, with precious little regard for what I liked. They would mutate my style so drastically that it wasn’t remotely me anymore. And isn't love about letting someone be themselves, fashion sense (or senseless) and all, and loving them precisely for that?
        I’m not saying that women can’t help their men dress. It’s actually fun when they do. Sometimes even necessary. But it’s only a good trip when women work with their man, not against him. Guys, if you have to wear a monkey suit, then choose your monkey. Make it a suit you’re totally into. Make it, for example, a purple suit that’s professionally tailored. I have a suit like that. Love it. If the event is so conservative that a purple suit would get you arrested (there are events this stuffy, although I’ve thankfully never been to one), then go with something that’s still you within the parameters of the occasion. In every situation, there are options available that don't completely compromise who you are and what you want to wear.
        Male or female, it’s true that if you’re secure enough with who you are, you can wear anything and feel okay. But I’m not talking about feeling okay. Life is too short to settle for feeling “okay” when you can feel “Kick Ass”.
        So dress as yourself, whatever that means, always. If the event warrants a wig and spandex pants, like say a “Rock Star” Party, then by all means gentlemen, start your engines. Don’t let woman have all the fun. Always Dress to Kick Ass. For me, sometimes that means a long leather coat, jeans, and a t-shirt. Or maybe black vinyl pants and a shirt covered in tiny red mirrors. Another favorite are shorts and a flannel shirt (my current attire). Better yet, shorts and no shirt (my usual attire). It doesn’t matter. If it’s you, really you, it’s hot. Now excuse me while I get naked. That’s what feels like me at the moment. I’m taking a shower. Outside. No stall. No neighbors within three hundred feet. Looking out at the ocean. Now THAT kicks ass.

© 2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and Wrongs) Reserved

I encourage Comments. So let me hear you.