Cut Offs

       Fashion. At once completely superficial and shallow, and at the same time, a window into something about who we are and how we relate to each other. Fashion is at once a statement of our own humanity and of our own individuality. Its fascinating to me.
       So I’m hanging at one of my favorite local watering holes and start talking to a woman who I’m guessing is about fifteen years or so younger than I am. She notices what I’m wearing, and says to me, “Are those cut off jean shorts?” It seemed like a completely rhetorical question. Part of me wanted to reply in a total wise ass way. “No. They’re actually made of human skin, sewn from the hides of my most recent hostage victims. Like in The Silence of The Lambs…..”. But I refrained from that retort. What’s great about having so many creative voices inside you is that at any one moment you have a tremendous range of options from which to chose. In this moment, I went with something a little closer to home as opposed to a voice somewhere out in the stratosphere of my own imagination. But let me say, I’m grateful for those voices out on my cosmic imaginative fringe.
       Anyway, when she asked the redundantly rhetorically rhetoric query that had drippings of contempt, I said “Yes they are.” There was a pause, as if she was somehow surprised by my response. “Those……(longer pause)…..aren’t in” she said, her voice now laced with contempt. I immediately responded, “In What?”. Again, I think she expected some sort of pause after her probing question, because the rapidity of my retort caught her by surprise, as she stammered a bit and eventually came back with “Ah….in style” This time, she practically sneered when she spoke, and her voice was now completely overdosed with contempt .
       Ah yes. Style. How silly of me. Once again, it didn’t take me long to respond, which again surprised her. I’m not sure if she was used to dealing with men far less intelligent and articulate than myself, or if she expected me to be apologetic, or if she believed her questions about fashion and style so daunting to a man that it would render him tongue tied. No matter, but the pace of our conversation clearly flummoxed her. Without skipping a beat, I said “Who’s style? Yours? Madison Avenue’s? Silicon Valley’s? The World At Large?” Like a deer in a set of ten thousand watt halogen headlights, she gazed back at me without any clue how to keep the conversation moving along. So I didn’t wait for her, and provided something else for her to potentially latch onto.
       “Style comes from within. Style has nothing whatsoever to do with what other people think works. Style has absolutely everything to do with what you think works. With what you feels works. For yourself. You rock it form the inside out. Not the other way around. Can you dig it?”
       Another slight pause. “No. Not at all.”, she said. I then thought of my dad, who would abruptly walk away from a conversation (without so much as a good bye or any excuse whatsoever for his departure) from someone who was boorish. Dad would just vamoose from anyone who talked only about themselves, about how much money they made, who effectively carried on a monologue about how great they were without any interest in what he had to say, without any interest in having a true conversation. This woman didn’t qualify as that, but I could tell this was not going to qualify as stimulating conversation. So I said “Have a nice night”, and took off.
       Sometimes life feels like a pleasant long cruise down a straight highway. Sometimes it feels like an exciting formula one race through a thousand curves. And sometimes it feels like a hit and run accident.


©2104 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Carnival (part 1)

        For the last eight years, on the third Thursday of August, fifty of us have traveled via bus to Provincetown, Massachusetts, for what’s known as Carnival. Carnival is like the Mardi Gras of the Northeast. Thousands upon thousands of people in the streets of this very cool little town; drinking, dancing, merry-making all day. Gays, straights, transexuals, transvestites, families, couples, singles. There’s a theme every year, and it all culminates in a mayhemic parade. It’s an absolute shitload of fun. This year, I had an interaction with a guy that proved the inspiration for this post.   
       This man, who took his virgin trip to Carnival last year, approached me at The Beachcomber, an outdoor restaurant and bar overlooking the ocean that we stop at every year on our way to Provincetown. He said “Ya know, when I first saw you on the bus last year, I didn’t like you. Even though I hadn’t met you. You had no shirt on, wore a couple of earrings, and had all this energy. I thought you were just a guy who was totally into himself, just really narcissistic.” He continued “But, I gotta say, I was so wrong about you. I really get that you’re a friendly, loving person. You really care about the people on this trip, and you do what you can to see that everyone enjoys themselves. And your spirit is infectious. I’ve really come to like you.”
       Now, I didn’t know this guy at all. But what he said to me really warmed my heart. And it got me thinking about what we miss when we polarize. So, just because I wasn’t wearing a shirt, this guy made the assumption that I was a narcissist. He set it up in his own head that somehow I couldn’t be shirtless and a deeply caring man. He polarized shirtlessness with lovingness.
       The truth is that I am very comfortable with my body. But this was not always the case. I’ve worked hard at being comfortable, at being at ease, with myself. Not only through lots of exercise and proper nutrition and education, but by doing the work on my insides as well. My back story, which is actually a source of potential connection because, in my story is a piece of your story, gets totally lost when you leap to judgments about somebody based on what they are, or are not, wearing. And, on a purely superficial level, the simple fact is that I don’t like wearing a lot of clothes in the hot summer when I don’t have to.
       When people see a shirtless man, there can be a natural tendency to assume certain things. No shirt equals self absorbed narcissist who really doesn’t care a lot about people and is probably a cocky jerk. That’s quite the leap. But it’s made all the time. And it’s not under my control. So I don’t worry much about it. The day I start changing my preference of not wearing a shirt because I’m afraid that you’re going to think I’m a narcissist is the day I’ve sold myself out. I accept that my way is not going to resonate with everybody. I accept that some will snicker, or be put off, or downright not like me, just based on that. I accept that and understand that it comes with the territory.
       Part of what makes being misunderstood worth while, however, is when I share moments like the one I had at The Beachcomber. Because this relative stranger got something from his experience of me. Something maybe he didn’t have as much of as before, or maybe he just forgot. He realized that he misjudged me, that he polarized who I was against what I looked like, that he didn’t consider the option that a well built man who goes shirtless can also be a friendly, loving, giving man who really cares about people. He got that a man who doesn’t want to wear a shirt is also a man who goes out of his way to create a loving connection with others. When he realized all that, he got a little insight. He got a little something. I was able to impact him. Just a little bit. Just by being myself, at full throttle.
       That’s my way. That’s a big reason why I’m here on this planet. And what this guy gave me by sharing his story with me is validation of my very own dharma. He gave me a mirror into my own purpose. He gave me a lesson as much as I gave him one. And we created a great little connection. That’s the way it works if you’re open to it.
       Tell me. Isn’t all that worth it? Isn’t all that juicy richness, that connection, those lessons, those insights, those warm fuzzy moments….isn’t all that worth the risk of playing your cards with a more open hand and showing the world more of what you’re about? At least some of the time? I encourage you to raise the stakes of your own life by risking more, and thus increasing your chances of getting more. Lots more. And my experience is the risk/reward ratio is outstanding. The potential “what you get” is tremendous considering what you’re actually risking.
       There’s more to my experience of Carnival. Please tune in for part two.



©2014 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.    

Sharing An Ocean Kayak Sunrise

       When I was younger, the idea of sharing my life with a woman felt like a prison. Today, it feels like a form of liberation. A way to free up all of the passion, fire, and feelings I have for a woman when I love her. Letting her in on all of that good stuff inside me, like sharing the sunrise, changes the very nature of the experience. And sharing actually creates more of what you’re sharing.
       Tell me that’s not magic.