Shakabuku

Debi: You know what you need?
Marty: What?
Debi: Shakabuku.
Marty: You wanna tell me what that means?
Debi: It's a swift, spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever.
Marty: Oh, that'd be good. I think.

Now, watch this short clip. I'll wait. Or as I see all over the web, we'll continue after the jump.

(I apologize for the clips dialogue not being in English, but the dialogue really has nothing to do with it)

It's what I needed. And I got it. I can't thank the people that helped enough, including my wonderful wife who put up with a whole lot of my bullshit as I not only suffered, but suffered in silence (and sometimes not so silently) and projected it all over everyone around me. And I should thank all those people that tried to get through to me. And apologize to them, as well, not for not hearing you, but not wanting to hear you.

And in a funny way, I should thank the folks who dropped a boatload of negative vibes in my lap recently. Your actions allowed the cup to spilleth over, as it were, and you set in motion the events that lead me to sit here, and for the first time in years, truly feel like myself again. Or at least, that my true self is emerging from a slumber, stretching arms and yawning, gaining bearing.

For close to 10 years I've had a myriad of reasons to shelter myself. Fear based reasons. Fear of being hurt emotionally by anybody. Fear of security (life security, that is). Fear of non-acceptance. The list goes on. And these fears made me want to shove myself in to this very small box of how I thought people wanted me to be. Except I forgot one person's opinion about who I should be: me.

My work life grew more structured, I grew more frustrated, I squeezed more in to the box, I got in to more trouble, I tried squeezing more in to the box, I grew even more frustrated. And all the while, the more worse it grew, the more I was bringing this home. Home, the one place I actually felt happy. Except I had changed my standards of happy. The emotional state I would have called happy years ago was much higher than the happy I accepted for myself now. In truth, comparably, I was miserable. I had committed one of the worst acts a person can do as they traverse the rocky road of life: I brought my work home with me. And even worse, since I had lowered my own standards, not only didn't I realize I was doing this, I had no clue how it was affecting everything around me.

Owa Ta Nas Iam. Say it, you'll get it.

I have no idea what the future holds, and that's the point. For the first time in a long time, I don't care. Because I have a beautiful wife who has more patience than humanly possible for being able to weather my years long stormy weather. I have an incredible daughter, who with every passing day grows more and more amazing, and whose laughter I could listen to forever. I own my own home, and while it's not the Taj Majal, it's my mine, and my families. It's more than shelter, more than concrete foundations and wood, it has metaphysical meaning as well. It's a tangible crucible of love, friendship, and many more.

And my family doesn't end there. I have a mother in law who loves me, perhaps even if I were her biological son. I have a father-in-law who appears to be pulling his life back together as well, albeit from a different direction. I have aunts and uncles who are nothing but loving and supporting. I have cousins who have always kept me grounded and humbled. I have half-brothers, while distanced, who would probably be there if I absolutely needed them. I even have great pets.

Basically, I have a great family. An awesome one. I had great parents, who unfortunately are no longer with us, but they're sure to be proud of me, and even prouder that after being knocked down, I'm getting back up, dusting off, and standing tall and defiant.

I am not defined by what I do. I am defined by who I am, by my relationships with those close to me. I am no longer afraid of what people who truly don't matter in the long run think of me. I'm not really afraid of what the people close to me think of me, either, but for them, at least I do care what they think of me, and caring doesn't equal fear.

I am me. And I'm going to be the best damn me there's ever been. Let the chips fall where they may. Hopefully, they fall in the right spots. But no matter what, forward ho, friends. Forward ho.

Not Knowing From Whence One Came.

I got a message on Facebook the other day (still have an account from my college days, though since I work at a university and have a university email address I could easily have one now anyway) from a woman in Germany with the same last name. This happens sometime, since my name is somewhat unique. She asked if we could be family.

Unfortunately, I have no answer for her.

My paternal grandfather died when my father was very young. No records seem to exist for him. Dad had his father's name listed as Joseph, and I've found records of a Joseph Raeke in Baltimore around that time, but the problem is, there seem to be more than one, and none seem to match "the profile" for my grandfather. Not to mention there doesn't seem to be records on my grandmother, either. Though, she did get remarried, and for the life of me I can't remember what her new married name was. But I do remember her maiden name which I can't find any records of...so...

Dead end.

Kind of frustrating. On my mother's side, we have a pretty good handle on the lineage. But on my father's...nothing. Hell, the name might not have even been Raeke, that could have come later on. We have an instance of that on the other side of the family. It's very, and all, possible that it was changed at some point in the past. But how will I ever know? Everyone that may have an inkling is dead or unaware.

Not to mention that in my search, I found out that I'm not the only Bart Raeke to have existed in this world. Which was cool and disappointing at the same time. But a Bartholomew Raeke from Chicago was drafted in World War I. Though, to be fair, my name isn't Bartholomew. Common mistake.