(3) Those two earliest memories of mine tell me that I've always been "Dan" right from the very beginning. I am a hardcore Aquarian. My head is firmly planted in the clouds. I put a thousand percent into the effort of seeing the back of my head on the other side of the glass.
(2) That rental we lived in had French doors in the dining room. My second earliest memory is of looking at my reflection through those French doors, then opening the doors to see my reflection from the other side and being disappointed that I didn't see the back of my head.
(1) One of my two earliest memories is of sitting on the front porch of this house we're renting, and I'm peeling the old paint off the porch. Three years old, maybe? I wouldn't rest until every bit of that old paint was peeled, an obsessive-compulsive right out of the gate.
(64) When I get too low, I let my mind and heart and soul wander into the area of my being where my love for and with my wife dwells. It's the only thing that really matters; everything else is just Life.
(63) Sometimes it all just gets too much, walking the corridor, and my reaction to that is usually depression added to the tiredness I always feel at my age and being the working class guy I am. It goes away, the blues I feel, nothing lasts forever, but, still, sometimes...
(62) We run into a flu swarm. They flit all around us and land on us and infect us. Many dropped from illness. "I ain't going to get no flu," one guy says. Then he starts looking a little sweaty. All of a sudden, I'm not feeling so great myself. Am I getting a sore throat?
(61) "I can help you," someone says. "No, thank you," I reply. Rookie, I think. What do they know about walking the corridor? She clears some debris away though, and that allows me some real progress. "Thanks," She smiles and goes on her way. Sometimes, people just want to help.
(60) I see a path and get into the routine of following it. At first I think, path, path, stick to the path, but then I think root, route, stick to the routine. The best way to get to the other end of the corridor is to stick to the root-ine.
(59) I get hungry. I pass a table with a glass filled with watery diet cola and two measly little chicken wings. I eat the wings and carry the cola with me as I walk along. I pass another table, and that one's got a ham sandwich on it. Okay, I think. That's more like it.
(58) One of my problems progressing forward is that I'm all out of white light again. Here I am, I'm supposed to be the Warrior of the White Light, yet, for the moment anyway, I can't conjure up a single spark. I snap my fingers. Nope. Nothing.
(57) For a single moment, all the walls before disappear, and I believe that I am able to see all the way to the other end of the corridor, and what I see there is...No. No, I'm kidding myself. What I was seeing was an illusion. The walls were still there.
(56) I see a hair shirt on a stool. "You don't honestly expect me to wear that," I said. "Just try it for awhile, see how it plays," God replied. "You know, God, this journey isn't exactly the easiest anyway, so for...God? God, are you listening?" "I am. I hate whining, is all."
(55) I've got a headache because I haven't slept enough lately. I do it to myself. I am so out-of-touch with my own physical being. Like, I'll get these headaches, and I'll think, oh yeah, that's right, I haven't slept more than four hours in a row for the last three weeks.
(54) Now that I can look through a telescope, I see that there is a door that leads past the wall, but it's a very small door, like a door for a pet or something. Or is the telescope I'm looking through distorting the perspective? Only one way to find out. I start for the door.
(54) I see something way down the corridor, like a wall. How am I going to be able to get past a wall? I look to see if there are any doors or windows or...no, too far away, can't tell. Then I spot a telescope on top of end table. I snatch it up. I look through it at the wall.
(52) I strolled. I keep my head down and my hands in my pockets and kept a steady pace. I took no notice of anyone I passed, and they took no notice of me. My strategy to reach the other side of the corridor was to stay as invisible as possible and KEEP MOVING.
(51) The sprinkler system went off for no reason, soaking everybody. Well, not me. I grabbed a pile of used newspapers off the floor and ran as I held them over my head. I still got wet, but nowhere near as much as everyone else. I hate wearing wet clothes.
(50) I decided that the best way to get to the other side of the corridor was through following a routine, following a route, adhering myself to The Root. And I had to stay in the moment. I had to stop thinking about the end of the journey, or I'd never get there.
(49) I've got a headache, and I'm not sure whether it's due to the fact that I rarely get enough sleep or that I haven't had enough caffeine this morning or because I'm hitting a diabetic bottom or just what. Whatever. A handful of aspirin, and it's gone. Next!
(48) My brother once defined championship in a way that I love. (He was talking about football.) "Every team's good," he said, "but championship teams find a way to win even when they're not good." Isn't that great? He told me that years ago, and I've always remembered it.