As I had previously mentioned, this is a fresh start for the writer currently known as Dennis L. Punderson. Dreams, more often than not, are formed and then wither away just as quickly as they are formed. The fact that I have made it successfully to day #2 of my current journey into the writing world is a massive accomplishment for me. Our society is filled with people desiring a thinner waist, hoping for that impressive, money-making promotion, or maybe even putting in a few extra hours in an effort to purchase the ever-allusive lure that is a middle-aged man's sports car. New Year's resolutions are usually about as effective as a used sheet of toilet paper, but in this case I want something more.
I promised yesterday that gradually I would begin to open up the book of my life and begin to talk a bit more about who I am and where I come from. These things aren't easy for us to do and I don't think that many people would stand up and go against me on that one. Pain, ridicule, jokes, disappointment, and naysaying often follow the earnest dream seeker. We have to make a decision in this life - are we going to allow mediocrity to get the better of us like the majority of people or will we cease to calm our nervous minds with vain desires and hopes and, instead, implement the faith-building attribute of work. "Doing" and "being" are two very interesting terms. "To be" and "to do," therein lies one of the greatest conundrums that tend to separate the successful from the world of eager couch potatoes (a bit oxy-moronic). My hopes have carried me to firm, concrete goals. What is it that I desire more than anything? That's a question that we should all be asking ourselves. I thought that I once new the answer, but find that what I feel continues to change just as fast as the world around me.
As a young, university student it is often difficult to know just what is expected of me. For the longest time I have desired various things in life, but never let those desires transform into anything more than fanciful ideologies and boyhood wishes. I once desired to be Super Man. Now, it's very difficult for you to know what I look like, but let's just say that this 5 foot 10 inch, 150 pound frame doesn't have many cholos ("elbows up, side to side, lean like a ...," you know the rest) running for their gang-banging lives. That desire never evolved into pure, real, tangible action. For the longest time and after months of thought-provoking deliberation and analysis, I felt that that path had been discovered. Law. One simple, three-letter word. Yes, I'm just another college student worried sick about how he is going to make it in a tanking economy with the skills necessary to provide for a family in the near (let's keep our fingers crossed) future. Law has always seemed like the perfect answer. I have heard all of the scare-tactics and have participated in countless forums and the truth of the matter is that none of it has ever intimidated me. Mentally, I have spend the past 4 semester preparing for lengthy internships, countless hours of dry reading, and LSAT prep courses and have had zero doubt in my mind. I thought I was set and working towards the perfect career with little to no fear. Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned. There's a lesson that needs learning more than once. What number is this again?
Do you have any of those memories from your childhood that never seem to dissipate with time? I have the silliest memories that don't really seem to serve any purpose, but they are always there. I remember a dream I had when I was 4 years old that I had magically obtained the ability to levitate and instead of walking up and down the stairs like normal people, I floated. I know that that sounds weird and, rest assured, paint chips were not a staple of my young diet like you might be thinking at this point with such odd memories. Falling in line with what most might consider a normal memory, I distinctively, at a very young age, I mean we're talking 4 or 5 years of age, was attracted to sports. Whereas most children imitate Shaquille O'Neal, John Elway, or Michael Jordan in the front yard, I was much more attracted to the idea of covering sports. My father, as an extremely, over zealous business tycoon, spoke with me from time to time of reporting and bringing exciting, entertaining news to others and that the world of reporting would be perfect for me. "Reporting"? "Broadcast journalism"? These were all terms that my father freely used, refusing to speak to me as a child (a quality that I still greatly admire in him) but instead preferring to address me as a man, that I didn't understand. Outside the Lines, Sportscenter, and ABC's Wild World of Sports filled the the massively thick, bulky television screen in the family room. While admiring the athletics of childhood heroes like Randy Moss, John Rocker, and Dennis Rodman (these men aren't exactly the 3 musketeers, but trust me, we'll get into this later), being a mature, realistic child I wanted more than anything to interact with them and bring their stories to others. These ideas would prove to be nothing more than a blip on the radar screen of my adolescence.
Fast-forward 17 or 18 years and, looking at me, you found (heavy emphasis on the past tense) a cookie-cutter, plastic, fabricated pre-law student looking for a buck in a competitive nation filled with mind-numbing babbling idiots willing to do anything to sacrifice their happiness, even if it meant a lifetime of endless torture. That was the old me. The guy I used to be. To be honest with you, I don't even remember his name. All I know is that the new me, the Metta World Peace of my Ron Artest, doesn't plan on looking back and is now seeking the comfort of a childhood dream and couldn't feel any better about the direction that he is headed in. No, I won't be reaching for that tantalizing, jelly-filled donut anytime soon. To heck (I'm not a swearing man) with all of the wish-lists. I'm going back to my roots.
Things seem clearer than ever. I am to be sports writer. Sports-related, investigatory journalism is what I once craved and now I can't go without it. The beauty of the canvas that I continue to create here brings me so much hope. That hope, my friends, will soon take me to where only I can take myself - a world of true happiness. Happiness in the fact that nothing has been left to chance! Happiness in knowing that all attempts were made! Happiness that is found in throwing all caution to the wind and giving it heck (I meant it, not a swearing man)! I will be a sports writer one day, but practice is going to make perfect. Day #2 of Dennis L. Pederson's existence is going just as planned. Don't worry folks, he'll be back tomorrow for more. The journey is just beginning, but success is inevitable. You can count on that.
Do you ever have those urges to just do something and you can never seem to shake them? Maybe a desire to create or to be someone or do something? For example, as a young university student, I tend to have somewhat of an idea as to what the current "trends" are. As of late on just about any college campus, oozing forth from the lips of what appears to be 95% of collegiate females are the words "BUCKET LIST." Kissing guys with mustaches, swimming in the Red Sea, or not shaving legs for an entire month (the girl equivalent of what today has come to be known as "No Shave November") are all popular ideas. I have no idea what Webster Dictionary or Dictionary.com have to say about what this term is, from whence it came, or whatever the heck it means, but basically the list is to contain all of the things that an individual wishes to do before kicking (you know where this is going) the proverbial "bucket."
I don't have one. I don't want one. I'm not scared of dying and don't feel the need to come up with some sort of list that will gradually make it's way from the forefront of my heart to the dust covered underside of my nightstand. Let's be real here people, please. That's what I want from this experience more than anything. Getting back to just what I was talking about, I have always felt this intense desire to expand my writing and really try to put what it is that I feel on paper. What's important to me? That's exactly what we're going to talk about. Do I sound enough like a cast member of Degrassi: The Next Generation or what? I want to write. I'm not writing because it needs to happen before I get sandwiched between a Wonder Bread (all rights reserved) truck and the local Walgreens, it's just a feeling that I can't shake. Here it's cloudy, but the chance of sunshine is always there if we look and hope hard enough. There will be no word count requirements, topic sentences, or thesis statements. If I'm living right, and I am most certainly trying, I have to follow these feelings. I'm not going to get into who I am or where I come from because that information simply isn't pertinent at this juncture. Tell ya what, as we get to know each other a bit more, we'll talk about opening up.
Today, for the first time in a long time, I felt that my life's formula for some reason didn't make sense. I began to question. That's why I'm here. It's absolutely impossible that I be any more excited for this journey than I already am. Practice makes perfect and I can't think of a better place than here to present to the world (or to those who accidentally stumble upon this blog) who has, for quite sometime, always lived inside. My name is Dennis L. Punderson. I was born today, yet have always been around. Pleased to meet you.
