formerly Kamera To My Eye

06 November 2011

My Beautiful Game


If I could go back. That's an interesting question posed to me the other day. It turned into a long and well-visited topic, and at the end I had a unintended, unexpected satisfaction. It wasn't necessarily about any one thing at first, but all the little things in life that would have changed not only who you are but what you'd become. It ended up not really being about education, science or medicine. It was about a game.

The Beautiful Game Was My Calling Afterall.

I tell people all the time when they ask, "yeah, I played for 16 years. I loved it, but I just fell out of love with the game". Is that true though? How does the one thing you spent doing in your life the very most just fall by the way-side? I'm pretty sure it doesn't. Well, not really anyways. I obsessed over soccer when I was a kid. I stopped playing baseball, as a perennial All-Star in my league since it couldn't quench my thirst quite like soccer. I was the only 12 year old I knew who actually knew what the EPL and a league table were. Who knew that the Spurs were an awful, terrible atrocity and that being a Gooner was a divine-right. That Thierry Henry was magical and I didn't think anyone could be as incredible as that Frenchman. Except for Dennis Bergkamp of course; but that goes without saying.

I played Y-league as a kid, ventured into regional clubs in middle school, played for the middle school team (god, we were awful) where I reinforced the friendship of my longest and most important friendship of my life and made one of the most important friendships, both of which are still so important to me. From there I played high school football where I met my first true test as not only a player, but as a person when I was benched and downtrodden my first season. My ass was kicked in practice, in training in being coached about every little detail of my game. Rarely seeing playing time, but putting out as much effort in not only practice but training I became very frustrated in the lack of respect and acknowledgment. I was young and dumb. I should reiterate that: I was dumb. I was young. I was young and dumb. It all culminated in the Regional's. Playing against arch-rivals Ashland Independent, we had imploded in the game and were down 6-0 with (I'm pretty sure less than this, but I'm being conservative) 40 seconds left on the clock. My coach turned to myself and a few others and said we were going in. It was a cold, rainy miserable October night and I was warm, angry and young and dumb. I told him, "No."

"Are you serious?" He said with an anger I'd never seen. "What you don't want to get dirty?"

"Nope." I said, and he sent someone else in my stead.

I knew it was fruitless, I knew I could make absolutely no difference and the simple fact that he told me to go in and play was more an insult that said, "I'm putting you in just to say I put you in, but you're not worthy to play". But I couldn't have been further from the truth. Some of my teammates lauded me (the coach was a real hardass--but a great coach nonetheless), others didn't say anything. I felt vindicated, but I know years later I was furthest from being on that team the moment I said no. I was a bystander. Selfish and inward looking, I wanted to put on the pitch, not to have to earn it.

The next year, that coach was gone and I was excited to start the season with the assistant coach taking the maestro seat. I had a good relationship with him. Jorge Serrano. He had played in the minor league in Mexico and had a tremendous amount of respect from all of us on the team, never mind his genuine and caring report he had with us. He nitpicked, he pushed, he had the format to get us all into shape and win. That season, sure enough, I made first-team and officially started in my favorite position. Sweeper. I loved it more than center back, full back and even midfield. I was the last line of defense literally to protect my Keeper. I relished it. We did alright that year and the next, but it was never any marquee moments like we had in beating Russell in Districts my first year. I remember another drawn out period of boneheadedness from myself my Junior year where I had gotten "clever" so I thought, and taken a simple, but effective trick from watching pros, in which you use the outside of your foot as your primary passing tool. Instead of the fundamental upper inside 2/5ths of the boot, I would hit a ball from the upper 1/3rd of my outside foot. It was quick, defenders and strikers couldn't react as quickly, and I'll be damned if my passing was better than 40% those first few games. But, I knew it worked. Well, would work with more experience. It culminated in practice where after imploring my to stop, and being patient, my coach said, "if you use your outside one more time you're going to run 20 laps for each pass". At the end of practice we'd always scrimmage. We'd be worn out, tired and huffing to put in game-worthy effort as that was what coach expected from us. I honestly don't know what happened, I don't remember feeling rebellious--I think I was genuinely doing it out of habit, I used my outside and it was a perfect pass that led to a goal not 5 minutes after the final warning from coach. I was ecstatic! It's a perfect technique! "AARON! 20 LAPS AND YOU BETTER HUSTLE. GO!"

WHAT!? But I just had a beautiful assist. Imagine that in the game!

Needless to say, that was the last time I ever had to do 20 laps for an outside boot pass. I learned right then that coach is chief and if he doesn't think I am capable then he knows better than me. I remember my senior year, he spent time with me at the beginning of the season to teach me clever, quick and efficient passing moves. One of which was proper outside boot passing. I just wasn't ready the year previous.

Probably three-fourths of the way through my Junior season, coach elected to move me to center-back. We played an effective diamond defense. A sweeper in front of keeper (my beloved position), a right and left fullback who played in tandem, and a stopper who, in my case, was expected to play a more defensive midfielder role. I won't lie, at first I was very excited. I wanted to play midfield. For all my love of defense, I wanted to play box-to-box, to have goal scoring opportunities...I wanted what deflecting a certain goal out of your own net couldn't give you. Deflecting a certain goal into the other teams net. So I took it as a promotion. That's what it was meant to be, he knew I wanted midfield action. Here's the thing. When you play sweeper--defense in general--for the better part of 10 years you have some...let's say...growing pains when you move to a more offensive role, even as a defensive midfielder. I couldn't grasp that unlike a sweeper in which you play the middle 25-30 yards centered right in front of keeper and never going further up than your fullbacks, and how fullbacks play the same 25-30 yards but on their respective "halves", a stopper--a midfielding stopper--plays the full width of the pitch. Providing support, passing lanes and pressure for your full-backs, midfielders and pushing all the way up to the opposition box. So for what felt like 10 games straight, my coach would yell at me and only me from the sideline, "AARON! GET OVER HERE!", "AARON! HELP TYLER!", "AARON! GET BACK! GET BACK!", "AARON! CLOSE HIM DOWN!" I was frustrated. No I was helpless. I couldn't understand where I should be, when I should be there and what I should be doing. Should I be pressing the offense? Running for the defense? I literally learned by trial and error and endured plenty of benchings in that period while my coach would stand next to me and explain where I should be running and on what cues. I finally got it, and I when I got it, I really got it. I never got a goal, but I did have chances. I was just glad to be learning. It felt good to finally let yourself be coached.

My senior year was truly special. The most fun I ever had playing the game and truly the most inspired year I ever played. There were 10 of us seniors that year, and we were all first-team. 10 seniors, and a sophomore keeper. We had it all. I was best friends with the entire team and our chemistry was such that I don't think many teams anywhere could hope to have. We returned our best player who had burnt out the previous year, added players who had never played but were well deserved to be on the pitch. I remember that game of my life well. It was without a doubt a man of the match performance. We were hosting South Point. They were good. Not great, but they would threaten strongly even at home. I was playing Sweeper to start the game and from the early minutes had found my match-up in a bright-blonde haired jerk-off. He was physical and I found myself being pushed, knocked and ribbed the entire game. In the first half, there were two completely wide-open net shots by South Point, one by the jerk-off in which the Keep hadn't come far off his line to deflect the ball. I remained in the goal to play a half-keeper in those situations. Twice the ball was either far to my right or nearly above my head, but I was able to deflect both of those certain goals. I remember the elation from my Keeper--thanking me for saving what he couldn't. I was jacked-up. I was pumped. As the game progressed, that blonde-haired asshole stepped up his game and ribbings. I was moved to midfield to match up with him better. After all the pushing my coach began to tell me to give it back to him if the ref wasn't going to call anything. So I did. I pushed, I knocked, I played as dirty as he had set the bar, but no further. Finally, we were jarring at each other. Mouthing off, calling each other names, getting in each others heads. It was truly a duel. I wasn't letting him score, not even taking a shot. Nearing the end, I had the ball and the field in front was open on their half. I ran with it, looking for a pass. Sure enough, he was on me, kicking my ankles but no calls and eventually he wrestled the ball after I couldn't take another shot to the shin or ankle. I ran after him and in return for a knock a few minutes earlier that sent me literally flying, I took aim off a tackle on the ball and slammed into him like hockey player slamming another into the wall. He flew. Like a graceful sack of shit he was. He yelled, pleaded the ref. The ref extended both arms. "Play on."

Game, set, match. Me. We won the game. And just like every other player you hated after a game in high school, we ignored each other in the post-match shake. I was proud of myself. For what, though? Well, for starters, serving an asshole his own medicine. That game on I was a different player. I had confidence, strength and much thicker skin.

Was it a successful year? Sure. We won. We won a lot, but we failed to even move past Districts. I remember my final game. I remember the final whistle vividly. Walking back to the bench--no, dragging myself to the bench--I sat by my bag. Looked at everything around me and thought, "it's finally over". I had become burnt out on the game. I had no plans of playing into college. No plans. When I went to college that next year on academics only, I happened to meet the men's team coach and he struck up conversation with me. He took a liking to me, I told him what I played, if I thought I was any good ("Oh, I'm alright, but nothing great at all." I undersell myself a lot) and he pleaded with me to come out to practice. "Just come out and see if you like it, no pressure. You might like the guys." Truth is, I regret not putting more effort into it in high school, really learning to play midfield in addition to defense as I wanted, getting a scholarship somewhere bigger and better where I'd have to earn it all over again and maybe, just maybe, making a career out of it. As Andy Gray always says after a missed shot, "You won't win the raffle if you don't buy a ticket."

So, did I ever go?

"Nope." Maybe I didn't want to get dirty. Maybe I just made the wrong choice. Either way, though, I'm in as good of a position that I could have ever hoped. Wrong choices don't lead to wrong outcomes, they only lead to a regret. After all, it's impossible to avoid those. And maybe I don't really regret it since one should have no regrets. Maybe I just miss soccer on a real team outside of playing the occasional game. I'll always have soccer. That's my one true passion.

11 September 2011

No Children

photo Aaron Fidler

And I hope when you think of me years down the line
You can't find one good thing to say
And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out
You'd stay the hell out of my way




09 September 2011

It's somewhere between realizing the time before you and the time behind you,

Is fully, and completely seperate.

It's also the time you should stop, look around, and realize this is the life now, this is the life now.


And it's oh-so-beautiful.

Onward, ho!

22 August 2011

Thoughts from the field

I've been gone for 5 weeks to the Great Northeast.

Starting with a week in New London, New Hampshire (lot's of New's there, eh?) at the Gordon Research Conference on Collagen and then the last four weeks here on Mt. Desert Island.

The Gordon Conference was, what's the phrase, eye-opening. I learned more about the overall field of study that is collagen than I have in the last two years of studying collagen IV. To be more specific, I learned that there are very few who spend their time and dollars on studying the collagen IV molecule. Why is that I thought? When you see that most study collagen I, II, III, X, etc. you see the overall interest in the bone, tendon and cartilage part of collagen. Does that make sense though? Sure it does. Everybody tears ligaments, tendons, breaks bones and develops late-onset conditions with old age.

But wait.

What about dia-effing-betes? Everyone knows someone who has it, and it's a global problem. Nevermind my own interests stemming from the evolutionary importance of tissue and collagen IV being the absolute requirement for our tissues. All in all, I know I'm in a good field because I can see it's importance but not many others can.

Maine this year has been something of an enigma. It's different than last year, I feel less like a visitor or a tourist this year than last and maybe that has a lot to do with it. I hit the ground running from day one with what I knew I wanted to do and have a had a more succinct time here so far. There were also other reasons for it being different than last year, but I don't have the anxiety of leaving like I did last year.

In fact, I'm actually quite looking forward to going home. This summer has been the most productive, career-progressing two months in my two years removed from college. I go back to Nashville with a real sense of purpose. I see a path ahead of me and it's paved in science, maybe medicine and certainly education.

A whole lot of education. I start grad school in about two weeks and this Fall will see me taking an increased role in our Aspirnaut outreach programs. We're expanding in Maine, big-time, and I will see myself balancing grad school, full-time research, heading up more aspects of Aspirnaut and bringing several projects to a head.

Home means a lot of things. New car, familiar things, access to more things, closer to certain people and being that much closer to fall.

Yes, I'm already excited about cider and leaves falling and cooler weather in Nashville.

Here we go.

09 August 2011

Here I am again

It's crazy to think where a year goes. Even crazier to think what happens in that year.

How much has really happened though? If you put it all out on the table, take a good hard look, what's really so different. People? A few, sure. Places? Not so much. Things? Almost certainly yes. What about the real stuff--how you feel, what you think, what you care about--who you care about. Those things are always more telling in the grand scheme of change.

Sometimes those things don't change--and that's alright. But sometimes, those things change quite a bit. It's in these categories that we really get a good feel of who we are at this very moment in time.

So, what has really happened in the last year I ask myself? It would seem a lot. How do we measure change like this--is their anything to gain from this metric? What do you do knowing how you're mind changes--do you run with it or do you cower from it? If we're telling the truth, I think there's very little to gain from understanding how much we change. Where do we apply this new knowledge? I don't think you can rightly start planning how your feelings and what you care about are going to change. How can that work?

So what do I see now? I come back to Maine and I see myself differently--in a much different way than I can when I'm home. Here, it's like stepping back in time one full year and asking yourself, 'do I see things the same now as I did last time I looked here?'. Unequivocally, I say no, I do not see things quite the same way. I see them more fully, with more knowledge and experience and with more understanding of how I fit into "it all". And that knowledge is generally more that I don't know enough and I know very little.

Maybe that is all we're meant to glean from such experiences--the knowledge that you don't quite know shit.

I'll take it.

31 May 2011

Tune Dump | it's the unofficial start of summer tuneage

 




























Tulipa Efemera
  instantly i'm taken to a beach side hike.

Cage The Elephant Shake Me Down
    these guys are from Kentucky. need more reasons?

Grouplove Colours
    go ahead. roll your windows down.

Young The Giant My Body
    everyone needs a little anthemic summer in their summer.

Richard Swift Lady Luck
    how the f*** is this not from 1974?

Tallest Man On Earth Little River
    no season is complete without the genius that he is.

Phish Backwards Down The Number Line
    summer is birthdays. summer is phish. summer can not be beat.

Dirty Gold California Sunrise
    no song has held such a hold over me in years. this has been a eight-month obsession.


Can't go wrong with this for bike riding music.

10 May 2011

Notes, Thoughts, Strategetizing.


I've been "strategetizing" a lot lately.

What's new--right? Wrong. Unlike thinking, this is wholly different than your thoughts on life, general feelings and future directions.

In this scenario, you're thinking about yourself, your family, your friends, those you care about the most, and you're going one step further in the whole process. Here, you do not just layout options, manage contigencies and decide on an execution, but rather you also figure out the immediate options that will be come available upon your decision, those potential contingencies and those possible decisions and weight the not one plan, but the multitude of plans you'll be impressed upon.

I've realized something about myself; I'm a shopkeeper.

An inventory specialist, if you will.

Like any decent shopkeeper, I keep inventory on everything every now and then. Every month, or two, I step back and take stock of my life. My accomplishments, my actions, my regrets and my consequences. Often times the items in stock are positive, often times they are things I'd like to just throw out. But just like a good shopkeeper, I know, that even the damaged items, the factory "seconds", the nearly expired products have some value and to throw them out just because they are not optimum or most laudable, would be unwise.

Going back to square one is never, I repeat never a good choice.

Who, on what plane of existence, thought that would ever be a good choice?

Not this guy, that's for sure. If you drop the past because of something unhappy or negative, you're only bound to lose the many more parts that were positive.

I'm happy. I'm content. I'm unbelievably excited for whatever these future lines of products will be for me to inventory.

21 April 2011

I've decided to live this life for some time to come.


It's somewhere between realizing the time before you and the time behind you,

Is fully, and completely seperate.

It's also the time you should stop, look around, and realize this is the life now, this is the life now.


And it's oh-so-beautiful.

Onward, ho!

18 April 2011

You may ask yourself, how did I get here?


















Yeah, ok, so I'm neglecting this blog pretty bad.

Where am I currently? Somewhere between joy and glee (and not that abhorrent show). Work is going well, and, well, dad is all-clear of his cancer. Check-up last month came back completely negative--even the suspect spots on his lung has disappeared.

Can I getta AMEN!


So there's that.

Kentucky lost in the Final Four--how can you even begin to complain? This was a team I had given up on going far by February and they turned it around. Just shows what you can do if you put your heart to something. Take notes, people.

I'm going back to Maine this summer; it's official. Billy wants me to accompany him for another six-weeks and I could not be happier! I'm also been given the honor of going to the Gordon Conference on Collagen in New Hampshire the week before. I mean...wow.

WOW.

I don't ever want to leave this lab; it's not only the best gig of my life, I love the people. It's like a little family--something I really, really appreciate having in Nashville.

Mixtapes are my favorite thing in the world to create; I made one tonight for a good friend and holy cow did it make my day (and it was a good day to begin with). Sometimes we just have to stop, sit back and just do the things that make us happy. Stop trying to make new things your 'thing' and just do what you want, when you want, how you want.

Like what you do, do what you like.

There's your zen for the week.

Currently rocking: tUnE-yArDs - Bizness | Yes, that is how you spell it, no it is not pre-teen pop, yes it is all perfection. Enjoy. No need to thank me.

It's what I'm here for.

Peace, bitches.
 tUnE-yArDs Bizness

04 February 2011

The Solar Garlic Starts to Rot

It's been a hectic, flamdiperous of a week.

Hell, of a month.

Research is going stupendously, and as the wise might say, 'it's easier to push a rolling stone'. That's true. I can attest.

Direction and magnitude in my work is at hand...therefore I have a vector. That's something that is highly underrated and highly invaluable. It seems nearly daily anymore that I find myself being thankful for the lab that I'm in; from the people (oh, the people) to the science to the opportunity, I couldn't wish for a better setup.

And people notice, too. I've had the conversation several times with several people lately about how lucky we are in this lab, with this PI, with these labmates. I know I'm spoiled--I've gotten my chops in science in the most conducive and enabling lab on earth, and perhaps that's the best part about it.

It's Friday, and no matter how much I love research, I love my weekends and sleep more. Oh, and Flying Wild Alaska is on tonight. Oh, shit, if there was ever anything that drew me into flying so much, it was this show.

I've started playing Flight Simulator X again...had been a while.

Save me now, because I'm planning a trans-continental flight this weekend with a few stops across the continent. That's right...I'm going to fly an 18 hour flight this weekend.

For the hell of it.

Oye vey.

23 January 2011

It's the good life, from now on

Oh boy.

Things are, well, good.

Great, even. Not surprisingly that's heavily influenced by how great work is going. Productivity has been at an all time high. Motivation equally as elevated, and overall satisfaction has been growing even moreso.

Except one thing--well two--sucks. When I went snowboarding I busted my knee on a 40+ mph spill and it still sort of hurts, so I've been taking it easy. It's been feeling much better, so I told myself I'd be able to hop on the Felt and ride some good miles this weekend.

Well, what do you know? Friday, while walking to work, everything had frozen over quite exquisitely after the previous days snow and slush, so not paying close attention had a great fall and ended up landing on my other knee and bruising the area just south of the meniscus--and fuck does it hurt.

So, out of precaution and overall smartness I begrudgingly put-off riding--and running for another week. I just can't stand the thought of injuring my knees. That's far worse than another week or two of downtime.

Oh well. At least Kentucky pulled off a great revenge win over South Carolina in Columbia from the loss to them last season. Terrence Jones is a beast. BEAST.

I keep saying I'm going to get back to vinting--I haven't made any wine in some time. That's something that I MUST make happen next weekend. That, and run, and bike, and stop making risotto. Yeah, I learned how (way easier than people trounce about saying it is) and have made it 3 times since last weekend during mom's visit.

What kind of garden do I want to have one day? A moss garden. Ever seen those? Holy cow, they are simply fascinating. I could get lost in them happily.

I baked today...yeah, that's right. I baked cookies. 

Oh boy.