Believe.

I’ve been down. There, I said it.

The disease feeds depression, and depression feeds the disease. It’s complicated by the fact I visited a new doctor just a week ago. He isn’t convinced I have hemochromatosis. So, I’m going to a lab on Monday to have blood taken for DNA, liver, hepatitis, cancer, etc screenings, and seven weeks from now, we’ll have a clearer picture.

Many days, I feel like I could die from being tired. I was not prepared for this level of weakness.

Last night, Noah called and invited me to Village Inn. I hadn’t been out of the house in weeks (except for my Doctor excursion) and didn’t really feel like going out, but I agreed. They were closing soon, so I rushed to get ready and headed out the door to find my car had a flat tire.

I called Noah and asked if he could pick me up. My knight in shining convertible.

It doesn’t SEEM like much, but to me last night was everything. I’ve always wanted to ride in a convertible . . It’s something I promised my Grandma I’d do for her. . . Granted it wasn’t pink, and I wasn’t on the Las Vegas Strip . . . . It was still a convertible and it was amazing.

We rushed back to VI with Ska playing loudly and stayed until they turned out the lights. Noah then took me to Dunkin’ Dounuts so I could get a sugar free hazlenut iced coffee. Yum.

We stayed there for a few minutes talking with Reese, a fellow web geek, and drove to Circle Park (the pier) . . sat out by the lake and talked for a couple hours listening to music and talking about almost everything. I didn’t realize how much I missed kindness.

I’m Josh. Of course I’m kind. Of course I’m giving . . . That’s just . . who I am. It’s selfish in a way, because I feel happiness when I’m able to do good for others . . but . .

Last night- Looking at Lake Jackson and the stars, feeling the wind on my face in that shiny convertible- I realized. . . I need kindness too.

A good friend, simple car ride, coffee, music, and a gorgeous Florida night came together last night, and I realized how far away from “home” I’ve strayed. Enchanted nights used to be my “thing” . . but I allowed depression to force me away from home.

David doesn’t miss me. Most Sebring friends don’t either. I can continue to be bitter about it, but why? I know who I am. I know I’m a great guy and just because THEY stopped seeing it doesn’t mean I should too.

My knight in shining convertible reminded me of that. He swept me off my feet. Not in a romantic kissy kissy way . . but . . In a . .”Hey, you’re standing in a place you don’t want to be” way. Perhaps he knocked me off my feet, huh?

Thank God.

I had been curious about the old hotel since I moved to town five years ago. One lazy Saturday afternoon, I decided to explore.

“I know it doesn’t look like much now,” he said. “I’m remodeling.”

It was true. The framed photos on the floor behind the old man’s desk made the dank, cold building seem even more depressing. It was nearly impossible to believe a place like this was once majestic.

The shadeless lamp on his desk flickered as the aged man sat with a sigh. “You should have seen it ten years ago.” Ten years? The hotel looked as if it hadn’t been used in thirty. Thick layers of dust covered everything. “Buildings become ruins when people stop loving them.” I nodded in agreement and wondered how “La Magie” became ruins in just a few years.

Sensing my question, the old man asked, “Why does it matter how she got this way? What matters is that I’m reviving her.” His statement was wise. “How?” I asked.

“A fresh coat of paint,” he beamed. Cracked walls, bare floors, old mattresses, and tinging pipses can’t be fixed with paint. His eyes glimmered as he described the ritzy guests, late-night parties, and how he once rubbed elbows with Governor Chiles. “I can’t wait to re-open. La Magie and I will be famous again. I can FEEL it.”

Had he lost his mind? “Unless Michaelangelo comes back from the dead to paint this black hole, no one will care,” my mind was lost to a mix of sarcasm and sadness. He really believed he could make a difference and refused to embrace his dream’s demise.

Hypnotized by his obsession, he spoke for an hour about his choice of paint, and how confident he was it would make “La Magie” grand again. It needed so much more than paint, and I wondered if he’d ever see it. Maybe he already knew, but was pretending that paint would solve the hotel’s problems so he wouldn’t have to admit her (and his) irrelevance.

Time moves at the speed of life, and the past is simply one’s recollection. The once-great hotel was full of dust and hardly a memory to those who once spent hours inside her each week dancing and drinking. They had once loved her. Now she was in the care of a fool- drunk with the past- unaccepting of La Magie’s sad truth. “She’ll be great again, you’ll see!”

So is my life. Once far more majestic . . . Once beautiful. Now it’s more like ruins- far more unpleasant and hardly remembered by those who once spent years relaxing in its rooms and dancing on its floors.

I’m not naieve. I know I need more than paint, but sometimes- holding onto one idea or goal keeps me from accepting my sad truth.

Perhaps I’ll reopen grand and majestic. Perhaps I’ll die.

I understand not wanting to be in a dank, cold, hotel. Just remember that my life wasn’t always this way and you once loved me. So yes, the nights here are colder and far more lonely, but my presence isn’t any less real. One day, I’ll haunt these stomping grounds, and perhaps my ghost will scare you.

Actually, my ghost won’t be what’s scary. It’ll be the realization that you watched a friend slip into ruin as you danced in flashier hotels. Maybe my existence, like La Magie, is an eyesore. Perhaps it’s inconvenient to deal with, and God forbid you pick up a paintbrush or lend a hand.

“It’s just falling down, anyway. What good is paint? Painting THAT would just be a waste.” But to the old man, painting her would mean everything.

Sometimes, it’s not about the practicality or logic. Sometimes, it’s just about reaching out your hand, looking your old friend in the eye, picking up a brush, and dreaming about dances and drinks.

Maybe you and I both realize that arthritis is ravaging my hips, and my energy to do fun things is depleting. I am remodeling. Perhaps the “me” I am today isn’t as grand, but it IS what is standing. Why not explore? We’ll talk about my once-grand times, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a dance and drink or two still to be had. Even more imporant . . . maybe you’ll realize it’s not the building, but the spirit inside that matters.

My cousin Cheryl is a bright and shining example of social responsibility. She just sent this along to me. . .

Okay, I want to go to this program designed to train and empower dedicated students to become the next generation of leaders in the global movement for change.
And I need your help to get there! 10 out of the 200 people that are getting chosen are chosen by online votes! So, here’s where you come in… PLEASE vote for me
http://www.changeit07.org/application/cheryl-l-2007-05-01

Help her out, okay? Click the link, vote for her. She’s worthy of the challenge, and I’m an extremely proud cousin.