Some days I wake up feeling like the ocean. A consistent, reliable color. When you look to the bottom of the ocean it’s always calm. It’s always consistent.

The ocean is the part of me that you know. The me that’s here for the world to see. The “successful” guy, whatever that means. The confident writer. The good son. The best friend. The person the world wants me to show up as most of the time. Just up until the point they don’t—mostly when it’s convenient for them, not for me.

Other days, I wake up feeling like the sky. A constant evolution in color. There’s nothing really consistent about the sky. Yes, it’s different depending on location. A sunny LA might mean a gloomy San Francisco, but tomorrow, in that same location, the sky is likely to change. Actually, it’s likely to change at moment's notice. That doesn’t happen to the ocean. The sky is tumultuous, evolving, and something that you can never quite peg. As many would suggest, not even the weatherman.

The sky is the part of me that you don’t know. The me that only some of you have met…

This is a continuation of the story featured in The Accident, an article I published on August 1, 2019.

It got cut from the original article, mainly, in an effort to distill rather than amplify the piece. It was a painful casualty of the creative process, but since I heard from so many people about the accident I figure it would be cool to resuscitate it. Plus, I thought it might be good enough to warrant its own day in the sun. But you’ll be a better judge than me.

Oh, and I decided to leave it in the buff and totally untouched from when I first wrote it. Yes, there are typos, tense problems, grammar flubs, and battle wounds. C’mon, if I edited the outtake, how much fun would that be. Enjoy!…

Several years back, I was at a business conference in Chicago. Each night starting around 3ish, I would have some downtime. Two days into the trip, I’d already done all the Chicago things—boat tour, deep-dish pizza, visit Wrigley Field, etc. 

Sitting in the hotel lobby, flipping through those what-to-do-in-Chicago pamphlets, I notice men and women walking by wearing provocative Halloween costumes. Or so it seems. I put my head back into the pamphlet while laughing to myself, “Geez, Chicago is pretty freaky.” Not even thirty seconds later, I pick my head up again and notice more costumed people—it’s literally just one after the other streaming by. Now I’m thinking, “What the heck is going on?”…