Pain

Where do you feel pain?
In your flesh or in your head?
I feel it in my heart
Each time I hear your name
For the time we left unspent
Together, made my soul drain
All its blood

Time

Man defined time, but time dictates man.

Lucky

I learnt recently that people of the Mormon faith have callings to help the church during their life, at the moment I feel like I’m still waiting for my life calling.
I know this leg of my American adventure ends at the end of the year but as of yet, I have no idea what’s next. Part of me wants to stay on the west coast of America, staying with the fantastic families I’ve met and enjoying a life that is miles away from life back home. Part of me wants to return home to the friends and family I miss a lot. Another part wants to continue travelling but somewhere else, maybe South America, maybe Africa, perhaps Europe. Some other part wants to start a new life, somewhere, doing something else. I can’t win.
But I think this summer has been my best ever working in America. I’ve been working for six week and collectively I’ve had the best family housings, I’ve probably had a few of my best camps ever – for kid behaviour and ability – and the bunch of other coaches are probably the best group I’ve been involved with.
Yet I’m still left wanting more. A few times during the summer I’ve had to stop myself and say: “I’m here in a beautiful house in California/Utah/Oregon sharing dinner with a great family/watching the sun set over the pacific ocean. I am so lucky.”
I’ve been so lucky with the families I have stayed with. They have all been unbelievably warm and welcoming, and I’ve just slipped into a comfortable mode almost as soon as I’ve got there. For most of the summer I’ve become one of the family each week as I move around the west coast. I’ve got on so well with everyone vie met, the families, the kids, the coaches, I’ve been counting my blessings but something has just dawned on me: maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the reason I am getting on well with everyone. Maybe I’m actually quite likeably, and friendly, and chatty and engaging. If I wasn’t, would I be getting on with everyone so well? Maybe, but maybe not.
Coaching three hours a day means you have a lot of time to yourself. Most people fill this time at the beach or watching TV but I spent it thinking.
I am constantly thinking about the next step, about what I’m doing ere and what I should be doing.
All the while I’m in one place it feels like I’m missing out on being somewhere else. And missing out on the people there. I guess I’ll never be completely happy, but summers like this at least give me something to enjoy along the way.

If…

If you were an orange, I’d be the peel
If you were a metal pole, I’d be the steel
If you were a candle, I’d be the wax
If you were a lumberjack, I’d be your axe

If you were a computer, I’d be the mouse
If you were a home, I’d be the house
If you were a field, I’d be the stream
If you were asleep I’d be your dream

If you were a piano, I’d be the keys
If you were a yawn, I’d be a sneeze
If you were a bag, I’d be the handle
If you were a foot, I’d be your sandal

If you were a letter, I’d be your envelope
If you were a bath, I’d be the soap
If you were cereal, I’d be the box
If you were a shoe, I’d be the socks

If you were a coach, I’d be a cushion
If you were lobbying, I’d be the petition
If you were a sweet, I’d be the wrapping
If you were a laser gun, I’d be the zapping

If you were a teacup, I’d be the saucer
If you were a book, I’d be the author
If you were an oven, I’d be the heat
If you were a patio, I’d be the concrete

If you were an iPod, I’d be iTunes
If you were a party, I’d be the baloons
If you were a gallery, I’d be your art
If you were a body, I’d be your heart

Palos Verdes

I drive up, into the clouds, I feel light-headed
I’m in no doubt that I feel ok
I have postcard views of the Pacific, they’re terrific, and if it ended tomorrow
You could leave me where I lay
I speak a different language, but it’s the same
No I’m not from down under, don’t make the same blunder
And to my blue skys add thunder and rain
My mind is serene, my body calm, my soul is coasting
I’m a million miles from home, but in no way feel alone
And I’ve grown, just read my latest weblog posting
I miss you more than I can describe, but it’s alright
I’ll see you soon, of that I am sure. And I implore, to explore
What’s in store in this world
Before the next chapter of my life

Confused

Kids on soccer camp today wore either red, white or blue to form a giant American flag. One kid: “Coach, where do the greens go?”

Las Vegas

Zombies wander the streets
Faces stare up from the road
Looking for the stars, but their presence not bestowed
Casino lights beckon the weak man in
A mouth swallows him whole
Body. Mind. Soul?
A foul stench wafts through the air
A combination of dirt, greed and sorrow
Most will wake up with regret tomorrow

The Kids in America

I wake up to a jolt. What was that, I think, startled. It takes a few seconds for the fog of my sleep to dissipate and for my senses to come to life. I’m in the passenger seat of a car. It is eerily silent except for the hum of the tarmac passing under the car’s wheels. I look out the window, there is desert for miles. The horizon dances on a sea of nothingness.

Above me a storm cloud snarls angrily down. The skyline is dark, even though it’s 2pm, and there is a sinister energy.

Rain pours down from the cloud just ahead of us. It looks like a piñata that’s been smashed, sweets pouring out, or a giant piece of candy floss and someone has yanked a bit off the bottom, the trails of sugary goodness dangling to the ground.

I get dropped off in Sale Lake City and the car speeds off towards Wyoming with the other coaches in it. I wait ages at the airport for my hire car and finally make my way to my family housing, just south of the city.

The next day on camp is hectic. I have 35 little kids to coach, ranging from two-year-old to six. I split them up and spread them out over three sessions. The youngest are the most trying, but that’s only because their attention span is just shorter than mine, which is bloody short.

A less experienced coach (ie, me a few years back) would have panicked because they spent most of the session running around, completely ignoring me, and doing whatever the hell they felt like. “You guys run from here (points to wall) to here (points to other wall),” I would say. Translation into kids head: Just run around in circles, grab a soccer ball, take it down the other end of the gym, and then start crying.

But I take a laid back approach now. When the kids start playing up (and it is usually only one or two) I stop the session, sit them down, put the balls away and minimise as many distraction as possible. I talk slowly to them, and try to keep the attention on me. I know it doesn’t always work, and that’s ok. I’m not looking for perfection (seeing as perfection hasn’t bothered to ever visit me), and even just the smallest improvement in any of the kids will do me. Yesterday I managed to get my second group to actually play a five-minute game of soccer, without any of them picking the ball up. I felt like Jose Mourinho.

I think I used to approach the youngsters like I did the older ones: aiming to actually teach them something, but I shouldn’t. If the pre-schoolers can just run around with a smile on their face for 45 minutes, that’s enough for me.

The main thing getting me down this week is my lack of significant others. I’m coaching on my own and it is a lonely experience. My family housing are lovely and making me feel at home, but I need some interaction with someone my age. I’ve been texting my friends in California non-stop and they must be getting sick of me, but having all this time to myself makes me realise how alone I am. Thank God for Facebook.

Choices

They say a week is a long time in politics, but I reckon it’s a long time whatever you do. Especially in a job where you get a lot of time to think about things.

I’ve been in Laguna Niguel, just south of Los Angeles, this week. Everything on the surface looks rosy. And it was. Camp was seemless, the kids were a pleasure to coach and my family housing have become like a second family in just a few days. I feel at home here.

But  whenever I’ve been in a bit of a lull this week I’ve been asking myself the same question: “what am I doing here?”

One half of me replies: “You’re having an adventure, while you have no responsibilities, or money for that matter. You’re having fun. You’re flying planes, and boogie boarding, meeting people and having a blast.”

The other half says: “You’re putting a major dent in your life. Career-wise and money-wise. This job has no prospects, is terribly paid, and you’re just floating along until a better idea comes along.”

Most of the time I side with the former. I am having fun. Today after camp my family took me to Dana Point beach to go boogie boarding. It was awesome. A boogie board virgin, I soon got the hang of it, and before long I was zipping over the waves, like a jet ski.

The only downer of the day was, after I got a bit overconfident and tried to swim out further to catch some really big waves, I got caught in a rip tide, and had to be rescued by a life guard, who was a much better swimmer and who had many more muscles than I do. I left the beach at rest with myself.

But soon I’ll be debating things again. I’m still 25 which, deepening on your disposition can either still be young or be creeping into middle age. Again, I side with the former most days.

And although the pessimistic side of me is right, I’m not really making much of a headway career-wise (especially as my first port of call is really journalism, and not soccer coaching) I am doing something I may never get to do again; travel.

Doing this job allows me to see a lot of America without having to spend months saving up. I’m meeting some great people and interesting characters and I’m being well looked after (by the families, not the company).

Things have changed since I was last here. I’m no longer the fresh-faced student, still in that interim period between university and real life. I look at myself in the mirror – I look older. My hair is thinner, my cheeks are gaunter. My eyes look darker. It’s only been three years but I feel about three decades older.

I wear the expression of a man who doesn’t really know what he’s doing. Or what’s coming next. Depending on your position, that could either be a great thing or a terrible thing. I’m still not sure.

I think what sets me apart from the Americans I’m meeting, especially the kids, is my self-critical mentality. I know I’m only good at a couple of things and I expect not to triumph most of the time – which I see as a good thing because it pushes me to strive to be better. I’m never satisfied with anything I do (this blog included) and I usually find myself going back and editing parts, tweaking them until I’m happier.

The thing about Americans is they are brought up believing they are the best. At everything.

I see this on camp because when a kid mucks up or doesn’t win, they can’t accept it. And instead of lose graciously, they call foul play. Not because they really think they were cheated but because they can’t believe they actually lost. I guess I should fee sorry for them. It’s not the way to approach sports. Or life.