March Madness

This month has been all over the place.

I caught two great concerts, Jackson Browne and James Zabiela. Got caught in two big snow storms, in Louisville and Chicago (standard operating procedure for “springtime” in the windy city). And I spent a week hugging the toilet, thanks to the bird flu. All that just on the personal side.

On the national stage the political race has gotten racial. The Governor formerly known as Elliot Ness, did in fact, nest with hookers. Bear Stearns did a Humpty Dumpty, fueling the recession fire. And Cinderella’s slipper still fits as the NCAA field is cut to sixteen (thanks to Villanova, Davidson, & Western Kentucky).

What can I say, it's been a chaotic month. And you know what, I’m fine with that. It's a welcome contrast to February, which was frigid, dark, and blah.

For me March is always hump month. It’s a long way from the warmth of summer, but the chances of waking up to a -20 Fahrenheit reading are decidedly decreased. And for me that equates to hope, even if it’s a little bare bones.

But candidly, I’m also a little displeased with my performance this winter. My “to-do” list was supposed to shrink. It did not. A reality which speaks to a long-standing personal problema.

Why is it so damn hard to do the little things which nag at us – whether it’s doing our taxes, working out, eating better, or merely getting life organized. What's even more troubling, I think we each know that we are guaranteed to feel better about our lot in life once we take on these tasks.

It’s the inverse of the “grass is always greener” paradox when you wonder “what if” you had chosen a different life path. With these scenarios there aren’t any tough choices -- there's only satisfaction on the other side (as you best life's nagging attributes). Because in life the greenest grass is normally found in our own backyard -- all that's required is stepping onto the lawn.

And yet, for some inexplicable reason, I repeatedly (passively) opt for barren deserts, where the welcome signs read: “Do your taxes later.”

But people do change. The proverbial corner can be turned. Maybe it starts with an acknowledgment (“Houston we have a problem”) and an admission in front of all those gathered here:

“I want to be a better man.”

I could come home from work tomorrow and do my taxes. I would feel better about myself immediately thereafter. No long division required; it's really that easy!

But instead, I'm getting on a plane at 4 pm tomorrow for Miami. Meeting up with fifteen amigos for 72 hours of sunshine and ballyhoo, partaking in the grandeur that is the Winter Music Conference (where the music goes “boom boom boom”).

It's not that I don't believe in the new me. But per the norm, he’s penciled in for next week.