I arrived around 6pm, the warm light of setting sun glowing on the horizon. Pulling off the street as one of the many vehicles filing into what was clearly a car show, I careful scanned where to park. A tad insecure, and not wanting to bring attention to the faded paint of my Honda not so classic Honda Accord, I settled in the outskirts…

Bob’s Big Boy, an iconic hang out where in 1937 its founder Bob Wian served the very first two-patty hamburger. Now some decades later, and even with the popularity of the stomach exploding delicacy, Bob’s secret sauce and historic atmosphere is still calling the most discerning of hamburger digesters. But every Friday night the two-patty pull falls into the shadows, taking second credit to the roar of turbocharged power, as parking lots fill with cars of every form. From classic restorations to supped-up hot rods, Bob’s asphalt converts to cool car nirvana. A shiny chromed playground where, morphing to impromptu showroom, a blend of automotive enthusiasts mingle–a place I could not resist stopping to seek a stranger-now-friend.

I arrived around 6pm, the warm light of setting sun glowing on the horizon. Pulling off the street as one of the many vehicles filing into what was clearly a car show, I careful scanned where to park. A tad insecure, and not wanting to bring attention to the faded paint of my Honda not so classic Honda Accord, I settled in the outskirts, far away from any of the center spaces which were filling with a host of the most unique cars, trucks and motorcycles. Not that there was anyone directing traffic, but it was obvious there was an unwritten code of entry reserved for the evenings festivities. In such, as the pavement slowly filled, cliques of every kind were forming. Everywhere I looked was perfect paint and automotive brawn, and even though I was just an admirer, even a little intimidated, I loved the place.

I approached several people, engaged in conversation with little success at first. A routine I was becoming wholly familiar with, so I took my hits with a stiff upper lip. Denial one, rejection two, lack of interest three; each expressed in words that I was growing accustomed to hearing. All part of a process that was maturing as a self-mastery that I will simply term: Patience.

With rejection behind me, I decided to focus on browsing, rather than twisting arms for an interview. A shift to little words as, taking in the amazing automobiles and cycles that had settled into their chosen groupings, I wandered. Thirty minutes past, as I stepped up to husband and wife team, Tom and Judith, who in a most organic way, asked me what I was doing. Seemed the forty pounds of camera backpack I was schlepping around caught their interest. I explained the project and with warm and welcoming hearts they accepted to be photographed and interviewed. They even offering to buy me dinner when a Bob’s Big Boy waitress arrives to take parking lot orders. The Bob’s staff where no dummies.

Not wanting to be greedy, and knowing that a Friday night dinner was waiting for me at home, I polity passed. Yet there was no way to sidestep their hospitality as Tom grabbed me a folding chair, “have a seat,” he invited, as within minutes we were bound in neighborly conversation. It felt like I was sitting with long time friends as we compared notes on the pros and cons of being self-employed. Seemed that, just as I, Tom had managed his own business for the majority of his life. But there was much more to our conversation than business commonalities as we diverted to a topic vastly more personal than vocation: The art of understanding and what it takes to be successfully married.

As we chatted, I could see the love and unity between Tom and Judith. Little unspoken things like Tom’s affectionately placing a fork in Judith’s salad, concerned that she would enjoy her meal while it was still fresh; or the unified smiles as they responded to my questions. Then there was the biggest act of chivalry, placing Judith front and center as the spokesperson for the interview. In my eyes an incredibly considerate gesture, evidence of a happy and trusting relationship.

Per their truck, it was a one of a kind as with pride, Tom showed me a scrapbook that documented the history of its restoration. Photos that showed its original heavily rusted state. A $300 purchase he found corroding in a barn. Three years and $130,000 later, what Tom proudly showed was 455 cubic inches of powered eye candy. From bumper to bumper, the truck was perfect.

I’ve always wanted to restore a car of my own. And after chatting with Tom and Judith, I dreamed of a day where I could save enough to fix one up. Now eight years later, I’m nowhere close to swinging anything near to $130K. But I can still dream, can’t I?

“Friendships are important”
“Life is not about money or status”
“Exercise gratitude and patience”
“Appreciate your health”
“Be glad for every day”
“We all put our pants on one leg at a time”

All philosophies bestowed upon me by Tom and Judith that evening.

The sun had set as it became time for me to return home to family. We wrapped our conversation and as I departed Tom wished me this:

“Be Good!”

Words that; to this day, are ones we can all take to heart in managing how we each enact our daily decisions and interactions.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

I asked; is this the way it always is here? With smile on their faces, and in perfect harmony, they all resoundingly agreed, “YES!!”

It was hair and nail day for the Radstone women and a chance for me to take five from the office.

For my haircut, well that’s nothing–my wife, electric shaver, trusty number two blade, and I’m good. You see, Mother Nature has found a wonderful way to save us sixty bucks a month with my hairline, or lack there of. So less the start-up investment of a modified version of sheep shears, I figure I’m a cost saver, but with this, it never gives me any time for salon gossip. What’s a guy to do?

So when my wife extended an invite a tag along to Wana’s Hair Studio, I gladly accepted the offer. To be part of a ladies beauty day had to be an entertaining proposition, Right? Opportunity to first hand be at the epicenter of what I was guessing would be the best of the best in good old salon chatter, and taking it as an honorable right of passage, I whole-heartedly accepted.

My definition of a beauty salon: Take one part styling, mix it with one part social activity and top it off with five parts of psychological therapy. That about does it.

The set up: I stayed up way too late with my daughter and writing the night before. Was paying the price for lack of sleep and my family was starting to feel the toll of this project. No disservice to today’s friend, Homyra, a very cool lady that I will be introducing to you soon, but in sincerity to the transparency I promised you, I’m humbling up in this entry to open my life a little further to you. To that point of the journey my family had been with me, but on this day we hit the first real bump. Not that they were non-accepting or lacking support of the project, they were 100% behind me. However, we did go through a total emotional meltdown.

You see, I had kept my daughter up way too late the previous evening, probably not the wisest or most responsible choice to keep a lovely, but moody eight-year-old up two hours past her bedtime. A mistake we were all paying for post our time at Wana’s that day. The salon time was admittedly relaxing. A real highlight to the afternoon, however, upon leaving the sanctuary of its walls, the day slowly unraveled. A reality that I witnessed when beloved wife left our home for several walks of parental time-out. All part of a series of events happening in the background of my writing session, the culmination, as my wife walked out the door, was my being drafted to deescalate my overly sugared-up little darling who was very upset over the length of her chosen hairstyle.

At first, I almost lost it. Thinking the sheep shears my wife used to trim me to a number two earlier that day were a most promising solution. But that was just my frustrated mind taking over. I readjusted to a more benevolent fatherly approach. Calming the moment as she agreed to allow me the time to finish my writing as my lovely wife walked back into the house. My nerves frayed I did my best to settle my thoughts so that I could give my full attention to the evenings entry.

The account above was about as organic as it could get. Written in the moment in keeping true to the promise I had made, and continue to uphold in the sharing of Sidewalk Ghosts. That being, no matter what happened, or is happening in my life, I will not let you down by not entering a daily blog and in keeping it transparent. We have all vested far too much effort to get to past the eight-year point in this outreach, and in support of the life bettering movement we are growing, it is now time to get back to the wisdom of today’s stranger-now-friend.

Flash back to earlier that evening as I politely introduce you to Homyra.

The scene: I was sitting in reception chair number one (at least that’s what I’m calling it), and as all waiting husbands do, I was happily flipping through the hair magazines, reflecting on the good old days when I had hair to style.

But contrary to my anticipated curiosity for good dirt on who’s doing what with who, I was caught off guard by a different buzz. One that was a touch different from what I’d felt at the swanky Beverly Hills salons. I promise, I’m not bagging on Beverly Hills. I like the community and have many friends there, it’s just the vibe of Wana’s grabbed me in a unique way. Lots of outward smiles, lots of open group conversations, and with the expected movement of a room full of stylists and customers, not a single gossip point was thrown into the air.

From the salon, run by three sisters, all long ago immigrants from Afghanistan (they got out before things got too bad) arose my friend of the day, Homyra, the youngest of the sisters who came to the United States when she was four.

Happy and vibrant, she told me of her challenges in being the youngest of a somewhat traditional family. Yet even as we talked of such things, her sisters kicked in with sarcastically supporting comments from across the room. This family was a blast. They agreed and disagreed with the same compassion and commitment of a charging bull. But there was no way to ignore both their quick harassing wit and loving unity.

I asked; is this the way it always is here? With smile on their faces, and in perfect harmony, they all resoundingly agreed, “YES!!” Back to business they went as all customers gave out an advocating smile or nod.

They told me of a family vacation where eleven family members crammed into one Las Vegas hotel room and of they’re sleeping sideways and on floors. With emotions high and low their stories had my stomach cramping with laughter.

My take away? Homyra came from a great and loving family. She opened my to her culture and I was a better person for being allowed in.

We chuckled hard as we invented a new definition for LOL. Our version: Loud, Obnoxious, Loving.

I’d spent an hour in the eye of a beauty salon storm. A great staging for the evening I was earlier explaining through my introduction of home stress. In a way my own reincarnation of the re-written definition of LOL.

Per Homyra’s counsel to the world, she left us with this:

“Live each day to the fullest. No regrets, life is short. Do things that excite you and try something scary.”

Words that as we closed our chat, Homyra amended, “and I’m doing my best to live by my council.”

Not sure if you are wondering how the day ended at my house, or if you are thinking my little angel became a full-blown devil. Well as I finished my writing, she came into the room, kissed me on the head, and said in a sweet and childlike tone, “Daddy, dinner is ready.”

The storm had cleared.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“Daddy, I’m not feeling that we should shoot the soccer players, how about trying to meet the people in the office?”

The evening was dedicated to spending time with my daughter, and seeing that our family life had become synonymous with interviewing a stranger each day, we both knew we would be extending ourselves that night. So with no agenda in mind we simply decided to take a drive, not thinking of any route, just seeing who we would run into. Plus, that gave us some personal daddy-daughter time as we Sunday drove in the car. At only thirty-four days into the project I was starting to get really creative in ways to find alone time with my wife and daughter.

We drove aimlessly. Every once and a while stopping here and there to chat with a few people. Had a few engaging conversations regarding community and purpose, but none were willing to step in front of the camera. Still, they expressed interest in the project and gave me the high-five to keep going. Encouragement was always welcomed, so as that relates to now, readers your input fires me up to keep going, I’d love to hear your comments.

I had over a month of behind me at that point, met some very intriguing people. Yet, with eleven months to go in my original challenge, I was not even close to completion, and as I am now experiencing again, was starting to feel the fatigue of creating daily content, let alone finding a stranger to interview. So you need to know just how much your feedback and referrals not only support the mission we are on, but literally build up my moral to keep going. Please don’t be shy, subscribe and give feedback.

We had been driving endlessly, looping through the Valley and feeling a little road weary, we finally settled to rest at Woodland Hills Park.

The sun had set, and under the illumination of mercury vapor lamps, we strolled through the park. I was a good night, and still early in the project, way before hundreds of days had passed, I noticed how my daughter was starting to buy into the spirit of what we were doing. It’s remarkable how our kids pick up on our attitudes toward the world and others, and as tired as I was becoming I was so very grateful to have her by my side. For that evening it was her influence that guided me.

Her comments were heartwarming, “Daddy, I’m not feeling that we should shoot the soccer players, how about trying to meet the people in the office?” Very in-tune and observant ideas for an eight-year old, I really love my kid. She is my hero.

Now, I’m not going to lie to you. Even with the passion I have for Sidewalk Ghosts, at times I do get stressed with it, and that night I was feeling it to a very high level. We’d been roaming for hours, searching to meet strangers on a night where many were relaxing with family and friends. I couldn’t help but to questionwhat damage I was putting on my family, spending so much of our personal time with this project? Luckily, I had their blessing. Plus, I have to say the project truly did mature my family.

So there I was, daughter in hand, wandering through Woodland Hills Park. Sleepy and getting blurry eyed, when shadowed under lights blocked by surrounding trees, she sighted a family as they sat at a barely lit table.

Remember, her first words that evening as we entered the park were primarily a do not list. So when she turned to me and said, “I’ve got a good feeling, how about taking pictures of them?” I had to listen.

I confess; my first instinct was to not bother them. Something stalker about walking up out of the darkness of the trees, asking, can I take your photo? But there was no way I was going to burst my daughters bubble. She really wanted to contribute, and I was all in to support her.

Respectfully, I approached them, daughter by my side, hoping my first impression would be appreciated as the non-confrontational family man that I am. We began a light conversation, and it was then that I discovered just how stressed I was from the previous thirty-three days of pressure; and also, just how in-tune my lovely daughter was. For the second I extended the invite to our new friends; Hope, June and their four children, all eyes lit up with enthusiasm mixed with a touch of embarrassment.

I assured them of my intent, gave them an iPad tour of past blog entries and we were quickly on the same page.

What we encountered was a most pleasant neighborly visit with two extremely down to earth people. It was like spending family time at a park with well-known friends. My daughter was happily playing with their four children: Hope’s daughter (age seven) and son (age nine) and June’s daughter (age seven) and son (age nine). My kid fit right in at age eight.

I was overwhelmed by their grace and hospitality, even to the point of June buying me a bottle of vending machine water. Not something many of would consider doing for an absolute stranger. It was at that moment I realized the reason I was supposed to be there. I needed to give myself permission to back off a touch, to release my fast paced trek to write stories, and to allow myself moments to smell the roses. Not only relaxing my intensity to move the project, but in how I was pacing my overall life. A much needed reminder as I re-author this account. For even republishing this journey, and getting ready to begin new interviews is pushing me way off center. We’ll see how well I can get back to balance. But it is a sacrifice that I know from past experience, is one that I hope will yield results far beyond my own needs. So one more shameless plug, I really could use all the help with shares, likes and comments.

There we were, sitting and smiling as we discussed perspectives of how to appreciate the simple things of life. Conversation that further prompted me to consider my attitude in all that I was doing, and am doing.

It’s amazing how easily we can get so caught up in our successes, and even our failures, that we stop considering the most basic priorities. June and Hope radiated a quality of peaceful optimism, and in a simple gesture of them offering cold water to my daughter I became solidified in my respect for their example.

We talked of work histories, stresses to successes, concluding that the glass is always at least half full. Looking at the smiles on their faces as we talked, I was sure both of them held that point close to their hearts.

Family first and friendship was the undertone I picked up as Hope told me of her family dreams and support of June’s talents.

June was a high honors college graduate with incredible artistic talent. Humble and kind she blushed as we talked about her specialty, ceramics. I extended the offer to publish her artwork, but with an intoxicatingly embarrassed giggle, she passed on the invite.

The advice they left us, as appropriate to the energy they emitted. “Don’t stress on wanting too much. Life is not about accumulating material possessions. It’s more about being grateful for what you have.”

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

It had been an incredibly long day. Rose early, directed ad campaign, wrapped the day and returned the last of unused supplies (I’m a roll up my sleeves guys, so I threw in to drop off rented props)

Helping me out was my friend and crewmember, Danny. Who without his help, I would have ultimately been buried in the task, and at 11pm we finally set path for home.

As we drove, Danny, knowing of my need to by the hour of 12am interview a stranger, said, “Look there is someone riding a bike! Let’s interview him?”

My first reaction was to decline, leaning on my self-imposed rule. I called it the third commandment. Better stated, don’t be a creepy stalker. It read, “Thou shalt not chase someone down!” Some other time I share with you commandment one and two.

Ah! What the heck here they are now. Commandment one, “never bother a person while they are eating!” Commandment two, “do not approach someone at work if it looks like they will lose their job!”

Back to the story: A beat passed as I began to consider Danny’s suggestion. I only had sixty-minutes left before the deadline hour and seeing no other photo option, just empty streets all around, I relented to my first instinct. Looped the van around the block and returned to the scene of our first sighting of said stranger.

Picture this: Two tired looking guys, a windowless rented cargo van cruising at a late hour in a middle class suburban neighborhood. You think we looked a little shady? Somewhat suspect?

Of course it was. We looked just like an abduction team. So, I prepared for a night of utter rejection, at least as long as we were in that ride.

On the horizon we spotted our target: The same one man, one bike, two dogs on one very dark street. Rolling up behind him (I know, so creepy) I slowed the van to match his pace. Window down, I called out, “excuse me” as I readied myself for a strong and possibly defensive version of get lost!

Surprisingly, he allowed me to introduce myself. Reasonably expected, he questioned my intentions and requested to see the blog. Thank you technology, I answered right on the spot as iPad in tow, I accommodated his request. Five minute later we were deep in conversation and again I found myself in the right place at the right time.

Please say hello to Mario and his two walking buddies, dogs Trojan (named after the horse, not the condoms) and Punky (have no idea of that origin).

The street was extremely dark and to brighten things up a bit, we decided to chat under light provided by Chevy headlights. Mario had a rich history of overcoming life’s obstacles and proved to be an inspiring testament to life rebuilt.

A changed man he was, Mario held no shame in sharing the fact that he was a past criminal, completed his parole in 2006. “I’m keeping my head straight and never want to lose my freedom again,” he stated.

Danny asked, “what was your first thought when we drove up?”

“I did not know if you were law enforcement. I have a criminal record,” He answered.

A statement that impressed me through the respectful tone he showed regarding the law. Very humble, accepting and peacefully confident Mario was. I saw a man of experience who had zero chips on his shoulder; his attitude better than many I know who have the cleanest of history.

He spoke with a profound and open countenance as we discovered his life was completely committed to helping others. Be it through the physical training business he was growing or through the volunteer service he provided via sharing his story with local organizations and schools. A truly rebuilt man, he talked as a banner citizen and it was obvious of his enthusiasm for a better future.

Both Danny and I were impressed by the physical fitness of Mario as he reflected on his outlook regarding health.

“Physical exercise is the key to happiness, and those missing out on it are setting themselves up for problems.”

He expanded, “Too many people rely on drugs and fad diets, rather than just practicing good nutrition and physical activity.”

“Did you know, 2/3’s of all Americans are overweight,” he summed up his observation. A frightening fact and one that motivated Mario to create the business he was building.

He shared the importance of good food and balanced activity, as he promoted a one with nature point of view. So much so, that his life dream was to own an organic farm. A business where he could not only produce the finest of products, but educate the public in healthy living practices.

I was captivated by Mario’s giving perspective and by his example of a life turned around. Mario was proof of the power of physical training and positive mind-set.

As one might have expected after spending time in getting the know him, Mario left us with a few challenges and promises:

One (simple and to the point)
“Get off your butt and exercise!”

Two
“If you stay in shape, I promise good things will happen!” And he could back it up with his story.

Three
“Keep your mind open!”

and Four (my favorite)
“Talk to your neighbors!”

Mario, If you read this, thanks again for talking to us!

Now I’m off to do my sit-ups!

Readers, get down and give me ten!

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“Every person is a reflection of who you are. We are all mirrors, and those you see are reflections of yourself.”

They say it take twenty-one days for something to become a habit. I propose it takes thirty-two days for something to become a magnet.

It was the day before a big commercial shoot I was directing, and the day after one week away, I had a lot of catching up to do. On top of that, my producer was out with a killer migraine, leaving a bunch of pre-shoot details in my hands. No worries though, I was more concerned about him than the day’s list of objectives, and knowing that things always work out, I rolled up my sleeves, readjusted my schedule of priorities and hit the road.

First stop, Enterprise Rent a Car for a cargo van; it wasn’t ready–one hour behind. Second destination, tech-check; traffic delayed on way to location–one-and-a-half hours behind. Third task, pick-up expendables–two hours were down and I was not even to my list yet. Bu.t there was a hidden blessing in all. It was called Out-of-Frame, a great little resource shop and the only place I could find the Gatorboard we needed for the shoot.

With list in hand, I was greeted by Marie, one of the business owners, and you guessed it, my intuition asked me to invite her to be interviewed.

Our connection was instant, and not to be unkind to my producer (at home with a terrible headache), I was thankful to be the one picking up the slack in his absence. If all things happen for a reason, then I suppose he was meant to have the day off. Thus, placing me in the right place at the right time.

Marie was a vibrant, intelligent businesswoman with a past of building successful businesses. Well traveled and cultured, she was a breath of fresh air in an industry that can be hurried and impersonal.

The photo we took was a true reflection of her presence. It was not forced, rather, a picture of her as she was during our conversation.

We talked of human nature, yoga and shared our thoughts of the world around us. On these notes, Marie made an incredibly profound statement, “Every person is a reflection of who you are. We are all mirrors, and those you see are reflections of yourself.”

I know, a very heavy statement. My interpretation. Whether we choose to or not, we put ourselves in situations to be of influence to others. At many times attracted to people, places, things and experiences that are reflective of our mental and spiritual self; sort of a readjusted “what you see is what you get” theory. The result being, “what you do is who you are.” That leading to, “who you are is who you’re with.” Then back to, “who you’re with is what you do.” Kind of deep, isn’t it?

Another, and perhaps easier way to look at the above statements is this common phrase, “water somehow seems to seek its own level.” Sums up the theses in a succinct way.

Maria and I had a great discussion. One that I knew was supposed to happen, as it was a testimony builder of the power of intuition in how I was directed to meet Marie.

There are so many wonderful people around. Sidewalk Ghosts is teaching us to not take anyone at face value. To literally step out of our comfort zones in openness to reach out. It gets dicey at times, and puts us in a vulnerable place to have doors slammed in our faces. But the payoff is worth the risk. A people meeting gamble that, after only thirty-one days of extending myself to others; had put me on a path to becoming a better person.

A magnet philosophy was developing in my life. A good attracts good challenge that to this day I campaign in asking us all to extend what good we can. The more of us who do, the greater the momentum of the train we are creating can be, and I’m just holding on to be part of the ride.

The fact is; I am absolutely clueless as to how far this journey can take us. Yet there is a peace inside of me that boldly whispers, it will be to a good place.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

Hawaii flight on ground and legs back on Los Angeles soil, I took the Flyaway bus to Van Nuys. Then and now my usual airport strategy for getting home quickly, or so how it usually goes.

A quick account of how it went (in bullet points):

• Slugged major amount of photo equipment and luggage through airport.
• Waited hour and a half at the airport before even seeing bus (major suck).
• Rejected by all the people I approached.
• Shared thirty-minute bus ride with people who seemed to really dislike me.
• Told myself the right person will emerge at the right time.
• Gave up. Figured I’d meet a friend at the bus terminal.

They say timing is everything and that night the theory proved true. I arrived at the terminal, a little late, but finally home. My wife and daughter pulled up to grab me. I told them I had not yet photographed anyone. Off they drove, as with a tired gesture, they firmly instructed me to do something about it. Got to love a supportive family. I wondered how they would feel at day sixty but counted the blessings I had at the time.

There I was, A Ucayali bearing dad (the gift I bought for my daughter held under my arm), toting more equipment cases than a touring rock star. There was no way for me to get my gear to the car on my own, and after the disappearance of my family, I was on my own to manage it, thanks to the smiling harassment of my, now driving around the pick up zone, wife and daughter. So I enlisted the aid of skycap Dartanian.

As we loaded his cart we struck up a conversation, and as we chatted it was easy to notice his polite attitude and work ethic. But even though I was desperate for an interview, I thought not to approach him. One of my rules was to not bother people at work, and it seemed he was on shift.

I thanked him for his service, tipped the usual tip, and as he turned to walk away, off went the inner voice, saying, “photograph him!”

I self argued it for a moment, justifying he was working, buses were still coming in and I needed to let him do his job.The voice got louder. I submitted to its influence.

Intently he listened as I laid out the project, without hesitation he was in, his shift just ended.

No joke, I did not question his schedule. It was weird, after unsuccessfully approaching people throughout that evening, in the blink of a second I was again in the right place with the right person. All I could reason was that somehow the voice knew he was ending his workday.

Looking back on all the rejections that day, even a harsh out of my face, straightforward and very aggressive “NO!” that I received on the bus, I could identify with a set of feelings that were starting to grow familiar.

Dartanian was very comfortable in front of the camera as I quickly captured a few spontaneous portraits. My family at that point, parked and settled in the car a few feet away they waited patiently. Although completely behind the project, it was apparent they were fading fast. A realization both Dartanian and I acknowledged, as with every look their way, we knew we were loosing them. Especially when the responses ceased as my wife’s heavy eyes began to drop.

I was impressed with Dartanian’s concern and asked what he was studying. He told me, “I’m in my senior year, studying psychology at Cal State Northridge,” going further in letting me know that he planned to go into family counseling. Who knew, perhaps we were a case study for him?

The clock struck 12am as we sat for a few final questions. His message, simple and short in words: “Life is good!”

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

It was October 9th, 2011, exactly one month since the beginning of Sidewalk Ghosts,as I flew back from a Hawaiian journey. My mind wandered as looking at clouds out the window, I reviewed the impact the trip had on me.

The whole experience was fresh in my heart as streaming through my head were visual thumbnails of those I had associated with. Entranced as I mentally re-lived five days of training I provided to a military organization that had contracted me. We’ll get to more of this in a minute.

If you are a regular reader of my posts, maybe you have gotten a sense of who I am, or maybe not; and for those of you here for the first time, may I extend a warm welcome to you. But, whatever the case, I’m resolved in taking chance to let you into my life as my ranting’s ever evolve. If you stay with me, or better yet, with us, you’ll read some stories of great depth, others rough and brief. Yet in all, I make you one promise, they are heartfelt.

A revelation I sincerely extend in challenging you to do the same as I invite to free yourself. To evolve as you too continue to own your personal and unique point-of-view in forwarding all you do. For the more you truly listen to your life experience, the more you allow your internal dialogue to direct you in seeing the world in a very personal way. Your intuitional sense will expand as you not only find direct path to self-expression, but also a renewed conviction of your own self-worth. The grandest outcome being loving others for who they are as you do the same for yourself.

Like I said, I rant a little. But I guess; that’s just what makes me the sweet man I am. A person, who suspect to the influence of others as well as my own baggage, is, just like you, a work in progress. Feelings brought to me, and ones that I am now sharing, as I look back at how I was affected during above-mentioned visit to the Hawaiian Islands. Seems that the new friends I taught, the strangers I met, and a life of looking into the mirror of my own reflection, had me staring into the eyes of my real self.

The saying goes, all things happen for a reason, and if it is a true proverb, it stands to reason that it would be a great disservice not to acknowledge what I had gained through spending time with the people I had trained, a joint division of the military titled JPAC. In describing the team, character is the word that radiates when I think back to each individual member of the unit. A hidden community who, as flawed and gifted as we all are, somehow managed to come together in a spirit of solidarity. Sure, some days they frustrated me to clenched fist, other days I witnessed the best of what man and woman could offer. A host of emotions that eventually left me pondering a most humbling question: Who was the wiser, the teacher or the student?

I pulled down the window shade; clouds on the horizon obscured as closing my eyes, the resonance of jet engines disappeared into the background of what I visualized. In front of me a set of chapters containing the many stories expressed by those I had become close to during the training. Many leading me to believe, as I mentioned earlier, I may have gotten the better deal.

To protect the privacy of the individual, I will not give names or show photographs, and for the purpose of legalities, I am not at leisure to publish the images. But even without photos, the message stands strong.

Picture a unit of diverse personalities, some passionate, others not. Charge them to think as a group with no option to choose who they will be working with or where or when they will deployed (many time to very difficult places). Imagine telling your loved one’s, with less than one week notice you would be going to Laos, in one day sent as a first responder to the tsunami aftermath in Japan, deployed deep in the jungles of Cambodia or not allowed to reveal your classified destination. Then on top of that, ask yourself to be self-sufficient for forty-five to sixty days. At times working solo with minimal resources in highly dangerous situations. Add to that carrying fifty plus pounds of equipment for endless miles, all while constantly being pressed to see creatively and show compassion toward the task at hand: That being finding, documenting and bringing home the remains of those lost in action or killed by disaster.

In my preparation for JPAC I had been briefed and my objective was clear: Provide a workshop designed to train technique, creative thinking and story telling. What I was not prepared for was the visual slap in the face I encountered when I laid eyes on the imagery presented to me. World-class works that portrayed the best and worst of humanity, all unseen by the public and captured by a host of unrecognized image-makers. Pictures that as I critiqued and heard the supporting stories, brought tears to my eyes. Exquisite, heart tearing and beautifully executed images the captured relevant moments in history. Scenes the likes of child’s toy buried in the dirty mud of tsunami horror; an image that paused my feedback as the creator re-lived the full story.

“It’s a tribute to a tsunami victim,”she began, taking an emotional breath as she went on to reveal the behind the image detail. “Four minutes before I took the photo, I assisted in recovering its owner, a four-year-old girl who was dead, drowned and under in the mud just next to the doll.”

I critiqued her second image, an equally compelling image of a vintage photo on a cracked wall in a water-destroyed residence.

“It’s a portrait of the child mother as a baby,” described it as “another tribute to the girls parents, who were also lost in the tragedy.”

Again I was taught as this brave and compassionate soldier summarized how the day affected her, “after that; I’ll never take what I do for granted again.”

Another photographer brought me a seemingly impossible set of photographs—overhead views of jet fighters over Iraq. Each frame produced at standards better than those of the highest priced action shooters. His motivation was pure and free of capitalism,

“I love photography; I shoot anything.”

He showed me other images of varied subject matter, each equal in quality. Proving to me he could capture anything with a signature style the held strong with the best of the best. No exaggeration, works better than masters the visibility of the great Jay Miesel or Pete Turner.

Above are just a few references and the smallest sampling of what I viewed and experienced during my week with JPAC. Varied imagery that, as I re-author this story linger in my mind, background visuals that I will never forget. Yet, the greater lessons were not visual, nor linked to picture or based on level of photographic talent. They were lessons of service and unity as the unit embraced me as one of their own.

Sure, there were a few wandering sheep. Absolutely, I counseled the group through moments of frustration and looked at some less than inspiring work. At times even having to stand in the middle of arguments and disengagement. Yet under all was a noble code of conduct. An occurrence that rang loud and clear whenever any topic hit the fan or when opportunity to attack or disgrace was at hand. A unified decision that was more than obvious to recognize: No one was to be sacrificed.

A lifestyle void of self-aggrandizement was shown me as I witnessed a respect for others that was awe-inspiring. An example modeled which propelled me to reexamine my reactionary self and perspectives toward how I handle competition as well as my assessments of competition and others; and as a result, my vision was cleansed to see the world with a set of compassionate eyes.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

It’s hard for me to put in words the impact of this encounter, and even though our conversation was struggled, there was a bond. A theme was forming as more and more diverse people allowed me the privilege of interviewing them. An invisible statement that said, we are in this world together, no matter where we come from.

I’m back, took eleven days off to ponder the relevance of publishing daily works. A little over a week of flashing back to the encounters of year one and the following seven years of growing to this current incarnation of Sidewalk Ghosts. The initial response to the review and rewriting of the first twenty-nine days of this experience has been uplifting and revealing. A finding that I now see after eleven days of not publishing content has proven a loss of momentum. A test I had to do, as I leaned into the analytical side of my left/right brain argument. An internal debate brought on from listening too intently to the opinions of Google articles suggesting the downfall of daily blog posting. Advise that for the last week has not settled well with me, for in honoring the purpose and history of this project, I must stand true to it’s mission, that being; to open a daily booster shot to our seeing each other as the unique and valuable human beings we are.

So friends thanks for your trust in following me, I’m back. In full stride bringing you daily writings. Some reviewed and others new, but in all, the same call is extended. A moment to fall away from the world around us in taking pause to look into the lives, words and wisdom of others, and perhaps as we do, to kindle and reignite the mission of compassion we began on a September day in 2011.

It seems appropriate to compare my location today to the story below. An alignment that has struck me as, in Salt Lake City Utah on business, I sit in the lobby of a Sheraton hotel. Not registered as a guest, but rather crashing the scene for their free WiFi and Starbuck’s. I so love the Vanilla Bean Frappuccino, a caffeine free delight sure to keep me up much later than I wish. But what the heck, got to live on the wild side sometimes (yea, Rich, your a regular rebel).

Again I am at a crossroads similar to those that drove me to the inception of the very first entries of Sidewalk Ghosts. For on October 9^th, 2011 I too was sitting in a hotel lobby asking myself a similar set of questions. Namely, what is the voice driving me forward to resume and continue this journey, and added to that, after now having over eight years behind me, is it possible to fire us up again.

My belief, simply, a resounding yes! and with your support, I think we can grow bigger than ever.

With that I return in full force and ask you to rejoin me in growing what we are doing: Looking beyond the negative chatter and polarization this decade is hammering us with. Merely suggesting if there is another voice of influence we might be overlooking. A spirit within that if nurtured has limitless yield in bettering the way we view others and treat ourselves.

It was October 9, 2011 as I sat in the lobby of Hilton Hawaiian Village, A day that marked the official end to the workshop I’d been teaching all that week. It had been an amazing journey working with great people at JPAC, many of whom I am still proud to call true friends. In it a week of almost all-nighters managing a vigorous teaching schedule that allowed little regular hour time to Sidewalk Ghosts. A timeline that pushed me to the wee hours in meeting strangers and authoring stories. Yet on that day, I had been gifted with a full nights sleep, and post the days teaching, I was energized and ready to meet a new friend before the sun sat. However, there was one thing I was learning, if I was not in the right place, at the right time and more importantly, ignored listening to the small voice inside me that I was beginning to trust, no pictures could be taken. Sounds strange, but I’m telling you, there was something greater than myself directing me, and as I began my quest to find a friend that early evening, my mind was on timeline rather than the spirit of what I was doing. Needless to say, I ended up writing my article at 1:45am the following morning. One more late night logged, a lesson still being taught to me.

The day was filled with rejection upon rejection. Countless people did I approach, some nicely brushed me off, while others took the opportunity to be, how can I put it compassionately? Tell me where the sun does not shine. Looking back, I can now say it was all part of the training I was receiving that week, and the foundational lessons I continue share throughout this chapter of Sidewalk Ghosts. A suggestion that we all can clave to as we take pause to purely love and look for the human within each of us.

The horizon turned black as the night fell dark. No success had I experienced in my reach out, and to be fully transparent, I was burnt out. Needed a break from the rejection as the more I extended myself the more forced my efforts became; and not wanting to radiate the desperation I was feeling, I shifted gears. Accepted a break to dine with one of my new photographer friends from JPAC. Aaron, a very cool Air Force man, who that night had stepped up to be my city guide. Talent would be an understatement in explaining Aaron’s photographic ability. Brave and in-tune with light he had a gift to see past the expected. I was in good company.

I let go, allowed Aaron to take the lead as he escorted me to highly trafficked areas. Telling me there will be much to photograph he made a point that was far from exaggeration. Where he took me was nothing short of sensory overload as we passed through upper-end tourist districts as well as the darker streets of town.

It was a visual and audio feast to the fullest. Hard to take in, the sounds cluttered my head as I studied countless bodies and faces that whirled around us.

“Who do I approach? Will they accept me? How will I photograph them?”

Up to two French men we strolled, who as we got closer I realized were checking out the local sex workers. Yes, there was something very dark about them, but after my experience of meeting Nathan only days earlier, I had come to the place where I did my best to place no judgment on those around me. They did accept me and we did briefly chat, but the language barrier was far too deep to explain why I wanted to take their photo, let alone interview them. Plus, I guessed, perhaps they did not want to be documented in their current activities. So, as they declined, the little voice inside me agreed, and to be completely honest, I was somewhat relived. Maybe I was deceived by the colorful tee shirts they were wearing and not directed to them by the spirit I was striving to listen to?

We walked for another ten minutes when again I felt the pull as we approached a couple of travelers walking only three or four steps in front of us. Rolling luggage in tow, I extended a friendly head nod as we passed them. But it would not let go. The internal intercom inside my head kept paging, “they are your new friends.”

In a flash, I knew that was the moment, and with my usual hello’s, we looped back to invite them to Sidewalk Ghosts.

Again there was a language barrier, although this time, it carried a feeling of joy as under a mix of Japanese and English they introduced themselves as Akiko and Sayaka.

After a long day of friend meeting failure, Akiko and Sayaka were a breath of fresh air. They were full of peace, laughter and hope. Both Aaron and I found ourselves smitten by the warmth they admitted, who only in Hawaii for only a few days, were celebrating the birthday of Akiko’s father.

It’s hard for me to put in words the impact of this encounter, and even though our conversation was struggled, there was a bond. A theme was forming as more and more diverse people allowed me the privilege of interviewing them. An invisible statement that said, we are in this world together, no matter where we come from.

The time was late, but it did not matter as we carefully listened to each other. It was apparent our language barrier was extreme and not wanting to misinterpret our conversation, we spoke in small phrases. A communication that was beyond interpretable words we were having, within it an understanding of the human bond we shared was evident. One statement stood strong as with reflective pause, Akiko gave us these words of Japanese wisdom: “Laughter Brings Happiness.”

Simple and to the point the wisdom was, and after going through a day where I was becoming resentful of the many rejections I had encountered, I too reflected.

Thank you Akiko, through you I was again saved.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.