It's late at night. I'm doing laundry and trying to get some thoughts together before the work week.

I think it's time for some significant refactoring of the syntax and semantics of much of my life. This week: figure out a plan, and steps. Design some working code for my life -- even if I can't implement it all yet.

It's like a second life. I never thought I'd be here. It's really wonderful. I felt like my life had "spun out and rolled, hit a telephone poll, he died with the radio on", but I find that I'm still alive. "Those dreams are dead, but I'm alive."

I also find myself waking up to being the adult in my own life.

People make decisions professionally and personally that affect me. Marketing decisions. Naming things. Protocols of interaction that affect my job. Decisions of touch and deep communication that thoroughly matter to me. Structure of project code and people's lives. Decisions are made that affect me, my children, my friends, and my pathways of intimate communication among them. Sometimes, these decisions are made by people doing their job with no thought of the end result. Sometimes, these decisions are made by an important one who shares some sediment of love with me and I know means us both well. Sometimes the decisions are not the best. Sometimes my interpretation is incomplete. Sometimes there are no conscious decisions.

But I need to decide what is my position, propose a strategy, negotiate and convince. It is as much up to me as anyone.

This week, I want to recognize and plan what I can do, and what I really want to accomplish -- then think through how to do it with help from (and sometimes in spite of) my colleagues, children, intimate friends, and myself.

This week I need to consciously live. Decide. Slash and burn when necessary. Move. Act. Design. Build. And it's going to take some absurdly fun creativity for the next steps.

Issues:

Technologically, great opportunity but tactical problems. Messaging and structure.

Sometimes I don't react fast enough. Last week I missed an opportunity and it hurts now. Decide what to do now.

Kids that need calm assertive leadership. And need me. And I haven't been around enough. An incredibly smart little girl that seemed rudderless today. Apparent inevitable collision course between her and a (defensive) triangle relationship with me -- man, I hate that -- does it have to be like that?

Personal feelings of rejection in many reasonable and unreasonable ways. Duh. Like you haven't had that before. In fact, on a personal level there is usually something interesting there. Opportunity for something deeper. Find it.

Too many errands and details Need to reduce task-switching friction.

Wherever you go, there you are. (Buckaroo Bonzai)

Sitting outside in a sidewalk cafe. Second time I've ever been to Vancouver and to Canada. It's fucking freezing to my wussy American senses. It's a beautiful town. The feel is amazing. Smoke. Harbour. That's with a 'u'. Tuna tartar and a really good lager. The waitress with the most welcoming, transparent smile recommended the honey lager. She said it was not too hoppy like the other lager on tap. So I went with her smile and recommendation. It was a very good choice.

On the random walk here I was accosted by the wicked queen from Snow White. Really. She was bent over, crooked, and kept following me. I thought she was going to offer me a poisoned apple, but she kept asking for spare change instead. I was talking on the phone like an American idiot and she kept loudly talking to me. A security guard eventually chased her away. I felt bad about it but didn't know what to do. I'm apparently in a part of town that has a lot of homeless people.

Interesting people keep walking by. Amazing people. Every one has a story. Identity is a story, or so I've read. Identity is also about relationship, but I'm not sure what kind of relationship we could have. I would like to hear their stories.

What is the story for each of these people? What possibly could have happened to them to explain the twisted postures, the scars and pocked faces, the vacant stares, the too piercing stares? Why are there some strutting, semi-clad women in this cold? There must be some story behind the bizarre old man proudly riding the high-rise bicycle down Powell Street in Gastown. What's each story and what have we lost by not stopping to understand each one?

A sports car just went by. Lots of people in the pub looked and commented. I'm sure the story of the driver of the sports car is not less interesting than the twisted people. The sports car and and (I think) the story just has less texture.

What's with the guy with the quilt on his head?

I've got a camera but can't find a single good picture to take.

Maybe I should buy a souvenir t-shirt that says "Real Canadian men eat beaver". Perhaps that adequately sums up someone's story.

Walking. Trying to find a good Indian restaurant. My dad calls and wants to know why I haven't filled out the proper forms so that he can help my son with his college expenses. Sounds like a good thing for me to do. I'll get to it. Really. Right after taxes. Try to explain to my dad what I'm doing here. It has to do with identity. And human beings. Each with a story. He's amused. Wants me to promise to fill out the forms. Okay.

Back to the hotel. Concierge recommends an Indian restaurant. It's across the street from the pub where I had the nice lager.

Leave the camera and walk back in the dark. Now I see the really good images temporarily captured in my mind. Wish I could remember them.

Had a very spicy Lamb Rogen Josh with a local blended red wine. Very good indeed. Except that I kept watching the odd people as they shuffled by and wondering about who they are.

Hello World.