I’ve done a lot of writing in the past year. I’ve written posts that I thought would be well-received and pretty much flopped.  I’ve written posts that I thought were so-so that wound up being extremely popular.

A lot of people have asked me where I get my ideas. Basically, I get through each day without dying and keep my eyes open for observations. I spin those observations out into smart-sounding pseudo-philosophy and away we go!

But seriously, it’s been a wonderful year of blogging.  The 12 posts below are not the ones with the most comments, but they have received by far the most traffic and web attention.

1. The Things We Already Know

When things begin to snowball for a blog and real momentum builds up, a lot can happen very quickly.  The Things We Already Know is only a couple of weeks old at this point, but has received well over 50,000 page views. Honestly, this was a post I wasn’t in love with. I didn’t have any real expectations for it. Shows what I know. It is by far my most-viewed post. I think I’ll always believe the things that it says, for what it’s worth.

2. Book Review: Where The Wild Things Are

Apparently a lot of people look up book reviews of Where The Wild Things Are. And as my blog’s authority and popularity has grown, more and more people have found me via this little post about one of my favorite books of all time. It didn’t hurt that I’ve highlighted my disgust for the weenies who have tried to ban this book.

3. Reasons To Keep At Least One Journal

Since I wrote this post, my daily journal writing has not been as consistent as in previous years. The blog has been, I feel, an adequate substitute for me. My training log and nutrition diaries and book-reading journal are still going strong.

4. Book Review: Convict Conditioning

This was my first real realization about how powerful a blog can be when it is perceived by the search engines as an authority.  Type Book Review Convict Conditioning into Google and guess who is usually number one?  And wow, I’ve made a lot of affiliate sales from this little review I wrote back in December.

If you’re a blogger and you’ve heard about how Pagerank and Authority are useful for your blog, it’s true. If you want a great explanation of these concepts, check out PageRank Explained by my buddy and mentor, Yaro Starak.

5. The Terrible Day I Met Bruce Campbell

Good grief. The only real story is that I made a fool of myself and it’s an awesome story. I’ll never get sick of it, now that the shell-shock is over. This was my first experiment with using the Audio Player I use to stream my audio stuff with. This is one story that I told for mostly selfish reasons: I knew it would be a hit and get me some traction.

6. Book Review: Watership Down

Awesome book about so much more than rabbits. This piece also resulted in the nastiest piece of hate mail I ever received (or probably will ever receive).  I addressed this issue later with this post, Three Great Novels Featuring Disturbed Protagonists.

7. A Life Lesson From Victor Frankl

I don’t know if I have more respect for anyone who has ever lived. Victor Frankl has influenced my life in ways that nobody but my parents have been able to. Turns out a lot of other people feel the same way. Frankl survived the Holocaust and dedicated his life to helping others. I aspire to be the shadow of his shadow of his shadow. It would be enough.

8. Book Review: Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark

Another entry from the banned book series. A lot of people search for these books online, looking for criticism, gross pictures, nostalgia, and more. I love these books; looking at the pictures puts me instantly into the tent in my backyard in Nevada, reading by a flashlight and wishing the sun would come up.

9. Seven Quotes That Will Make You Love Kurt Vonnegut

I wore black the day Kurt died. I loved that man. Luckily, I’m not alone. After I read Slaughterhouse Five, I did not read a book by another author until I had read every single word Vonnegut had published up to that point. I reread at least four of his books every year. No damn cradle...

10. The Easiest Way To Become A Negative Person

I officially belong to the Church of Don’t Be A Dick. Who wants to design a logo for me? Other people can be the best part of life, or the worst. I really, really don’t want to ever be the dark spot in someone else’s day. Life is hard enough without us all making it harder for each other. I believed it then, I believe it now, I’ll believe it it 50 years.

11. Book Review: Enter The Kettlebell!

Kettlebells are awesome and this book was my first real introduction to them. In the year after I read the book, I would go on to become an RKC certified kettlebell instructor and completely go off the deep end with my strongman obsession. This was also the time when I really started working with Adam Glass, which eventually led to one of the most rewarding friendships of my life and the whole Walk The Road Less Traveled experiment.

12. The Human Conversation In Keywords

I was learning how to use Google Analytics (which I high recommend, bloggers) and I realized that I could see which phrases people were finding my blog with. I’m so unfocused that many, many people just stumble in here by accident, say, “What in the world?” and hit the road. An illuminating experience for me, however. This was a lot of fun to write and was equal parts poignant and hilarious.

And there you go. These weren’t necessarily my favorites, or yours possibly, but they have treated me right by the unfeeling laws of algorithms and pagerank formulae.

And now for a moment of complete self-serving grubbing. If you’ve been around here for longer than an hour, I’d love to know if you have a favorite post.

I love you madly,  Loyal Weirdo

Josh

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by Eric Watermolen

I used to hate reading. Maybe it was all the boring reading assignments back in high school. Maybe it was the books I was forced to read and report on every detail of plot, theme, setting… Maybe it was a lack of interest. Maybe it was because there was something better on TV, and TV watching required less effort. I feel that I could go on and on making excuses to avoid reading.

Then one day, several years after high school, I had the bright idea that reading could actually be fun. I’m not sure what sparked it. It may have been thinking back to some of the few books on the high school reading list that I actually enjoyed (or actually read; Clif notes were my friend back then.) I remembered reading Brave New World and how enjoyable that book was too read. I thought back to the Choose Your Own Adventure books, where I was able to guide the story by making a choice and flipping around in the book to continue the story. I thought back to The Little Prince, remembering very little of it, but having some shred of a fond memory remaining.

Wait a second!

It was like a switch flipped in my brain. I did like reading. I had been reading magazines for years. I read some non-fiction books on and off, and had really liked learning little tidbits of wisdom and knowledge. I wanted something more though. I wanted reading to be FUN. I wanted to LOVE reading. Deep down I knew it was possible. It had to be, I’ve seen plenty of people reading, and the book industry was alive and well. Libraries still had patrons and book stores were still in business. Somebody must be reading all those books, and some of them had to really love reading.

My quest began. The first question was, “What book would be a good reintroduction to reading?” I wanted something that was practically guaranteed to be good. That’s a tall order, something that everyone might love, something that I would love.

I knew the only place to start would be classic literature. They are called classics for a reason, right? They have withstood the test of time. I turned to my trusty dial up Internet connection… bzzz, bing, bong, bong. (This was mid 90’s before high speed Internet was readily available.)

I did a couple of searches. I searched for high school reading lists (those darn high school teachers actually picked some good books, who knew?) I also searched for classic literature and authors of classic literature. I came up with a short list of authors.

Ernest Hemingway, Jules Verne, John Steinbeck, Herman Melville.

This is where I would begin, with these authors.

The first step

The book I chose to begin this quest to love reading was The Old Man and the Sea, by Ernest Hemingway. It seemed to be the perfect starting point. The book was relatively short, had a manly topic, and was written by a great author. Looking back on it now, this was the perfect choice. I LOVED that book. I could hardly put it down once I started reading. I whipped through that book in no time at all.

Next up, The Little Prince. Still not convinced that reading was FUN, I wanted another short book. The search for a short book combined with the fond memories I had put this on my radar as book number two. (It wasn’t on my list of authors, but it felt right to read this one next.)

Another great choice. I remembered this book as a child, or maybe I remembered the cartoon. In any case, the fond memories were there, but I didn’t realize this was a grown up book disguised as a children’s book. It has some very grown up themes.

How thoroughly enjoyable to stumble across this discovery. The experiment was working, I definitely liked reading. How about LOVING it? I was sure this feeling was on the horizon. I could almost see that love peaking over the horizon.

Book number three was Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne. Holy cow man, I could not put this book down. I could hardly believe the thought and level of detail that went into this book. All the ideas seemed plausible and the adventure was amazing. I was really blown away by the level of detail in the scientific gizmos and theories.

Three short books = love of reading

I had done it. In three short books I created a love for reading. Perhaps it had always been there, but was just buried under a pile of everyday life and distractions. In any case, I had done it. I achieved what I set out to achieve. This isn’t one of those goals that just ended once it’s reached however, this achievement stayed with me.

I continued on with more classics including many from Jules Verne: Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Around the World in Eighty Days, The Mysterious Island. Then a few more from Hemingway: Green Hills of Africa, The Sun also Rises, To Have and Have Not. Some Steinbeck: Tortilla Flats, The Pearl. And one by Herman Melville: Moby Dick.

That was my first year of reading. My experiment was a huge, humongous, resounding success. I now love to read, and I’m always in the middle of two or three books at a time. If you want to find that love of reading, or rekindle it if it’s faded, I suggest starting where I started. You don’t have to start with the exact same books (although I can highly recommend them.)

To summarize, here’s the process to learn to love reading.

Start with the classics.

Find some short books by great authors of classic literature.

Start of slowly and enjoy your time.

Gradually add longer books or try some other authors.

You’ll soon have some new favorites and you will love to read. I guarantee it.

What about you? Any of this sound familiar?

About The Author:

Eric Watermolen is a lifestyle blogger and amateur philosopher. He enjoys discussions of our path in life; where the path leads, the adventure along the path, and the unseen forces that guide us as we progress along our own personal path. You can find him at Eden Journal where he posts a wide spectrum of articles from personal development to spiritual and philosophical awakenings.

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It used to seem like an impossible goal, on par with jumping into orbit, swimming to the bottom of the Marianas Trench, or being able to divide fractions.

I want to sit still for one minute. 60 seconds of peace.

When I was six years old, I started to twitch with involuntary tics. This did not change for nearly 27 years. It was not until December of 2009 that I was able to sit still for one complete minute without distracting myself with things like talking, guitar, video games, or typing.

Those were still small victories, but they were not on my terms. I had to do something else so that I didn’t have tics. But what I really wanted was just to sit still because it was time to sit still, nothing else.

Yesterday things changed

I sat still for two hours and twenty minutes. 8400 seconds. I sat as still as you’re probably sitting right now, unless Tourette’s is contagious and you’re accumulating your own foolish repertoire.

No tics. Not one. No straining. Not even a little bit.

Understand: this has not happened in 27 years. Not for me.

Better yet

I know how it happened. I know how I did it. Within a year I will cure myself. And better than that, I believe I will be able to replicate it with other people with Tourette’s.

8400 seconds.

I cannot articulate it as well as I would like to yet, and definitely not from a scientific standpoint.  But change is coming. If you have Tourette’s, there is help for you. I am studying myself and taking notes. I am working with some of the smartest people in the world when it comes to the body and mind.

None of them are doctors or neurologists. None of them are licensed to cut or prescribe.

Nobody else

Nobody else can solve my problem, so I can either accept my fate or solve it for myself.

8400 seconds.

I reject every diagnosis I have ever been given. I reject the pills and the treatments. I reject the support groups that, while they can be beneficial, do not always encourage me to take care of my own problems, but merely to join a commiseration club.

I refuse to endure. This is not about outlasting something. There is no compromise and there are no concessions. Nothing has power over me or my life. Nobody tells me what can or cannot happen with my life and my health.

If you are being controlled by something or someone. Fight. Now.  Start today. Take what is yours. If you can’t win, at least make it a scrap that your opponent will never forget.

To hell with “The way things.”

To hell with “Nothing can be done.”

To hell with passive acceptance.

8400 seconds and counting.

Josh

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Note from Josh: This is not the post I talked about in Are You Truly Free? This is an anonymous response to that anonymous post. The most powerful things I’ve read on my blog are never, ever the things I have written. Thank you, anonymous.

Anonymous

I’m not sure exactly when I starting drinking. I was young and I do remember loving it. Doing something bad really appealed to me since I was always seen as a good, quiet smart child. Being a good, quiet smart child is boring and lonely.

Being a drunken child was much more exciting and people were not as scary as they were when my head was clear. I really liked it and sought it out with passion. It was an incomparable alternative to sitting at home alone watching movies or playing video games.

Invisibility

Among my peers I felt invisible. I couldn’t understand how they could talk to each other. They seemed to have access to a limitless pool of conversation topics that I didn’t know existed.

To stand out and to have something to talk about I started doing things that would be noticed. I stole things, broke things against my skull, crushed beer cans against my forehead, starting smoking cigarettes and drank whatever I could get my hands on. Then people started conversations with me and I started to feel connected.

College

My game plan in college was to maintain the same persona. It had been working for me the last two years so I had no reason to think otherwise. I made many friends through the pursuit and consumption of alcohol.

There was a bond forged with these people through the challenges of illegally obtaining alcohol, sneaking it back to the dorms and then drinking it without being noticed. We were adventurers exploring paths that led further and further from reality. It turned out that pot was easier to get than alcohol so that became another vehicle to take us on our fantastic journey.

My parents were in another state, the teachers didn’t take nearly as much interest in me as in high school and security was easy to get around. I was free. I went to sleep whenever I wanted, woke up when I could and got drunk as often as possible.

I kept a journal for the first two months of college. The last dozen entries are nearly illegible. It began with hope and eager anticipation of a new life with people who didn’t know me a boring geek. I was going to make many friends.

As I got older, what was impressive to my peers was becoming immature and annoying to them. The university I’d attended had enough of me and I went off to start an unpromising career in retail. In that world I found people who were attracted to my drunkenness. Now I was freer than before. I was making money, didn’t have to worry about failing out of school anymore (I’d already done it) and had a group of new friends who I felt connected to. It was great.

Alone without a future

Near the end of 2001 I was living in a house that was a disaster, driving a car I couldn’t depend on, working at a job I hated and alone. For the third time in a row I heard “I just don’t see us having a future”.

Each time I thought of course you don’t see it you’re breaking up with me. I spent nearly every night home drinking, playing video games, smoking cigarettes and watching movies. I worked so I could afford to drink. I didn’t eat dinner so I’d get drunk faster.

I set a coffee maker up at the head of my bed. It was on a timer. The coffee would start brewing ten minutes before the alarm went off. The alarm would sound; I’d smack the snooze button, pour some coffee in the mug and fall back asleep.

Each time the alarm went off I take a few more sips until I could sit upright. At the time I was taking sedatives and narcotic pain pills to keep from being up all night drinking. It would take a while for them to wear off and my head to clear enough so I could stand.

Across from where I sat was a full length mirror. I couldn’t help but watch myself. Stuart Smalley cracks me up because I had a different conversation in the mirror. Mine was “what the f*&k is wrong with you?” and “just take a break and don’t drink today”. I despised myself; I saw no hope in my life improving and could find no value in my existence. I would try to estimate how long it would take for me to die from this.

Failed attempt at detox

Earlier that year I did stop, somewhat. I decided to detox myself so one night I didn’t drink. I knew I would have trouble sleeping so I washed down some Benadryl and Xanax with NyQuil. It was horrible. My sleep was broken and my dreams were horrendous.

I was twitchy all day and the second night was just as bad. The third night I drank again. At that point I knew I would die drunk. I gave up the pipe dream that one day I’d pull everything together. I lived in that place for about a year.

Throughout my life I sought out and surrounded myself with like-minded people. In that environment our lives could seem normal. Alone and drunk kept me in the same place. All I had to compare my life to was my own. If asked why I drank, I would say it was fun.

Still alone

If asked how often, I would muddle the facts and give uncertain estimates that rose and fell like a wave. When confronted with the fact that I drank alone, I would point out that it’s much safer at home.

No bar fights, drunk driving, walking into poles and getting lost a block from my house. Plus it was much cheaper. Under everything there was an idea that something was wrong with my life but it was a very soft voice speaking that idea.

The nights of the last year were very similar. I would leave work, stop at the liquor store, drop everything off at home and then take a long walk. I would walk for an hour or two.

I had to leave the house because I knew I would start drinking if I didn’t. If I started drinking too early I would pass out by sunset. Then I’d wake up in the middle of the night, need to start drinking again and I’d never make it to work. I had to start drinking between eight and ten, be passed out by one at the latest and start my morning ritual by eight.

After my walk I would go into my room. Pick out my pills for the night and put them on the table and take my first drink. I needed to dose out the pills ahead of time and put the rest away because I would lose track of what I took. This wasn’t to avoid overdosing; it was to avoid wasting them.

As I would put the first pills in my mouth and take the first sip, I would feel an incredible sense of relief. Everything was going to be fine. Within an hour I’d be lost in hopelessness and loneliness, crying and waiting to pass out. The relief I believed that would come never came yet each day I believed.

A phone call

One summer morning was just like the rest except I didn’t have to work. The thoughts of self-loathing and self-defeat from my morning ritual were continuing with nothing to distract me from them. I eventually called a psychologist whose number was given to me by the one with whom I had no future.

Since I didn’t have a cell phone and I’d left a message with his answering service, I had to stay home to wait for his call. Again with no distractions my thoughts raced more and more as the small quiet voice inside me became louder.

My life was far from normal. I haven’t been able to do anything about it alone. Years before a psychiatrist had asked me some questions. I answered them and then he said to me “does it sound to you like you are depressed?” I thought he was a genius. I believed again that I was depressed.

The university’s drug and alcohol counseling center at one time had taken great interest in me. One counselor asked me a simple question that I struggled to answer. “Why do you drink?” I stumbled around for the answer she wanted to hear and she followed up with another question, “is it fun?”

I joyfully responded affirmatively. It was fun then but it wasn’t anymore. I started drinking to have fun, meet people and feel better about myself. For a while it worked. While I sat on my couch waiting for a psychiatrist to call me back I knew it didn’t work anymore. I was stuck, alone and hated myself. I then committed to take care of the drinking once I sorted out this depression business.

After a couple of hours (it actually could’ve been five minutes for all I know) I gave up on the psychiatrist and left the house. I knew my morning resolves to take a day off for drinking were useless so I decided that I’d tell someone and maybe that would help me follow through for today.

I went to a friend who was moving. Immediately she and her boyfriend knew something was wrong. I was blurting out all this nonsense about how everything is falling apart and then I said “and I’m an alcoholic and I need to get help”.

Two beautiful things

When I hear them talk about the journey and they get to this point, I always tear up a little. It’s a beautiful moment. Two things make it beautiful. One is a long-awaited acknowledgement of a truth about oneself and the other is an expression of hope that it could be changed. What seems like an admission of defeat is actually just a profession of hope. Hearing myself say those words and actually mean them sent me running out of her apartment

I couldn’t go home so I went to work. I told two longtime employees and good friends what was going on. A customer who I knew was a psychiatrist had come in while I was in the office trying to figure out what to do. I ran after her and caught her in the parking lot.

I called her name and said, “I’m sorry to do this to you but I’m an alcoholic and I don’t know what to do.” She smiled at me and that smile gave me a feeling of peace that I don’t ever remember feeling.

She said, “That’s ok, my blank [I don’t remember, it was a family member] is an alcoholic.” She gave me the names of some places that would help me. By the time I got to the phone book in the office I’d forgotten all of the names.

Seven years

That was over seven years ago and I haven’t drank, taken any sedatives or narcotics since. I turned to people who introduced me to a new philosophy to live by. With the help of a generous friend I looked at my relationships with people and accepted my limitations.

I then started to repair the relationships I could, settle any debts I had, connect with people on a level that was unimaginable to me and then shift my focus from what the world could give me to what I could give to someone else.

It wasn’t sunlight bursting through the clouds spreading me with warmth and goody feelings at first. I was angry and scared. At the same time I was feeling freedom from my old life, my new one was becoming engulfed by hate and fear.

It took time, it took practice and it continues. I now am acutely aware of my thoughts, how they affect my actions and how the results of my actions affect me and those around me. With time it becomes easier to abandon thoughts and actions that have negative results.

I can not exactly explain how I got from there to here. Early on in my eagerness and zealousness I had thought I knew the cure for all but in practice I found I didn’t.

Each person starts their journey from where they are and since two people cannot occupy the same place at the same time, each journey will be unique. They may be similar, they may run parallel and they may cross at times but they can never be exactly the same.

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photo credit: Dave-F