An open letter to 2017
Dear 2017,
Welcome to the world. So many have high expectations for you — your predecessor didn’t do well on its annual performance review. We know you can do better. And you will. Because we will.
We’re on this side of the grass. The rest will be gravy.
Happy New Year,
Us
An open letter to 2016
Dear 2016,
Thanks for nothing, jackass. You’ve taken a bushel of our favorite celebrities. Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds back-to-back? Really? Arnold Palmer, John Glenn, Alan Rickman, Gene Wilder, Prince, David Bowie, George Michael and Glenn Frey? And you had to take the ever-sweet Father Mulcahy (William Christopher from M*A*S*H) at the last moment just because you could. That’s just cruel. The in-memoriam section of the Oscars will take at least an hour. And the election? Not even going to bring that up. Our Facebook feeds are finally calming down. Except for Ohio State fans. They’re having a bad night tonight. You can’t even take credit for that slaughter.
We’re starting to believe that Mayans made a typo. They really meant 2016.
But you know what? Your final victim will be you. Soon you literally be history. 2017 will pull a Brutus and stab you in the back. Then it will take your place.
Finally.
We’ll wake up, count our blessings, write resolutions that we’ll ignore and eat food we only eat this time year — for luck. We’ll rub our scars, mourn our losses and move on. That’s what we do.
And I hate to break it to you, we’re stronger because of the challenges you threw our way. We’re grateful for that all all of our blessings. So thanks — now, we hope the door hits you on the ass on the way out.
Happy New Year,
Us.
The survivors of 2016
I was exhausted. Depressed. And 50 lbs. overweight.
For the past few months, I had been working 14 hours a day and self-medicating with Coca Cola (I love me some Coca Cola). I had gone from running a marathon on Halloween 2010 to not being able to run a mile by 2012. Something had to give — and I was in danger of it being my heart. My waist had gone from 36 inches to 40. My weight had blossomed from 195 to 250.
Miserable wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how I felt.
My wife taught Paul Lacoste’s son and Paul had mentioned how he wanted to train me. I think they worked on an intervention because in January 2012, I was standing on the basketball court of Jackson State University — at 5 a.m. Paul rumbled out like a freight train. For one hour, it was his way or the highway. We were put in lines by our ability. I was in the worst line.
I never looked back.
Twelve weeks later, I weighed 205 lbs. I had energy and confidence back. Since then, I’ve done Paul’s boot camp nearly every time. It has kept me in great shape and allowed me to build up a core of great friends. I’ve also watched Paul’s life be transitioned, too. Today, he is an inspiration to me and my oldest son.
Tomorrow is the last day for the sign-up for Fit4Change. Here’s the bonus: It’s free. You write an accountability check (the cost of program) and if you do the whole program with a minimum of absences, they’ll hand you your check back at the end. But they’ll also hand you back something else — your life.
You just have to do the work.
I’m doing the program again. My weight has jumped back up to 220 and I’m going to make some serious life changes. But it’s more than physical training. It’s also mental training. You achieve the sense that you can do anything — because after you complete this program, you can. The trick is to get your mind out of the way.
Your body can achieve great things. And it will. Sign up here:
http://paullacoste.com
At mile three, I chugged through the woods and made my way out onto the Natchez Trace. A cold wind whipped across the Reservoir, making my bones ache. I paused for a second and lifted my camera. In front of me was a lone oak tree — a tree that I’ve photographed dozens of times over the past few years during my runs. It never looks the same. Today the blue sky made it stand out boldly. Greens, browns and blues mixed easily. I looked closely at the tree. 2016 has been rough on it. Several branches were missing — victims of various storms throughout the months. I had sympathy for the oak. But I also felt strangely inspired by it. Like many of us, it has taken a beating yet is still there.
You’ve probably noticed that 2016 really has been a tough year (unless you live in a cave). And I’m not just talking about the grim reaper’s brutal assault on celebrities. It hasn’t exactly been a bucket of chuckles for many of us either. Lord knows I’ve taken a few kicks in the groin. I watched my Dad take his last breath. I’ve watched loved ones struggle. I ended up in the hospital and then later ended up with brain scan. To wrap up the year, I gave myself a really stupid concussion. It’s enough to make you shake your fist at the sky.
A few years ago, I was in a boating accident. My friend, my son and I were going down the Buffalo River when our boat flipped. I got my leg wrapped in a drag chain and nearly drowned. That evening, as my friend and I were calming our frayed nerves with a good glass of wine, my son came up and said, “It’s OK. I’m still here.”
As 2016 ends, I am thinking of my son’s words. I’m still here.
I’m sitting at my kitchen table, putting together my notes for a class I’ll soon be teaching. I’m reflecting on the year and looking at what went right and what went wrong. Yes, I lost my Dad (which still hurts) but he’s at peace (free of the Alzheimer’s that he feared). My sisters and I now know more about the kind of man he was and how he loved us. Yes, I had a couple of health scares, but I am healthy. Some of the personal challenges have led to some positive changes in my life. My sons are kicking butt in school and in their activities. Amy has had a good year. My book is doing really well. And even though I’ve lost a step physically, I’m still out there running. I’m positioned better starting 2017 than I was at the beginning of 2016. I also have this insight:
Life is a series of problems. It’s up to us to solve those problems and grow from the experience. Like my Dad once told me, we have to make our story about how we got back up — not how we fell down.
I looked at the oak tree once last time. Strong roots, a strong core and limbs that reach for the sky yet are flexible. As it swayed in the stiff breeze, I headed back home to finish out the craziest year I can remember.
I grinned as I ran. Like the oak, I’m still here.
For the past couple of months, I’ve sat in book stores and shops around Mississippi, signing books and watching people rush around as they try to stay ahead of Holiday stress. I’ve had moments of busyness as I joyfully personalized books for eager customers. And I’ve had moments of boredom that allowed quiet reflection of the past year. As 2016 winds down, I think it is safe to say that this year has been unusually tough for many of us. I know it has been for me. I can’t remember a year this painful. I’ve lost. I’ve faced disappointment. Not since my cancer surgery 15 years ago can I remember walking away with so many scars.
But before you think that this is going to be a post of complaint or pity, please know its not. In fact, it is one of joy and hope. On Wednesday, I will have completed one more journey around the sun. On Sunday, my family will celebrate a day of love and gift giving. A week after that, we will ring in a new year. And for that, I am grateful.
When you remodel a house, you have to demo it. That means you strip away the old before you can rebuilt the new. It’s hard work and at times painful. But you can’t just put the new over the old stuff — you have to do the work. Life’s like that, too. The pain is a sign that we need to take the difficult step of change.
I know, change is hard. Like one commenter told me earlier this year, “But what if I don’t want to change?” Well, the answer is that the world will go along without you. As tempting as it is to sit in your comfort zone and to sit on your butt, that’s the quickest way to rot and die — literally and figuratively. I’ve had just about everything in my life called into question this year. I’m painfully aware of my past mistakes and the damage it has caused. I’ve had someone show me what I could become if I don’t change my ways. I wish a face as friendly as Clarence the angel (or even the scary third ghost) had told me all this. But I’ll take my wake up call in any form I can get it. I have my marching orders for 2017.
Life is hard and takes lots of energy. And we have both good and evil inside of us. To get that energy, you can tap into either the good or the evil. I personally feel that the good is loving others. And I choose to reject selfishness and be powered by love. Love of my family. Love of my friends. Love of this life. I choose to take on every day with joy and wonder. I vow to use my talents. I’ll give gifts daily.
Sounds kind of like a certain holiday that’s coming up, doesn’t it? We’re in the season of love and giving. And the season of hope and wonder. Many of us will celebrate a little baby who grew up to teach us that.
2016 has been tough. But it has been reminder that life is a series of problems. What makes life special is how we solve those problems. We can sit around, complain, write snarky comments on Facebook posts, throw a pity party, serve snacks and hope our problems go away. We can hope someone will come and save us. Or we can take on the problems head-on and choose to grow and learn — all through hard work and self discipline. It struck me the other day that if you take the word “EVIL” and turn it around, it spells “LIVE.”
Let’s choose to live.
Let’s make 2017 a year of passion.
Let’s tackle the world around us and make it a little better. Let’s reject those who make us afraid for their own gains. Let’s lift up those we love.
Let’s bring joy to the world.
Bless you and your family this joyous holiday season.
Moving to Mississippi didn’t make a bit of sense on paper. I had a great job (at Copley News Service in San Diego), had a great boss and worked with amazing people. And I lived in San Diego — don’t knock it until you’ve been there. But I took the leap of faith and came here.
If you don’t like me or my cartoons, blame Dan Turner. He was my editor in Conroe, Texas (the job before San Diego). He’s also a native of Philadelphia, Mississippi. He called me one afternoon and told me that he’d been at The Clarion-Ledger for a training session and noticed that they were hiring a cartoonist. I initially didn’t think it was for me — but he said that I’d be perfect here. That people would love my work and I’d be very happy.
Dan Turner is very convincing — and a wise man.
Amy and I were thinking of starting a family and having only one state between us and our families seemed like a good idea (no matter how many times I now cuss Alabama and the road construction on I-20). I remember driving across the state line in Vicksburg. I saw the river. I thought “This is my state.” (Someone owes me royalties, me thinks). I still feel that way when I cross back into Mississippi. I called David Hampton back after he offered me the job and said “yes.”
I’m not a native Mississippian. But my three boys are. And we’ve chosen to raise them here. Someday they’ll do like I did and spread their wings to chase their dreams. I hope they have as much luck as I have.
I’ll keep drawing for as long as I am able to. But for as long as I live, I’ll be grateful for the time I’ve spent here. And to all the people I’ve drawn, thank you, too. You’ve made my job easy.
Everyday I live my childhood dream and get paid for it. And I get to do it in a cartoonist’s paradise. I’m the luckiest man alive.
You can order a signed copy at clarionledger.com/ramsey20
11 a.m. – 1:00 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road)
1:30 p.m. — 3:30 p.m. Inside Out (Renaissance Ridgeland, MS)
Sunday, December 18
12 noon – 2:30 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road, Jackson)
3:00 p.m. – 5:00 p.m. Barnes & Noble (Renaissance Ridgeland, MS)
Tuesday, December 20
11 a.m. — 1:30 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road, Jackson)
Wednesday, December 21
11 a.m. – 1:30 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road, Jackson)
Thursday, December 22
4 p.m. until close Book Mart & Cafe (Starkville, MS)
Friday, December 23
11 a.m. – 1:30 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road, Jackson)
1. You can order it at clarionledger.com/ramsey20
2. Bookstores and stores that have it:
Lemuria
Barnes & Noble Renaissance (Ridgeland)
Inside Out (Renaissance Ridgeland)
Book Mart & Cafe (Starkville)
Reed’s Gum Tree Books (Tupelo)
Turnrow Book Co. (Greenwood)
Kademi (Philadelphia)
Main Street Books (Downtown Hattiesburg)
Lorelei Books (Vicksburg)
Square Books (Oxford)
At 5 a.m., I turned on the phone and read this headline,
“Astronaut Buzz Aldrin evacuated from South Pole after falling ill”
First thought: I hope he’ll be OK.
Second thought: Buzz Aldrin is a total bad-*ss.
Seriously. Sure, the guy was the second man on the Moon (and if you doubt that, he will punch you in the mouth.) But c’mon, he’s 86. Most 86-year-olds wouldn’t be at the South Pole. They’d be eating a bowl full of pills and mush.
I’m not totally sure of his secret to long life, but I think it has already been revealed in that headline. He was at the South Pole. He is ACTIVE.
I put my phone down, crawled out of my warm bed and put on my running clothes and shoes. Then I ran three cold miles — for Buzz. And for the hope that I can be jetting around the globe when I’m 86.
The Ole Smoky Candy Kitchen is one of those bookends of my life. Located in the middle of downtown Gatlinburg, it makes the best homemade taffy. My four grandparents (I won that lottery) would take me to Gatlinburg every summer. And I’d sit there mesmerized as a man would feed taffy into this giant taffy-pulling machine. It was very cool.
Thirty-five years later, I stood there with my youngest son as he was mesmerized by the same thing. I told him that I used to watch a man do the same thing when I was a kid. The guy, in a gruff voice said, “That was me.”
Gatlinburg is the gateway to the Smokies and to much of my life. My great grandfather had an opportunity to buy much of the land before The Great Smoky Mountain National Park was a park. But he didn’t — and while it seems insane now, he was wise back then to buy farmland somewhere else. The town was one of the poorest places in America back at the turn of the 20th Century. Then came the park and the tourism with it. Originally built like an alpine village, it has evolved and grown over the years to become a combination of beauty and a little bit of kitsch. But I love the place for all that is good and not so good. I took dates there in college. I went to parties in the condos that are now gone. I take my family up there frequently. We’ve done the tourist attractions and eaten pancakes (pancake restaurants are their version of Starbucks coffee houses — there is practically one on every corner.) Gatlinburg is a place full of good people.
And now they are hurting.
I’ve read about every history printed of The Great Smoky Mountains. My grandparents went on dates in the mountains. My grandfather worked in a nearby sawmill for a while. My dad rode horses up there and would pose with bears for the tourists from Ohio (Dad was a kid). It’s part of my DNA.
That’s why I couldn’t sleep the other night as it burned.
It will come back. The awesome Ripley’s Aquarium was unscathed. Ober Gatlinburg somehow escaped damage. Downtown survived. The forest will recover (the land was practically a moonscape in the 1920’s from over-logging and fires). But I’m worried about are the people who rely on tourism for their livelihood.
The good news? There will be lots of construction jobs. Insurance money will eventually flow. But it will take a while to get there. Trauma has to be overcome. Lives have to be rebuilt first.
I’m donating to relief efforts and will share links I find. I’ll continue to take my family to the Smokies so we can explore the wonders and leave my money behind. And I’ll cheer as Tennessee lives up to its nickname as “The Volunteer State.”
A fire can destroy. Or it can forge. I think the area will be forged into something stronger and more beautiful. How? Because spirit is something that flames can’t touch.
