Coachlife

I never thought that being a water polo coach would become an actual thing. I submitted my resume and talked to the Athletic Director at my old high school because I wanted to give back to the sport that had meant a lot to me during my formative years. Little did I know that they (administration) would fire the previous coach and hand me the head varsity job the following season. I knew nothing about coaching, I knew nothing about imparting knowledge (I use this term quite loosely) to kids, I was basically a kid myself at 22 trying to figure shit out.

10 years have elapsed. I’ve been in two serious relationships, been to two family funerals, excelled in my art practice, and lost and won a bunch of games. I’ve seen hundreds of kids go through the system, good, bad, average, and sometimes you get someone spectacular. But mostly it’s like any other job, you go in, go through the drills, hit the marks and try to make your team excel to the next level. At least that’s the way I thought my job was for the first half of my career. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy every moment of it, the highs and low of competition. It’s all quite exhilarating. There’s nothing like watching a kid break through his own personal barriers and become a terrific athlete. Coaching has been my release for all the frustration and anger I used to deal with through violence. You get to release innate male emotions without the red tape of being stuck in a white collar job. It’s been quite awhile since my last bar fight and though immature, I’m quite proud of myself from abstaining from such a debaucherous practice.

High school is bullshit, being a teenage kid is tough. Hormones are pumping through your system and you’re confused and amped up and there’s a lot of things you’re trying to figure out. I get it. It’s part of the job that I never signed up for. There’s been incidents that I’ve gone far and beyond my job description to try to amend a situation with an athlete or parent. Ultimately, I coach a team to win games, if I have a string of losing seasons it could be the end of my career. I’ve seen bloody noses, broken arms, and teeth knocked out like nobody’s business, and you’ve just got

to keep going on with the game. There’s no stop, an injury doesn’t mean everyone stops and boo hoos (It’s a part of normative society now that I don’t quite agree with). Either the kid steps up and continues or the game goes on without him.

There certainly are people who get a bloody nose and stop. And call time out. And want to quit and stop and can’t go on because they just don’t have the propensity to. I get it. What I thought I’d never learn about life through coaching is resolve. A lot of these kids are a lot tougher than I ever was or will ever be, and that’s a good thing. Some have gone on to be marines, businessmen, doctors, lawyers, engineers and those are learned skills. But you can never, ever ever ever ever teach a kid how to be tough. It’s innate, it’s an inborn trait that separates people. To be knocked the fuck down and be seriously hurt and want back in the game. It’s easy to make someone quit, I’ve done it time and again just in practice. I’ve made kids puke, and cry, and quit the team, but you can never make someone tap out who doesn’t want to. Some kids would die in the water if there were no rules.

I thought coaching was about imparting knowledge to a bunch of high school kids. In my mind they’ll always be kids, because they come in as children, 14 year old boys cuddled at the teat with no idea about the world. But there’s also kids who keep surprising me. The quiet ones, the ones with resolve, the ones who would take a beating and stand up and say “may I have another”. And again, you can’t teach that, you can’t train a kid to be tough.

I’ve learned that the win and loss column doesn’t matter. They are in an archive somewhere that won’t matter much next year, much less when I’m dead. Nobody will look me up and think, “wow he was a really shitty coach”, or maybe they will. At the end of the day all I have left of my career are the memories. I get to see kids reach physical potentials they didn’t think was possible. I’ve had several instances where parents tell me that I have “more influence” on their children than they do. I get to mold kids into men, to see them make that turn and understand their self worth and potentiality. I don’t think most people in life get to be what they want. Most people just accept their position. They take jobs to pay their bills, they succumb to their place, they have a boss, they don’t ever live their dream. And at least for one brief moment in a person’s life I get to let them know that they can at least glimpse the possibility. They can take loss and still succeed.

I get to be a part of kid’s lives in very formative years. I get to shape a part of their makeup. I get to see them day in and day out and shape their personalities and their mental fortitudes. I get to play a game with them that requires both physical toughness and resolve. I get to live out one of the passions of my life. I may have gotten older, my body has slowed down, but I get to be young through coaching. I get to be around a live or die attitude based on a game that most people will never understand. Maybe I’ll never have kids of my own, I will never know how extremely hard it is to be a parent. But at the very least I’ll have the memories. I’ve learned what it is to lose. I’ve learned what it is to give everything you’ve got. I’ve learned that most of life is what you put into it, and if you try very hard, it’s mostly all worthwhile.

I also understand that nothing lasts forever. That things change and people change and people move on. It’s just a part of life and I’ve accepted that. I’ve never been a quitter and that’s one thing I can impart onto the team. I’ve always told the kids that there are only three outcomes to any game. You can win, which is obviously the most ideal situation, but the other two outcomes are the ones that really mean anything. You can either lose with dignity and grit, or you can quit and lose with your tail between your legs. That’s most of life. Wins and loss columns that really don’t ever mean much at the end of the day. I coach a game with high school kids. A trivial sport that most kids put on as a bonus on their college applications.

What I want to impart is the thing that is being lost. A live and die attitude based on a self determination. A willingness to sacrifice for your team, the greater good, the very slight belief that you are insignificant in the greater scheme of themes. At the end of the day, I am only a coach, only an artist and my impact will be very little on a greater societal scale, but all I can do is to make sure I do that to the best of my abilities, no matter how trivial those things seem to be. And tomorrow is a new day and another practice and another chance to be great.

Somewhere Along the Coast

I’ve felt like I have been stuck in San Francisco for a long time. I’ve always entertained the idea of moving away, but relationships, school, and work have always put an end to those thoughts. I made the excuse that if I couldn’t make my career happen in San Francisco, I didn’t want to run off to another city to have to start over. When I told a friend why I was moving she said that it sounded like the plot to “Eat, Pray, Love” whatever that’s supposed to mean.

I pack my car for the two-month journey and head down on a beautiful, clear day. I take Highway 1 and take my time. The roads are open and I really let loose around Monterey only to be pulled over for going 91mph in a 55 zone. The officer cuts me a break and puts me down for 75.

“Are you an artist or something?” He asks gesturing to the paintings in the backseat.

“Yeah, just doing a little stint in LA.”

“Good luck.”

I spend the first few nights in LA on a friend’s couch before I move to my place downtown. The apartment I sublet is above a tire shop on Central Ave and 7^th. I share a live/work studio with my roommate D____ who works at the library of a prestigious art school. The studio is 2 blocks away from the heart of Skid Row and there’s quite a bit of runoff. I wake up to drug and alcohol induced screaming matches outside my window routinely. It takes awhile, but the traffic and late night debauchery soon just become a soft background noise.  I am looking for change, but not quite sure where to find it.

Downtown LA and Struggles the Cat

I wake up to coffee and cigarettes on most days. The apartment has a large patio and I meet my neighbor P____ and the property cat, Struggles. He’s an actor and Uber driver which I soon learn is a pretty common occupation around here. Struggles is a white cat with black spots and meows loudly at my feet every time he wants to be pet. P_____’s got on black jeans and boots, a jean jacket with no t-shirt. Struggles is covered in a thick layer of dust. P_____ is still up from the night before and I’m sure Struggles has been` too.

“I’m still tripping on acid.” P_____ says wide-eyed and grinning, “I mean it’s pretty good stuff.”

He is manic and gesticulates wildly, he gives me a monologue from a class he participated in the night before. I listen patiently and have another cigarette and sip my coffee.

“This is the last bender for a month. I’ve really been going at it pretty hard” he says more to himself than to me.

Studio Downtown LA

I paint all day and go out nightly. The tire shop downstairs starts going around 8am and blasts the Top 100 hip hop radio station, but it feels more like 10 songs on repeat. I live on bread, lunch meat, bags of spinach and canned soup and binge watch the entirety of The Office in a few weeks.  I start and set a deadline for the dot paintings. There are set parameters, guidelines and rules which forces me to focus on the technique and color choice. Painting cut down to the very basics. I need to simplify things in my practice and in my life.

My friend R_____ comes over one night and we split a fifth and a few beers. He’s a real slick guy and with lots of energy. He tells me that him and his girlfriend are in an open relationship. We go out Echo park and end up at a club having a salsa night. We spend the night chasing women and I end up with a date with a girl named D_____ the following day.

D_____ picks me up from a show in the Arts District and I can tell she is nervous. During the date I get a call from my brother saying that our Grandfather has passed away. I tell D_____ and she is understanding about the whole ordeal. I never see her again. I drive back to SF a few days after because my passport is at home and I fly out to Taiwan. It is a depressing trip and I manage to get in a bar fight a few days after the funeral for good measure. It’s something I’ve tried to stay away from but I guess that some demons are harder to get rid of than others.

I fly back into LAX and spend two more weeks downtown. I have a black eye for a few days, but only a college friend ever really notices it or at least brings it up in conversation.

“Dude, did you get punched in the face?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean how does the other guy look?”

“Worse than me.”

“Daniel, aren’t you a little old for bar fights?”

“Apparently not.”

Redondo Studio Cat

After a month downtown, I move out to a little place in Redondo. It’s quite a drive away from most of my friends and that’s what I really wanted anyways. I’ve rented a private room in a little house about a mile from the beach with a couple and their 3 year old son.  I’ve never lived near a beach before but am willing to give it a try. The town is small and the beaches are pristine and clean. Most days I wake up and paint until the sun is high overhead and make my way to the water.

During the weekdays the beaches are almost completely empty. Vast stretches of sunbleached sand and clear blue sea. No tourists, no kids, just me and the ocean for miles. There are no clouds and it is a pleasant 75. I listen to the waves crash rhythmically like a lazy metronome. I think about going back to coaching, I think about the little things I worry about from day to day. About money, about work, about family, about not getting where I want to be. And in the moment it all seems very silly, these worries. Crash. I sit and close my eyes and take the sea in. Crash. I dig my feet into the sand and feel at peace with things. Crash. The moment is perfect and I wish that it would last for a little bit longer, this feeling.

Redondo Studio

Each day I go through this routine and I am happier than I have been for a long time. A girl I’m seeing, S____, spends a couple of nights at my place. She’s wearing one of my T shirts and sitting on the bed when she asks, “Will you miss me when I’m gone?”

“I’m not sure, it’s not something I’ve thought about.”

It doesn’t seem to be the right answer. We leave the conversation at that and she seems to forget about it in the morning. I tell her I’ll call, but that I’ll be on the road for the next few weeks.

The night before I leave Redondo I make a little sketch for M_____, my host and her family. We smoke some pot together and chat about what I’m doing and where I’m going next. She’s wearing a low cut one piece bathing suit and a negligée. The suns been down for hours.

Somewhere Along the Coast

“I’m going to drive down to San Diego to see a college friend.”

“And after that?”

“Probably just couch surfing for a bit. Silverlake or back to the Artists District. I’m not sure yet.”

“What a life you live.”

“It’s only for a few more weeks. It's not like my entire life is rainbows and flowers.”

“It sounds like your life is a party. I still like to party you know, but A____(her husband) is over it. Maybe when you come back from San Diego we can go out.”

“Yeah that might be a possibility, I’ve really enjoyed Redondo.”

“You know if A______ came out right now and I was sitting in your lap he wouldn’t care.”

I excuse myself as courteously as possibly and go back to my room.

I have lunch with a few friends in Santa Monica the next day before I head down to San Diego. The traffic isn’t bad but my A/C decides to die halfway there. I spend the next few days playing with his two kids and seeing a glimpse of the insanity of being a parent. I learn that kids are easy to trick and that chips and candy can solve most problems. I eat pizza three meals in a row and don’t regret it until my stomach explodes. Sometimes I am a little envious of my friends who have a family life, but the grass is always greener.

San Diego Studio

I drive back to the Artists District after San Diego and crash at a friend’s condo. I feel listless and antsy. I have one more week to go before I’m supposed to go back North. I stay a few more days in the Artist District and decide to cut the trip short and drive back home on a Tuesday morning. I call S____ and tell her that I won’t be able to see her again.

“I thought you were going to stay for another week?”

“Yeah, just don’t think I can couch surf anymore.”

“You can come stay over my place” she offers, “You could stay as long as you like.”

“I’ve got to go back, I’ve already set up some meetings and…”

“When are you coming back?”

“Maybe sometime next year after I finish my coaching stints.”

There’s a pause as she’s trying to figure things out.

“I just didn’t want this to happen.”

“What to happen?”

“This. I mean you’re just going to take off and it’s like it all meant nothing.”

“We both knew this was going to happen. I’m only a flight away.”

“I just thought that ... nothings never mind. I hope you have a nice drive back.”

This time I take the 5 through the valley and make the trip in 5 hours. The two months passed by in a blip and I return to the same house and the same studio and the same life. Nothing has changed. The routine remains, the past intact, because wherever you go, your troubles will follow you.

Back Home Studio

I’m hoping I’ve moved past some of my fears. I’m hoping that I’ve taken a few lessons away from this. If anything, at least I’ll always have the few weeks of bliss on the beach. The waves and the memories of a moments tranquility. Life is long and full of ups and downs, and nothing lasts forever.  When I am in need of it, peace will always be there along the coast of California.

 

Baby Blue

I have a new lover and her name is Blue.

She is witty and wry, and never leaves before noon.

She follows me around with sad puppy dog eyes.

Smokes cigarettes all day, and worships the moon.

She doesn’t care that I drink or swear or when I spit on the ground.

She doesn’t care much at all, about anything I do.

I have a new lover and her name is Blue.

She is sullen and sad, and can’t stand to be alone.

She mopes at parties, and always asks

“Can we leave soon?”

She shrugs when I say that I can’t commit.

She says that things were meant to be like this.

I have a new lover and her name is Blue.

She is pretty and young and I think I am in love.

She holds me close and whispers

“You’re not the one.”

She tells me that maybe one day things will change.

But I don’t think it will last, forever and a day