So, a little bit about me.

I was born an upper-middle-class white boy in Auburn, Washington, smack-dab in the middle of what would turn out to be called “Generation X“. (You can read a terrific book about my generation called “13th Gen: Abort, Retry, Ignore, Fail?” for a good perspective on us.)

My family moved from Auburn to Enumclaw, Washington when I was going into the first grade. Enumclaw is a fairly small town; at the time it only had about 6,500 people living in it. We lived in a rural area outside of the city limits, where there was roughly one house per acre.

I had a fairly typical childhood, wandering around with the dog in the forest, my buddy and I kicking over anthills and playing in creeks and that kind of thing.

Escaping Enumclaw High School in 1987, I was adrift. A classic slacker/underachiever, my grades belied some pretty decent SAT test scores. (2.8 GPA, 1340 on the SATs, if you care- in 1986 that was a pretty good score, but combined with the GPA it shouted “SLACKER” at the admissions people.)

The University of Washington, to their eternal credit, rejected me as a student, and I had an Air Force ROTC 3-year scholarship sitting in my back pocket, so I went off to Arizona State University, where I majored in skipping class and minored in sleeping reeeeeally late. I had sideline specialties in tapping kegs and working the bar at the fraternity; since I didn’t drink my pledge brothers were more than willing to let me stay back behind the bar there all night while they partied their butts off.

I am the only person I know who received (or is willing to admit to) a sub-1.0 grade point average in college, ringing in my first semester with a stunning 0.8 GPA. (In case you’re curious, you get a 0.8 by flunking English and Math, scoring a D in philosophy for managing to show up for the tests even though everything the professor said flew right over your head, and getting a B in Political Science. I’m actually pretty proud of that B, since that professor bragged about what a hardass he was in grading- he used the curve and only 10% got an A, 25% got a B, and on down…)

Telling Dad that I didn’t see much point in wasting big bucks on out-of-state tuition (I’d long bailed on the Air Force, never going to any ROTC stuff) I transferred to Washington State University. I had to talk my way into school, what with my stunning record and all, and rewarded their faith with a 3.4 GPA that next semester (with two 300-level classes in my schedule, no less).

Still, college was obviously not where my head was, so I bailed out halfway through my sophomore year. I promptly moved home and was consigned to the guest room in the basement, as my parents had thoughtfully moved a Japanese exchange student into my bedroom (hey, not only did she study hard, but her folks gave us money for room/board). Delivering pizzas and managing a Domino’s franchise was not a very glamourous life, but as long as I had money for gas and screwing off with my buddies I didn’t really care. Plus there was lots of time for skiing.

At this point Dad wisely talked me into getting up before 2pm on a Saturday and going to take the civil service exam for a job as an air traffic controller with the Federal Aviation Administration. (Good move, Dad!) I scored pretty high on the test (99.7) and immediately forgot about it, as I had scored a dream job as a ski bum at Crystal Mountain, Washington.

I sold lift tickets for night skiing and worked in a restaurant on the weekends during breakfast and lunchtimes, thereby leaving Monday through Friday daytimes free for skiing. To this day I’m not sure why I gave this up- oh, wait, it was probably the money and health insurance. Crystal gave me very little of the first, and none of the second. (Waiting tables was good for free food- tell the cook to “accidentally” make something wrong and lunch that day is covered.)

The FAA called about 18 months after I took their test and offered me a gig. My boss at Crystal basically threatened to kick my ass if I didn’t take it, and everyone I know is a little bit afraid of her (Hi Debbie!), so I decided to go for it. I was hired in January 1991 and have been at the FAA ever since, managing to scrape through the controller training program.

I lived in Enumclaw until February, 2004, when I sold my white-picket-fence kind of house (mine was actually sort of a weird adobe pink color) and moved to a condo in downtown Seattle. Indiana the Wonder Dog wasn’t crazy about it at first but he’s done okay with it. There is a lot of really interesting stuff to sniff in the city. He likes that, not me.

You’re probably tired of reading about me, but there’s a few more main events that have shaped me into the goofy blob I am today. There’s no little versions of me running around, at least that I know of, ha-ha.

Never married, but I was properly housetrained and managed to live successfully with a wonderful woman, Paula, for five years until she died in a single-car accident (slid off a road covered in black ice). Our relationship was about as a solid fit as you can imagine, so naturally I floundered around in misery for a couple of years, then pulled it together and started living again. Being widowed at age 30 is pretty weird, but it got me thinking about what’s important to me in my life.

In that journey I decided to have my midlife, existential crisis a bit early. Raised as a Lutheran, the Christian theology didn’t really seem to fit in to what I was coming to believe about the afterlife, why we suffer, and so forth. I struggled with a bout of depression, which is a weird illness as it encompasses both physical and mental aspects. Turns out it can be kicked off by a situation like that.

During that time, I was going to a counselor, a great guy named Lory Misel. Lory is unique, a buddha in the true sense of the word (an enlightened person). His therapeutic approach is based in a variety of theories, although he uses a lot of Transactional Analysis.

That said, Lory also believes that for most people, the quickest way to helping them to attain their healthiest mental state is by helping them assimilate and firm up their spiritual life; he thinks (and I agree) that people who are suffering often don’t have a firm grasp on what they believe and why they believe it. He’ll suggest whatever seems to fit for an individual, and help them find a center for their spiritual life (or even their lack thereof, if they’re agnostic or atheist). For me he suggested Buddhism. This came at a point where I’d recovered from my depression and had been living just fine for a few years, but not really thriving.

I took to it like a duck to water, and today I’m proud to say that I’m a Buddhist. The practice that fits for me is shared by the Soka Gakkai International, based on the teachings of a 13th-century Japanese priest and scholar we call Nichiren Daishonin.

When people hear “Buddhist” they often get a mental image of a shaved head, reddish and orange robes, a little Asian vegetarian type who chants and can float in midair and so forth. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m none of those things, except for the chanting! I still love my Quarter Pounders (with cheese, of course) and orange robes are not really something that will work for me.

In fact, our Buddhism is really quite practical, and it fits in with all the things I came to believe and learned in those dark days after Paula passed away. I won’t bore you with the details, but what it comes down to is that this Buddhist practice is a foundation for my life. The title of my blog reflects my status as a small-town white boy who became Buddhist. It’s as much a meditative exercise as a spiritual or religious thing.

The SGI is actually a pretty unique group; unlike most religions (the Sunday hour when people go to church has been called “the most segregated hour in America) ours is a mix of people from all walks of life- black, white, Asian, Hispanic, straight, gay, young, old, married, single, rich, poor, you name it and it’s there.

Right now, as a I write this, I’m single but optimistic about my odds. The key, I think, is to be happy and have a high life state; if we let our happiness be dictated by external factors (like whether or not we have a girlfriend, or a fancy car, or a big house, etc) we’re setting ourselves up for misery if/when those things fade away or change. Far better to build ourselves and be secure with who we are as people. I don’t want to brag, but I think I’ve come a long way in knowing myself as a person. Interestingly, I realize I have a long way to go- but damn, I’m having fun along the way.

And there you have it, me up to this point in my life.