How I Got Here

How do you spend your Saturday nights?

We’re at a flat track race run in conjunction with a state fair.

It’s blazing hot and I’m sweltering in full race leathers, helmet on, ready to go.

Standing beside me in staging is my daughter Olive.

She’s happily eating chicken fingers from the concession stand.

For me, just making a race is a win.

We would never have these adventures if her mom hadn’t left me.

Yeah, part of me died, but that’s no excuse not to live.

In my younger days, I blew an offer to road race because I was too busy partying.

I used to kick myself about that, but maybe this was God’s way of giving me another chance.

I knew if I fell back into my drinking ways, none of this would be happening.

Regrets from my earlier decisions propelled me forward.

Chasing my dirt track dreams pulled me out of the hurt I was in.

Being out on the road and sliding around on dirt made life worth living again.

I feel awkward when normal folk see me in my racing gear.

Kind of like the guy in the movie Electric Horseman wearing his purple cowboy outfit.

They say it’s crazy for a man my age to be flat tracking.

But I’m just like him, trying to unscrew the damage I created.

These racing adventures with my daughter in tow are the best memories I have.

I can look back now, knowing the hurt was worth it.

I wrote down these stories for Olive to remember me by.

Just because the marriage didn’t work out doesn’t mean it’s game over.

I had to accept it,

it was what it was.

Regret is a monster.

I couldn’t let it paralyze me.

It could destroy the good that’s around the next corner.

I had to realize that my decisions put me here.

That it was me and only me that could pull me out of this too.

I got down to doing what I was doing when I was happy: trying to go fast on motorcycles.

Balance in life is the key for me.

Between work, being a dad, a writer, and yes, a racer.