Luke Ford

Dear *********,

I wish you were here. I’m more assertive these days, more clear. Perhaps one day I’ll be worthy of you.

My friend picked me up. I gave him clear instructions to not be late. If he was going to be late, he must call me ahead of time so I could make other plans.

He wasn’t late. I love reliable people. Reliable people like you.

Once I arrived, the anxiety washed over me. Where could I store my bag? It had my wallet, my keys, my books, my notes, my protein bars.

What kind of woman walks around shul in high ****-me heels? She’s putting herself out there in an ostentatious manner.

I was touched by how many of my friends showed up for my talks. And when I was lecturing, they gave me such support. They sailed along with my every word. I looked in their faces and felt such hope that I would succeed.

I had the hardest time keeping the attention of the popular table. They chitchatted while everyone else was listening.

I had complete confidence in my ability to be great. The only thing that can hold me back in such situations is when I don’t adequately prepare. Friday night, I had all my points outlined and memorized. My presentation was sharp and entertaining.

********, why am I frightened to inspire? I just don’t want to go there. Why? I don’t want to be a motivational speaker. I just want to share.

I think I’m afraid that if I try to inspire, I’ll have to transform my life more than is comfortable. But if I kick things into a higher gear, perhaps I’ll find you beside me?

Tim Tebow’s life is inspiring. There’s no reason I couldn’t live at that level.

It was awesome Friday night davening with my friends. My talk was a triumph. People were giddy.

Shabbos lunch. That was a much tougher crowd. Friday night, it was mainly singles. Shabbos lunch, it was mainly older Persians and they preferred to chitchat. They weren’t into public confession. I tackled a loftier topic but my talk wasn’t smooth. It didn’t flow. It was herky jerky. I sensed people tuning me out.

That little Starbucks girl is so cute. Such a nerd. With those thick glasses and little bubble butt. I wonder if she’s Jewish?

I loved hanging out with the youngies Shabbos afternoon. We sat in the sun and this guy tried out reflexology on the hot girl and her skirt rode up in the breeze.

It’s so funny, *******. I thought Judaism and ethical monotheism were going to be my cause but it turns out to be anonymous 12-step work.

I can’t think of anyone I’m nursing resentments against right now. The organized hatred against me? It’s melting.

If my talks were tests of my sincerity and commitment, I passed with flying colors.

I’ve found a way to have community and to also explore publicly and freely the ideas that are important to me.

I no longer have to do a dance to meet people’s expectations. At 46, I’m finally solid.

What fears come up for me when I think about speaking in shul? Nothing comes to mind. I’ve conquered my fears. I no longer have a double life. I don’t have to fear exposure. I’m not a fraud anymore.

The speeches I gave? I said what I wanted to say while treating my audience with respect.

I was at my Reform temple circa 1995. I was sitting with my friends. The cantor opened up for questions. I asked why there’s so much chazzanos at temple when most people would prefer congregational singing? The cantor took offense.

After break when I came back to my seat, I notice that all of my friends had moved to a different row. I was now alone.

Jews are good at shunning.

“I have to learn to be more diplomatic,” I said to myself.

I felt a kind of despair.

I wonder how many hours I could go without seeking mirroring? Am I capable of a mirroring fast? Please let me know what you think.

I’m a bit attention whore. I don’t have a solid sense of self. I keep looking to other people to tell me who I am. They inevitably get tired of doing this and I get disappointed.

So I wonder if I could experiment with deliberately doing nothing to seek attention? I wonder if I could get in touch with my highest self and just live that an hour at a time.

As much as possible, I’d like to let go of my attention-seeking ways. It inevitably gets me into trouble. When I have true connection with people, I feel much less desirous of cheap internet attention. When I’m disconnected, I like to log on to Facebook to get a virtual connection. It’s a crutch to help me through lonely times.

Right now I’m tired. I’m weak. My feet hurt. I need to stay off them as much as possible for a month to get over my plantar fascitis. So I’m at home. I could pick up the phone, but instead I’m blogging.

“What did you do with my watering pot?” asked his neighbor. “I let you borrow it to put your flowers in and then you left it in the common room and now it’s gone. That was my favorite watering pot for 20 years and now it’s gone. You Orthodox Jews.”

I want to float on an air mattress on Lake Berryessa with my girlfriend and to feel all the elements, the sun, the water, the thunder and lightning, the tranquility and the rage.

Stephanie* would’ve dropped her swimmers for me. I think it was the summer of 1983, the summer before my senior year of high school, and I was at Lake Berryessa with some of my classmates from Pacific Union College Elementary School (where I went sixth through eighth grades). I dared Stephanie to drop her bathing suit and she said, “You first.”

I was too chicken.

I think more about high school than any other time of my life.

I was bonded with people at PUC because we shared the same religion, the same diet, the same school, the same lifestyle. Diversity shatters community.

Curiosity is a great motivator for creativity. All stories are about what we’re grappling with.

A big reason I have not gotten into more trouble with my life is my fears. Safety has always been a big value to me. No messing around with the same sex, no animals, no married women, no paying for it, nothing unethical.

Remember woodshop class in seventh grade? How we used to hear it is better to give gifts that you’ve made than gifts you bought? So for Mother’s Day you gave your mother a mini bookshelf you made in class? And how badly it went over. So that afternoon you went to the bookstore and bought her several books.

I was in more than my share of car accidents when I was a child. I found them terrifying.

I remember this one woman who was quite attractive. We were traveling with a goat and I told the goat to eat her bra, even though I was not quite sure what a bra was. The lady told me to never speak to her in such a way again. I got scared and agreed.

So we were driving back from the country and I was all drowsy in the back seat when whack, screech, crash, we were in an accident.

I don’t remember many details but I don’t think anyone was seriously hurt. Our car was finished and we had to wait around for a ride.

I did not get seriously hurt in any childhood accident, but they scared me to death and I formed a strong preference early on in my life for safety.

When I was a teenager, I had some friends who liked to get squirrly behind the wheel. I’d be stuck in the back seat and if the roads were slick from rain, they’d deliberately start sliding all over the place. For them it was great fun, for me it was pure terror.

At one point when I thought I was going to die, I pled with my friends to drive safely “because I haven’t even had sex yet.”

Eventually, when the car stopped, I jumped out and walked miles home.

When I learned to drive, I was in several accidents in my first couple of years, all my fault. The most serious and the most embarrassing was at age 19 when I drove around a corner into the morning sun tuning the radio dial and ran into a parked school bus at about 25 mph. Even though I had my seatbelt on, my head smashed into the steering wheel. The front end of my VW bug was totaled. I looked up to the windows of the school bus and the kids were staring down at me.

I staggered out of my car and sat on the ground until an ambulance came and took me to the hospital. I got about 30 stitches and have the scar between my eyes to this day.

A few years ago, an Orthodox rabbi responded to my interview request. He picked me up in his car and driving erratically, he got on his cell phone to make calls while we traveled down the freeway at about 65 mph. I was terrified. I asked him to desist.

The next time I was to drive a long distance with him, I made him promise not to talk on his phone while he was driving unless it was an emergency. He promised.

So we’re flying down the freeway at about 75mph one Friday afternoon and he’s on his Blackberry looking through his email. “You didn’t say anything about checking my email,” he said.

The guy is reckless.

Another time, he started driving crazily just to taunt me. I cursed him out and he realized I was serious.

“I guess you’ve been in some serious accidents,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

I remember riding with another friend. We’re going down the freeway at about 65 mph and he starts scanning his iPod for the particular song he wants me to hear. I plead with him to keep his attention on the road but he won’t be deterred.

I have such fury about this incident when I recall it many years later. I’m filled with such resolve to not let it happen again.

Another time, my girlfriend picked me up to drive 20 minutes east on the 10 to downtown Los Angeles. She didn’t tell me until afterwards that she’d had a valium to handle her anxiety about this party and was not all there while she had my life in her hands.

I asked her to stay off her phone while she drove. She agreed, and then, traveling at about 60 mph, gets on her phone. “I’m just checking my messages,” she said. “I’m not making any calls.”

I hate people who unnecessarily and carelessly and cruelly put innocent lives in danger. I hate people who screw around on the road.

I’ve worked hard to create a protected life. I’ve arranged things so that I can be safe and yet still write what I want. But when I’m on the road, particularly as a passenger, I feel so vulnerable.