LETTING GO AND HOLDING ON

I lost about 20 pounds today.

The excess weight wasn't shed from my body, however, but from my corpulent, overstuffed desk. This afternoon I removed old, tattered notebooks, crumpled papers and faded folders by the fistful, as I filled two trash bags to the brim in an impromptu cleaning session.

First to go were the documents I no longer had use for; graded English papers, various news article printouts and the like. Then came the old bank staements. (Shhh...don't tell anybody! You're not really supposed to throw them away, ever, even if you live to be 173 years old and the bank that issued the statement is no longer in existence, but I was on a roll.)

I also junked a trio of folders stuffed with copies of e-mails, instant message conversations and other paraphernalia from a long-expired relationship. There was even a CD I made for my former paramour packed with 19 songs that once held special significance to the two of us.

Letting go of these relics was a necessary symbolic act to break the bonds I once worked tirelessly to forge. Though the relationship ended painfully, I am much wiser today as a result. She and I remain friends, though we rarely talk anymore, and I wish her nothing but the absolute best in life.

But as for me, in the words of REO Speedwagon, "It's time for me to fly."

Which brings me to something else I found while cleaning out my desk--something I didn't throw away. I rediscovered a few yellowed pages of poetry my father had written in college, long since archived and forgotten. Each syllable surges with boundless ambition. Truth be told, Greg Friedman was no Walt Whitman, but his poems are raw, emotional, honest.

Pure.

So as I re-read his words today, I feel the same uncompromising determination to bring my ethereal dreams full circle. I am driven to succeed. I only pray that Greg's son will someday be as successful as the State University of New York-Geneseo freshman who wrote these haunting words decades ago.

I wonder if I will reach my potential
They fail to offer me any encouragement.
Pressure mounts...I must succeed.
Should I [suffer] defeat?
For those who have hindered me
Make me will that much more to succeed.
So I search for my outlet.
My search is relentless.
I am a born fighter.
I am slowed--but not stopped--by failure.
Won't give up.
Must make it.
I strive to reach my inevitable goals.

Ditto, Dad. Ditto.