As you know, I've spent the month of January engaged in a fundraising campaign to cover publishing costs for my second book, The Finish Line. Just to type those words, "my second book", is surreal and I am as humbled as I am proud. In many ways this has been even more gratifying than achieving my lifelong goal of publishing Swinging for the Fences because so many people have been involved.
Jim and Kelly Ponder at Turnkey Strategic Relations negotiated the business contract with Tate Publishing and are making all this possible; Lidia Martinez donated two Southwest Airlines tickets for the pre-purchase prize raffle; and I've gotten amazing Facebook public endorsements by friends like Golden, Rossi, J-Lo, A.G., Wuller, Mancillas, and other generous people. Every day, envelopes reach my mailbox, with book pre-purchases coming from names like Madden, Papasedero, Lopez, Donohue, Whitlow, Basham, Holguin, Tarantino, Moreno, Anaya, Aguilar, Orozco, McDonald, Sandoval, Delgadillo. There are way too many name, although someday I will.
It's been a hard process - and I'm sure people are as weary of my campaigning and promoting as I have been in doing it - and we've still got a couple days and few hundred bucks to go. But what is most satisfying as these envelopes come in is not the checks enclosed, but the names on the envelopes. Seeing Quinn, Carter, Leisz, Guglielmo, Fox, Mundy and more is like seeing a tapestry of my life. From J-Rev to J-Lo to J-Wull to J-Bruin, it's like seeing my life history before my very eyes on a daily basis. I am truly blessed.
Well, amid this daily campaigning and check-collecting, one envelope stopped me cold this week. It was from Lawrence Nuffer, son of David Nuffer, my deceased mentor and first boss. It wasn't a check. It wasn't cash. There was no mention of either of my books. Rather something more valuable was inside.
To paraphrase the note Larry enclosed: "Dear Alex: In going through Dad's old belongings I came across a Christmas card you sent him in 2003. I thought you might like to have it and a picture we found of you two."
Trembling a bit, with every hair on the back of my neck standing up, I opened the card with the shepard glancing at the Star of David. There was a Scripture inside about Christ's birth but my eyes darted to the handwriting - my loopy cursive - just below it. It read: "Dear Daveed, Wishing you and Mary a blessed Christmas, with utmost appreciation from me. You have always been a mentor to me and I appreciate you remaining so involved and influential in my life. Thank you for your mentorship, friendship, and love. Feliz Navidad, Montoya."
He always preferred that I call him Da-veed over David, and that he called me Montóya - emphasis on the "o"- over anything.
Enclosed was the picture Larry had found in Nuff's office. In this digital age it is so weird to hold an actual, glossy print in your hand. There we stood, at a networking event that I immediately could tell was in Old Town based on the margarita-filled surroundings, Daveed in his conservative black suit and shock of white hair, and me in my purple shirt with matching purple and tan floral tie. Hey, it was the late 1990s.
This card was sent in 2003, and the picture was taken sometime in the late 90's or early 2000's, and yet gruff, tough-on-the-outside Nuffer saved it in his personal belongings. It showed why he was such an incredible mentor, a mix of straightforward bluntness with constant compassion.
Man, it was emotional receiving that card.
As the week ended, more memories flooded as I had three separate visitors from the Midwest and East Coast. I guess 75-degree San Diego in January is a popular spot and old friends Billy Brewka, Chris "Stretch" Martin, and Ron Elizaga - all Golden Domers and all here on individual trips with none of them knowing each other - visited and asked if I'd grab a bite with them.
So on Friday, Rossi and I had dinner with Brewka at the Kilt (B Squad), and then I took Brewk to Bub's to meet Stretch and his wife and friends. The following night I met up with Ronnie and gave him a tour of my work, before we sauntered back over to Bub's - I'm a creature of habit, can you tell? - for our own meal and beverages.
During both meals we recounted our days at Notre Dame and marveled at shared experiences even though Bill, Stretch, Ron, and I all graduated in different years. With Ron and I, because we were in the same dorm for two years (he was two years ahead of me), and were close friends, the reminiscing was a lot more personal.
Besides the usual recounting of old memories that reunited friends will do, Ron and I philosophized a bit. As I was telling him about The Finish Line and why I tried the Rock 'n' Roll Marathon and wrote a second book, I also lamented about how it's so easy to lose touch with people. I feel guilty, I told him, that I don't keep in touch with as many friends as I'd like. Then Ronnie turned the tables on me. "Bro," he says, "you said it yourself: life is a marathon. And our friends are sometimes people that encourage us at certain points of the marathon. Some will run with you the whole way. But some are meant to be there for you at certain points."
I thought about this today as I saw friends like Colleen McD and Pad Squad Kristen posting about completing the Disney Half-Marathon, and as I did a few laps in my neighborhood amid a sparkling sunset. You know, when you do a race, most of the time you are alone. There are a bunch of runners and supporters at the beginning and the end, and people perhaps cheering you on at various points, but most of the time it's you, and your music, and your thoughts. And no doubt whenever you do see somebody rooting for you, the adrenaline soars and you are extremely grateful. But most of the time you need real determination because it's just you amid a desolate course.
And life is often that way. Whether you're married, or have a significant other, or are like me and are blessed with friends, unless you're a Siamese twin all you have is yourself. You're responsible for your own path, the decisions you make, the choice to move forward or not. But those friends are a huge help. Friends are what makes the race enjoyable and often times, amid our toughest moments and heartaches, friends are what carries us through.
"You never know who'll be there to help you through the race," Ronnie continued, "but everybody plays a role. And you appreciate them and they know you appreciate them and you just try to thank them along the way or...at The Finish Line."
We both laughed at that blatant use of the book's title but he was right. Every friend gets you through the race of life.
I've often admired friends who found ways to run races while taking pictures and posting updates along the way. They are truly living in the moment.
This week I'm just truly thankful for friends and envelopes received. Some contain checks for books. Others contain Christmas cards sent to old mentors. All of them confirm that life is a marathon and friends get us through.
No comments:
Post a Comment