Chip Kelly continues to teach as he exits

 

When I was in high school, I asked a girl out to prom with an Easter Egg hunt in her backyard. I had coordinated with her parents beforehand, climbed their fence and hid the eggs filled with various goodies while she was gone. When she got back with her family, I was there and helped her with a nice game of “hot or cold” as she searched for her prizes. The last egg being hidden in my jacket pocket and had a note that read, “Will you go to prom with me?” She smiled, said yes and gave me an enthusiastic hug. It was awesome and one of those stories you think back on and give yourself high fives for; to be fair, she was my girlfriend at the time, so it was a low-risk proposition, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still a nervous high school boy waiting for a beautiful girl to either accept or reject him.

In that moment, I was accepted and it was the greatest feeling in the entire world!

Unfortunately for me we broke up a few weeks before the prom, and since she was wonderful, lovely, and very well known, she found a date in no time even with such short notice. I, on the other hand, contemplated not going as much out of protest as out of sorrow until my best friend, who went to a different school, had the idea I could take his current girlfriend. To this I felt instantly medieval as if he were declaring a perverse Prima Nocta, but I eventually said it sounded great and had an awesome time.

The weirdest part though? Even as I was being dumped and my memory of one of my greatest romantic moments was shattered (I’ve done some things I’m proud of), I never held a grudge against my girlfriend because she had left me in a better spot emotionally than I was before we started dating. Sure I was upset at the dude I felt probably had been working her for weeks in an effort to usurp me, but I never held anything against her for deciding to do what made her happiest; which wasn’t normally my M-O, by the way. Typically I cut ex’s completely out of my life in order to truly reestablish who I am and why things went south; I’ve since calmed that down a bit, and I recently realized it’s all because of her. Sure, I’ve still had relationships where the best reaction is to cut the girl completely out, but that’s always because by the end I didn’t like the person I was with. Yet, while we were together and when we broke up, while I was in some pain, she taught me how to be happy for someone I care about and wish happiness onto them as well.

So as much as I want to be mad at Chip Kelly for running to coach in the NFL for the Philadelphia Eagles quicker than De’Anthony Thomas runs back a kickoff for a touchdown, I can’t. He left the University of Oregon in a better place than when he got it, and was always good to us. Yes, you could assume he “cheated” on us since he was capable of taking Philadelphia to the dance so soon after he notified the universiity, but no saliva was exchanged while we were together, so he technically didn’t do anything wrong. If anything this has only deepened my resentment towards the Eagles—which is almost exactly the same as my high school girlfriend because while I was happy she was happy, I hoped to god she eventually dumped that tiny-foot piece of jock that macho’d his way through the halls.

In hindsight, Oregon’s big mistake was never making an official announcement that Chip had decided to come back to coach the Ducks or declare the details of his presumed contract after talks with NFL teams had stopped a few weeks ago. We thought we were in a relationship, but in all honesty, we weren’t.

We were in that gross purgatory of having stayed up too late trying to convince one another we were right for each other. You still care about the other person, and it could eventually work itself out, but most likely it’s been over for a few weeks at that point.

Chip did what was best for him instead of sticking around to the detriment of his own health. Everyone needs to sympathize with that because as much as you may care for someone, at a certain point it can’t be fixed and people need to move on in order to keep the memory of what was great intact. Not to mention the ones that stick around tend to be the crazies that cling and plead to the idea of you and knock on your door at 2am, whimpering outside.

For four years Coach Kelly left us eggs to be found all over our yard—four BCS bowl games, two straight BCS bowl wins, a national championship appearance, and four straight Civil War victories over in-state rival Oregon State Beavers—and we were all too happy to play an epic game of “hot or cold.”

His influence on the Ducks football program is everlasting and should never be thought of in any other way. He brought with him innovation and shared with us an attitude worth adopting: Win the day. Before that, Oregon fans would almost purely tune in to see which uniforms we were going to wear as we lost another close game. We were a downtrodden fan base looking for a ray of sunshine to peak through gray Autzen days; that is, until he gave us a brightness on the field that was so flashy we couldn’t help but embrace it. Kelly’s teams reigned supreme as they pulverized the competition for four straight years, and if it weren’t for unlucky breaks at inopportune times, we would’ve been talking about the championships he had delivered as well.

That’s maybe the only part that’s hard to get past—it seems unfinished. A national championship has eluded the Oregon Ducks for two seasons now by mere feet and inches, and next year felt different. It felt possible. But, like any relationship, those are the ones that hurt the most: the ones where there’s still life and a timeline but are cut short due to circumstance.

So as I thanked my ex for teaching me how to be happy for someone I once shared feelings with, I thank Chip Kelly for continuing that lesson.

Besides, there’s no way anyone can be mad about Chip leaving. He left the program better than he found it, gave us memories and life lessons, and taught an entire fan base to believe in themselves and their team. In the end, he did what he’s made a living doing at Oregon and will continue to do in the NFL—he surveyed the field, read the options available, and made a huge play.

TV Review – Californication S06 E01

“The dark gloom of mortality lords over Californication’s season six premiere, “The Unforgiven,” which opens with a sedated Hank dreaming of a time where he and Karen are younger. He hits on her in a bar to which she initially rejects and flutters away to serve the next drink, but ultimately we see them in a diner enjoying the innocence of getting to know someone for the first time; eventually it ends with them sharing a morning cup of coffee as Karen, from her apartment window, invites Hank up since he can’t seem to bring himself to leave the street after their initial goodbye.” CONTINUE READING…

Learning From Mistakes, Or: A Guide To Relationships In 10 Easy Years

Even though I’m late to the party, I knew I had to respond to this the moment I started reading…

I’ve always fancied myself a Knower Of Love, A Romantic Beyond All Other Romantics. I knew how to act with whom and why relationships never worked out for others but why they would work out for me—because I was that damn good at it.

In fact, apparently I thought that I was so good at it that I decided to marry the first real girlfriend I had straight out of college. The first girl that liked me back even though I knew that there was an expiration date on the package. Yes, I was going to prove to the world that love is strong enough to fit a diamond peg into a round hole.

But you know what they say about Idealists, right? I don’t either, but I’ll say this about myself: I’m an idiot because every day that I woke up next to this woman I knew that I was missing out on all the things that I espoused love should be. The lowest point of my life was day four of our honeymoon when I looked across the table and was struck with a heavy blow: when I looked into her eyes, I felt nothing, yet I “knew” that I couldn’t admit defeat so quickly, and so irresponsibly.

What’s worse is that near that point, I could feel that she felt empty for me also.

And still, we did the song and dance about marriage because, at the very least, we liked each other enough. We’d laugh at parties and family gatherings, take cute pictures when instructed to, and then argue in private about the same things over and over again without ever acknowledging that they were deal-breakers, and as such, should break the deal.

Every day I would think about how I was married to someone that was “good enough,” even though I know deep in my soul’s soul that when you’ve decided to share a life with someone, “good enough” shouldn’t be an option. I wanted to be inspired by what I know love should be, and this wasn’t it.

However, as luck would have it, I was given such an opportunity when my wife was on the other side of the country partaking in an internship program through her schooling. (“Internship”? “Schooling”? God, I was too young to get married.)

While she was gone I was invited to my high school English teacher’s wedding in November. This is the woman who set me on a path to teaching because she saw something in me that I only tepidly believed in and wasn’t sure I wanted to embrace. But she wouldn’t stop hounding me about it and made sure that I didn’t quit in college after the first day scared me more than Poe ever had his contemporaries. (A pattern is forming: I had a hard time quitting good ideas from others.)

My teacher was always equally persistent in hounding me about a girl I had gone to high school with that she just knew would be “perfect” for me. (See also: stubborn.) It’s not that she disagreed with the sanctity of marriage (obviously?), it’s just that instead of sitting me down and telling me what I needed to hear—that I shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place, let alone still be married—she continually provoked me by muddling my mind further. (Healthy!)

That being said, even though my relationship was splintered, I was still a Protector Of Passion, and as such I felt that meant that I had to continue my ruse. I wasn’t yet ready to admit to the world that I had failed, so I politely shook off her adamancy with half-hearted smiles and sideways looks that playfully told her to let it go. Well, she didn’t let it go. No instead she held onto it tighter than the wedding ring she was there to accept, and when I arrived at the reception, I saw that she had sat (in her mind) my future wife right next to me. At this point she wasn’t so much tempting me to break my bonds, (because she knew I would never do that) as much as she was proving to me that waiting might’ve been an OK idea, too. Tough love, I suppose.

When I noticed this, I bowed my head to the master of persistence because I knew that this was her last great stand on the subject—until the next one, that is. “OK,” I thought, “I’d always wanted to get to know this girl better anyway, so I’ll be polite but also be extremely married so as not to create confusion.” Good plan, right? Right. Except then she walked in and I felt myself trembling instantly as the mistake of my marriage soon became undeniably clear. This woman was the most beautiful woman I had seen walk into a room before. And when she spoke, she was even more beautiful.

We each sat at a table with a few other former students that my teacher had kept in touch with throughout the years. None of which, to my knowledge, were also strategically placed by one another. We exchanged pleasantries during the evening with them but somehow always found each other more interesting, so we eventually let the table fend for themselves in the arena of conversation. In fact, by the end of the night it was as if the rest of the table didn’t exist. Instead, I was listening to her and wondering how I was going to maneuver my diet in order to fit her mealtime intricacies into my life after the inevitable demise of my blessed union.

When my teacher and her husband walked by the table to greet all the guests, she shot both of us a look individually, yet simultaneously. She believed she knew what she was doing

She did.

That night ended with my mind a-fluttering but never fully believing a girl like her would like a guy like me because I had become so encapsulated in my world that I forgot to look out for what I needed. Instead I lied to myself for another year or so before my wife and I split; then I tried to fill my life with ideas of other girls, all the while thinking about the one that somewhere I knew I was meant to be with… We were, after all, making each other laugh on Twitter this whole time.

(And through those interactions I found out that she was all the things I had believed in my whole life but had yet to find in a partner: she believes in herself and me. She is funny, courageous, tender, beautiful, and (again) fearless in who she wants to be. All whilst treating others with an enormous amount of respect and compassion.)

As we continued to impress in 140 characters, this past June we had made plans to get together for a drink and really see what type of people one another were. The first hour was spent coyly maneuvering around each other like kittens with a ball of yarn. We were at once completely aloof and totally interested in one another. That “let’s meet for a drink” ended up being a multiple-hour hangout that manifested two more consecutive nights of drinks and company—the last night of which was capped by an adorably aggressive text on her end asking for a ride home even though she came there with plenty of other people that knew her better, and, you know, drove her there to begin with.

I seized this opportunity and became the most debonair version of myself that I knew how and whisked her away for a nightcap that turned into spending five extra hours with her that felt like five fleeting minutes. That night encapsulated our entire week—unplanned bliss that ended up growing us closer together.

Then, she went back home. To another state. (Grew together,  flew apart.)

She exited as quickly as she entered, and just as lovingly. Since that encounter though, (not to mention the consequential times since) we’ve realized that our lives are better with one another in them, and, as a result, have been stupidly struggling through the inevitable downside of a long distance relationship: distance.

(Seriously, I love her, but this shit is hard and deserves its own post.)

I’ve only officially been with her a short time now—and at the very least my first marriage has shown me that I don’t know anything about what is going to happen—but I do know that I’m happier with her than I’ve ever been with anyone else. I’m motivated by her to be the best version of myself, but not for her. For me. She’s reminded me that while it’s OK to show vulnerability, having strength in yourself is the best way help others.

Also, and most importantly, I’ve realized that I like her because I like her. Not because I should like her… The More You Know.

So instead of ending this with a “happily ever after,” I’m going to take the much more practical approach of, “happily-est right now.” Which, as a Nostradamus Of Nurture, I can assure you is all anyone can really ever ask for: to be continually inspired by the person that makes you happiest.