Lighting the lightning.

 I see worlds ending.

At least that's what it looks like to me as I look into her eyes. A mesmerizing, hazelnut ending of worlds, with flecks of gold and green falling into the dark, and it's all looking back at me, inviting me in.

There's lightning deep in those eyes.
And it's hard not to get lost.
It feels like a lazy Sunday all to our own as we wrap ourselves around each other in the big, warm, wooden bed. Skin against skin, we've passed the day away staring into each other. My hands running through her soft, flowing hair, watching it fall against her naked back. Her hands tracing soft circles on my back; my secret kryptonite. My goose bumps betray just how much I've always loved that.
It feels like we've known each other for a lifetime, even if it's only been a day. Funny how that is.
The sheet desperately hangs on, just hiding her backside and mine as we tangle in each other. Our lips locked in taste, our hands locked in embrace, they grip tighter and she rolls on top of me. Her naked chest against mine. Through her breasts, I feel her fast beating heart going to the beat of my own. Her hair falls in my face and hangs in my beard. A middle aged mans hand pulls the blanket down. She sits upright. She's beautiful, shyness gone. I move onto my elbows to follow her...

Wait.....What? Why is there a hand.....

"NINNNNNNNNNEEE!! Beseitigen Sie die Decke vollständig! Ich möchte keine Decke sehen!!!"
The walkie screams unknown German into our ear and we come back to reality faster than a Christmas DUI.

"The client would like to get rid of the blanket completely." the photographer says.

Right. Because this isn't a lazy Sunday is it?
Nope. Just looks that way.

Almost tho....

It's times like these that I feel like I live my life in "just looks that way" mode. I feel like one of those fake, cardboard televisions or stereos they put on furniture in Ikea to make it all look more "real".
With all the flavour of those styrofoam packing peanuts.


Almost, but not at all.

Gratuitous Zoolander reference: check.

So while "we" may not be real, the question of the blanket most certainly is.
We look at each other and she gives me "the look." I know this look. I know what this look means so I say to our photographer "Can we have a minute? We need to talk about this. Alone."

He's surprised and after a pause more awkward than Walt Disneys man crush on Mickey, he says "Ok." leaving the room to join the rest of the crew just outside the door. Loud, halting German speak ensues.
Ahhhh,  the language of romance.












"So.....They want us naked. What do you want to do?" she says.




And this is me at work.

How did this become my life again?

Well, that story, a long, colourful one, that I still have trouble believing, is a story for a different day but it invariably ends with me here in Africa being asked if I'm willing to shoot completely naked. In the buff, sans pants, no underwear or most importantly and our last line of decency; the blessed sheet. It's a line, no doubt. One we either cross or don't. It's our call and our agents will back us either way but so far today, we have crossed a lot of these lines. Small little concessions as we've shot this intimate couples shoot for our German clients. They've been very happy with the results (at least I think that's what I grabbed from all the yelling) as we've moved through our shots and now as the day is ending, so are the places to hide my "shame".
Like a politician sweating KY; this whole thing is getting a little slippery.

Now, to be fair, if I lost the sheet....and the underwear..... I wouldn't be technically naked.....I would still be still wearing that one last thing. One very common piece of clothing.... just not how it's usually worn.
Question for you: Every see the Red Hot Chilli Pepper's perform? Well, I would be wearing basically the same wardrobe............... but with less funk and a lot less drugs.

A LOT less drugs.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say here is:



I would be wearing a sock.
A sock on my cock.

Said the jock named Brock?
Where's Dr. Seuss when you need him.

So I get a sock and she gets a hat?

The sock in question, would be a black, Nike brand ankle sock but if I'm being honest here....I just don't think it's really a good look for me. Why not put me in a suit? I KILL in a suit. But just a sock? You put me in one sock and I'll look ridiculous and it makes me wonder; what's the point? Why not just go naked?
Couldn't I just ugly girl it?

Laces out Ray Finkle.

For anyone who has seen the end of the above scene, you know why that's a bad idea.


So as I see it, there are definite reasons to sock it up. Three key reasons to be specific.
So let's talk cock blocking socks shall we?


First reason for the socks existence:
Seeing how there are two of us here shooting in very close contact, it's a basic hygiene thing preventing..... things from.....touching. Nuff said?
It better be because I'm not explaining that one.

Thank you Christian sexual health video from the 1990's.

Second, it's an insurance thing. For me, I'm pretty relaxed with where my pics end up and anyone who cares to google my name will see this by the sheer mass of embarrassing work I have floating around on the inter web.

Hurts....brain....

That said, I don't really want to add cock shots to that mix. I don't see that doing me any favours so, by wearing the sock, I can make sure that there are no in-between-takes shots that somehow end up somewhere online where they shouldn't. Call me paranoid but this happens more than you would think. In any given shoot where you're half naked, you can usually look up and take a quick glance of the room to see someone trying to snap off a shot of your baked goods .......and like dudes with whistles, it's hard not to just yell at them to fuck off.








Because seriously; who likes dudes with whistles?
WORST.

Can I un-invite you?

 So anyways, the sock nullifies the cock shot lookieloos.




Third and how do I say this.....It makes things less hard.
Are you reading me?
No? Well then let me spell it out for you:
I'm talking about boners here people.

It's the pleats?

Steamers, ramjams, stiffies, rigs, pocket rockets, pea shooters, dingdongs.... I could go on ......but why not let 1990's heart throb James Vanderwhatever do it better.

But whatever you choose to call it, that's not the point.
The point is, I pride myself on being completely professional on set and when I shoot with a girl I work hard to make sure she's 100% comfortable. So popping a tent while shooting is not only super unprofessional but makes things a wee bit awkward.
Like when Kanye speaks.

Because Kanye west is a total hard on.

So, just because a pocket rocket decides to pop up and rear it's ugly head in the middle of a shoot, does not mean it's ok. Trust me; it's not. I don't care if it's just natural. So is Ebola.

That being said, it's important to remember that while the end result of a shoot can look hella steamy and intimate, in reality, a film set is about as sexy Seth Rogans loofa. It's hardly a romantic setting where you have sex on the mind. Instead, it's usually a big open, dick-shrinking cold room with bored-looking crew all standing around watching you do take after take as you focus on your marks and blocking. Pressed on time and heavy on expectations, it's not exactly a stimulating experience.
That being said....... nature is a funny thing and skin on skin is a powerful drug, so the sock helps keep that issue from..... arising.
Understood?
Good. So the sock stays.







And besides, it's a lot more than girls get to wear in these situations....

Hard day at work?

Remember that time.....
Me too.


But again, another story for another day friends.






"So what do you want to do?" she says. I look to her as if to ponder but I already know my answer. I knew it when I woke up this morning before my alarm and I knew it when I said yes to the job three days ago.



I miss that feeling....


You see, back when I first shot with a photographer, that very first time looking down the lens, I remember this crazy excitement from the whole thing.


 This nervousness that had my hands shaking and my heart beating out of my chest. This lightning coursing through my veins that made me feel alive for the next week until it wore off and I needed more. Until the next time I booked a job and had to do it again. I think that feeling of excitement you get from being in front of a camera, is a feeling rooted in the fact that you can't hide. The camera catches you for all that you are. A good photographer catches what' s going on behind your eyes and when you step in front of a camera it's your choice to shy away or to rise to the moment. To be that person you always wanted but for some reason never felt you could. To show the you that you usually keep just for yourself. It's that expression of your inner soul that makes for lightning and for me; I got addicted. It made me feel alive from that very first time.

How all hair looked in 2003.

Unfortunately though, time passes and things fade.
Just ask Luke Skywalker.

Stop forcing it bro.

Yes life has a way of making you forget. Fast forward 10 years in front of a camera and I rarely feel anything but a small speed bump now when I step in front of a lens. Call it life, call it a profession or call it burnout but whatever it is; I do miss that feeling.
So when the opportunity came up to do a shoot that required something new of me, something where I would be outside of my comfort zone; I knew I had to do it. I knew I had to say yes, if not for anything else other than to feel that feeling again. That lightning.

You know, when I put it like that, I can't help but think that people are going to read this and think "Kevin took off his pants to feel alive again."...... and while I'm not sure that that is exactly the message I'm trying to get across here.......I guess fuck it. Why not? Just a little more garbage tinder for the internet bonfire right?

As is always the case; no matter what the words I write it comes down to how you choose to read them.
Maybe you see a story of an afternoon spent trying not to get lost into a beautiful woman.
Maybe you see a bunch of tasteless wiener jokes.
Or maybe you see a storm chaser...looking for lightning. Chasing that moment.

Whatever you see, those world ending hazelnut eyes are looking for an answer.


Time to man up, Dirk.


The german speak has gone silent now. They await.


"I'm game if you are." I say and as I do I see into her eyes....
And see that very same lightning.

She's smiles.
Ok then. We are doing this.

Scheiße....


The sock, sitting there with it's little Nike swoosh, looks up to me and says "Just do it man" and with that; I "gear" up and call in the photographer.
All the last reservations are quiet now, drowned out by my very alive, pounding heart.


And it feels wunderbar.

She's got the look

"What are you looking at?" she says.

Shit.

"Um, what?" I say.

"You look zoned out. Are you listening to me?"







Definitely wasn't listening.
Where am I again?







Riiiight. The non-date.
She, is the woman sitting across from me and between us there are two not deep enough glasses of pricey vino as we soak in tonights artificially antiqued ambience. The restaurant is a brand new, rustic looking place with expensive, dilapidated driftwood type chairs. The kind of place where they say things like "tapas" and "a la carte" instead of saying things like "expensive" and "get ready to still be hungry".
Regardless, I came here for what I smoothly thought was a date....and she thought was........well, not that anyways.

Good times. Not awkward at all.

"My boyfriends obsessed with this dish!' She said while looking at the menu.

Now THAT part I definitely heard.
She orderers the duck a la orange. With sides.

Separate checks it is.

"Kevin! WTF?"
I scramble.
"TOTALLY!" I say. "I'm listening. Sorry, long day. Go on."

Her eyes judge me for an awkward moment before either finding what she's looking for or not really caring enough to see it for the blatant lie that it "TOTALLY" was. Either way, she's back to talking and I'm back to daydreaming.

Daydreaming about her.


I know. It's the classic cliche that guys never listen but tonight I just can't seem to help it. I really do want to listen but something keeps distracting me. Her story about (insert something no guy would ever find interesting here) .........was great.
Really good stuff.

But all I could think of was one thing:

This is the most beautiful women I have ever met in my life.

So let's go get sidetracked in that for a moment...

Have you ever met someone who was so attractive it stopped you in your tracks? Someone that redefined your parameters of what beauty is? Someone who was so stunning that it actually worried you how powerless you were around them? A person so entrancing that they had the ability to kryptonite the part of your brain that controls things like speech and reason?

Well I definitely have and she's sitting across from me right now...blinding me like Miss South Carolina staring into AC Slaters never-aging dimples.

Nailed it.




Ok, so to put her in perspective, let me sell you on how painfully beautiful this woman is:
She is amazing and fantastic.



In fact, she's so fantastic that she actually sued that cleaning spray called Fantastic for copyright infringement. And won.

True story.

Not a true story.

She is so beautiful that the radio stations of my mind have all been take over by a emergency broadcast of the same breaking story:

This woman is made of heaven and you need to make her love you back.

She is what little baby angels want to be when they grow up.

She's so beautiful that when cupid has wet dreams, it's HER he's dreaming of.

Every lovey dovey Halmark card ever bought was written by me and it was for this women.

Sold yet? 

Anyways, I could go on about her...... and apparently, so could she because she's gone back to talking about....something, but like before, I got nothing. She's Helen Keller'd me before I ever hear any of it.

It is a shame though. I want to pay attention to what she's saying. I want to know who I'm sitting across from on this non-date. I really do but her beauty is just too fucking loud. Front row, no one understands me like Dubstep!!! kind of loud. Her kind of beauty is so loud that it over powers anything she says.
And It probably always has. 

Which is a funny thing to think about. Can you imagine what it would be like to have people always there listening to you but never hearing any of it? Eagerly wanting to be around you but not bothering to get to know you? That no matter what you said, people would nod and agree like drooling Fox news anchors interviewing a republican.

Come to think of it...... maybe this is a good time to check if I'm drooling. 

Nope. No drool means we're good to go so I throw in another "TOTALLY", order another glasses of wine I can't afford and go back to daydreaming about the dream girl sitting in front of me.

What's bark made of?

Which is exactly the problem. I'm dreaming of a girl that's sitting here with me instead of being present and in the moment with her. I'm painting an image of what I want her to be in my head Vanilla Sky style instead of seeing her for who she really is right here in real life.
Painting broad strokes over the finer details of her character.

So when I say she's scary beautiful, I mean it when I say scary (and not in a Scary Spice kind of way..... although she's alright too I guess. Each to their own. I personally was always more of a fan of Baby Spice. Total knockout in 2 become 1. Def my fave)
Where was I?
Oh ya...scary in that it's scary that someone could render my brain so completely useless. That someone can shrink my brainbox to the size of a Hong Kong apartment. That no matter what comes out of her mouth, I'll TOTALLY agree and think she's amazing. She has me at her beck and call for the rest of her life kind of beauty.
Want me to carry your new friends carry on bag through security? No prob.
Need help making signs for your big West Borrow Church rally tomorrow? Sure thing.
I'm cool like that Baby Spice. I gotcha.
She could burn my house down into a pile of smouldering ashes (also known as a Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez breakup) and when the cops came to arrest her I would tell them "You guys just don't get her like I do."

She's a bit of a firecracker.

So maybe this is why we all have that one friend, who for the most part seems like a smart, logical person.......who's somehow paired up with the spawn of satan incarnate.

We all know the story: Your buddy introduces you to his new girl and her handshake is so cold and limp that you worry that he met her at the Pet Sematary. She spews icy, venomous looks your way and scares the local wildlife south months early, but in your buddies eyes she's everything he's ever wanted. Remember that movie Saving Silverman? Well it's like that but with less fat funny guy spilling nachos everywhere:

*Side note
  Steve Zahn: still hilarious for some reason.




So what's going on here? It's clear that there's a disconnect somewhere in how we see each other. That we can become so enamoured by our painted perception of someone that we become unable to see them for who they really are.
Like for example, this horrible human being.
If the majority of marriages end in divorce (because Dr. Phil wouldn't lie would he?) then surely it's not that ALL of these people were all making a rash, foolish KFed-esque mistake but that they genuinely believed that they had found the Ross to their Rachel.
Or should I say "Brangelina"?






I hate that I know this shit.







Have you ever stopped to wonder what's the point of seeing someone as attractive? What purpose does it serve? How is it that we we judge each other for the shape of our faces when we have absolutely no ability to control those features in the first place? How does it make any sense whatsoever that who we spend our time with be based on their beauty?!

"Well, ya she treats me like shit in front of company but you should see her ass dimples in a bikini. TOTALLY worth it."





Ya. Totally.

Picking a spouse based on looks is like picking a car based on the colour.

Sure, it's true that looks are merely part of a much bigger equation. There's obviously more to it then just physical attraction, because if someone is stupid you're likely to get sick of them pretty quick.....but likely is the key word in that sentence. Sometimes beauty overrides our bullshit detector when we're not paying attention and while we would all like to believe it doesn't happen to us; we may be lying to ourselves.
Like when we eat fat free frozen yoghurt and say it's ok.
It's not ok people. That shit is pure street crack.
When it comes to the topic of looks, It's kind of like when people say: Dance like no one is watching.
Sure, it sounds like a nice idea worth a like or two on Facebook but in reality; we all secretly want to look at least a little cool while dancing.






And besides;  YOU try keeping calm when you have this woman giving'er like no one's watching.
In front of your kids.
Who are DEFINITELY watching.

So we care about looks. It's inescapable. But how and why did this happen? Are we all that superficial? Or is it just genetic? Is it simply in our human nature? Built into our DNA from a time long passed? How would looks have played a part in our pre-instagram, hunter gathering days?
How would chiseled features and a good jaw line have benefited Encino Man on his hunt for more wooly mammoth jerky?

I still love you Topanga

Then again could it be a more recent phenomenon in human history? An appreciation for the "finer physical qualities of a partner" that came with an exploding population increase thus leading to an increase in mating choice? Back when people were few and far between I'm sure we were much less picky eaters.
Mostly though, I'm inclined to think it's a mix of both. Likely, we have a predisposition to physical attraction that has been dramatically amplified by a skin deep pop culture. Perhaps we can chalk it up to the years of subliminal messages from advertisements screaming for our attention during a childhood raised on marshmallow crack-cereal and TGIF.
Maybe our deep-rooted love affair with eyeballing purdy looking people is the end result of a lifetime of ads being crammed into our faces.
Whatever it is, we just can't seem to help being attracted to good looking people.

It's undeniable that we celebrate people we find gorgeous; sometimes, being balls-out obvious about it.

Witty check under the hood/my underpants joke here

Painted on abs: the hottest trend in war paint

But many times it's more insidious as we think we celebrate someone for their (artistic, poetic, heartfelt, orwhateverbullshityoucomeupwith) ways........ and it just so HAPPENS that they are nice to look at.

Riiiight. and Anna Kornikova stayed in the headlines for her really swell serve.

So it can make you wonder: what accomplishments are my own? Which ones did I actually earn based on my hard work and merit and which did I earn based on the genetic lottery of how I look?
Who earned it more? This guy:

Or this guy:

Sad doesn't begin....

Both achieved success most could only dream of. Both have been celebrated for their wide range of work and both have my utmost respect for what they are able to do onscreen (Cruise haters be damned).... but which one worked harder to earn it? Which one had the tougher path? Which was sure to play the good guy?

Don't tell me you don't know.

Hoffman's tragic too-early death is surely telling of a man that went through a rough, inner battle in his life. Of that there's no doubt, but don't confuse me for condoning drug use just because the guy wasn't typically attractive. That's obviously a TJ Mackey sized load of bullshit. Lots of people have amazing success despite, shall we say "less than conventional" good looks...... but could you imagine Tom Cruise being a depressed closet heroine user?

I think we can all agree that he doesn't fit that role. Slightly crazy, sure but not someone who's reaching for the razors. Which just goes to show that as ugly as it is; we can't help but associate good looking people with success. Hence why we buy garbage we don't need from so-called beautiful people.

The question then is who would you rather be? The man who had to work exponentially harder to get it or the man who will always question if he truly earned it?
Either way, both have their battles and both are battles that wouldn't exist if our world weren't hijacked by something as superficial as skin deep beauty.
Years spent working as a model have shown me a really ugly side of pretty. Watching supposedly gorgeous people carry themselves with a sense of entitlement based solely on something they played no part whatsoever in creating... and then seeing others celebrate them for it has left me with a low-level loathing for it all.
It's convinced me that we would be a lot better off without the whole aesthetic thing. I believe attraction hides our real selves not only from each other but from ourselves. When you look in the mirror and see something looking back at you that the world is willing to praise; it becomes very easy to sit back, relax and let it in instead of building on ones character. Conversely, when you see the mirror looking back at you with a plain or uncelebrated look; how does one separate that from who they are on the inside?
Good luck not internalizing a lifetime of that.
Yes, physical beauty can be nice to appreciate and fun get lost in but ultimately; I believe it is a fog that blinds us from the inner importance of who we are. It has our souls driving racing cars blindly past each other. Some shiny and some rusted. It is a mask that hides from us the deeper beauty that lies in those all around us. Instead of seeing people solely for quality of their character, we become focussed on......



Other assets.

"I hear they're low on underwear too"

Thinking of all this makes me wonder how many people I would've loved but never gave a second thought based on them "not being my type". It makes me wonder how much time I've spent on people I found attractive but couldn't see I had little in common with......and vice versa: How many of my friends enjoy my company for who I am without my looks playing a hidden factor.
An unattractive thought to say the least.


Mostly pertinently though, right here and now it's making me wonder what I'm doing in this overpriced restaurant.
Have I wasted my time sitting here not paying attention to the beautiful, stunning stranger in front of me?



The answer:









Totally.

Find your own adventure

Maybe I have this all wrong I think to myself.
If ever there was a place to make me reconsider my travelling ways, this very well might be it. Sitting shotgun beside a good friend that I haven't seen in too many years, we pull his truck off the gravel road and into what very well could be heaven.......if there is such a thing.
I imagine John Lennon would've wrote different lyrics had he been here so let me paint you a picture of what heaven looks like to me:
The trees part as we drive the old truck into the clearing. The sideways evening light shines its warm golden rays through the Birch trees, lighting an old charming country home that looks like it should be on the side of a maple syrup container. At the sound of our arrival, my friends beautiful wife rises from the garden, wagon full of freshly picked vegetables in tow and beams a smile our way. Two year old baby Benjamin runs with a hug locked and loaded for Dad, flanked by a posse of tail wagging dogs and inquisitive cats. It's a homecoming parade of happiness and it happens every day at work day end. While I've found my adventure overseas, they've found their adventure here, together, every day in tending the farm animals and doing the chores.
And in each other.
Seeing them in their country side paradise, my envy doesn't fit in my already overflown, tired suitcase. To me, they've figured it out. They live a purposefully simple, content life and today I am their welcomed guest. It's an honour not lost on me.


As is often the case when I return home to Canada, I bathe in the warm hospitality of good friends and spare beds. This particular friend I haven't seen in at least 5 years but you wouldn't know it from how easily we slide back into good old times as we catch up over the farm chores.
Time reveals all and friendship is no different. The ever-running clock on the wall has taught me something interesting about friendships: sometimes friendships happen when people bond over where they are. Sometimes it happens when people bond over who they're with.
Our fifteen year friendship is definitely the latter and I'm lucky to have a friend as good as
Mike Lewis.

It's always a mixed bag coming "home" to a place that feels oddly foreign but still somewhat familiar. It's something I've written about before and anyone who's ever travelled for an extending time knows the feeling well. But it also serves as a window for showing you where your friendships fall. The Whos and the Wheres..... and I've been lucky to have met a lot of Whos.

The Wheres may be there with you but it's the Whos who will be there for you and the last couple months of adventure have surely taught me this.
To fill you in, the last time we talked I was in Mexico City trying to do that whole making money thing (my friends keep telling me this might be a good idea) but instead I was getting my butt kicked like Pinocchio in politics.
Muchos frustrating.

So let me share with you the baking ingredients for Mexico City disaster cookies:
-A dash of your agency not coming through with the work visa (which means no making dineros)
-2 cups of Xanax fuelled agents that clearly took a couple too many siestas
-4 cups of Thrifty's car rental charging $600 in extras for speeding tickets from your Cape Town trip
-147 cups of credit card fraud and a clueless bank that couldn't care less that you're stranded in Mexico City
-One pinch of still waiting on payment for your 3 months of previous work in Cape Town

Combine ingredients in a Mexican mixing bowl and bake in 80% humidity at 30 degrees for about two and a half months and you will end up with a crumbly one way ticket cookie back to Canada.

That and diarrhoea.

Sharing is caring:)

So arriving with my financial tail between my legs and a suitcase full of dirty laundry, I was open and ready for a life lesson and somewhere in all of this; it was there waiting for me to find it. It was there in the open arms of the Whos as they shared their homes with me, reminding me of what it is that makes this whole thing worth it. Reminding me that there is adventure in life wherever you choose to find it. Whether here or there. That you don't need to travel to find your adventure, for it can be right there in front of you....if that's where you choose to make it. But also reminding me that if you do head off into the unknown, your true friends will be with you wherever you go....
and there when you return.

Good friends who are glad to see you home and proud to see you go.
Good friends like these two epic beauties for example.

Back when I was leaving Canadiana to go to Cape Town South Africa, Linds and Joh showed me just how lucky I am to have the friends I do in the form of this pretty epic video. Linds somehow managed to corral a bunch of my friends from around the world to make asses of themselves while they lip sung a song they CLEARLY couldn't remember the words too.
This will never stop being funny to me and I will love them forever for it.

So after watching this sweet vid too many times, forever searing this song into my head, I made a plan to pay them back in kind. A way to say thank you for making me feel at home no matter where I am. Whether on a perfect family farm or in a far away land on a new adventure, it's friends like these that remind me that we all have our own adventure to find..... and that no matter where we go, we will never go there alone with the love of good friends.

A big thanks to Klaudia, Lora and all my CT friends who put up with me constantly singing this song.
An even bigger thanks to all you rockstars who took the time to sing it to me.
Linds, Joh, Tara, Toby, Leah, Anna, Millie, Kyle, Yulia, Lauren, Jeff, Justin, Tom, Mel, Louis, Ian,  Curtis, Graeme and JP I will never forget it.
Miss ya.

Such great heights

Can I stay here forever?
It all looks so peaceful as I watch out the faded window of this tiny plane. It's almost enough to drown out the blaring of its tired Cesna's engine. High above the world, there's a calmness. Everything feels so clean. So perfect. So silent.....

Silent except for the beating of my adrenaline-pumping heart which knows better. It knows what's about to happen. What I am about to do. 

This is called the calm before the storm.
Calm like a Hindu cow.

"You ready?!" He says. 

My body screams NO while I hear my lips say "Yes!"
He is my weathered instructor and his skin looks like it's made of bark. Beneath it, Im pretty sure his veins pump Redbull. It's just another day at the office for him but wouldn't know it judging from the crazy sparkle in his eye and his never-fading giant smile. He is excitement lived.
I look back to the window and the daydream continues as I relish the moment. 
It's a Christmas eve of excitement-wrapped anticipation. 
Then the door swings open and with that; the calm is gone. 
It's replaced with a howling wind that screams through the tiny cabin. Rushing around us, it takes away our voices, as if to say "You do not belong here". But we don't listen. Instead we move towards the gaping hole in the side of the plane and before I can think about it, we swing our feet out in one fluid motion.

Now my legs are hanging outside of a plane, 11 000 feet up, dragging in the screaming wind. This is all becoming reality a little too fast. Slow down Father time.
Can we go back to calm like a Hindu cow?
Apparently not.
While I focus on keeping an iron clad grip on to the edge of the door, my instructor double checks our harness. 

Probably a good idea. Please do it twice.

Meanwhile every cell in my body collectively asks my brain "what the shit are you doing?! Are you crazy?!!" 

Just crazy enough to think I'm not

It's a good question and as my heart bangs out of my chest and the wind howls through the cabin, I remind myself I want to do this.

Or at least I wanted to. Back when my friends and I signed up for this, it seemed like a jolly good time. A real swell idea.

Now? Not so sure. I'm beginning to wonder. What was the point of this again?

Oh right:
That whole Carpe diem thing.
To earn the days before my death.

Sounds a little dramatic right? Maybe, but by now you know my writing comes with a poutine-sized gravy load of dramatic flair.
Story time:


I'm kind of obsessed with death.

Sounds weird right?

Well, I've always just been astounded by the undeniable fact that one day I am going to cease to exist. That I will be no longer. 

I am going to die. 

I've never really gotten over that one.

What an absolutely crazy realization right?! Seriously!? How the hell are we supposed to get anything done knowing this? Our deaths looming presence can be paralyzing and totally overwhelming (which is probably why our brains play politician and try and make you forget about important stuff like this). Yet as terrifying and helpless as it can make you feel .....It's also liberating. When you stop and think about it, it is this do-not-pass-go termination clause that makes every moment of our lives all so very important. Death is the period at the end of the sentence of our lives. Death is the road to awe. Without it there would be no consequence and anyone who's ever played poker "Not for money, just for fun" knows that it's about as much fun as sex education at Sunday school.
It is the very real fear of loss that drives us to gain.
It is the coming end that makes us want to begin.
It is what gives our lives urgency for the sweet is never as sweet without the sour.
I will never believe in a cloud comfy afterlife spent playing checkers with Tupac and Lennon. 

King me bitch.

Some rhyming words for your consideration:

I have no doubts my death shall come

Of that I'm sadly sure. 

Instead the doubt is as to when

My heart shall not endure 

Although we know we're doomed to go

We're lost when faced with where 

We theorize far past our eyes 

In hopes to dim despair

Some speak of clouds and pearly gates

That keep sake those we love

High above in flowing robes

As white as flying dove

They wait for us until the day

When heart shall not endure

And our time comes to grace the gates

And take our final tour

The thought is nice and calming still

When faced with end of all

But deep in where I should believe 

There lies a nagging gal.

 "OOOKAAAY Kev. Enough already. Is this post going to be all tears, fears and death poetry or you jumping out of a God damn plane already?!"
I know. I'm getting there I promise. 5 more minutes and we will jump out of a plane, I swear.

Anyways, back to me.

It is this sense of urgency, this thirst for life which led me to Cape Town South Africa. After hearing enough "best place ever" recommendations from my adventure seeking friends, I found myself a new modelling contract in this secluded, paradise city and booked a ticket. As soon as I go off the plane I was hit with the sheer beauty of the city's mountainous backdrop. The crisp dark blue of the southern Atlantic Ocean crashing into the jagged rocks peppered along it's many beaches. The golden hued sunsets lighting an adventurers dream playground. 
No pictures will ever do it justice, for you can't save the sunset.
But I'll still try.

Wandering through South Africa's beauty, it didn't take long to find those who like me, wanted to cram as much life into ever day spent here. I've always been lucky enough to find friends throughout my travels but my crew in CT was special. We fit seamlessly for all of our differences. Like models and mirrors; we were smitten at first sight.

A millisecond before Stephan kicked Anthony in the face.

A crew like no other.

The roster:

Stephan- The Energy

Anthony- The Heavy

Tamara- The Laughter

Prabh- The Youth

Martin- The Emotion

And myself?
Well, they called me Daddy Kev.

With our roles in place and kinship set; we set out for adventure and we found many. We hiked mountains and rappelled down the side of them. We rock climbed, ran beaches and surfed the waves that crashed upon them. We swam with the sharks, parasailed with the birds and rode horses at sunset.

We ate cheesecake.


A lot of cheesecake.


Way too much cheesecake. This is what you get when you hang with European food junkies.
We played ukelele on midnight beaches and skinny dipped in their frigid, manhood-shrinking waters. 

We sang to an audience of penguins, walked with ostriches on secluded sands and were chased in kind by wild baboons who stole our lunches.

We travelled long roads to jump off far away bridges.

The world was ours to be lived.

Fuck yo couch

We did it all. We wrote our own story. A story worth telling.

And we jumped out of perfectly working planes. Or at least I'm about to.

My brain asked me why I'm about to do this and my soul answered back. This jump is about my quest to push as much life through these eyes as I can. To put my death in my back pocket and go live a life worth living. It might sound cheesy to you but I don't care. This life isn't a rehearsal. This is it. This is all we get and it's the only chance we get to do it all. So why wouldn't you? Why wouldn't you go and do all the things that thrill you, fill you and give you that never fading giant smile? You can look at all these photos and see a life that might look unreal to you, but remember; my life wasn't like this until I went out and found it. Until I went out and chose to make it that way.
Being scared of death isn't a reason to hold on. It's the very reason you shouldn't. It's the reason you should let go.
So go do it already.

For only those that chance the fall will ever reap the heights.

In the words of Bukowski:
Find what you love and let it kill you.
(but maybe hold off on the whole killing part. Not just yet anyways.)

It is this need to push myself, to earn my life that is why I have to do this. This is why I want to do this.
It's time to let go of it all and jump out of this plane.

This safe, perfectly working plane.

Well, that and my friends will call me a huge pussy If I don't.

The wind on my face is calling me. It's time.

It's funnier if you blow on the screen

And with that I let go

and fall into the sky. 

See you on the ground my friends.

Another day earned.