For the past three years, I’ve lived a life of all in. I have my square day job. But my passion is my novel. Not surprising my story explores my provincial thought of the day.

Imagine a round wooden peg like the ones toddlers play with. They have to fit it in the round hole. Easy enough. So why is it that most people try and cram themselves, often beating themselves in the head, into a square hole? Not only is the round peg damaged, frustrated, but the square hole is frayed and still square.

Shouldn’t life be as simple as fitting the round peg in the round hole? If your passion is Whoppah! Gung Fu, and you knew Whoppah! style was kick ass. Shouldn’t you follow your dream of opening a Whoppah! dojo and teach other people how to Whoppah!?

Isn’t it right that we should put all our eggs in one basket?

The dudes that sit in their highchairs, my managers, want to move me to an office where the energy sucks. Other people have said the same. They know I don’t like the energy, and, by moving me there, I’ll have to drive there, polluting the air. They don’t care.

And I’m the round peg that they’re trying to fit in their square hole. What should the long round peg do?

Spiritual Experience with Bruce Lee:  Part 1

With most Asian boys of my generation, Bruce Lee was da man.  Not only did he kick butt, but he always had a reason to do it.  When I was a kid, I’d fantasized:

“Hey you,” said some kid.

“What did you say to me?” I said.

“Gimme your lunch money.”

“You offend me, you offend my familee!”  I pointed at him, swipe my nose with my thumb.  “Whoppah!”

That was as far as my dialogue would go before I dealt some serious whoopin’ of the rear end.  I was a kid.  Around my teens years I’d discovered Bruce had been buried in Seattle, WA.  Just a couple of states above me.  Since then I’ve wanted to go on a quest to find Mr. Lee.

One year, my company forced us to go on non-paid vacation to save money.  I decided to fly up to Seattle and begin my Indiana Jones type search.  I was actually kinda anxious.  Bruce is buried in Lakeview Cemetery.  I fly into Seattle and ask the hotel clerk where Lakeview is.  They inform me it’s like 5-6 hours north.

What?!

Did I fly in the wrong city?  No!  I swore it was Seattle.  I turned to the net, searched, and bam.  Lakeview was 30 minutes away.  Whew!

It was a gray, sprinkly day, and I zoom down the highway with anticipation.  At this point in my life, I’ve read and studied the legend, so there was this energy around me during the trip.  The cemetery was pretty easy to find.  I park my studly rental, a Kia four door, and step onto the wet asphalt.  I look for a map like the kind you find at a mall that says, you’re here–big black arrow–Bruce is here–big red dot.  There was no such map.  A few brown sparrows landed on a patch of green but soon flew off.

I enter the large iron gates.  Whoa!

There must have been a few thousand tomb stones.  Most had names like Yang, Chang, Lang, Dang.  Dang it!  A lot of Asian people.  There were Lee’s, Chong’s, Chu’s…it was like trying to find the needle in a needle stack.  Thirty minutes roaming around where dead people are, and I couldn’t find da man.

Then I noticed something weird, something strange.  Was it a coincidence?

Come back tomorrow and check out part two.