Perception is Truth. But Perception is rarely correct.

What we believe to be the truth is shaped entirely by the information we have available. Trouble is, we’re never operating with all the information. So we make staggering assumptions which keep us at arms length from each other, and might even make us worse in the process.

Marriages are a great example of this. Ask anyone to talk about their married friends and they’ll probably describe the couple that’s having trouble, the couple that never fights, and the other couple who works but no one knows why. And invariably, if you are married, you begin holding your own relationship up alongside these others to see how you measure up.

“Look honey, they’re more considerate than us.”

“Yes, sweety, but that’s because he’s not such an asshole all the time.”

“Wow, look at them, I don’t understand why they stay together.”

“I bet people say that about us…”

And it’s all crap.

There are those that say marriage is being attacked and threatened. I say it’s been put on a pedestal and canonized to the point that we don’t talk about it candidly enough. It’s all whispers and suspicion and secrets and assumption – and then we apply all that misinformation into some mutated yardstick for our own relationship.

Which brings me back to the idea my wife and I had that sent us giggling:

In the blue collar factories of the world, places with coveralls and hard hats, there’s traditionally a sign with interchangeable numbers and a declaration of plant safety. Some variation of “Safety First! This plant has gone ______ Days Without an Incident.”

The numbers grow, changed daily to reflect the ongoing safety of the plant and encourage careful action. Occasionally something boneheaded happens and then big zeros wind up on the board. Everyone takes a sobering look around and tries to go back to work with extra care to keep all their fingers this time.

So there we are sitting in our small group talking about our desire to be transparent with each other. We’re all for that, as walking through life candidly with others is an enormous blessing.  And along these lines one couple said they’d had an “incident” earlier that day. Suddenly my wife and I found ourselves giggling at the thought of one of those boards in every kitchen, probably painted by some person with a little boutique and a penchant for overcharging on knick-knacks:

___ ___ ___ Days Without Incident.

Every house would have their own variation, but the message would be the same.
“Here’s how long it’s been since this marriage had a work stopping argument.”

Imagine going over to a friends house for dinner and seeing three zeros on that kitchen sign. You’d know right away that while dinner conversation may be wonderful, you’re eating in a warzone. It might even be possible to notice the half-vacuumed room or the slightly burned side dish to find the catalyst for what would otherwise have been a petty private argument.

There’d be no more hiding the truth that we’re all struggling to make this thing work. And I have to think the transparency would help us all realize our sameness, and find camaraderie in the sharing.

It would be pretty hard to lust after someone else’s spouse once you realize they’re just as hard to live with as your own. Or maybe that couple everyone thinks is perfect seems to never get to double digits on their board. Would that be sad? No, I say it’s comforting.

I can get so caught up in the little argument, or disappointment, or failure because it exists in the fortress of my private life. Once the windows get opened and my little perspective of truth meets the fresh air of reality those problems morph to a manageable size.

I’m not suggesting that big struggles don’t happen. Actually, if you don’t have one right now, then one is probably on the way. But knowing that everyone around you is engaged in their own fight for survival makes it easier to try again. Misguided perspectives asphyxiate in the fresh air.

I almost want to make the sign for our kitchen. I wonder how much it would motivate us? What conversations would it bring up the first time a visitor saw the number? How quickly would casual comments about the weather turn into sharing something real?

I want long stretches of Days Without Incident. But as blessed as I am in my relationship I doubt we’d set any records. In fact, I doubt I know anyone who would… and that makes me love my wife and my friends even more.

Put on a hard-hat, and be careful out there.

Elsewhere is seems that couples in their twenties are dealing with their second house and second child, and out here men in their forties rent apartments on Sunset and date mid-twenties models.

I find myself influenced by both. I’ve never been the nightlife kind of guy, and I’ve been happily married for more than a decade. But we still rent our home (not for lack of home ownership interest, but for lack of affordable options) and the majority of our friends are childless dream-chasers like ourselves.

Yet in the last year… things have changed.

The obvious change is impending fatherhood. Of course becoming a parent alters conversation and concerns, it’s a foregone conclusion. But starting in the fall of 2008, when the economy took a dive, I’ve noticed a fundamental shift in the issues at hand.

My former boss at New Line found himself without work at the age of 50. More than once we sat across a lunch table from each other trading websites and contacts to inform our job searching. We meet as equals and friends with the common problem of our industry shrinking beneath us.

A long-term mentor and friend since college has always offered me very relevant and insightful advice on how to survive this industry and fight discouragement with hope. Now he finds himself asking “Do I keep doing this?” and “is this vanity?” over everything related to the film industry.

Two friends have recently come to me in quiet moments to give the news that their marriages are ending. People I’ve known for years. Friends whom Catherine and I have shared dinner, and laughter, and similar lives… yet never will again in the same way. I’ve found myself sitting across from these men hearing their stories, asking questions, and being asked for advice.

And it’s in all of these moments that something dawns clear and true.

These are not the issues of children. These are not the musings of Peter Pan.

This is very adult.

I still have friends who drink themselves into a stupor every weekend at some hyper-hip hangout. Others who’ve paid the price with a DUI or three. Thirty-year-olds with a foot still planted in the frat house.

But those ranks are thinning.

Most around me are marching into a sea of heavy issues. It makes me ponder:
Peter Pan never grew up. Never felt responsible. Never struggled with the things that make us “grown-ups”.

But I don’t think it’s possible to appreciate the care-free times completely until you have cares to be released from. In these dark and heavy discussions with friends I’ve found a greater love for every one of them. And when they smile again it hits with actual force.

I’m honored to be walking tough roads with companions. And I’ve felt them lift me when I’m exhausted just as often as I’ve been asked to lift them.

I think the curse of Adulthood is not the pressures, the struggles, or the issues. It’s never stepping back long enough to see freedoms beyond the responsibility. Never-land… the place of where you never have to be grown-up, becomes Never-Land… the place where you never get to be a kid.

I hope I always remember to step away. Or always have someone who knows me well enough to drag me away. And I hope I can do the same for others so we can live where we are and not envy Peter-Pan.

And the iconic films of the 80s were mostly made by one man, John Hughes. He died suddenly today, and in the outpouring of news articles and facebook updates I find myself once again reflecting on how much I hate our response to those who have died.

Here’s a man who shaped a decade of comedy filmmaking. And he shaped a generation of filmgoers. Yet in recent years his work has been discounted as out of date, while gross-out work like Judd Apatow and Will Ferrell has been heralded as the way comedy should be done.

But now John Hughes dies and people come out of the woodwork discussing how great his films were. How iconic. How timeless. How many of those films are still on the top ten lists of folks from my generation. Twitter updates on John Hughes were happening by the hundreds per minute.  Most of my facebook friends included the obituary as their status.   I agree with the sentiment, but I wonder one key thing.

Did he know?

When John Hughes got up this morning, did he feel like someone who people loved? Did he know he made an impact on so many lives? Or did he feel like a has-been. Or never-was.

We do a terrible job of making people feel loved while they are alive. I don’t mean celebrities. I mean our friends. Our families. The people who taught us, or challenged us, or pushed us to be better than we were before.

So much of our lives get filled with people telling us no. Cutting us off. Yelling. Belittling. Pushing us out of the way so they can be next.

Then… in a moment, we lose someone. And suddenly we stop and stand up to say how great they were. How much we loved them. All our favorite things we felt but never shared about their impact on our lives.

This is why I hate funerals. And I’ve skipped some which seemed like obvious events to attend. Because I can’t bring myself to talk about how great someone was when they can’t hear it. If I couldn’t say it when they were alive, what’s the point.

Eulogies should be banned. Unless the deceased knew how much you loved them, don’t tell us now. People need to hear how much they matter while they’re still on earth… and mattering. It makes no difference what you believe of the after-life.

Look at those words: After. Life.

I say, more tributes and eulogies DURING life.

I hope the people who knew and worked with John Hughes told him how gifted he was. I hope his family and loved ones said he mattered.  I’d like to believe he knew.

I will endeavor to tell those in my life. And I challenge you to do the same.

But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… we don’t live “in theory”, and in reality it strikes me quite differently.

These sites tap into the exhibitionist in all of us. We can share up to the minute updates of our most inane activities… and unbelievably, we think others will care.

Informative gems like:

“Watching a movie.” – No you aren’t apparently, you’re typing away on your iPhone.

“Going to bed.” – Did you need to tell me that? Just go already.

“Thinks he ate too much at dinner.” – By all means, share your indigestion with the rest of us!

“Needs a shower” – Great, now we can all visualize you stinking up your keyboard.

“Loves his wife.” – Sweet, but does she know?

And I’ve had many requests to join twitter, as many friends are already on it and want us to follow each other. The truth is I imagine I will create an account for Everyday Driver before too long, but personally I don’t have any random updates worth sharing.

“Todd is sitting on his couch updating his status.” “Todd is going for a hike with the dog.” “Todd thought about doing something just now… and then decided against it.” See? Riveting.

I figure if you’ve got free time and any interest in what I’m doing or what’s on my mind you’ll read my blog. (Hello by the way… to all three of you…) That’s what this is here for… because when I have a thought I really want to share I need more than 150 characters.

Most recently I’ve been wondering how far this status updating can go. Or better yet, how and why are we reconnecting with people who left our life at some point for some natural life cycle reason?

I suspect that kids born this century may never really lose track of their junior high classmates. Now, they won’t talk to them any more than I do… but there they’ll be as one of their 1,249 friends when they are 30. How wonderful, this must be forever, we’re facebook friends! I follow you on Twitter!

“Todd is currently retching.” And then they’ll be 6 people commenting on my status update.

Then there’s the dark and funny side of it… my wife getting an update that someone from her high school class just died. Sad, yes. But Catherine had to look up this girl in her yearbook cause she had no idea who the person was. This hasn’t made us closer, it’s just made us connected by this thin veneer of “I’m interested in you and you’re important to me.” When the truth is we’re all just trying to come up with our next clever status update.

And a girl I barely know has started posting strange call-for-help updates. To the point that after a series of dark postings one just said “help me”. Reading that from thousands of miles away really made me realize how superficial this connection is and how much “look at me” goes into one sentence updates.

Where’s it stop?  Am I going to wake up one day and read:

“_______ just jumped from a building but didn’t realize it would take this long to hit the gro…” 5 seconds ago.

And it will pop up on Twitter and Facebook. Social networking last words.

We’re not closer, we’re blasting a running commentary to hundreds and calling it closeness without sitting down with 1 or 2 and talking things out.

This makes me want to hug my friends. The real ones I talk to regularly and have been through shit with…

And not with some (o) icon either… not via twitter or my iphone. My arms, their necks…

That’s friendship.