B03.1920 There is a saying amongst fellow writers and filmmakers. The saying was passed down to me by Chuck Palahniuk.
“If you want to get a message across, do it three times.”
GOD COMES IN THREES
Two years ago, I was eager to save money for a motorcycle, calculating how much I can save on the side to get a bike within three-to-five years. The thought stuck with me for a whole week, but I never acted.
A year later, the idea came back to me, but the month I scheduled to save money God sent a message - three times.
The first week of my three-to-five year commitment goes as planned. I lower my personal spending for the month to put aside money for a bike. After a trip to Tampa, my wife gets an action news alert of a motorcycle accident resulting in two fatalities, a couple riding their bike back home from Tampa.
A week goes by.
During this time, I minimize my workout routine, prioritizing proximity. My routine: I cross the walking path outside of my subdivision and run about a mile and a half to the nearest landmark, a post office, and loop back for an improvised 5k.
About a half mile back from the house, I see the huge four-way intersection, dividing Florida ave - looking like a mosh pit occurred. The intersection averages one fatal crash a month. This month was no different, except a motorcycle was involved.
I caught my breath waiting for the light to change, I can see motorcycle fragments splayed across the intersection like an I Spy book, only on this page you were asked to find coins or bookmarks, pretty much anything but scrapped metal. Blood sprinkled across the street, wet and sticky.
A car still peaking out of the left turning lane was immobile, with a dent about the size of a subwoofer.
Everyone knew it was a motorcycle accident.
No one knew who was at fault, though rumors had spread to the Winn Dixie across the intersection, where I went to grab a Gatorade. Everyone agreed, there was a 99% chance the motorcyclist didn’t make it.
At this point, I'm hearing God's Whisper but my mind is so focused on the mundane, day to day operations.
A week goes by.
I go for a jog, this time in my subdivision. It’s exactly a mile if I take the full loop from my house and back. It was getting so hot, I didn’t have the courage to commit to anything outside the gate of my subdivision. I found comfort in the fact, if I chickened out from the heat my house was within a half mile radius.
As my legs ease into my jog, I see someone in my neighborhood wave. He was in an electric wheelchair and looked like he came outside for some fresh air.
This was the first time we had spoken to each other. At first it was brief and then after some small talk we decided to talk on the go. He drove, I jogged.
We talked about life, we talked about purpose, we talked about nostalgia. The kind of conversations people are afraid to have but always start and end so naturally.
Our conversation got deeper by the mile and he opened up about his life; his goals, his achievements, his setbacks, and what life still has in store for him. Our conversation still sticks with me when I am in deep thought, drinking coffee or going for a walk. How God might give us one talent, but another calling may benefit our world the most. The last thing he discussed, was how he ended up in a wheelchair. He was in a fatale motorcycle accident. He also expressed the silver lining of the incident; a will to slow down and appreciate the overlooked moments of life.
Our conversation still sticks with me when I am in deep thought, drinking coffee or going for a walk. How God might give us one talent, but another calling may benefit our world the most.
A week goes by.
It’s time to put $60 into my cigar box. When I held the $60 in my hand all the signs God gave for the month reappeared, and I couldn’t ignore the signs.
No matter how much I needed the wind blowing in my face, and that sense of freedom... by myself on two wheels just me and the road... the cards were not in my favor. The plot of my life had reached another turning point.
God said you can’t ride a motorcycle don’t ask me why, I already told you.
There is a natural mathematics to the number three. Gods, signs, messages come in three much like the season. The seasons contain three months with different energy, temperatures, etc..
A baby goes through trimesters, three to get outside of the womb. The power of three has become more noticeable overtime.
When God sent his only begotten son it was in the name of (1) the father (2) the son and (3) the holy spirit. The Holy trinity.
In journalism, my first profession, in order for a lead to have any validity the information has to be cross reference by three legitimate sources.
After college, the best way to learn for me has been to study universal trends. Before I invest in a movie, I watch the first ten minutes. This is like catching a short of the movie. You are given the opening image - short vignette of the world and personalities of your characters, an introduction - who the main characters are, their desires and restraints, and in a very subtle way the theme - what the film is about, the lesson, the driving force behind the story. If these three things connect, I save the movie for a later time and catch the high of the first ten minutes all over again.
Maybe it's my love for music mixtapes and EP's, but watching movie shorts is a whole vibe. It makes me buy into the speculative story and imagine a world not yet complete. Before writing a full script, or focusing on a feature film, I try to master the ten minute rule.
Here is where Chuck's theory comes into play. Every great writer, gives the theme of the story, at least three times to its viewers. When I watch shows like Ryan Murphy's Niptuck, within the first five minutes I can see how the episode's surgery and conflict directly ties to the theme and I can picture the next three major plot points connecting to theme through more than one character.
When you get a chance, watch a movie or your favorite show and see how problems or messages come in threes.
THEME COMES IN THREES
More than ever, this quote resonates with me, "Life is what happens when you are waiting for things to happen."
What we learn from the detours in life is where life begins. This is not the first time God has sent signs, and I had the choice to oblige or ignore them.
When I was a freshman in college, I was applying for a scholarship program. The program matched a paid-intern tuition for students in the field of journalism. A friend stopped by to catch up with me in the summer and with his newly highs and lows, he began a habit of smoking weed.
I was one of three semi-finalist for the position at a local news station. We were supposed to get a call two weeks after our interview, which all three of us did together. It had been three weeks since the interview.
My friend was obtrusive in his need for me to smoke with him. I was resilient, yet not condescending in my declining of his offer. He left it alone after several attempts and we had a great time catching up.
Hours later, I passed by my girlfriend's house at the time and enjoyed a casual afternoon when I realized I had four missed calls from an unknown number. When I redialed, it was the station emphasizing they have been calling me non-stop and I did not pick up. This was a time where unplugging was important to me, my phone was always on silent.
After the lecture, they congratulated me on becoming a finalist and asked when I could start. "As soon as possible."
"That's the spirit. We just need you to take a drug test by the end of the week so we can get your test results along with payroll documents before your first day."
God sent a sign, I responded.
Those of you who know me, know I lost two of my brothers in the span of three years.
In 2016, my friendship with one of my brothers (a friend that was blood to me), was at its peak. Resettling back into Miami we bounded like no time had past us while I was off to college.
This friend was a legend in my city. Yet, we did none of the Drake-esque activities when we were together. We bounded over trips to Whole Foods, joking about how women outnumber men at Whole Foods 7-1 and everyone in here was fit. It was like a pilates class without gym equipment. If men wanted to pick up women, the library or the gym was a thing of the past. There was a new gatekeeper in town.
We bounded in his condo over comfort foods. We talked about life, we talked about purpose, we talked about nostalgia. The kind of conversations people are afraid to have but always start and end so naturally.
One of the last big things we did together was a cruise for our brother who was getting married, another brother of mine not by blood.
We spent a lot of time in the summer together.
Fall comes. We hadn't seen each other in a couple weeks and were excited to catch up.
His girlfriend at the time, set up a surprise party, the same day I had a work obligation going pass 9 o'clock. I advised her I would be there.
With intentions of moving to Central Florida within the next year or so, I let her know and the rest of the attendants I will be there because, "I don't know how much time we have left to spend together."
Remember having friends? You get older, your friends get married, they have kids, you see them as many times as you see your favorite celebrity walking down the street just trying to get some coffee.
The party was at his condo, it was about a 35-45 minutes away. I prided myself in not missing the moments important to my friends and family.
The whole night there was a tug on my shoulders. There was an aura and urge to talk to my friend privately about life and yes men around him. I'd always been known to be the protector of my group, but I had been so reclusive lately.
When I got there, the whole night there was a tug on my shoulders. There was an aura and an urge to talk to my friend privately about life and yes men around him.
The whole time in the condo, I'm getting vibes like I need to speak privately to my brother about urgent matters. Then the feeling of humility swam over me, "Was I jealous because he had a new set of friends that spend more time with him. Is this not my place to look out for my brother's best interest. Maybe I'm just the "old head" in the room (figuratively speaking)?"
I let it go. Some hours go by.
We go to Blackbird Ordinary, a true local hangout for Miamians. The vibe was right, although it was a weekday and well pass midnight. The tug on my shoulders got worse.
The tug felt like a spirit yanking me and telling me to talk to my brother. I suppressed the urge, thinking now was not a good time. The whole time at Blackbird I was seeing ghost, and trying my best to ignore God’s Whisper.
I am known to be clairvoyant. At what cost to my sanity, I do not know.
That same weekend, we get a text from my brother in the group chat, “Beach bound on Sunday boys.”
Staying in on Saturday with a glass of wine, watching stand up, was fine by me. I thought tomorrow will be the day we get to catch up, our core four.
I wake up before 8 am, this is standard practice in Miami. You party late, but you never beach late.
I get a text in a group chat, our flag football one which at the time might have been the same group chat. One of our friends works for the Miami Marlins. He tells us there was a tip on social media that Jose Fernandez has died in a boating accident but he can't confirm the legitimacy of the story and know one in the Marlins organization is privy to the rumor except him.
The last couple texts, in our core four group chat, was my brother excited to be hanging out with some Marlins players at the bar below his condo.
I automatically put the pieces together.
When I called my brother’s phone, it went straight to voicemail. I could hear the echos of waves washing over his phone. I could see the darkness of the ocean. I was in a state of shock.
No one in the group chat had put two and two together, until I got a phone call from my soon to be married brother, the one we threw a bachelor party for on a cruise.
He could barely speak. I understood everything without him saying a word.
God gave me signs, I had a choice, and I chose to stay passive.
There would be no words to express how it feels to lose a brother.
Two years later, my other brother made a decision to become a civilian again. Though we briefly discussed the transition our lives have taken from college and sports, to a 9-5 atmosphere, I never got the chance to share my setbacks once I reacclimated my life back into my hometown, after spending years away from it.
It's an eerie feeling. It was hard to express this to a marine. I did not want to sound like a baby complaining about a toothache to an adult. I just wanted to help ease him into the psyche of a life where you are forgotten about.
God gave me several signs to speak, out of humility and passivity I shelved the conversation.
We talked a few times in 2019. About family, and business ventures and side hustles. I remember one of the last things he told me was, "doesn't talking about the side hustle make you feel so alive."
A week goes by.
He calls, I'm doing frivolous things around the house. Before this conversation, we had some fun Miami nights. In his fashion too, low key, people watching more than drawing a lot of attention to ourselves. With his appearance, it was easier said than done.
On this particular day, he asked about our new dog, and then at some point he was talking to my wife on speaker. There was a slight inflection in his voice, slight croaks that sounded like he was going through deep and dark pain. I could not put my finger on it, but it felt much like the tugging on my shoulders God had given me years back.
A couple weeks go by.
Some rumors spread about my friend passing, and I get a call from my other brother in a very calm manner, almost to keep my composure… how I cop would give you bad news, tells me the rumors are no longer rumors they are true, but he does not know the cause of death.
A couple hours go by.
We get a confirmation it was suicide.
The feeling of losing two brothers, is even harder to put into words. So I cried harder than I ever have in my life.
I told myself this would be the last time I cry in life, then my grandmother died months later. I cried even harder.
Twice I did not follow signs, and these are the decision I live with. Yes, my actions could have resulted in the same outcomes, but whose to say they would not have been different.
I heard once the difference between conscience and conscious is... a conscience is the feeling or guide to the rightness or wrongness of one's behavior where as conscious defined by doctors is present when someone has the ability to put what they are feeling into words.
If a short film or movie was made about my life, these three events would be the message told three times.
The opening sequence, in Patterson like fashion, I stare at a fan for one whole minute of movie time, I build a routine. I workout at 3:30am, then I start my morning write and sketches. The introduction sequence, I am on a scale and I have lost 20 pounds. I go to class, then I finish my second workout of the day with some cardio (basketball most of the time) and auxiliary lifts. The statement theme appears when I come home for the summer and a friend offers me to smoke marijuana. I decline. Hours later, I get offered a matched paid-internship position at a news station, they need me to do a drug test tomorrow morning.
In the second act, or season, of my life, I get the urge to purchase a motorcycle and once again, God comes in threes.
Art imitates life and vice verse. The statement theme in the first 10 minutes of my vignettes of life would quickly announce to the audience that when God gives you a sign you must act on it.
God has given us a conscience, and as humans we have the ability to be conscious to put what we are feeling into words.
These three events or signs have brought me closer to expressing my feelings through any medium I see fit.
Remember, just like there are three verses in a song, a goat just needs three classics. An authoritative writer, like god, can gives us a message three times over in unique ways. If you are stuck, do something three times, each time differently.
All your writing might be missing is a way to emphasize a point two more times. Use totally different plot points, from another character's perspective, with different possibilities on how the characters may reveal themselves through the theme.
My other brother, picked up an addiction habit. I saw when I visited him in college, but I didn't know the right words to say to him. I didn't want to come off as the OG who was lecturing. I knew there had to be balance on how I worded what I was seeing or just like a parent, my brother would show neglect towards me.
I had a great trip, a couple days later I texted him a heartfelt but understanding text about the habit he was having eventually becoming an addiction.
A couple months go by, I find out my brother had a seizure and is currently in rehab. He does not answer his phone. He is embarrassed.
My other tough losses in life, losing two brothers, let me know this time I needed to be diligent, kind, and adamant about using my voice to protect my loved ones.
It is never too late to listen to God's Whisper.
- MCMXX