"how's your soul?" he would ask.

that was the first thing lyle dorsett ever asked me. well maybe not ever, but the first time i sat in his office to talk with him one-on-one, before i was fully in the chair, those three words rang, somewhat startlingly, in my ears. i didn't know what to make of that question, i mean who starts a conversation like that? his way was so disarming though, and on top of that he exuded such a sense of authority that it didn't really matter what he was asking, he was the kind of guy whose question you simply had to answer.

it seemed as though he had the ability to convey in his asking of that question, or any question, the sense that he wasn't asking to put you on the spot as much as he was asking because the answer you'd give really mattered to him. come to find out that question wasn't a sort of one-time engagement, he asked it everytime i sat down to talk with him. i don't remember what i told him that first time, but i know that that he asked me that question frequently enough to get a pretty wide variety of responses.

no one's asked me that in a while, and i really feel like i'm worse off for it. to be really honest, i'm not sure there's anybody in my life that's close at hand that i feel would have the kind of authority and care and relationship for that question to go as far now as it did then. i guess that part of growing up is making the sort of adjustments that minimize the absence of a presence like that.

sooner or later though, you notice.

feeling: the need for a release of endorphins
thinking of: second floor, billy graham center
music: "ball and chain" social distortion