Category: beloved

Dinner with My Dad: A Reflection on Life Lessons

I recently came across a writing prompt that interested me.
“If you could have dinner with anyone past or present, who would you choose?”

To pick just one person that I would want to have dinner with, alive or dead, is a challenge. Most people might choose a celebrity, a poet, a musician, or a politician. I can surmise that this is the point of the exercise for them. How would I begin to pick the one person whose contribution, ideas, heroic deed, etc. inspired me to select them over any other? Another question, would it be considered trite or a wasted opportunity to choose a family member, such as my Dad?

Well, I am picking my Dad.

Dinner with my Dad would be a very particular scenario. It would be a recreation of a lunch I once had with him when I was 23 years old. I can remember only one time as a young man when he and I ever went out as just guys. We had a beer. It was special in many ways. Obviously, spending time with my dad was special in its own right. But it was also one of the first times he stopped being in “dad mode.” He was just a regular guy. As an aside, I call this the dad hat. It’s my nickname for Dad’s tendency to act based on his perception of ‘Dad’ as a role. This happens rather than him acting as a person. I admired his dedication to it. Often, though, I wished he could have just been a friend when I needed it. That day, he was just that.

I remember that I was really struggling with some heavy shit that day. He was very helpful in listening intently. He only offered advice when asked. Of all of the conversations that day, I fondly remember him saying his famous line to me. He truly believed in that line. One that I never came around to until after he died. He said, “ Bill, believe it or not, everything will work out.”

Today, if I were to sit across from him at the same restaurant, I would struggle. I wouldn’t know what to tell him first. I mean, where do I even begin? He has been gone 12 years now, and I have spent so much time talking to his headstone. I would tell him that I miss him more than words can describe. I would tell him that the world makes less sense without him around. That men like him are a dying breed. I would apologize for so many things. I would save the best for last. I survived some mind-blowing shit. I would tell him that sitting across from him is a miracle in itself. I have come around to his trademark saying. Everything, in fact, will, does, and did work out. That in no way means that my life is what I wanted it to be. It means that I understand, and that it worked out a helluva lot better than it could have.

I realize that I have described a very one-sided conversation. It’s because I have so much to tell him. I want to honor him. I will tell him how much he was right about. I have come to value his simple yet poignant take on the complexities of life. I remember the quiet disappointment in his eyes as he dispensed valuable wisdom to deaf ears. It would mean everything to me to set the record straight. I want to see the satisfied, redeemed, look on his face. A humble man, who, like his dedicated son, only wants to know that he made a difference by sharing the wisdom accrued over a too-short, hard-scrabble life.

Finally, the check would come. He would try to pay, as expected. But I would insist. It would be one more payment towards the inequity of all that he gave me, which would be frittered away. He would insist on paying the tip. At that moment, I would remind him that he has also given enough tips in his time on earth. All of this is a feeble effort. I want to show him that his generosity of spirit and wisdom are not lost on me after all. He never knew just how much his sage advice has guided me through life. It has helped me face the most difficult challenges posthumously.

Finally, we will walk out to the parking lot and walk towards the setting sun. I extend my right arm and place it on his shoulder as we walk. I say, tears welling up despite my strict no-cry policy, “I love you Dad. Thank you for everything you didn’t know you gave me.”

Suddenly, my arm was resting in the air. The persistent force of gravity pulled my arm to my side again. It is a calm evening, still and warm. I realize that he is gone, back to where he came. Disappointed at the sudden conclusion of our visit, I walk to my car. A brisk breeze breaks the stillness, blowing my trademark scally cap off my head. I laugh, pick it up and smile broadly. He never liked scally caps. He was a ball cap guy.

Quiet victories

I am 1 year free of alcohol. I am somewhat impressed with myself that I took this long to mention it. Conversely, I am annoyed with myself that I feel the need to tell anyone. Confused? So am I, and I’m the one writing this.

For context, allow me to introduce one of the most poignant sayings ever stated regarding sharing.
“Keep it to yourself because at the end of the day nobody gives a shit.”

Those who care about what’s going on in my life can always check in here. My friends, they can ask me. But overall, I have found that staying under the radar is the way I want to go forward.

Perhaps it’s callous to say what I said above about nobody caring. It’s not entirely fair. People care, but they have their own lives to contend with. I firmly believe that everyone is going through something right now. Even the ones we think have it all together. There is only one certainty in life and that is life is hard for everyone. With regards to sharing, it’s not going to mean to them what it means to you.
Additionally, I am now a convert to the notion of disappearing. You see it everywhere on social media: “disappear for 30,60,90 days and reappear stronger.” It calls upon people to work on themselves, without the benefit or distraction of the advice of others. To not be visible during the trifling changes, but to seclude until you rise like a Phoenix, visibly and decidedly better and stronger.

I bought into that mindset a while back. I desperately wanted to immerse myself completely in the idea. I daydreamed of no contact, no worries, no obligations other than what is essential, and just working on myself. But my life doesn’t allow for it. I have commitments that I need to uphold as a man. I have a family and friends who will worry about me if I’m not heard from. When I decided to tackle my drinking problem a year ago, I decided to do it relatively quietly.

Normally, when I attempt self-improvement, I put it out there for reasons of accountability. It’s a bold, risky, and potentially problematic approach unless you are truly serious. But I only do so when I am truly serious. When I decided on January 1st,2025 to stop drinking, I avoided telling everyone. Not that I didn’t have plenty of confidence that I could do it. That’s how I am wired. I get to the point where I am completely done with something, and I summon the will to vanquish it. I didn’t need to tell people because I was doing it for myself, not for them. I could care less what they thought if I failed, my own disappointment would be enough to deal with. I told family and a few friends. I then disappeared as much as I was able. I wanted to rebuild. I wanted to accomplish something I have wanted for a very long time. To regain control of my life from those things that were controlling me. It’s a logical progression after all: conquer that which makes my mental health unstable, and then conquer the mental health.
One year later, I am leaps and bounds closer to conquering my demons. The cessation of alcohol has made a tremendous difference. It was a wonderful decision all around.

I would never say this in an AA meeting because I feel that it would minimize the struggle many are going through. But I really didn’t need the program. I went to a meeting a day for the first 30 days. After the first month, my attendance was sporadic. I had learned to value the celebration of the sober life, and that’s what meetings did for me. As for the steps, despite my background in Recovery Case Management, they just didn’t apply. I know the alcoholic min,d and I know the commonalities in alcoholics. I also know that I am not like them. I was never a “blackout” drinker. I suffered a few embarrassments, but didn’t destroy my life as others have. I didn’t have any resentments to work through. I only resented the power that alcohol was gaining over my life, so the control freak in me reasserted dominance.
It wasn’t that hard for me to stop drinking because I was done with all of it. Done with arguing with myself. Done with thinking about my next drink. Tired of the inevitable self-loathing that followed.
And it’s been the best decision I have made in some time. The blessings continue to manifest.

My health has improved dramatically. My blood work is stellar. All of the inconsistencies in my labs were alcohol related. I tipped the scale at 199 this morning, which I haven’t seen since I was sick. I am down 35 pounds. I have a spring in my step and can do things once lost on me, like touching my toes. Was I surprised that I could do that! Other major concerns, such as stomach and skin issues, simply disappeared. And dare I say it, I look much better. While I can’t say that it’s the only source of good things in my life, it was the catalyst. I showed myself that I was not too old or too far gone to improve myself. That’s what is at the center of everything that I do. Self-improvement.
In a quiet, non-public manner, I disappeared while in front of everyone and came back a better, stronger me.

So when January 1st 2026 arrived, I resisted the urge to go on social media. I did not tell people of my accomplishment. The one ones that I reached out to were a Brother who is 20 years sober and my youngest son. My Masonic Brother confirmed in a single text that he, as predicted, didn’t really give a shit. My son, well he gets me well enough to know what this accomplishment means to me and why. I was fine with that.

I overshare. It’s one of the things that I have learned about myself. Keeping this milestone between just us is both new and good for me. That is who I am working towards being. Not silent but not loud. Self-assured but not cocky. Available but not transparent. I want to leave a little mystery. The world fears a quiet man. The quiet man strikes fear in the petty and inspires the rest. This milestone is my accomplishment. Done by me and for me.

So here I am, 4 days late telling you that I completed one year of Sobriety. If you give a shit, great. If not, that’s also great. Because at the end of the day, we all have ourselves to take care of before we can be any good to others.

A Dog’s purpose

The other night, while strolling through 179 channels of nothing I came across the movie A Dog’s Purpose. I’d heard of it, in particular, that it was sad. I’ve wanted to watch it but I learned my lesson with Marley and Me after I barely recovered from the ending of Old Yeller some 45 years ago.

An aside, I can watch the worst horror movie jam packed with gratuitous sex, entrails hanging from the rafters and enough blood to fill a swimming pool and I will sit, unflinching as I munch popcorn. There is no limit to the depravity I can view and call it entertainment. But I lose my mind if an animal is harmed, especially a dog.

Curiosity prevailed and I selected it and sat back in my recliner. An hour and a half later I sat transfixed as the credits rolled. It was worth the watch, in fact it was wonderful. There were a few scenes that made me tear up, including the ending but it was a joyful brand of tear-jerker.

If you’ve seen it please indulge me, this is not a movie review but instead a homage to the lead character, the beloved dog.

In short, the movie is about a dog who experiences reincarnation. It is narrated from the dog’s POV and the story takes us through about 30 years, starting with a young Golden Retriever that belongs to a young boy in the 70’s. Most of the movie occurs with this character as he loyally stays by the side of the boy as he grows into a young man. It is an extraordinary relationship and the scene when the Dog (Bailey) gets put down is indeed a tear-jerker. It didn’t help that I stood in such a Dr.’s office less than a year ago as we watched our beloved Brandon draw his last breath. The movie unfortunately nailed the pain and grief of the moment and I was impressed but sad. By sad I mean bawling like an idiot. But the movie brings the viewer back to smiling as we see Bailey emerge as a new puppy, one possessed by the knowledge that he was “back” and had the presence of ,mind to remember his past life. We are walked through several incarnations of Bailey; a German Shepherd Police dog that gets killed in the line of duty, a Corgi that dies of old age under the love of a married woman that he had been with since she was in college, and finally a Mutt that has a miserable life at the hand of an abusive owner. But the owner sets him free (cruelly, by just pulling the truck over and kicking the dog out) but our hero turns it into a blessing when he reconnects with (by the power of the wet nose) a woman from his first life. This woman was the girlfriend of his first owner and they had broken up as teenagers. Amazingly, he reunites the two, who fall in love again and get married thanks to their 4 legged matchmaker. The movie ends as Bailey miraculously manages to convince his former owner that he is indeed his old dog in a new body. It is a beautiful, tender moment and a wonderful ending to a movie.

Thus confirming what I have known since I buried my first dog as a young teenager.

A Dog’s Purpose is to form a completely unique and unbreakable bond with us, make life unimaginable without them and then leave us too soon with a enormous, smoking hole in our very souls. If we value friendship, and most people do, we are left feeling as if we have lost our best friend.

I don’t know how the chain was determined, how it was decided which animals are chosen to be beasts of burden, which are food and which become domesticated companions. The line is further blurred as we see species never before regarded as a pet; reptiles, goats, pigs, miniature horses, cows and even “wild” animals such as big cats and bears showing up on cute FB videos as “pets”. As refreshing as these friendships are none are as special and, let’s face it, as natural as the relationship between the dog and man.

I’ve experienced a lot of loss in my life. In fact, I have often felt that I have experienced more than my share. I’ve been to a staggering number of funerals. Dear friends in HS at the hands of tragic accidents. Family members. The loss of my father to name a few. Sadly, I think I am more “over” all of them than I am my first dog. Am I saying that a mere dog meant more to me than my father, family and friends?

Of course not.
It’s just not the same. The hole left to fill is as big as a Black Hole. Friskie, my first dog, was my earliest memory. He was a pure-bred Brittany Springer Spaniel, gun-shy at a young age and rendered useless as a hunting dog. We found him at a shelter when I was about 5. He became my constant companion, my shadow, my best friend. As a child with few friends, we were especially close. He even saved my life. Twice.

We lived on the bottom of a hill that was the main route to get to the Middle school. One day, I was playing by the street and my football got away from me. I followed it into the street and suddenly found myself being tackled. It was Friskie, who ran across the street from the other side. A school bus nearly missed him as he knocked me to the ground. We were both nearly killed. As he sat on my chest, he looked into my eyes and I swear at that moment that I was staring into the eyes of a kindly, wise old man. He was never “just a dog” to me.

I was a teenager when he died. Despite him being an older dog that lived a full, wonderful life, I was crushed.

For years I missed him. We got another dog, which I loved. Mom and Dad had a few after I went out on my own, and I loved to visit them. Their household always had a dog, my parents were in agreement with me that despite how crushed you are, no matter how big the hole they leave, another dog is the key to recovery. Not that you ever get over that particular dog, you simply need to fill the hole in your life.

When I moved in with my mother her dog, which she shared with my father before he passed, was healthy and thriving despite his advanced age. A year later, that changed. I hated to go through it again; I wasn’t ready. But I put on a good face, and I tried to love him through the concerned looks and worry. I believe that it is imperative to love a senior dog as much as you did the puppy and be there when they are in pain and to always be there when it is their time to shut their eyes forever. We owe it to them, and that is just what we did. It was terribly painful, but I have no regrets. Other than our four-legged friends not living forever, that is.

My Mom got another dog. She had to. Hers was a dog home, and we are dog people. Her new dog, a beautiful Cocker Spaniel pup named Sammy (Samuel L. Spaniel, his favorite human word is Motherf@#ker lol) is a pure destructive delight that brightens her house in ways that I can’t even count. He checks all of the boxes when it comes to loyalty and unconditional love. Although I don’t live there anymore, I visit as often as I can. I will deny this to my Mother, but sometimes I need to hug Sammy more than I need to visit her.

Sometimes, when I look into his eyes, I have to wonder. Beyond what is he thinking and what his particular need is at the time, and wonder if it is possible that we have met before. That behind his young eyes is the wisdom of an old dog. One that has met me before and is as glad to be reunited with him as I. Then I remind myself that reincarnation is not real, that it is impossible. That what I am feeling is just unconditional, pure and unfiltered love.

For to love me more than it loves itself; to only think of and need me alone when I sit preoccupied with the events of my day; to devote its entire life to being there for me…THAT is a Dogs Purpose.

A project

Yesterday I received some good news. I have a project to do. I love the idea of having a project. After all, it’s snowing outside my window.

Ok Bill, what do snow and a project have in common? What is the link in your twisted little mind?
Simple. It’s winter. I hate winter. In the cold, gray days of winter, I battle daily the constant urge to isolate. I feel the need to distance myself from friends and family. I also face the persistent urge to consume illicit substances. The urge to drink, despite having completed 11 months of abstinence from booze, is powerful right now. My thinly veiled control over my Weed consumption is challenged as well. A few puffs at night may have began as a way to calm the chaotic maelstrom I call a brain. But it can easily become a real habit.

In the summer, I am busier than a one-armed paper hanger. In the winter, I have to find ways to stay busy. It is truly the difference between peace and spiraling down the drain of doubt and despair. It’s about motivation. I touched on it in yesterday’s post. I need discipline to find motivation. That’s where projects come in. When I have to complete something I always do. Because the only thing I hate more than boredom is not completing an assigned task.

If you have read me at all, you will know that I am an active Freemason. Masonry is a volunteer organization dedicated to self-improvement and charity. Being a Mason can be exasperating. If you truly love it, you end up dedicating a major portion of your life to it. I must truly love it because I am doing something Masonic all the time. When I’m not, I’m riding Motorcycles or hanging out with friends who are also Masons. I love everything about it.
So much in fact that I want to do more.

The Grand Lodge of MA announced last month that it was offering 25 spots in the 10-month Masonic Leadership Institute. This is a renowned leadership program modified and adapted to the unique challenges and aspects of Freemasonry. I jumped at the opportunity and got my application in early. Masonry is a fraternity steeped in history and tradition. It relies on the consistency of its leaders. They maintain time-honored traditions. Simultaneously, they recognize new technologies and apply them. The fraternity grows and adapts to the changing world around it. It offers the active and enthusiastic Mason an opportunity to improve their skills and develop strategies to lead the fraternity. It is not a secret that the high-profile nature of the program shines a spotlight on the Brothers who enroll. I am sure that many who applied are seeking some measure of recognition in the interest of advancement.
I just want to serve.
In my humble opinion, a Mason should focus on the core tenet of service. Otherwise, they are in it for the wrong reasons.
That is what my application essay was centered around. They must agree because I was accepted.

I now have a project. A project that I cannot wait to explore. My love for Freemasonry exudes from my every pore. To learn more about how to make it better for others will make it better for me as well. I don’t want advancement, I want new opportunities. Opportunities to expand my horizons. Opportunities to meet new people and share experiences. Opportunities to make a difference. Again, if you’ve ever read me, that matters to me.

I love the idea that I can focus on developing and sharpening my skills for the higher calling of service. I embrace the idea of refining my mindset and improving my thinking. Not only do I love it, but I also need it. It may be the one that stands between surviving the winter with my Mental Health intact. The other option is clear. It means fighting the urge to drown my anxieties and insecurities with depressants. This struggle will continue until the days get longer.

I’m fine

“Lives are like rivers; eventually, they go where they must. Not where we want them to.” Not original, I caught that while re-watching one of my favorite HBO miniseries, Empire Falls. But poignant nonetheless.

Empire Falls is a bleak but engrossing take of a down-and-out town full of down-and-out people struggling with life in a once great Textile town in Maine. The people struggle with the decay of their beloved hometown. The misery is only exacerbated when life carelessly and cruelly gives it a glimmer of hope. It’s a tough watch when you are feeling down. When it showed up in my feed I immediately clicked on it. Knowing that it will affect me, and still choosing to watch, says something about my current situation.
The river of my life has chosen its own course. I have no choice but to go with it and see where it takes me. The logical next sentence would be to observe that it is in violation of my plan. But truth be told, I never had a plan for my life.

I have never been future-minded. In High School I didn’t think that much about College. I had the grades, but again, no plan. When I started College, I did it because that’s what people did. I never gave much thought to what I wanted to do with my degree. I did get a quality Liberal Arts education that I’m proud of. I am well-read and widely considered a good conversationalist, with a strong foundation in many subjects. I’m a frickin’ blast at Cocktail parties, but that’s about it.

I took a few years off after H.S. I attended a local University as a commuter and wandered academically for 2 years, and dropped out. I worked menial jobs, drank, and fucked around a lot. I would finish, 7 years after I started. Largely because my Father gave me a legendary guilt trip over not graduating. Nothing motivates me quite like being told that I can’t or won’t do something.

I would get some decent jobs eventually. They required a degree, but I never used it. My minimal career success was due to my personality and ability to talk to people genuinely. But even in my career, if I can call it that, it was a winding road and lacked a plan.

Once I got sick, it no longer mattered that I didn’t have a plan. My new plan was to survive. When first diagnosed, my condition could have gone several directions. It went in the worst one. At my lowest point, my plan became one of making some type of life for myself. I can honestly say that I have done that. But to further utilize the River metaphor, I’m not charting the path. The path is dragging like an undertow.

I don’t know what I thought my life would be at 60. I never dreamed of riches but I thought that I would be in a good place. At the moment I am most certainly not. I have always been happy with enough. I’m not materialistic or greedy and if I had a lot I would probably donate it. I don’t even have enough. I’m struggling financially. I wish with all my might that for once in my life I didn’t have to worry about money. But here I sit, the walls closing around me still.

I thought that I would be happy, or at least content. While happiness has always eluded me, with the exception of fleeting moments, I have been content. I am so far from content now. I’m restless. I’m scared for my future. I want to be anywhere but where I am.

The one thing that I thought I was was healthy. I have given everything I have to reclaim my health, and I beat the odds in so many ways. Or have I? Next month, I go in for a second Prostate Biopsy this year. 2 MRIs in 1 year and a scary high PSA have deemed another biopsy “advisable.” I’m not saying I have Prostate Cancer, but all the signs are pointing to it. It’s at the forefront of my mind almost all the time. Occasionally, I forget about it and something future-related comes to mind, and there it is. The voice that says, “Uh, dude, you may want to see if you have a future first.”

For now I will continue to be good ol’ “Smiling Bill.” I can keep up the back slapping, the glad handing, the thinly veiled lie of “I’m fine” when asked. I am still an optimist, and I can play that role better than anyone I know. But I really am anything but fine. I’m not broken, but I am perched precariously on the edge of the counter just waiting to get knocked off. When I hit the floor…the pieces are going to be all over the damn place.

Butterflies

“What do you see?” He asked.
“Butterflies”, the little girl said. “So many Butterflies.” She paused. “Did you know that God paints every color of a Butterfly’s wings with his fingers?” She stared intently, tears in her eyes, at the outstretched arms on the statue of Jesus in the Hospital Chapel. She anticipated being gently carried away in those welcoming arms. To a place where the pain would not follow her. She sat and wondered if her reservation had been made. Her journey in this phase of existence was about to end, and she was ready to move on.

The little girl was a character in a movie I watched today. The movie ripped my heart out of my chest to say the very least. It was a faith-based movie, of which I have been watching many lately. They pull my heartstrings and I willingly let them. I indulge in these movies because I am chasing a feeling. I am seeking what eludes me. It is the unwavering belief in Salvation. As well as the strength of conviction that true believers possess.

At an age where many people crave comfort, I continuously subject myself to things that make me feel. I immerse myself in anguish, joy, grief, terror, happiness, longing, desperation, and triumph. My response to becoming numb to everything around me is to force myself to experience powerful emotions. It is a conditioning tool of sorts. It is a necessity for the truly empathetic person, of which I consider myself one. Unfortunately, there is one emotional state that I subject myself to that remains elusive: unconditional faith.

I want to feel it. After what I have been through in my life, I do believe in it. By many accounts, I have no solid explanation for why I am still around. I have every reason to believe that a power beyond our understanding has kept me around. And it’s not as if I don’t believe in God. It’s the notion of being received into the arms of a Creator in a flowing robe, standing at the base of a stairway of gold that ascends into the clouds that I struggle with.

The issue lies in the fact that I am not eternity-focused. I struggle with the people who restrict themselves in this life to enjoy a better one when they die. I believe that one can lead a full and fun life without being a wicked sinner. I myself believe that I lead a good life. I have a moral code. I treat others with respect. I am kind to all creatures great and small. I try to leave everything better than I found it. Further, I believe that our legacy is what we should be concerned about. I hope that when I die, enough people remember me as a good person. But that’s not enough for most people; all they talk about is Heaven and how to get in.

Heaven is a nice idea. It’s an old-fashioned construct that appeals to human sensibilities. The notion of an end to suffering, reconnecting with loved ones that have passed on, seeing favorite dogs running towards us with wagging tongues and frantically wagging tails, is a lovely one indeed. But, for a young child about to succumb to Leukemia, the idea of embracing Heaven is as sad as it is beautiful. That child is embracing a better life, not having experienced any semblance of a full life here.

Life is to be experienced. It is not to be modified for a chance at something not guaranteed. I liken it to not driving a car in order to keep it nice for the next owner. Live a life, a good life. The meaning of life is to make a difference, not sit on the bench to not get injured. I choose to think about Heaven as a place to go when I have worn out my welcome here. I don’t want to leave a good-looking corpse. I want to skid-steer my bike into my final parking space, tear off my helmet from my scarred and sunburned face and yell,”Hell yea, what a ride!”

Then, and only then, will I be ready to admire the Butterflies. Until then, I am going to continue to live, feel, and experience. While I’m doing that, I will find time to chase the elusive feeling of undying faith I’ve been discussing here.

Dream drinking

I dreamed that I drank alcohol last night. It’s one of several times that I have done that. I want to make nothing out of it, yet I remember it vividly. That is unusual for my dreams of late.

I go through phases where I remember my dreams, but for the most part, I usually don’t. I always remember the ones in which I dream that I slipped up. I have a strong inclination to do better. I don’t want to fall back into old patterns. It seems this desire has permeated my subconscious as well.

The unusual aspect of last night’s nocturnal revelation, and the others, is that I didn’t consciously decide to drink alcohol. This realization came after the fact. Instead, I realized this after the fact. I don’t need to apply much psychoanalysis. That realization merely illustrates how familiar my relationship with alcohol was. It’s no secret. And realizing that just increases my resolve.

There is no question that I have thoughts about drinking. Not to resume my former pace, but to have the “casual” drink. For example, my oldest son asked if I would make an exception and have a Toast at his recent wedding. I chose not to. It was a non-issue. I suppose I could have, because I really don’t believe that I am an Alcoholic, have one or two. I was never really a fall-down drunk, so the likelihood of devolving into dangerous behavior is unlikely. I’ve said before that my drinking never took me to levels that many Alcoholics have. I had a habit, a troubling dependency. But not an addiction.

I have just completed 10 months alcohol-free. I avoid the word Sober because I indulge in weed, medicinally and occasionally recreationally. That is known in AA circles as “California Sober,” and it is a hot issue in the Recovery community. People in Recovery can be a bit militant in their approach. We do not see eye to eye on the matter. I don’t ask their opinion on it, and they can shove theirs in the orifice of their choice. The goal of AA, and my goal in particular, was to stop consuming alcohol. I did that. That’s why I rarely go to a meeting.

I feel good. I’m lighter. I’m physically fit. I’m happier and healthier in mind, body and spirit. My life has done nothing but improve since I started this journey. So I may continue to slip up and accidentally order a drink in my dreams. But in reality, I am past the cravings, temptations, and associations. Why fuck it up now? Even I can’t self-sabotage this.

Or are those famous last words?

Movie night.

Yesterday was a good day. Productive, rewarding, and just fun.

I have never been a complainer. I am not a negative person in general. However, I feel that I don’t write about my good days enough.

I picked up my car at noon. It had been in a body shop since Monday. It should have been done on Wednesday. However, my friend and Masonic Brother Alex ran into some issues at his shop. This caused a delay. I couldn’t complain; he was taking care of me, as Masons do.

It wasn’t an Insurance job. I can’t afford the surcharges and rate increases every time an incident occurs. I damaged the bumper of my car by hitting a fat Raccoon in August. I was sad for killing one of God’s innocents. I was also pissed because Alex had just replaced that bumper after an Uber incident. I procrastinated on getting it repaired because I was annoyed as well as broke. Always a fun combination. So Alex, being a friend, offered to replace it as cheaply as possible. Now, I don’t take advantage of a friend’s good nature. And I am very careful never to abuse a Masonic relationship. Because of that, I did it on his availability.

Often, having a friend do work for you is a liability in its own right. I know of instances where the work was not done up to standard because it was a favor. Also, it can take longer because, as they are doing you a favor, the real paying customers come first. Neither was the case here. The work was excellent, and the delay was due to shipping errors for the parts. I had another reason not to complain. He had loaned me his very nice Dodge Truck for the week. This kept me from having to rent a car. It saved me a lot of money. By the time I pulled into his shop, I was feeling good about the whole thing. Little did I know that he would up the ante by taking me to lunch at a local Brazilian restaurant. We had a great lunch and a better conversation. He is a genuinely nice and generous man. Driving home from lunch in my nice undamaged car, I felt very satisfied. It was a moment when I paused to acknowledge how special some areas of my life are. These moments remind me of the value in my life.

I was then struck by a wave of inspiration to do some writing. I have been working on a novel for some time, and I have been locked down with writer’s block. When I got home, I immediately opened the file and reviewed everything I had so far. Inspired, an entire new chapter flowed from my fingertips. I hated to stop but I had made plans with my son Ryan. We were doing Movie Night and I couldn’t wait.

Movie night is our new tradition. Ryan and his new bride recently bought a great house in Central NH. It is perfect in every way. The house is updated, perfectly located in a sparse, quiet neighborhood where distance and privacy are paramount. They have 2 dogs and acres of land for them to run around. Since moving in, Ryan has invited me several times to come watch a movie and hang out. The unspoken part is that we get high before the movie.

Smoking weed with my kids is something that I never thought I would do. In fact, I spent an inordinate amount of time as a younger man worrying if my children would like me enough to even hang out with me when they were older. Just another thing I wasted valuable kidney function worrying about.

Getting high with someone is a significant social interaction. The act itself implies that all participants will likely become inebriated and act uncharacteristically. We all know of the effects of weed, but the biggest side effect is vulnerability. When smoking with someone, you need to be comfortable with those around you and unafraid of judgment or criticism. Some people can act quite out of character. Ryan and I have a blast. We laugh hard, and have amazing conversations. It warms my heart that he wants to hear me regale him with tales of my youth, my philosophies on life, and my unfiltered views on things. He calls the session before the movie the “Unfiltered Dad time” and no title has ever made me happier.

Last night we had a treat, my daughter-in-law joined us. Abby has been a nurse for years and always regretted that she couldn’t use weed because of testing. She recently got a new job, one that requires her medical training but as an Account executive. She now has normal hours and she can finally get high. She celebrated that new privilege with us last night. She was hilarious to smoke with.

The movie was irrelevant. It was the steaks on the Blackstone. It was playing with the dogs. It was enjoying candid time with my adult son, not having to wear the “Dad Hat” anymore. Years ago, I was terrified and constantly worried that my children would outgrow me. That the volatility of our household would cause them to resent me. That I would be relegated to the distinction of the Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter dad.

It thrills me that the exact opposite occurred. Here’s to many more Movie nights. And days like yesterday.

Finding Spirituality: My Journey Through Mental Health

I went to Church today. I woke up and desired an infusion of spirituality. It was a good decision.

This story has 2 components. A backstory as to why I needed a Spiritual infusion, and a brief recap of my relationship with God.

I have been really struggling with my Mental Health lately. I have been battling issues of self-worth on a formerly unmatched scale. I have been beating myself up more than ever over quirks in my behavior. I have hyper-aware of my mistakes and dwell on questions of my overall mental health. And despite my plentiful and amazing support system, I have been feeling very alone. If one were to observe me, they would be unlikely to see of what I speak. I act happy, I socialize frequently, and I am very busy. But underneath, the Sad Clown is still there.
My friend chalks it up to my being single. If you’ve read even one of my posts, you will know that I really want another chance at a relationship. You would also know that I have nothing but misery and disappointment. I have stopped trying. That has somewhat relieved the disappointment, but it hasn’t squelched the desire.
I have been in a very dark place. I actually have thought about ending things. If not for the damage I would leave behind for those who care for me.

Lisa reaching out to me has helped a lot. Talking about “what happened” has softened the blow. It also removed Lisa from my list of bad experiences that I have been ruminating over. We have been talking, and I am enjoying it. I missed her in so many ways. I love that she is in a good place. It is not lost on me that she credits bringing God to the forefront of her life as a reason. I think it’s working for her.

To me, God is a last resort. I am a control freak. I have challenged people in AA meetings about the notion of “turning it all over to God”. I understand that asking for help is necessary, but I believe that everything is ultimately up to us. And when we succeed, give God some credit. But give yourself some as well. I have always struggled with that notion.
I also struggle with religion. I have accepted a higher power into my life. It was a journey that took years of soul-searching. It was when I rejected the Traditional notion of religion that it became clear to me. I came up with the “Kayaking” approach.
Religion is sitting in a building thinking about Kayaking.
Spirituality is sitting in a Kayak thinking about God.

That changed everything (it is not original btw but it works).

As a Mason, belief in a higher power is essential. “Kayaking” enabled me to finally embrace the critical, and often misunderstood truism about religion. It is about aspiring to something that is bigger than yourself. If I had to choose, my religion is nature. Because I am tiny in comparison and that provides context for me. But I still reject traditional religion.
It’s always been that way.

But I needed that thing that I believe drives millions to a house of Worship on Sunday morning, the “feeling”. I have always rejected the “Holy rollers” who raise their arms to the heavens in Church. Those who sprinkle God into every conversation. The people who talk about it all the time. (Lisa is a bit like that but it’s her so I am making an effort). I think part of my avoidance of religion is because I am afraid of being that person. To be clear, I don’t dislike those people, I have just had some traumatic experiences with some of them.

But today was what I needed. There is a Church an hour from me that I really like. The dress code is informal, the people are super nice and decidedly not pushy in their beliefs. They are welcoming and loving. They made me feel comfortable.

Comfortable enough to have a good cry. To ask my Creator for clarity, help, or both as I struggle with my inner demons. I left feeling better than I went in. Again, it was a good decision.

Keeping it

“Almost canceled my Blog”, Sing it, it works if you remember the 60’s ballad Almost cut my hair by CSNY.

I thought I was done blogging. With love to the loyal readers I have, my readership has dwindled to almost nothing. I was questioning the point of it. I went as far as to cancel everything upon expiry. But I reinstated it today. I need it more than ever.
Let me tell you why.
I had the urge to share a worthy thought today. Then the realization that I would have no outlet hit me. I need that outlet. Sure, I have a hard time finding time to post, but I want to find the time. I think it would be nice to recap each day and talk about what I did right and wrong. I am going to work hard at making that time.
As for readership? Well, that is like anything else in life. If the product is good, it will be consumed. If I create good content, well-crafted thoughts about subjects that matter to people, then they will come to my page. Challenge created and accepted.
Last reason, I never know who is reading.

You may remember Lisa? Lisa is a fake name for a woman that I dated. Lisa is a beautiful woman with whom I enjoyed a fleeting moment in time. We were doomed from the start because she was married. We both struggled with the morality of it, but at the time, she was what I needed. I was struggling on dialysis, I didn’t have much of my own, and I was terribly lonely. Enter the demure Pharmacy Tech with the “Tractor-beam ” eyes and the sultry voice. I couldn’t make enough trips to pick up medications.
Our fling was all that I had. While I struggled with the complications of sneaking around, I felt shame for doing an obvious wrong. But I loved spending time with her. There was unforgettable intimacy. To this day she remains the sexiest woman I have ever been with. But we had amazing talks and got along so well. Until we didn’t.
She ended it. I was devastated. I almost laugh at it now. There was no future for us as long as she was married and I knew it. But I loved her. A couple of weeks of silence passed. I wanted answers and she didn’t give them. Unread texts and missed calls weighed upon me. But eventually she replied. I thought her reply was a bit snarky. But she let me know that she would be divorcing her husband. And she wouldn’t be seeing me anymore.
I know now that I had nothing to offer her at that time. I also knew that she needed space to recover from her divorce. Knowing she was right wasn’t of great comfort to me, I just wanted her in my life.
She would become another in a long line of disappointments.

Lisa reached out to me yesterday. First, by FB Messenger, then we talked on the phone for almost 2 hours. I was shocked but over the moon excited to talk to her. She is in a good place. She has embraced religion, meditated on her past, and atoned for the things she feels she has done wrong. She extended an Olive Branch to me. I accepted, and to the best of my ability took responsibility for my own shortcomings and actions. If she wanted forgiveness, I wasn’t about to make her work for it. I told her that I had nothing but Love for her then, and not to mention it again.
I’m still reeling. I never thought I would hear from her again. In over 4 years I have never forgotten her. Her beauty, her soft mannerisms, combined with an innate toughness, and the effect of hearing her voice on the phone. To have a conversation with her after all this time meant so much to me. I was in such a bad place emotionally that day, it was just what I needed.

I don’t know what, if anything, will happen from here. I know one thing. If I never talk to her again, I am so glad that I got to do it one more time. Oh, did I mention that she knew exactly what I was up to? Including my apparently less-than-flattering discussion of our break-up 4 years ago. Do you know why?
Because she reads my blog.

See how I went full circle there?

Lisa, keep reading. Because I have so many good things to say about you as well.