Category: compassion

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.

The Fall of Rome

“Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here“.
William Shakespeare

I’ll say this, Ole Billy Shakespeare had no idea how prescient a statement it was. We don’t need to do a deep dive into religion or philosophy to understand evil. It is everywhere we look and walks among us. Our very civilization is collapsing around us.

I don’t know if I’m more angry or sad at the state of the world, especially in our country.
We used to be a nation of laws and ideas. We established this country on Western Christian-Judaeo values. Those values permeated the ideas behind the vision the founding fathers had for the United States. The founders envisioned a Utopian society; one free from religious persecution, outdated monarchies, stifled thought, and oppression. To support this, they created the fairest legal system in the world.
Yet we are bordering on being a lawless nation. Violent crime is more prevalent, as well as increasingly savage, every day. Theft, from looting and shoplifting to embezzling and large-scale financial scams are constant. I can safely say that when we think we have seen the most shocking acts ever, it can be topped. And it will be.

If we studied history, we would understand that mankind has always been savage. Humans have consistently engaged in slaughter. We need look no further than the Middle Ages. The torture methods from the period show that man has always had the capacity to inflict unimaginable pain on others. Seemingly with pleasure.
But we are supposed to have evolved since then. Particularly in the Western World, where we profess to have decency, morality, and compassion. We even tried to engineer such values through our Declaration of Independence. The Constitution also acknowledges inalienable human rights granted by God. To enforce these ideas, we created the best legal system in the world.
But a declining value system makes such laws merely academic.

I am not the biggest fan of religion in its broadest sense. However, I believe strict adherence to morality is crucial. It needs to be supported by those who keep it at the forefront of their actions and behaviors. This is the glue that keeps society together. People largely played by those rules, and we policed ourselves. Is it a coincidence? As the number of people who claim to be of faith declines, the crime rate goes up.
I don’t believe so.

The world I grew up in had a clear definition of right and wrong. The rules by which today’s society functions are Grey at best. I was also raised to be tolerant and accepting of others, particularly regarding their beliefs. In matters of Politics and Religion, it was to each his own. Today, we vilify, mock, taunt, seek to destroy, and even kill those with whom we disagree. It is a sad state of affairs.

There is a term that I picked up on not long ago that, once I heard it, I never forgot. The veneer of civilization. The term “veneer of civilization” refers to a thin layer of societal norms. These norms and moral codes protect and maintain order in society. It suggests that while civilization provides a framework for behavior, it is fragile. The veneer theory was coined by Frans de Waal. It critiques the idea that human morality is merely a cultural overlay. That morality is not ingrained directly in human nature.

If we are to understand Frans de Waal, adherence to a moral code is a learned behavior. It is not a dominant or durable trait. So, for the sake of conversation, despite humankind’s predilection for savage and inhumane behavior, let’s say that we have been able to maintain that veneer to date. I would offer that it’s thin and stretched to its limit. We are at a period in time in which every great mind throughout history had postulated that society would be advanced in both technology, thinking, and behavior.
Yet here we are.
Killings as a political tool (not a new concept).
Shouting and berating vs. respectful dialogue.
Violence as a means to an end and not as a last resort.
Disinformation, including outright lies, is blindly accepted as truth.
Soundbites accepted as reality vs. research and education.
Selfish, self-absorbed behavior vs. a community mindset.
Overly sexualized, offensive behavior with no regard for children or decency in general.

I could go on, but I won’t. I am getting a headache just thinking about all of it. I’m not angry about what I see all around me. I’m disgusted and sad. Can we come back from the precipice, or will we fall off the edge? At what point will we recognize that civilized behavior is essential to maintain a society that is comfortable going out in public, without fear of meaningless, random violence?

Or is it the Grand Plan that all of this break down? Without being political, we know that there is an element of society, traditionally known as leftists. Leftists have always had an agenda of anarchy. Of a New World Order in which the system as we know it collapses. By this mindset, a centralized government is targeted for destruction. As is a strong moral system driven by religious and philosophical doctrine. Additionally, a robust and fair legal system and a strong economy are under threat. We have fended these forces off to date, through institutions of education and religious belief. We emphasized education as an alternative to “lower” behavior, and we taught religion as a system of values to govern our thoughts and actions.
Is it really a surprise that education is now indoctrination and religion is declining in popularity and influence? I think not.

Behavior is all that separates us from the lower animals. As humans, we are blessed with the abilities of reason, rationality, and empathy. We also profess to have humanity, a most unique aspect of Homo Sapiens. So are we losing our ability to apply and utilize these gifts, or are we choosing to ignore them?

We had better figure out the answer to this soon. Or we as a society will follow the example of Rome. It was a society that achieved greatness in every way. However, they lost the interest and motivation to maintain their achievements. Consequently, they watched as it slowly burned to the ash heap of history.

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.

Moving forward

I’ve been in a good place recently. I feel well, my upcoming biopsy is on my mind, but not consuming me. I’ve maintained the weight loss and am getting frequent comments of support. Also, I am rapidly approaching the 12-month milestone of sobriety. It pleases me that I’m not tempted to imbibe despite the high prevalence of alcohol everywhere during the Holiday Season. Additionally, my mental health has been better. In particular, I am struggling less with the self-worth issues that have plagued me.

I really don’t understand why I struggle so with self-worth. Particularly at this stage in my life. I am definitely on the back nine of life. I have nothing to prove to anyone. My children are grown, and by all measures, successful. The worrying never ceases as a parent. However, now that they are grown, my children are a source of comfort, not worry.
My career is over. Any work I undertake going forward will be done at my discretion and on my own terms. The days of worrying about my job are over. Gone with it are the endless attempts at pleasing thankless employers through giving entirely too much of myself. Now, money is about survival.
I have a thriving social life. I actually have more events to attend than time to do them. While most men my age, according to studies, have few friends, I have an abundance.
Things are good because I’m trying to look at things through a different lense.

I have been feeling overwhelmed of late. I continue to ignore my limitations and carry a full calendar. I do too much and then lament how tired I am. It’s because I can’t say no.
As an active Mason, I have the ability to be out as much as I want. There is always something going on. Being known as an active Mason, I get invited to a lot of events. Masonic events are a true joy for me. I truly enjoy the company of my Brothers, some of the best men I have ever met. And Masonry itself, what can I say, I love everything about it. The civility, historical significance, the fraternal atmosphere appeal to my very being. It is hard saying no because everything is a “can’t miss.”
But it takes a toll on me. I get so tired that I need time to recover.

Since my recovery I have been Jim Carrey in Yes Man. I hit the ground running and started to live my life as if living itself were dependent upon saying YES! After spending so much time dealing with being sick and potentially without a future, I began to spend my time enjoying being healthy with the prospect of living a full life. I love saying Yes.
But then I got tired. I began to have difficulty bouncing back from too many nights out and required more rest. Every instinct told me to take a break, that not everything requires me to be there. So I took a small break. That wasn’t the answer. Slowing down is the exact opposite of what I need. If I have to pick one, because I am totally incapable of walking a line down the middle, I have to pick being busy.
I can rest when I’m dead.

What I have come to realize is that being active has been very good for my mental health.

Facing Health Fears: From Transplants to Cancer Risks

I discovered an interesting trend this morning. Whenever I see a “click-bait” post about dangerous health conditions, I always click on it. “These 3 symptoms indicate heart failure. “Do you have these symptoms that indicate lung cancer?” “These factors could indicate Colon Cancer”. I can’t resist it.

It could mean that I’m a hypochondriac, but that’s not it. There’s a darker motive; I am convinced that I am going to contract a non-renal related disease and die. I could sugar-coat it, but why bother?

I should be concerned about my Kidney transplant failing. It’s logical after all, it’s happened before. But that won’t kill me. The worst-case scenario would be dialysis. Dialysis is a less-than-ideal option. I absolutely hated dialysis. I was sick. My blood work was always askew. I had terrible reactions that led to agonizing treatments. I felt terrible towards the end. When I got the call for a new Kidney, it could not have come soon enough. I absolutely dread the notion of doing it again, but as the expression goes, “But did you die?”. It wouldn’t kill me, but I can say goodbye to any quality of life.

No, I am afraid of cancer. Post-transplant (both times), I was given lengthy lectures on the do’s and don’ts of living with a new organ. Risks of rejection, hazards to avoid, the importance of faithfully taking medications, etc. I listened and understood, but it didn’t faze me. Very little did, I just wanted to go out and live again. But there was another conversation that occurred that replays in my head on a loop because it rocked me hard.
“Because you are on immunosuppressant medications, you will be very susceptible to certain types of cancer. Of which you may not be able to fight with a compromised immune system.” That statement terrified me.

It would prove to be true, the part about being susceptible to certain cancers. I have had bouts with skin cancer 7 times and counting. But I’m not afraid of skin cancer. I worry about Lung Cancer, Colon Cancer, and Prostate. All of them are diseases that I may not be able to fight while taking my current regimen of medications. It logically follows that I may one day face a decision. It could turn out to be a Pyrrhic choice in which I lose my kidney to save my life.

I’m facing such a choice now. I am currently undergoing a scare of sorts. My prostate has been problematic for a few years. I have had 2 MRIs. I have a growth that has been biopsied. My PSA is climbing, and the mass is growing. My second Biopsy is scheduled for next month. It may be terrible, it may only be something to watch. It still scares the bejeesus out of me. As does the idea of dying of cancer itself.

In the spirit of maintaining complete and raw honesty in my writing, I confess that I am not always afraid of death. There is a often discussed state of being in which people say that living has become a chore. That they are not living, but merely existing. I have those moments where I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to be here either. I have even grappled with the most difficult of decisions. Should I stay around? I don’t want to hurt the ones I would leave behind. They would have nothing to ask but why. How could I ever explain to them that I was alive enough to show up? Yet, I was also dead enough not to care if I did. That conversation is had in the darkest hour of your worst sleepless night. Of which I’ve had plenty.
Of course, I was very sick then.

Now, I go down the rabbit hole of continued existence less often. Overall, I enjoy my life. I am active both physically and socially. I have many friends that I rely on for support. I am able to live independently and care for myself, once that was only a dream. Yet, I am consumed with worry about so many things about my future. So much that the notion of just leaving it all does still occur to me.

But, this is a very big consideration. If faced with another life-threatening illness, I wonder if I would have the motivation to fight. Would I have my trademark grit and determination? Or would I say “Thank God” and just let it take me. Would I rage against that good night? Or would I fade away into it?

I hate that I think about these things. But the fact remains that I do. Frequently. It truly depends on my mood. I’m not sad or depressed. On good days I want to live forever; Head up, chest out, larger than life, ready to take on all comers. On the bad days, I would welcome an opportunity to put down my shield, stop fighting everyone and everything, and just let death take me.

It’s exhausting being me.

Explain yourself

I realized something recently. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.

This is quite a departure for me. I feel quite liberated.

It was Thursday night. I had plans to attend a Masonic function, my third one in a week. December is a busy month in MA Freemasonry, I won’t bore you with specifics. Let’s just say that active guys like me are invited to, and expected to show up at, many events. Thursday’s event was one that I wanted to go to, but I wasn’t expected to be.
I worked on Thursday during the day. I allowed myself time to get home and change and relax for a few before heading out again. I made the mistake of sitting in my recliner. I always do that, it never fails to make it hard to get up and get in the shower. My apartment is cold, I was under a blanket, and the weather was picking up outside. 40 MPH winds and snow squalls. I made a “game day decision”. I was staying home. I texted a friend that I had discussed going with to the event. I explained my decision to stay home. I then ruminated for hours over not going.
Why? Do I really owe anyone an explanation why I didn’t go?

While I am at it, do I owe my Shriners Motorcycle unit an explanation for not making any parades lately? Do I owe my friends an explanation for why I didn’t go out for drinks last week? I regretted it, do I tell them that also? Hell, why did I feel obligated to explain to my family why I missed Christmas Eve last year? I think COVID explains itself. Yet I explained myself over and over and then quietly beat the shit out of myself.
At some point, I need to stop doing that. I think now is a good time.

I don’t know for sure if it is a trauma response. As I wrote recently, I’m the only Trauma survivor who can’t specify the exact trauma. If it’s not that, it’s my anxiety. If it’s not that, then I have no explanation for why I have so many of the traits. Explaining oneself can stem from a fear of judgment. Also, a need for validation and a lack of self-confidence. There is also a need for understanding and a pressure to perform or conform. It’s all part of being a People-Pleaser. If I don’t please people around me by conforming to the current dynamic, it reveals my insecurity. It shows that I feel I am not good enough.

Pardon the dated reference, but this ^^^ is quite appropriate. If I complete just one item on my bucket list, it must be the “Know your worth” item.

Many of us were taught—explicitly or implicitly—that being understood equals being safe. We think that if we can just express ourselves clearly enough, others will finally understand us. They might then treat us better. So we explain. We clarify. We soften. We give far more context than anyone asked for. I am so guilty of that.
Understood doesn’t equal safe. Understood equals peace. To me, peace is the state of being comfortable with today, reconciled with yesterday and not worried about tomorrow. I can achieve that by simply not lowering myself to explain every decision I make or word I say.

There are days when it is all I can do is put on my mask and go out into the world. I dutifully complete tasks that, inside, send me into a spiral of anxiety. I venture out when I don’t feel well. I work when my body is screaming at me to stay in. I take on responsibilities and new projects, knowing full well that I barely have the time to fulfill them. Yet I always do. I deliberately make my life challenging. Because I am trying to lead a fulfilling life. People might have their own opinions about my station in life. However, maintaining it is more difficult than they will ever understand. What may come easy to some is a real challenge to me.
It takes everything I have to get through my day. If I overschedule myself and fail to see it through, I need to start giving myself a break. I think I’ve earned it. If I make a social faux pas, then I need to move past it. If I make a total fool of myself…Well, I don’t need to explain myself to anyone. For any of it.

Nobody owes anyone anything, and I don’t owe anyone an explanation.

My weird glory

The origin of Your Weird Glory can be found here for context: https://goodtobealivetoday.com/2019/01/14/just-jot-it-january-14-reflection/

It came up today.

Next up in the “things I wish I learned earlier in life” category is embracing your uniqueness.
This arose in the most flattering of ways today.
At our 2nd Coffee/Therapy session today with the boys, we were joined by Pedro’s lovely wife, Wendy. Wendy has been reading my blog of late, and she’s really enjoying it. She finds my diatribes useful, so much so that she wants to share it with some friends. This made me happy, after all, that’s why I bothered to start logging my life story in 2017.
We discussed the origins, the trajectory of it, and the different styles I have incorporated over the years. I talked about a Poem I had written years ago. In it, I described my life as “In my own weird glory”. We all got a laugh out of it. Weird Glory is actually a wonderful way to describe me at times. I have an irreverent, goofy, inquisitive, and thoughtful side to me. You can describe it as weird, but it’s really what makes me unique. As the day went on, I began to ponder what I now realize is the “takeaway of the day.” Why do only close friends and my readers know what a vulnerable, emotionally turbulent, weirdly glorious mess I am?

I can answer that for you. I care too much about what people think of me. I always have. I dislike it, but I’ve been unable to change it. Pedro himself, when he first met me, thought that I was a Stoic “dick” with Resting Bitch Face. Now, we’re wonderful friends. That makes sense, because when he met me, I was around a lot of strangers. I didn’t know which Mask to wear.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players”, Shakespeare famously said. The whole speech within As You Like It refers to the life cycle of one man. However, it has been widely adopted to advance the “Mask” theory. The theory? That we all wear masks to show the world the face we want them to see. It is common to believe this. We are all acting to some degree as we navigate life. That goes for me as well. I have been acting my entire life. The problem is that I don’t know the script.

I hate that at 60 years old, I still struggle being myself. I have always tried to be what I thought others wanted me to be. Often, and sadly, I was many things to many people. Not fake, just pleasing people. One of the most toxic of my toxic traits. Now, I am able to act more consistently with my character. But I always hold back something. It’s not for fear of rejection. Instead, it’s out of reticence to reveal my true self.
Yes, my dear friends know most of my sides. As does my family of course. The rest of the world has seen only pieces. Those carefully selected pieces that I am comfortable showing. Which saddens me. There are aspects of me that I would love to share with others.
I look stiff and off-putting to some. In actuality, I am a welcoming person and I love to engage in deep conversations with strangers and friends alike.
I appear confident, but well, if you’ve been reading, I’m really not. About some things, yes. But I am deeply insecure. Interestingly, if I shared this with others, I would probably be less insecure.
I appear quiet. In actuality, once I go off, I never shut the f*ck up. Today, among friends that I am comfortable with, I completely dominated the conversation. I was self-conscious about it. They didn’t care. That just proves my point.

I could seriously go on with the list but there’s no need. The point is that there is a whole side to me that I rarely show. And that is a shame. There are likely some people who would enjoy that side of me. Yet, I suppress it. When I should have let it out 40 plus years ago. I cared too much about what people I didn’t even care about thought of me. Instead, I could have developed a group of friends who would accept me for who I really was.

In all of my weird glory.

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 wish I read these sentences earlier in life

  • You won’t always get closure; learn to move on without it.
  • Discipline will take you places motivation never could.
  • Not everyone you lose is a loss; some exits are a blessing.
  • If it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive.
  • You become unstoppable the moment you stop seeking approval.
  • Your future needs you more than your past ever will.

I would like to credit for this intro, but I saw it on a FB Meme. Sometimes you hit gold just reading the musings of others. Sometimes it’s all garbage. But if you try hard enough you can find something thought-provoking if you open yourself to the opportunity.

You won’t always get closure; learn to move on without it. This one, Ugh. I wish I had a dollar for every minute I sat stewing about a conversation, an argument, or a break-up. Closure is essential for the overthinker. It is critical for the anxiety sufferer. If an overthinker says he loves you, then believe them. They’ve thought of every reason not to. Adversely, if you dump an anxiety-ridden over-thinker without a reason, they will invent every possible reason. These reasons may be logical or completely unfounded. Still, they persist. When the simple goddamn truth would have been enough. Hurt, anger, betrayal, they can all be overcome. Lack of answers sends me spiraling. I have had a string of recent break-ups/unexplained endings that devastated me. As I am known to do, I blamed myself for everything. I constantly asked myself what I did/said and replayed countless scenarios on a loop. When a simple “I don’t like you because you _______ would have been fine. As I said, anger subsides. Not getting closure may be easy for some. Not for me. It is enough of a reason to stop dating altogether. It hits me hard.
I really need to stop insisting on closure.

Discipline will take you places motivation never could. It is timely that I came across this today, as I have recently committed to being more disciplined. I am not motivated. I want to be, I try to be but I’m not. Because I don’t practice good habits. I don’t create schedules for myself. I don’t manage my time well. I promised to work on being more disciplined. By creating good habits, I will find motivation to achieve my goals. I haven’t made major changes yet to my routine, but I am making solid baby steps. I feel very driven, dare I say motivated, to achieve this. I’m confident that I will. But the above sentence is as true as can be.

Not everyone you lose is a loss; some exits are a blessing. This one doesn’t need much elaboration. It’s perfect as it is. It does tie in with the first sentence nicely, though. I spent much time commiserating about the lack of closure. Now, I realize those who failed to provide closure are welcome departures from my life. I am a caring, considerate person. I have no place in my life for someone who treats me poorly.

If it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive. My peace is everything to me. Even now, at this advanced stage of my life, I am not at peace. But I am working at it as hard as I am able every day. To be at peace is my life’s goal. When I see the word expensive, I realize it pertains to the cost of peace. I know the cost can be monetary as well as emotional. Example: I love my motorcycle. Riding it is one of the only sources of true joy I have. But it’s very expensive. The payment is causing me distress. It’s bordering on costing me some of that peace. Another example, my efforts in Freemasonry provide me with peace. Over-scheduling myself in those efforts is stressing me out. The more commitments I make, the more I worry about fulfilling them.

You become unstoppable the moment you stop seeking approval. I have always cared way too much about what other people think of me. It stems from me always seeking the approval and validation of a father with whom I had a complicated relationship. I am confident in what I bring to the table. I am able and qualified. Yet, I am terribly concerned about what people think of me. There is a caveat. I’m not so concerned about being liked. I want to be respected and considered a man of good character.
I have made great strides in this area of late. I have become more confident, and surprisingly, a lot more bold and assertive. I am close to being comfortable enough with myself that I may be able to rise above my inner “People-pleaser”. Once I can do that, I will not need, nor desire, the affirmation of others.

Your future needs you more than your past ever will. I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment. It’s particularly poignant to a person who spends as much time ruminating over past deeds or misdeeds as I. I may never move completely past this, but I am committed to doing my best. Dwelling on the past wastes a massive amount of time. It also poses a massive threat to my mental health. I have plenty of goals. I will never accomplish them if I continue to focus on what cannot be changed. This one may be the most important of all.

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.