Category: education

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.

The Feast

What a roller coaster ride it must be to read my blog. One day I say I’m doing great. Another day I am bombarding the reader with tales of isolation, depression, and woe. Good God, I’m a mess. All I can say is, hey, at least I’m working on myself.

Post Christmas Eve, which was as good an evening that could be had with Family, I did not leave my house for 3 days. I would like to tell you that I was productive, but that would be a lie. There are days when I stay in that I am productive. I write blogs, I read, I watch movies, and I work on the Masonic tasks at hand. I would like to tell you that, but in this case, I cannot. They were wasted days. I wasn’t depressed, but motivation in any form escaped me. To make matters worse, I beat the snot out of myself for my lack of productivity.
There is a positive to this. Such episodes create awareness that I have areas for improvement, and I hope that my shortcomings will motivate me to do better. But I must say, this journey of constant improvement, while promising on paper, requires a significant amount of effort. Frankly, it’s exhausting.

I wrote quite extensively about my episode over the weekend. It consumed me for most of the weekend. I feared a prolonged spiral over it, but something good and timely occurred Sunday night. The Master of my lodge called me and told me that he was unable to attend the Feast of St. John at Grand Lodge in Boston on Monday and offered me his ticket. I was happy to accept for two reasons. First, it was a second chance after I initially declined to attend because of the cost and missed the deadline. I perceived the event as stressful since it is quite eventful and long. But I regretted this decision when it sold out. The last minute ticket was a nice and welcome second chance.
Second, I recognized the need to leave the house. I wanted to prevent myself from falling into a full-blown mental crisis.
I knew many of my close Brothers would be in attendance. I immediately looked for someone to go with me into Boston.

I am so very glad that I ended up going. It was nothing less than a wonderful day.

The Feast of Saint John is a vital event in the Masonic calendar, celebrated with respect around the globe. The Feast of Saint John is held every year, typically on December 27th. This year in Boston was an installation event. Every two years, we install a new Grand Master and new Grand Lodge Officers. The ceremony is archaic and elaborate. It demonstrates the ancient traditions of our Fraternity. The Grand Lodge of Boston was founded in 1733. It is the 3rd-oldest jurisdiction in the world. Only England and Ireland are older. The architecture and decor are nothing short of magnificent. It feels like a time capsule. These ceremonies have been performed the same way for almost 300 years. Great men such as Paul Revere and General Joseph Warren witnessed them exactly as we do now.
I had a front-row seat, thanks to a buddy, for the entire event. It was indeed a privilege to witness the ceremony. It is a remarkable sight to see these ceremonies performed in that very ornate room.
Many friends were being installed into important offices. I was grateful to be there to support them. I was honored to watch them advance in their Masonic labors.
The ceremony was followed by a sumptuous, multi-course meal presided over by the New Grand Master, Grand Lodge officers, and esteemed Dignitaries. They came from multiple countries and jurisdictions around the world. How do I describe having dinner with 300+ Brothers? Some are close, and others are merely pending because I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting them.

It was a long night but it was just what I needed. I fall into intermittent episodes of depression. Why isn’t my first instinct to immerse myself in the company of my Masonic Brothers? I am at a point in my life where I can almost break it into two categories; before I took my obligation, and everything after. Becoming a Freemason has changed almost every part of me for the better. And there is no big secret, despite the world endlessly clamoring for one, to the appeal. It’s the connection. The friendships. The bonds we create as we unite in our tasks at hand. It has been one of the greatest undertakings of my life and I plan to go as far as it takes me.

That’s the big picture. The smaller one, today in my living room, is that it saved this wretched soul yesterday.

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.

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.

No help for me, thanks

“The child who wasn’t comforted still lives inside the adult who doesn’t ask for help.”
Author Unknown

Why is my go-to emotional reaction to inquiries about my upbringing initially negative? If asked, I don’t answer in the negative; I have adopted a Go with your second reflex policy of late. My second reflex/answer would be to say, “I don’t remember needing anything.” The real answer would probably be, “Pretty messed up.” As I read this, that’s unfair. My parents did everything they could to give me a happy childhood. What was messed up was me.
That’s a tough one to share. It seems foolish to write about this. Still, I have been thinking a lot about Childhood Trauma lately. After all, I exhibit multiple traits of a person suffering from Childhood Trauma.
The problem is that I don’t remember experiencing Trauma as a child. Yet I exhibit the following:
Avoidance of relationships: I avoid or bail out of relationships to avoid getting hurt. I do want a relationship. However, I am very battle-scarred. I will run from a person if I so much as think they will hurt me.
People-Pleasing. I am so guilty of this. I engage in behaviors that make other people happy to avoid the emotional pain of not being appreciated.
Perfectionism: I set super-high standards for myself. I rarely meet them and then denigrate myself as a failure.
Constant comparison to others: Comparing yourself to others will almost always lead or contribute low self-esteem. I am never so low that I can’t find someone doing so much better to make me go lower.

5 out of 5, that’s problematic. And begs further exploration. A far-fetched option is that something traumatic occurred that I’ve suppressed way, way down, and it’s starting to surface. That’s unlikely. I have vivid memories of my childhood. While there are many events that still haunt me, they fall more into the category of learning experiences, not Trauma. Yes, they were difficult to process and probably left some scars, but they were necessary. My generation, unlike today’s, learned lessons the hard way. Saying the wrong thing to the wrong person often resulted in a punch in the face. Getting rejected at a School Dance stung a lot. Betrayal by the hand of a friend comes to mind as well. And can I ever forget the disappointed look on my Dad’s face when I acted beneath his standards?
Again, learning experiences. Rites of passage, perhaps. So why did I jump at the above quote, inspiring a blog entry?
The term “Doesn’t ask for help.”

I don’t ask for help, even among my friends. Today, I met with some dear friends, Masons, for our weekly coffee. Between 4 and 6 of us turn out to talk. The rules are no rules. Talk about anything, but if you need to unburden yourself of something, your problems become our problems. We unburden without fear of reprisal or lack of confidentiality, and we listen unconditionally. It is our own little therapy group.
It is an honor for someone to feel comfortable enough to share their innermost conflicts with you. To seek your counsel is a higher honor. I am proud to tell you that many Brothers have sought out my listening/counsel over the years. It is a true blessing among Masons. But I am never the one to unburden myself. I just don’t do that, except in very rare occasions.
I have to ask myself why.
The answer isn’t elusive. I really didn’t have anyone to talk to about my multiple problems growing up.

I learned at a young age to handle everything internally. It began out of a fear of asking a stupid question of my parents. I have always had an unreasonable fear of asking the wrong questions. It may be out of fear of appearing dumb, perhaps I feared mockery. Maybe I felt that I should know it already. I was a very mixed-up child. If I had asked those questions, it is very possible that I would be in a different place today. If this segment reeks of uncertainty, there is a very good reason. Uncertainty is THE word to describe my entire childhood. I have always, including now, been uncertain about myself.
The worries about seeming dumb, ill-informed, or just plain wrong are still there. Not always but enough. I still battle uncertainty about my intellect, competency, reputation, character, and even who the Hell I am. This is partially due to my not asking for help.

As I said, I remember having a happy Childhood. By that, I mean that even though we were not wealthy by any standard, I don’t remember wanting for anything. I never went hungry. I went to camp. I had friends. I played sports. I had an amazing Dog (my best friend) from my earliest memory. My Mom and Dad really tried.
Dad worked a lot, but until he climbed the seniority ladder in his Union, he was laid off most summers. He would work part-time jobs, and our house was always under construction. He was there, but sometimes only in body. It may have only been my impression, but I found my Dad hard to talk to about personal things. I feared him judging me to be weak of character. Toxic masculinity was a thing then. Asking for help almost always resulted in him questioning why I couldn’t “figure it out” myself. As he aged, he became more accessible. As I’m going through right now, he was reviewing his choices in hopes of having achieved a fulfilled life.

My Mom was a very different story. She worked full-time but was home at a reasonable hour each day. She was, and is, a friend as well as a mother. But, and this is a big one, she was very hands-off. As parents who had difficult parents often do, she overcompensated for her own Mother’s overbearing, suffocating parenting style. Consequently, she went the other way and left me to do my thing. I regret going down this road, but I have to point out that she didn’t see the signs. I did everything but scream for help at one point. She didn’t see it.

It got worse when my parents adopted an 8-year-old. I was 13 and well into an adolescent crisis. Puberty, as well as dealing with being bullied among other embarrassments, had me in a spiral. During this critical time, a young girl with a lot of problems was introduced into our family. She had a horrific past and needed much extra attention. This was not what I needed at that moment. My options were to vie for attention or keep to myself. My parents were lost in the transition of adoption. My new sibling required so, so much. My parents just didn’t have much time or attention left for me. So I kept everything to myself, tried to figure things out on my own, and not ask for help.

It is slowly becoming clear to me that the era in discussion may have been traumatic. During my most formative years, when I needed guidance the most, it was just me. I developed what would become a lifelong habit. Not wanting to bother anyone. This is my toxic trait. There is a long line of brothers who would gladly be there for me if I asked. I’m not going to take them up on it because it’s just not who I am. I am the guy who needs more help than anyone can give. But I will never ask for it. I’ll just deal with it in my own way.

All because I wasn’t comforted as a child. Yet I blame nobody but myself. Mom, Dad, it’s not your fault.

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.

Repeat patterns

I realized a disturbing thing this morning. It’s starting again.

“It” is the winter doldrums that I thought I was beyond. I managed to survive them last winter, but the year before was a winter I’d rather forget.

In the winter of 2023 I was coming off a high. I had moved into a new place, my first time on my own since my illness. I was riding a wave of optimism, newfound independence, and embracing new opportunities. That lasted a few months. Then it got cold out. Then I began to notice a side of my roommate that I had never seen before. I became torn about my new life not living up to expectations. I wasn’t seeing my family any more than before. I thought I had been lonely before, when I lived with Mom. As it turns out, I would be lonelier than ever before. And I was surrounded by good people.

I got to a point where I went out only when I absolutely had to. I maintained my commitments in Masonry. I saw the kids when the opportunity arose. I went shopping when I was out of food. As my roommate situation worsened, I only went downstairs to make meals. Other than that, I stayed in my loft. I drank coffee in the morning and watched TV. I would switch to alcohol around 2-3 in the afternoon. Then I would begin my daily weed habit. During all this, I indulged in terrible food and avoided exercise as if it were my ex-wife. My fat, depressed ass was glued to my recliner, and I had no clue how to unglue it.

Of course, this would eventually reveal itself to be functional depression. I had a buddy who used to joke that he was a “functional” alcoholic. He was just a regular alcoholic who managed to live up to his responsibilities. Well, to draw the same line to my depression, I was barely functional, if at all. I did the very least I could to get by. It went on for months. I emerged from the winter fat and drunk. As Dean Wormer of Animal House famously stated, “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life.”

The sunlight, or lack of it, has something to do with it. I’m solar powered. I love sunlight and get outside as often as possible. Early sunsets and gray skies are not ideal for me. But they’ve never knocked me out of the game for the entire winter.

Last winter, I did better. I was aware of the signs, and I made preparations. I I committed myself to fulfilling plans, not blowing everything off at the last minute. That is one trait I absolutely have to get rid of. The drinking was about the same. However, I quit cold turkey on January 1st. This action removed alcohol from my list of afflictions. I still endured some moments, but overall it was a better Winter.

It is now Tuesday afternoon. I haven’t left my apartment since Sunday morning. I had some quick work done on my car then, but I went home right after. I was tired from a long Saturday and thought I just needed some rest. Yesterday, I wanted to get out early and go work out. Around noon I gave up on leaving and put my robe on. I tried to be productive. I did some writing, read a few chapters of a book. Mostly, I napped and prepped some food. It was a wasted day.

Today, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet. I have a Dr. Appt at 2:30 and a Masonic meeting tonight at 6:30. I wanted to do other things today. I wanted to follow my plan of going to Planet Fitness. I also planned on doing some Ubering. I should have left the house hours ago. Yes, my back hurts a lot today. That may be a viable excuse for not working out. However, I have no excuse for not making some money. Here’s what’s not viable. I haven’t showered or shaved in 3 days. I lack motivation to do the simplest of tasks. I don’t answer my phone, and I only return important texts. Last night I prayed for motivation. I prayed for clear-headedness. I asked for the strength to get up early and get out today. Well, I managed to get up early.

Something has got to give. I hate the idea of returning to the patterns of 2023; I still feel myself heading in that direction. I hope I find the strength to pull myself out of this. I can’t lead a life or purpose sitting in my recliner.

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.