Category: education

Deflection

Saw this on my FB feed today.
“Nobody grinds harder than the man who’s tasted failure, pain, rejection, loss, disrespect, loneliness, and heartbreak at a young age.
Use all the pain as fuel.”
Author unknown.

I was at a function recently and was presented with an award by my peers. It was an amazing gesture of thanks for an event that I had sponsored for a distressed brother. I was honored, but visibly uncomfortable with the public accolades. After the dust had settled, I was talking to a Brother whom I respect greatly. He said, “It’s okay to be recognized, Bill. You do a lot for people.”
I replied that I don’t do things for acknowledgment, I do them because I can.
“It’s because you’ve been through some shit, and you know how it is to be down.”I suppose it’s true. My past comes through when an opportunity to help someone arises.

I know how this sounds. As I write this, I am painfully aware that I am opening myself up to charges of hubris. I swear on all that matters to me that I am not about that. I have reached a unique point in my life. I am really not about me anymore. I like my life as it is, but I’ve gone as far as I can. I’m in a acceptable rut. I have my routine and the things that make me happy. The rest of my time is for my fellow man.

My old life was marked by constant errors in judgment, poor decisions, and struggles in interpersonal relationships. Then came the illness. At the culmination of my illness, I hit the ultimate place of learning: Rock Bottom. From the depths of that pit, I experienced despair and loneliness. I felt hopelessness, dependency, and isolation. I also faced failure, pain, and rejection. The loss and heartbreak were overwhelming. The prospect of an early conclusion to an unfulfilled life terrified me.

My friend Eric recently started dialysis. He told me, “Situations such as this reveal to you who your friends really are.” That resonated with me profoundly. While I did have some very solid support while sick, I dealt with my situation mostly alone. I learned some hard life lessons. I discovered a great deal about who I was. I also realized what I wanted out of life. I vowed that if I were to get better, I would do better. In particular, to channel my own experiences to help others.
Then I got better.

For a few years, I talked about my experience. Maybe too much. I was so happy to be on the right side of the dirt. I shared my story with anyone who wanted to hear it. I believe that everyone has something to offer. Different perspectives inspire new attitudes. Sometimes it only takes a reminder that, no matter how bad you have it, someone has it worse. I utilize the charitable nature of Freemasonry as a tool to help people. Masonic charity is true charity; often done anonymously, and always done without expectation of accolades or anything in return.

Now, in this phase of life, I rarely even talk about my illness. I’m not the sick guy anymore. But I walk with all of the memories of him. The lessons of my past life have changed my perspective. When someone catches my attention, my mind turns to the adage “Be kind. Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” It keeps me grounded. It’s what causes me to deflect compliments and accolades.

My oldest daughter wrote the following in my Birthday card in July. “Dad, you are the most selfless person I know.” I have been very clear in stating that I don’t like or need compliments. But that one I’ll take as fuel to grind even harder.

Mulligan

I love Golf. It’s a wonderful outdoor activity. It’s good exercise. It’s challenging both mentally and physically. It involves dexterity, precision, and muscle memory. It’s also maddening. Don’t let the Pros on TV fool you. There is nothing harder than to hit a little white ball straight and far. If that isn’t challenging enough, there are obstacles of sand, water and trees to make it more interesting. It’s an unforgiving game in many ways.
Just like life itself.

The key to Golf, unless you’re a professional or in training, is to not take it too seriously. Golf is like sex, you have to do it a lot to be good at it. But people who don’t have sex often still want to be good at it, and the same applies to Golf. There are those who are great at it but don’t take it too seriously. And then there are those who suck and get angry when they reveal said fact. And then there’s everyone in between. The happiest golfer plays to their strengths. They know their limitations. They break down their game into 3 categories. Good swings, bad swings, and Mulligans.

I don’t have to explain the good swing in detail. It’s the one that went where the player wanted it to. It’s the one that makes you come back. Even if the day was otherwise full of bad swings. Bad swings are the ones that don’t live up to our plan. It was either a miss, a slice, a shank, or a dribbler. They are maddening. Sometimes they require a “Mulligan.”

A “Mulligan” is a free swing. A do over. It’s named after a real person. He made a bad shot, and his peers deemed that he could hit it again. While it is not allowed in professional play, the regular “duffer”, or hack player, often utilizes one or more during a round. If the challenges and intricacies of Golf are a metaphor for life, that’s an interesting twist. Golf, unlike life, occasionally allows you a do-over.

I have embraced the Mulligan in life. I have been mercilessly unforgiving of myself for most of my life. I hold myself to a standard that nobody can achieve and the beatings I give myself are also on a next level. But occasionally I think about playing a round with my Son on a beautiful summer day. We’re out playing for the camaraderie. We’re playing to escape the daily grind. We’re only being slightly competitive; mostly, we’re trying to just enjoy the moment that will become a memory. I just hit a bad shot off the tee. It’s the first bad shot of the day, and we’ve been enjoying the close play. My boy tosses me a ball and says, “Do it again”. It’s an allowable do-over. No questions asked. I set up the ball, take a deep breath, and swing. The shot is long and straight, landing and bouncing past my boy’s ball on the fairway. I feel good again, I made good on a mistake.

Life doesn’t allow Mulligans. Every tee shot you take in life needs to be played from wherever it lands. No exceptions. I’ve been hitting out of the woods, behind trees, and out of sand my entire life. Some shots sailed onto the fairway, others fell short or got lost altogether. I can’t erase them. But if I can’t forget about them, at the very least, I can forgive myself for them.

Some days I hit some good shots. Most days I hit a few bad ones. The bad ones have been keeping my mind racing at a frenetic pace. They keep me up at night and ruin otherwise peaceful moments. But each day I get up and swing again. The new day is the Mulligan. It is not a continuation of the last round. If I can remember to look at each day in this vein, my life is sure to get better.

Finding Motivation: Embracing Inner Strength

I finally found some motivation. While I haven’t spiraled down any drains of negative thinking and self-flagellation lately, I have been a tad unmotivated. I think it’s the weed; maybe it’s time to stop that. Like I did with the Drink, when I get sick of something, I will have the strength to stop. I am good in that respect.

I rarely do anything that even resembles bragging, but sometimes I am proud of myself. I have resolve. I find ways to tap into reserves of inner strength. I do not need to rely on others to pick me up. Recently, I have learned that no matter how low I get, I can pull myself out of it. I have this ability. I’m glad to have it.

Some people take a hard look at themselves in times of crisis. I do it as a matter of habit. I often joke that nobody can ever be harder on me than I am.

I made a comment to my lady friend that I was proud of a recent accomplishment. She took me to task for invoking the notion of pride. I know where she is coming from. She is a deeply religious person and she is coming from a place of humility. I admire it. But I also disagree. Pride and hubris are profoundly different things.

Humility is not thinking more of yourself, it is thinking about yourself less. I try to embody that in every aspect of my life. I strive to be selfless in all that I do. I deflect compliments, I share credit, and I genuinely want others to succeed. I don’t think of myself as much as I think of others.
BUT, I have come a long way.

Not that long ago, I was barely able to care for myself. I was sick, broke and despondent. A few short years later I have accomplished almost everything on my vast bucket list. My Bucket list is an “as it were” list. As my goals for a happy life came from a place called Rock Bottom. My goals were lofty then, given my situation. Lofty but challenging nonetheless. Getting my own place, being able to support myself, maintaining my newfound good health, and getting in shape. I have done all of that. Why am I not allowed to be proud of all of that?

I know what bragging is. I’ve seen it a million times. But “humble bragging” at an awards ceremony and exclaiming happiness at accomplishing goals are two very different things. I am not pleased with myself, I am merely pleased with my life.

I get what she is saying. It comes from a good place. But everyone needs to understand something important. Your current status in life is measured by where you were before.

I was very sick. Now I am not.
I was a borderline alcoholic. I have been sober for ten months.
I was living with my mother. Now I have my own place.
I wasn’t contributing, only taking. Now I work, volunteer and mentor.
I was in terrible physical condition. I am now at the lowest weight I have been in 10 years.
I was in a BAD place mentally. Now, I see the signs and am working on preventative measures.
I had no clue who I was and what my mission was. I now know my purpose and am living it.

I was there. Now I am here. And I’m proud of that.

Embrace Your Uniqueness: A Journey of Self-Discovery

I was recently asked what my last blog post would be. I had to think about it of course. I decided to write it as if I was actually well-adjusted at the time of my demise. That makes this an exercise in Creative Writing. Here goes.

Be yourself. No matter what. Then embrace it. 

That is what my final blog post would say. 

I cannot tell you how many blogs I have written about finding and understanding myself and what I stand for. I have always struggled with matters of identity. I could go on for days about my findings on this matter. Suffice to say, I showed up at the party way too late.

I’m glad I got here. However, I surely wasted an irretrievable amount of time, effort, angst, and agony in the process. I told the President of my HS reunion committee something several years ago. This was when I was asked for a quote for the newsletter. I said, “I searched high and low, far and wide for who I am. Only to realize that I was me all along.” 

I never thought I was enough. Or the right thing. Or in the right place. I don’t know why, nothing in my childhood explains it. Nobody has ever told me that I’m not good enough except me. It’s as if I placed other people’s expectations of me without their offer or permission. I think I tried to be who and what people wanted or expected. Sometimes different personas for different people or groups. 

I was big and intimidating. So I acted it. But I’m not tough nor do I want to intimidate. That didn’t work.

I was charming (to a degree) so I acted the part of Ladies Man and Playa. But I like and respect women, I didn’t even like hookups.

I was a decent artist. So I tried to emanate artsy and liberal. Turns out I’m a casual artist and I am not wired to take mushrooms and sing Kumbaya around a campfire.

I could go on. Suffice it to say that despite having varied interests and strengths, not a single one of them defines me. They are merely components of me. The day I realized that was a great day indeed. 

As much as I can parrot the tired line, “I don’t care what people think about me” I do. But not in the conventional sense. 

It matters to me that people know who I am and what I stand for. It matters to me that people know that I am a good person. Sure I want to be liked, but I have recognized that respect or appreciation is what I truly desire. 

I have found that the answer is in the company you keep. Your friends will not only understand your uniqueness. The organizations you attend meetings and events at will also appreciate it. The people you spend time with will too. They will know your quirks and pecadillos.  They will know who you really are and what you stand for.

I am the chocolate box in Forrest Gump’s lap. I come in many shapes and forms. They’re all good in their own way. If some of my pieces don’t do it for you, then leave them and enjoy another. I’m me and you never know what me you’re going to get.

Having made that bizarre statement, the overall point is my recommendation to everyone to just be yourself. If you’re not surrounding yourself with people who appreciate the particular magic you bring to the table…well then find a new circle.

Embrace Your True Self: Words of Wisdom

“A person who doesn’t know what the universe is, doesn’t know where they are. A person who doesn’t understand their purpose in life doesn’t understand who they are or what the universe is. A person who doesn’t know any of these things doesn’t know why they are here. So what to make of people who seek or avoid the praise of those who have no knowledge of where and who they are?”
Marcus Aurelius

“A man who stands for nothing will fall for anything.”
Malcolm X

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 8.52

I recently saw a question on another post. “If this was the last thing you would write, what words of wisdom would you share?”

That’s easy. Be yourself. No matter what. Then embrace it. 

I can’t tell you how many blogs I have written about finding and understanding myself and what I stand for. I have always struggled with matters of identity. I can talk endlessly about my findings on this matter. Still, suffice to say that I showed up at the party way too late.

I’m glad I got here. Still, I wasted an irretrievable amount of time, effort, angst, and agony in the process. Several years ago, the President of my HS reunion committee asked me for a quote for the newsletter. I gave her this, “I searched long, far and wide for who I am. Only to realize that I was me all along.”

As I said it I realized how prescient my statement really was. When I thought about it, I never thought I was enough. Or the right thing. Or in the right place. I don’t know why, nothing in my childhood explains it. Nobody has ever told me that I’m not good enough except for me. It’s as if I placed other people’s expectations on me without their offer or permission. I think I tried to be who and what people wanted or expected. Sometimes different personas for different people or groups. 

I was big and intimidating. So I acted it. But I’m not tough nor do I want to intimidate. That didn’t work.
I was charming (to a degree) so I acted the part of Ladies Man and Playa. But I like and respect women, I didn’t even like hookups.
I was a decent artist. So I tried to emanate artsy and liberal. Turns out I’m a casual artist and I am not wired to take mushrooms and sing Kumbaya around a campfire.

I could go on. Suffice it to say that despite having varied interests and strengths, not a single one of them defines me. They are merely components of me. The day I realized that was a great day indeed. 

As much as I can parrot the tired line, “I don’t care what people think about me” I do. But not in the conventional sense. 

It matters to me that people know who I am and what I stand for. It matters to me that people know that I am a good person. Sure I want to be liked, but I have recognized that respect or appreciation is what I truly want. 

I have found that the answer is in the company you keep. Your friends will not only understand you, they will accept you. The organizations where you attend meetings and events will appreciate your uniqueness. The people you spend time with will also value who you are. They will know your quirks and peccadillo’s.  They will know who you really are and what you stand for.

I am the chocolate box in Forrest Gump’s lap. I come in many shapes and forms. They’re all good in their own way. If some of my pieces don’t do it for you, then leave them. If one leaves a bad taste in your mouth, enjoy another. I’m me and you never know what me you’re going to get. Even I can’t tell you that. What I can tell you is that under my awkward demeanor is a man of powerful convictions. A man with a sense of justice. A man with empathy. A man who would do anything in his power to end the suffering of another. A man that not only believes in right and wrong but lives by it as well. I’m not special, but I am not without purpose.

Therefore, if my last recorded word was to be one of advice…just be yourself. Know what drives you and live it. Believe in something so strongly that you would die for it. Then surround yourself with people who appreciate your unique magic. If they don’t, then find a new circle.

Overcoming Negative Thoughts: A Personal Journey

The voices have stepped up their game. It’s not unlike the episode of The Flintstones in which Fred has the Angel and Devil in each ear. I’ve always joked that voices in the head are harmless if they’re agreeable. Lately, they are not.

I have been plagued by negative thinking, over-thinking, and rumination for a very long time. I stop short of using the word “suffering.” Regardless of my choice of words, it is a major problem. I struggle with self-worth. I replay conversations in my head searching for mistakes I have made. I constantly wonder if people like me, or dislike me, and then debate the actual validity of it. I often tell myself I can’t do things and shouldn’t bother. I have been getting better at catching these patterns before they spiral out of control. But more often than not I let them run their course.
The only thing that quieted them was weed and many drinks. With enough of both, I managed to sleep at night.

The recent removal of alcohol from my arsenal has changed that. I still smoke weed at night. It doesn’t have a hallucinogenic effect on me, it just quiets my brain. Apparently, sleep was a product of the combination of both weed and several whiskeys. Sans the whiskey, now when my head hits the pillow it becomes an open forum for the negative voices.
The overall theme of each night’s performance is a delightful and predictable performance.
You can’t go without it.
You’ll give in, this is just a phase.
You’re not really a drunk. Just slow down a bit.
AA is not the answer. You’ll get bored with it.

I hope that this is just a phase.

I feel very good about my decision and, for the most part I am doing very well with not drinking. I firmly believe that my addiction was of a mental compulsion and sheer habit, not of a physical dependence. I still want a drink, again mostly out of habit. The habit is learned behavior and conditioning. I used alcohol as a reward for everything.
Accomplishment=a drink.
Happiness=a drink.
An occasion=a drink.
Well, you get it. Long story short (too late?), almost every day, I find a reason to pull into a liquor store or local tavern for several celebratory drinks. All thanks to the Autosteer feature all alcoholics have installed in their cars. It finds liquor stores and watering holes and automatically pulls into the parking lot for you.

At least for now, I have taken control of the Autosteer. I grab the wheel tight and instead, I pull into a friend’s driveway, churches, Masonic activities, and AA meetings. I believe that eventually, these driving habits will quiet the voices.

My Journey to Sobriety: 7 AA Meetings in 7 Days

Interesting observation. Well, you decide that, not me. Or call it a joke. Instead of ordering a 7 and 7, I have been to 7 AA meetings in 7 days.

It was an enormous but necessary decision to seek sobriety. I have been wanting to do it for a very long time. I have been in a cycle of indulging, self-loathing, and indulging again.
Wash, rinse, and repeat.
I finally realized I wouldn’t be able to do it alone. My bullshit was just too powerful. Alcoholics are master manipulators. I didn’t know it applied to our own selves. What bullshit, you ask?
Thinking about every possible reason why I shouldn’t quit. I tried to convince myself that my lifestyle didn’t support sobriety. Because, after all, everything I’m involved in has alcohol consumption as a component.
Bullshit, there are a ton of people that don’t drink.
I can do it by myself, I don’t need to attend meetings.
No, I can’t. I have tried dozens of times and my car continues to “auto-steer” into bars and Liquor stores.
I’m not really an alcoholic. After all, I don’t Blackout, I hardly ever get drunk, and it hasn’t affected my life.
Yes, but I drank every day. I did mental inventories on my liquor supply on the way home every day. I thought about what I would drink with who every day. And I got drunk or significantly inebriated most every day. I just had control, tenuous at best, but still control over it.

Control. That is what lies at the center of all of this. It is also the thing I struggle with about AA. As a Recovery Case Manager I found that many clients struggled with turning it all over to the Higher Power. I do believe in a higher power. I believe that it is I that refuses to drink today. It is I that forces myself to go to meetings. It is I who develops the determination to stay focused and determined. Yet, I was told today that it is all about surrendering it all. I didn’t argue with him. Instead, I am going to leave it alone. I will let it be revealed to me as I read the Big Book. I will listen to the shares.

I believe in the program and I can honestly say that I am enjoying it. I actually look forward to attending meetings. I always feel good when I walk out the door and the people are nothing short of amazingly supportive.

That is good because the suggestion is to attend 90 in 90 days.

While I struggle with the surrender aspect of it, I know the program works. It has done amazing things for millions. Everyone I have met who has achieved prolonged sobriety was once at a Crossroads. By virtue of hearing their tales, they chose the right path. So I’m going to give it a real try.


Dad talk

I was recently asked what my Dad was like when I was younger.

I love talking about my Dad. In fact, I visited him yesterday. I talked a lot, in fact, I did all the talking. Primarily, because he can’t hear me through 6 feet of dirt and a Veteran’s Grave marker. He may have died 10 1/2 years ago but not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. 

One of the things I remember most about my Dad was a conversation we had towards the end of his life. As Parkinson’s ravaged his body, transforming him into a shadow of the mighty Oak he once was, he became briefly interested in his legacy. He didn’t have much regard for how people felt about him and he wasn’t a man with many regrets, but he was concerned about how he was as a Dad. I was shocked when he brought it up.

“Do you resent me for being out of the house so much”?

I had never really thought of it. He worked all the time. Side jobs, overtime, helping my Grandfather. “Out” wasn’t out with the boys or time spent on himself. It was work. Other than that he was home being a great Dad. And, it wasn’t as if I had a reference point to compare his time home to others. All of my friends’ Dads worked, most of them a lot. I always thought that’s how it was supposed to be, the parents provide so the kids can thrive.

“Not at all, Dad”, I replied. “I didn’t resent you ever, about anything. I admired your work ethic and I always looked to you with pride for your accomplishments.”

A tear formed in the corner of his eye. He caught my reference. I was reminding him of something he thought about every day of his life, his upbringing. My Dad came from very humble beginnings. He lived in the poorest section of town, one of 4 kids. Of he and his multiple cousins, Dad was the one with the work ethic, the good eyesight and the desire to do better. I mention eyesight because it has been theorized that my Dad was the product of an affair. His entire family wore thick glasses, Dad could spot a feather out of place on a Hawk’s tail at 2000 feet. Dad was also the only one to make something of himself. He joined the military, learned a skill, joined a Union, bought a house. Instead of being happy for him, he was chided by his family as the “Rich one”. To them, Middle Class was rich. Me, I was the “Rich Kid”. I hated them for that. I developed a “fuck’em” attitude early on.

So, knowing all of this, I never had a problem with his hard work. It was all for us.

But the real matter at hand here is what was my Dad like when he WAS home. The answer is simultaneously simple and complex. He tried too hard, because someone in his life didn’t try hard enough. He had very high expectations for me, but he forced a lot of them on me because he never had the opportunities I had. He wanted to be an amazing father and husband, but he put on metaphorical “hats” (Hubby hat, Dad hat, Neighbor hat, etc) and in the process denied himself some of the more genuine moments of family life because he couldn’t just relax and be himself. Those moments were rare but so very special.

I am not a revisionist historian. I don’t paint the past pretty colors in an attempt to make it more palatable. I didn’t always get along with my Dad. He pushed me very hard at a time when I was too mixed up to handle my own problems. He didn’t recognize those times when I needed him to take off the damn hat and just be there for me. I don’t blame him, I just feel that at times he was more worried about outrunning his childhood than being present in mine.

I am glad to say that, later in life we became close. We closed the gap, evened the playing field as it were. He went on to be a loving and doting Grandfather to my children and I think he made peace with most of his demons.

He died young from a terrible disease. He is missed by a lot of people. Most of all by me.

Old Movies

One of the many things I enjoy about my new Lady friend, and there are many, is her knowledge and passion for older movies. As a movie lover, it is a genre I’ve always wanted to explore but for some reason, I viewed it as a challenge, a project that needed to be approached systematically. I find that odd, as I do many things I do because I don’t approach any other entertainment genre in the same way. Nevertheless, I largely avoided the genre, as if I was waiting for someone to come along and show it to me. Someone to give me the “must-sees”, the highlight reel, the time-saver. Well, I met her and we have begun my journey. I have to say that I have really enjoyed it and am looking for more. Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Gilda and The Quiet Man are in the books. Next on the list remains a mystery, but I have given my list of actors I want to see; Spencer Tracy, Jimmy Stewart, Jimmy Cagney for starters. Definitely more Rita Hayworth and Ingrid Bergman, and looking forward to Liz Taylor, Marlene Dietrich and as Elton said, dearest Marilyn. I am not only looking forward to seeing these movies, I can’t wait to watch them with her.

I don’t know why I waited so long to embark on this journey. Not only am I fan of all cinema, but I am a lover of all things past. It is not a reach to state that I was born in the wrong decade. I have fantasized as well as written about growing up in a different time. I love the notion of the roaring 20’s, dressed to the nines and dancing with rebellious and fine women. I fancy being a young man in the 40’s, when post-war optimism and a sense of triumph ruled the air and men wore suits to Baseball games. I can imagine myself cruising the strip in 50’s America in a Rat Rod, listening to Doo Wop (one of my favorite genres) on the radio, hair slicked and a pack of Lucky’s rolled into my sleeve like John Milner in American Graffiti. I wonder aloud if I would have been a protestor or a staunch member of the status quo in the tumultuous 60’s as cultural change and paradigm shifts dominated the landscape. That’s what movies do for me, they make me think of the “what if’s” in life. It takes understanding who you are and what you stand for to an entirely new level; you ask yourself the hard questions of yourself; Am I a product of the times? Would I have been a different or better/worse person than I am in this universe? Which raises so many other questions.
If I had lived in a time of war, would I have been a hero or a cautionary tale?
If faced with the notion of great sacrifice, would I have done it with dignity and decorum?
Would I have been a face in a crowd or a person that stands out?
Would I have followed the norms of the time or would I be a voice of change?

Of course, all of this is pure fantasy. With my health conditions and the technology of the times in question being what they are/were, I wouldn’t have lived very long. But if we were to suspend reality for a brief moment in time, I have so many fantasies about growing up in different decades. It would be good to ask myself why I suppose. Do I believe that the past were better times or just different times? I ask because looking back at the examples I have given above, I mentioned the good aspects of those eras but they all had a tremendous downside. The 20’s, despite the “roaring”, would end in the Depression, an era that was nothing less than brutal for all Americans. The 40’s would entail a World War in which I may have died. The 50’s were not entirely peaceful as well, we were at war again. The 60’s were dominated by incredibly divisive politics, cultural upheaval, racial violence, and polarization and destruction of the American family, not to mention that I may have gone to Vietnam.

Yet, when we watch old movies the times become glamorous. American History is written by the victor and Hollywood was the storyteller. They took liberties and painted a wonderful picture of a country that is not always that wonderful. And that’s ok, because we don’t go to movies to see how bad things are, that can be seen all around us. Movies are an escape from reality, a dalliance with fantasy, a reminder of bygone eras. In old movies I get to observe so many things that are non-existent today.
Masculine men who projected strength and virility, men who dressed well for all occasions, men that were chivalrous and treated women as ladies. To that point, I love seeing the portrayal of women who were proud to be feminine, women that enjoyed the differences between the genders and embraced the power that comes with it.
On that note, it is also fascinating to see how bad behavior, men striking women or making unwanted advances, or acting badly in general, has gone the way of the Dodo.
Then we have the observations of technological advances; isn’t it interesting to see the old cars, hand-cranked telephones, telegraph machines and typewriters? Who doesn’t come out of It’s a Wonderful Life without marveling at what Banks used to look like?

I am really enjoying this process and look forward to where it takes me. Of course, it is an added advantage that I have someone great to snuggle on the couch and watch with. After all, what are the odds that “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine”

A new challenge

I can see myself laying back on a therapist’s sofa, I can feel the beady Freudian eyes studying me, I can hear the words coming out of my mouth as if I was there, “Dr., help me. I’m dating a liberal.”
“Veeelll”(my best Austrian accent on paper), “how does dat make you feel?”
“I don’t know yet, it’s never happened before. But I think I like it.”
“You do”?, he inquires. “I thought zat you were a conservative, with a, how do you say eh…Podcast”.
“I am”, I paused. “This is uncharted territory for me.:
“Vell then you should embrace it zen”, he instructed.
“I will, as soon as I figure out how.”

Of course, I am not really on a therapist’s couch but I am in the grips of a crisis in my dating life, I am dating a strong and intelligent woman whose politics are very different from my own.
I can tell you that initially, it gave me fits, but now I am perfectly OK with it.

It’s been my history that I have, for unknown reasons, dated women who share my conservative leanings. It has never been a preference that I sought out, it merely worked out that way. In the dating process of getting to know someone, political leanings, or interest level at least, usually come up. I’ve dated some very political women and others who couldn’t care less. I gravitate towards somewhat political women because I believe that it reflects awareness and intelligence to want to know what is happening in the world, and I have little regard or interest in people who don’t care. So it tends to work itself out early on in the process. This one, it took a while before the liberal revealed itself. Not for any particular reason other than one really great one; it didn’t come up because we had so many other things, great things, to talk about as were getting to know each other that it never came up.

When it did come up, it did so in a somewhat comical manner. If memory serves, she may have said, “ok, let’s get this out there” or something similar. She then proceeded to say something that is very contradictory to my beliefs. I laughed it off, we talked about it and we agreed to disagree. I was relieved to realize that I was able to hear opposing viewpoints and make the critical distinction that it isn’t personal, I wasn’t being attacked, and it was up to me how I chose to process it. Except for one comment she made, which showed me that she was a little left of an Independent, a comment that made me question her sanity for a moment, I was surprisingly ok with it. We had a spirited conversation and it ended on a good note.
But after we talked, I had serious reservations about whether I could be with someone with such different ideas. See, I view my convictions as more than just opinions, I believe that it is an extension of our belief system, our character, dare I say our values. My fear was that my new interest was so different in her actual makeup that we wouldn’t get along. I spent the night and most of the next day thinking about it.
I think she did as well. Here’s why. She believes that Conservatives are unfeeling and compassionate, I feel that liberals are misguided and unrealistic. And my fear was that she was the worst type of liberal, the “all about party” person that rejects all opinions that don’t fit their narrative. This could have gone either way. As it would work out, we talked about it the next day. The results were surprising; we agreed to disagree.

I was relieved. It then occurred to me that there was one thing I was overlooking. She was different. Unlike many people, she had educated and informed opinions backed by genuine compassion. I cannot emphasize how much value I place on that. I would like to believe that I espouse my beliefs and convictions similarly. I’m not angry and closed off, instead I truly care. That is the great equalizer. Also, it occurred to me a larger matter; I really liked her and the notion of losing an opportunity to get to know this interesting, intelligent and accomplished woman over politics is unacceptable.

It hasn’t crossed my mind since I came to that realization. I would go so far to say that she is good for me. She is making me put my money where my mouth is. I wanted to be more open-minded, here’s my opportunity. If I lose her, it won’t be over my like or dislike of a candidate or party. I have so many ways at my disposal to ruin this opportunity, I don’t need politics. There is a bigger picture here. One that hopefully includes her.
Relationships should include challenging each other. I welcome it. I hope she does as well.