Category: health

Growing pains

It’s been a busy few weeks as I have been winding down my detail business up North and making my move to my new digs in Southern NH. It has been difficult on both fronts. My customers continue to offer me business despite my stated completion date for the season of 10/31. I’m torn between shutting it down and taking the opportunity to make money. I kike money and I think anyone in my position would do the same. As for how my living situation fits into this, I have yet to spend more than a couple of weekends at my new place because I need to drive back up for jobs during the week. It’s not a big deal other than not being able to settle into my new residence. I’m just anxious to start a new chapter.

I suppose that my work commitments aren’t the only obstacle to my moving. I am becoming bittersweet about moving away from Mom. She has been making comments lately, despite initially being supportive of my move, that suggest that she is unhappy about my leaving. This is problematic, I based my decision heavily on her opinion. I will miss her as well, I have told her this repeatedly. I love her with all my heart and she is my best friend. But I have been living with her for 6 years. Ever since I fell ill in 2017. Now that I am well again, I want to rejoin the ranks of the adult, which includes having your own place. Or in my case, sharing an apartment with a roommate. Anything but living with your mother. I was hoping for a smoother, happier transition.

As for the rest of the transition, I like my new space. It is sparsely but tastefully decorated to my taste. My roommate, who is one of my dearest friends, gives me plenty of space. We hang out quite a bit but also have plenty of our own space. Another very important aspect of the move is that I am so much closer to family and friends. I have already taken advantage of the close proximity to both and I feel really good about it. This morning I went to a function with friends at the lodge and then had lunch with my daughter and I only did an hour of driving, not 4!

Growing pains are necessary and tend to wear off sooner than later.

the get together…conclusion

from previous post:
The days of hanging with the boys were the happiest times of my life. Hands down. Of course, I wanted to experience it again.
Also, I wanted to see where I fit into things, being the one who has probably experienced the most change (only everything in my life).
Lastly, I would be lying if I didn’t make note that I have had yet another glimpse into the abyss and I needed to create another memory.

It was good to walk into the bar area and see Scott and Mark. While the years take a toll on us all, they both look exactly the same. We had a drink at the bar and moved to a table when Neil got there. I don’t know Neil as well as the others but he has been part of the group for a long time and he’s a really good guy. I like him a lot.

The evening immediately took on a familiar note as we naturally eased into conversation. There wasn’t a whole lot of catching up to do, through FB and occasional text exchanges we knew what each other was up to for the most part. It felt like the old days. So, as I did in the old days, despite my sincere desire to not do so, I devolved into behaviors. Inappropriate behavior and over-sharing.
When I look back at the old days, the old me if you will, I deeply regret my behavior at times. I was very immature and insecure. I had no direction or foresight. I lived for the day and put everything else off. As the other guys were making good decisions, embarking on their careers and setting up for their futures I was content to drink, make inappropriate jokes and sexual banter. For some reason, I chose to make those “my thing”. The class clown if you will. It would be many years before I would realize that I wasn’t funny. I was just a moderately likeable knucklehead.
I didn’t want to be like that anymore.
But when it came time to talk about what I’ve been up to I offered up some tidbits about my health, my love life, and work. I shared the good news about my health and minimized my latest bad news. I boasted about the many wild sexual experiences, in unfortunate detail in hindsight, and left out the fact that I had been left heartbroken and sad very recently. I spoke of my side gig, all the while knowing that everyone at that table had more in their checking accounts than I had to my name. There’s the insecurity again.

As anyone with generalized anxiety knows, things often seem worse to us than would appear to others. And I know that, as I overthought the evening, I probably didn’t come off as badly as I thought. In reviewing the antics that I am embarrassed by, I came to the conclusion that I just wanted to fit in. Perhaps part of me wanted to show them that I have changed. But they probably don’t care, they’ve all changed also. But despite all the changes in their lives, I still look up to them all because they did things right and are living the lifestyle that I wish for but don’t deserve. As they are buying second homes and preparing for retirement, I am living with my mother and have no prospects for financial security and all that it brings. I don’t begrudge them anything.
I’m happy for them.

As for the behaviors that I am not proud of, there is one simple takeaway. I need to grow the fuck up.

The boys

In my ongoing quest to reconcile my past, accelerated by some upsetting recent medical news, I chose to address a particularly thought-consuming relationship. I reached out to a very important group of friends with whom I have lost touch.
Some backstory.
There is a group of friends that I was glued to the hip with since high school. The friendship was formed at a supermarket where we had all worked. Work banter evolved into hanging out and we eventually became a standing reservation in which weekend parties, football games, and a weekly gathering at a local watering hole for drinks and wings were the norm. They became my circle, “the boys”, and remained so for many years. It wasn’t until we all got involved in relationships and had family that we drifted apart.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. They continued to get together, I was the one who dropped off the face of the earth.
It wasn’t all my fault, I worked crazy hours including nights and weekends and it was hard. They accommodated my schedule when possible and made a real effort to include me but eventually, we lost touch.
In hindsight, I think I lost touch. They continued to be active friends. Marriage and family happened and they adapted. I wasn’t part of that phase. I don’t think any of them have ever met my children, nor I theirs. If not for social media I wouldn’t know what they looked like.
Per usual, I blamed myself for it. Some of it perhaps fairly, most of it maybe not.

This is not to say that we didn’t speak. One friend from that group has been a consistent friend and very supportive of me as I have dealt with the many challenges I have faced. I am thankful for him. I regret a lot of the opportunities I missed out on regarding him but still feel connected. As for the others, I just feel like a bad friend.

More later…

Anniversary

I received a notification today that this is my 11th anniversary of WP. Wow. That’s the longest I’ve ever stuck with anything.

To be fair, it wasn’t until 2017 that I became a frequent participant. I had always struggled to find a theme, something that I could build on. Well, my entire life collapsing in a span of 6 months in 2017 certainly filled that need. I told my story.

I told a story of failed health, of being at the bottom, lying on my back looking the only place I was able. Up. Because, short of a six foot burial plot, I had sunk that far. When I began blogging, I had little to occupy my time so telling my story became my new pastime. The blog served a purpose. I achieved badly needed catharsis. I dedicated myself to transparency and brutal honesty and then forced myself to read it and face whatever revealed itself to me.

Then I got well. My story was told. I took a break from blogging. I figured that I had nothing to tell. What I failed to recognize was that I was starting a new life. I’m not the sick guy anymore. I have more to my identity, and more importantly, I have an obligation to deal with the myriad character flaws that my journey of discovery and reconciliation revealed to me. My story is not until I write the last chapter.

I think I’ll continue the streak and get a few more years out of this. Basically the same approach I take with my life.

Change is in the air

I love Autumn. Please don’t tell “Summer Me”, I don’t want any hurt feelings. Summer is my favorite season because I love long days, the feeling of the Sun beating down on me, and all of the activities that we cram into a very short season. I romanticize the glory of Summer all winter long because I certifiably hate winter. It’s not so much the cold, but instead the short days and grey skies. SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) is a real thing. But after Summer and before the dreaded Winter is Fall. And I love it, despite what comes after it.

About mid-August each year I begin looking forward to Fall weather. The cooler air is a nice break (my asthma welcomes it), a whole new set of outdoor activities awaits, the bugs are gone, and, at least in New England, the scenery is magnificent. Bring on the Fairs, cider, pumpkins, and sweatshirt weather.

This fall will be special for me for 2 reasons.
First, I can coast a bit after a very busy, not-very-fun Summer. I dedicated this summer to working. I really dove into promoting my side hustle of cleaning cars and also worked a part-time job. I had a very successful summer. For a person with my health history, I really pushed myself. I did well with it, I am much healthier as a result. I am also much better off financially.
Additionally, and most exciting, there are some significant changes in the coming weeks. Due to my revived health and improved finances, I am finally moving out of Mom’s house.

Moving away from Mom is bittersweet. We get along great and she is sad to see me go, but it’s time. Whether it is valid or not, I cannot get past the notion that a grown-ass man shouldn’t be living with Mom. There are those that disagree but I can’t get past it. I need to feel like I’m on my own to a degree. Moving in with my good friend and podcast partner Steve will benefit me. We’re very close friends and it should be productive as well as fun.
Mom will be fine. I’m only doing this because she spends half of her time in Florida now. She doesn’t need me as much and I hate being alone when she’s gone. Also, I’m only 2 hours away.

I’m on the precipice of getting my life back. Seeing my friends and family more often (I have no friends where I am, it’s a much older community). Also, my beloved Masonic circle is based where I am moving and after almost a year away from it, I am eager to dive back in.

Here’s to change. The changing of the seasons and the changes in my life. After years of setbacks and lateral moves, I am finally moving forward.

comparisons

In reviewing my last post I hit upon something that I would like to elaborate on.
“Compared to most people my age, (can I say this with certainty?) I am way beneath the expectations of my years financially and emotionally.”

Says who?

I always do that. I always compare myself to other people. It’s a natural result of my people-watching. Actually, what I do is more than just people-watching. I study people, not with the trained, methodical eye of a sociologist, but instead with a preoccupation and fascination with people and their behavior. I don’t just observe, I speculate and project, insinuate, and envision what makes people tick. I missed my calling in life not pursuing the social sciences in college.

My people-watching evolved from a passing fancy into a pastime. When I was at my lowest it was merely voyeurism. At my lowest, I felt so worthless that almost every subject of my silent study appeared to me as superior to me. Going out was painful. Happy families, couples, and groups of friends enjoying each other’s company just exacerbated my loneliness and isolation. Indulging in Social media was a form of torment. Even when factoring in that most Social media presence is exaggerated or an outright bullshit version of one’s life, I still envied those who were doing better than me. Which, for the sake of this entry was fucking everyone.

Then I asked myself, what am I envious of? Wealth? Career success? Happiness? No, I don’t begrudge others having it. But when I see things that are symbolic of my own benchmark of where and what I think I should be at this point in my life, and I’m not there, I immediately focus immediately on every fuck-up to my name that has put me where I am today. And it triggers endless self-flagellation and pointless obsession over things I cannot change.

Fortunately, I have obtained a grip on it. I have grown to be very self-aware and accountable. Self-awareness has enabled me to take a hard look and assess where I need work. Accountability has taught me to own the hard truths that I have come to.

Here’s one. Yes, illness took a lot from me. But it isn’t the only reason I am where I am. I am a product of my choices. I married the wrong woman, so the happiness of a happy marriage has eluded me. I may not ever get (the way it’s going now) the chance at relationship happiness ever again.

It is not my place to want what others have. It is my place, and responsibility to reconcile what I have and make peace with my station in life.

Forward progress

Things always work out for me. Inexplicably at times. This is not to say that I am in a particularly wonderful place right now. Compared to most people my age, (can I say this with certainty?) I am way beneath the expectations of my years financially and emotionally. I am playing a frenetic game of catch-up in both arenas. My success is questionable.
But I am moving forward.

I’m always moving forward. It is what makes me who I am. When they finally bury me, friends and family will universally declare that I never gave up. This is not braggadocious, it is fact. See, everyone loves to call people fighters, survivors, etc. It is well-intentioned enough, but it doesn’t require toughness to merely stay alive. Survival is the mere act of not dying. It is strength of spirit that determines whether you are a quitter or not. To me, quitting is accepting your station in life and not trying to move forward and overcome it. Strength of spirit allows you to say no to victimhood. To avoid asking “why me?” and start asking “Why not me?”. Strength of spirit allows you to pick yourself up and try again. Strength of spirit is all that I have.
Well, to be fair I have also been blessed with incredible luck.

It’s odd. Most people wouldn’t consider my litany of health problems, which have been the source of most of my problems, lucky. But the evidence is in. I was lucky enough to get two kidney transplants. The odds of finding a compatible second donor were staggeringly not in my favor. But it happened. Less important but significant, I fell into a situation that resulted in my dream job. Sure, illness took it away from me but I still lived it. And that’s better than not having it. And despite a miserable marriage, I lucked out with 4 amazing human beings for children.

As a person who believes that life is not what happens, but how you react to it, the lucky part is that I learned gratitude, perspective, humility, faith and self-awareness. I have learned to recognize lessons in adversity ( and in my own stupidity). In addition, I have learned that no matter how bad things get, one day I will wake up and realize that they somehow got better.

I don’t know when it happened, but in the last couple of weeks I have been lucky enough to recognize how good my life really is.

The relationships, the money, all of the things that I find myself worrying about…that stuff will all work out. I always land on my feet.

purpose

I need to find something gratifying to do with my life.

Despite some recent emotional ups and downs I must concede that my life is going fairly well right now. My health is excellent, which is paramount to all else. My numbers are perfect, my Doctors are nothing less than thrilled with the performance of the new kidney.
I have been working hard all summer. This is satisfying on more than one level; I am pleased that my body had risen to the task of long days and physical exertion. 3 years ago I was nowhere near able to do what I have been doing this year. I really feel great.
Additionally, I have really built up my savings. While I am nowhere near financially secure, I was destitute not terribly long ago.
Because of my financial improvement, I am about to get a very large monkey off of my back. I am moving out of mom’s house. This is bittersweet because I really like it here. It is a nice place. I’m surrounded by beautiful country, the people are nice, and my mother and I really get along well. Still, I have yet to embrace the notion of a man my age living with his mother. It’s something I can’t get past.

I am moving in with a friend next month. He’s a good friend. He welcomed me into his home when it all fell apart in 2016. I had to move when I got real sick but he has welcomed me to return. He is being very fair with the rent as a favor to me. He is looking forward to the company as well. We are doing a podcast together as well as tossing around some other ventures and getting in the same room should yield some positive results. The biggest bonus, the driving force behind my wanting to move is that I will be closer to my children, friends and my Masonic community.

Yes, all is going well. I have put the desire for a companion on the back burner for now and it feels like the right decision. I have only one thing left to feel semi-complete. I need to find something that is gratifying to the soul. When I promised the Universe that I would give back as often and as generously as I could in exchange for the gift of another chance I meant it. When I was working with addiction clients I was living up to it. Unfortunately, I had to stop that. Now I need to find something else. Either as a part-time position or as a volunteer.

I am only happy when I feel I am living a life of purpose.

Walls

The beard is back. If for no other reason, it’s the closest thing I have to a force field. I’m back to playing social defense. People, especially the fairer sex, have done some possibly irreparable damage to me lately, and the only thing I can think of, besides making a Tee shirt that reads Not interested in meeting new people that may hurt me, the beard will provide that extra layer of protection.
I’m uglying myself up.

How sad is it that I’m finding ways to shield myself? How did a person with such a good heart and intentions, who genuinely likes people, who talks (talked?) to strangers, and who loves to laugh, become so jaded? To be clear, I am still all those things listed above, but I now view them as liabilities and aspects of my personality that I would rather keep from the world.
It’s a sad state of affairs.

I hate that it has come to this but here I am. I can’t be the person I want to be for fear of spiraling down the rabbithole of anxiety and disappointment, and the ensuing self-flagellation when someone lets me down or hurts me is simply exhausting.

I’m putting up walls. This way is easier.

Instead of seeking the companionship that I can likely do without, I want to focus more on the bigger picture. My energy needs to be channeled into finding my purpose and riding it into what I can only hope will be a fulfilled life. There is something I should be doing and I need to find it. I know that the Universe saved me, more than once, for a reason.

Chasing people that don’t get me or aren’t worthy of me is just getting in the way.

2 years

2 years ago, on a quiet Sunday afternoon I got “the call”. I’ve received important calls in my life but this was the biggest. The Kidney that I needed so badly, the one that I had resigned myself to accepting that I would probably never get, was waiting for me.

The timing couldn’t have been better. I was not doing well at all. Dialysis had been really beating me down. For the first 2 years of treatment, I was breezing through treatments with ease. Until the one day that I wasn’t. My blood levels became constantly unbalanced and the side effects were bizarre. Treatments became unbearable and for the first time in my life, I was experiencing despair, even intrusive suicidal thoughts.

I raced home to pack a bag. I drove on the edge of my seat for 2 hours to the hospital where I was received in a hallway lined with applauding medical staff. It was a surreal moment, to say the least.

I emerged from surgery as if I was a new man. The first day with a new kidney is a remarkable experience. The brain fog, fatigue, malaise that characterizes Renal disease is just gone and replaced by a clarity of mind and renewed sense of hope. It’s beyond medical or physiological, it’s almost spiritual. I wasn’t beaten down any longer. I was in pain, excruciating at times, but it was glorious.

I’ve been given the gift of new beginnings twice. First, a coworker selflessly donated to me in 2011. I hate that her gift didn’t last longer but I am still indebted beyond measure to her. My second donor I never met. She saved my life by filling out an organ donor card. Bless her anonymous soul.

I am truly blessed. Or just the luckiest man alive, if you subscribe to such a thing as luck. Regardless, it is concerning that sometimes I lose track of that.

I need to stop doing that. My story is awesome and I need to not only tell it but to live it. The mere fact that I am still standing after all of the shit that I have been through is nothing less than remarkable. While I’m not prepared to step in front of a train, I’m seemingly bulletproof. I need to embrace that more. I can start by no longer allowing small things get in the way of a fulfilled life.

I know I have a purpose. I also know that experiences tend to find me. If I continue to wallow on what is directly in front of me I am distracted from what’s on the horizon. There I will find the next great happening in my life.

I’m always telling people to look up and around, not just straight ahead. Maybe I should follow my own advice. No more wallowing in petty shit and no more time wasted with people who don’t deserve me.

Fortunately, I have these yearly reminders of the fragility of mortality to ground me and set me back on the right track.