Category: legacy

Another repressed memory

What started out as a Charitable fundraiser quickly turned into a blast from the past.
Last Saturday I was going to my Masonic Lodge’s annual Open House. It is a day selected by the Grand Lodge of Masons in MA for us to open our building to the public for any man interested in Masonry. For three years, our lodge has taken the additional step of having a “Pumpkin Fest” for the community to enjoy. Local vendors donate pumpkins that we offer for donations as well as gift cards that we raffle off. The highlight of the event is always the kids painting their pumpkins. I always make sure there are plenty of paints, yarn, glue, googly eyes, and Sharpies for the kids to have at it. As I drove, the anticipation warmed me.
My phone rang as I was 10 minutes out. A brother had called to tell me that someone, a woman in possession of attractive qualities, had stopped by to see me. Her name was Sandy. I asked to speak to her and was told that she left.
When I got there I asked what she wanted. He relayed an odd message to me, she had come to tell me something that she and I had already discussed recently. Sandy and I went to High School together. And for context, she and I dated after High School. I shot her a text asking her to come back if she had time.

Fast forward an hour and a half. The event was in full swing when I saw her walking up the driveway. While we were in occasional contact by text, the last time I had seen her was 5 years ago at the last HS reunion.
She looked great.
I invited her in and we got to talking. I asked her why she had left a redundant message for me. She said that it wasn’t why she came by. We moved past it. We caught up as much as the situation allowed. It was crowded and busy and we were interrupted often. Somehow the conversation got serious and we began to talk about when we dated. As we spoke it became obvious that there was a time in which we really enjoyed each other’s company. Sadly,I had forgotten (repressed?)a lot of it. I asked her why we broke up, or in our case just stopped seeing each other. She couldn’t tell me why and I had nothing to offer. I was troubled by that.
We talked for another 15-20 minutes and she then had to leave. We hugged and said goodbye. I joked with her that if she became unhappy with her husband I would gladly take her off his hands. She laughed and said, “Will do”.
I wonder if she knew that I was serious.

I should have been satisfied with the exchange. My brothers were all picking on me (my romantic exploits were common fodder for conversation) and I played along. But I was anything but jubilant. I was confused and full of regrets. As if regrets weren’t bad enough, I didn’t even remember what it was that I regretted; other than the nagging feeling that I may have, 30 years ago, messed up things with a woman I could have been happy with.

Sandy and I go way back. We were pals in High School. In Marching Band, she had reminded me of the time I had wrapped her in a blanket on a cold night far from home at a competition. She had thought I was kind. Enough so that she remembered it for all of these years. I had my own word for it.
Stupid.
I was stupid then. Stupid to not have asked her out then. Stupid to let her go when I finally had her. Stupid now as I get hit yet again with the consequences of being such a misguided, lost idiot for so many years.

I have so many regrets in life that I am grappling with. It just makes it worse that new ones continue to show up.

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 get together

from previous post:

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.

I’d been thinking about initiating a get-together for a while but I decided to follow through on it after I reached out to another of the 3 pillars of my group of friends. It was harmless enough. My friend is a very successful automotive mechanic who enjoys restoring and flipping cars online in his retirement. When I found myself with 2 cars, one of which I felt had some value, I reached out to him and asked him if he had any interest in listing it for me with his internet reach. The conversation was amiable enough, but when I thought about it later I realized that I hadn’t seen him in 3 years. Sure, we interacted on FB a bit, but that was simply too long. And when I did reach out to him, it was to ask him a favor. I don’t think he cared. But I did. It was at that moment that I initiated a reunion.

It would be 4 of us. Normally, it would have been 6 but 2 of our founding members were no longer with us. One is in prison because he turned out to be a fucking Pedo (that took a bit to process), and the other passed away a few years ago. That one was tough. He died of Liver Cancer, succumbing to it the second time around. This bad friend never even knew that he had been diagnosed the first time. That is how far out of the loop I was. He was such an awesome man. Kind, humorous, humble as can be with a quick, sardonic wit that never failed to deliver wry and side-splitting observations. I miss him terribly and hate myself for not seeing him all those years.

His memory, and my tremendous guilt over it, are likely the root cause of my desire to get together. To turn a sad memory into a positive and to do my little part to avoid being blindsided by another loss (God forbid of course)and be forced to deal with the sadness, second-guessing and the guilt again.

But I suppose there are others. For starters, 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.

To be continued…

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.

Fellowship

I really love being a Mason. It is so good for my soul. Choosing to join the fraternity is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Few things in my life leave me feeling as spiritually fulfilled. I wish I could bottle the sensation that a night of fellowship with friends old and new gives me. Unfortunately, few things satiate me in such a way.

It is an exciting time in my little corner of the Masonic world. My lodge has emerged from difficult times and now stands strong and healthy in both membership and finances. In a day and age where Masonry is going in the same direction as many fraternal organizations, downwards, my lodge is, at least for now, keeping the wolves at bay with a slight but encouraging uptick in membership.

Masonry will never return to its heyday. Post WW2, Korea and Vietnam, men flocked to Masonry because it provided a fraternal, male organization that resembled many aspects of military life. Unfortunately, in those times many men worked one job, and wives stayed home as many men did what they pleased at night. Life is simply not like that anymore, most families have both adults working at least one job, demands on time are greater, gender roles have evolved, and membership has consequently dwindled. In addition, it is a faith-based organization in an increasingly non-religious world.

But challenging times often return people to their core values of seeking truth, certainty, and comfort and Masonry continues to offer those. Our fraternity heavily stresses friendship, bonding, and support and men need that today. This is evident in the recent uptick in membership.

Now, we have to give them an experience to keep them. That’s where I think I come in. As a former Master, my duties are to enjoy basking in the feeling of having met one of the greatest expectations of a Mason, that of leading a lodge. I can do what I choose to do. Last night, I recognized the need for organization, mentoring, and development of our newer members. I think I will gladly take this on.

I think it is what I am meant to do at this moment in my life. I have been looking for some purpose and, as these things tend to do, this one revealed itself to me when I least expected it.

Just how I like it.

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.

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.