Tag: blog

Traits of Lonely People: A Personal Reflection

I previously discussed the topic of loneliness. I started it by recalling a conversation I once had with a friend. He had mentioned that the ability to go out to restaurants and bars alone is rare. That is to say, without caring about the impression of being lonely. He further went on to say that it indicates security, confidence, and self-awareness. Now, I do have a well-documented penchant for self-awareness. I do know exactly what and who I am.
But I am not confident or secure. I ended the blog by stating that I am not lonely, I am merely good at being alone.
As it often happens with me, inexplicably, I then came across an article online that addressed my issue du jour. The article was about the traits of lonely people.

Despite my insistence that I not lonely I perused the article. It’s a bad habit of mine, to read articles that are likely clickbait and fluff. These articles list symptoms of disorders. Gullible readers then try to plug their own traits in to see if they fit. If I may skip ahead, this one fit.
The traits, according to the author, of a lonely person are as follows:

Struggle with vulnerability.
Oh, hell yes. I don’t just enjoy my own company. I choose to be alone as opposed to opening myself up to getting hurt again. I may take the leap again in romance. Still, it will take a lot to trust once more.

Overanalyze social situations.
I want to be liked, accepted, welcomed, appreciated and missed when I’m not around. Unfortunately, that would need that I engage socially. You can easily recognize, through earlier posts, that I have an active social life. I do indeed. But the amount of effort expended while later analyzing (overthinking) every goddamn word, facial expression and conversation is exhausting. My acute anxiety causes me to be concerned about making social mistakes. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. I worry about making verbal gaffes or saying an inappropriate comment so intensely that I inevitably commit one. Not always but frequently enough. This is anything but confident and secure. It can lead to my not wanting to go out amongst people.

Highly sensitive.
I have had the word “sensitive” applied to me far too often. Not unjustified at all. I am sensitive. I experience things powerfully. I take things seriously. I care deeply. I have thin skin. I can look you in the face and tell you that I don’t care what people think of me. But I do. Quite a lot. Not for superficial reasons, I care about the impression I leave on people. But I have been told to “lighten up” more than I care to admit.

Don’t believe they are worthy of love.
I do grapple with this. I question whether my turn has passed. I wonder if I have the qualities to be a worthy partner. Further, I debate if I bring anything to the table. Am I active enough? Do I have enough money? Do I have annoying habits? Long story short, am I datable? Finally, do I deserve another chance at love? This is often debated in the halls of my mind.

Insist on doing things alone.
Yes and no. I have always been self-reliant. Except for mechanical tasks, which I suck at, I don’t ask for help. I hate asking anyone for anything for fear of “putting them out.” Also, I hate criticism. I’m getting better at distinguishing between negative and constructive criticism. I am not proud of my lack of ability to fix things. I choose to not reveal it if possible. I’m not sure this is a sign of loneliness.

Active imaginations.
If an active imagination is a trait of lonely people, maybe I’m not. My mind shows imagination actively in limited ways. Often it is limited to imagining why someone doesn’t like me. This is anxiety and it sucks. I hope I can get control over that trait someday. It is crippling and will continue to hold me back in life.

Over Apologizing.
Over-apologizing is a trait of a neurotic or insecure person. I do not believe it has anything to do with loneliness. That’s not to say that I don’t do it. I do it because I’m a neurotic and anxious person. I can be so in a room full of trusted friends as well as while alone. I know in my heart that an apology should be sincere and a one-off. Over-apologizing is seeking forgiveness (if it is pending) to make you one feel better. I am getting better at avoiding it. It’s part of accountability and acceptance of situations.

Self-deprecating sense of humor.
This has nothing to do with being alone. It has everything to do with being comfortable in your own skin. There is nothing more damaging than saying terrible things to yourself about you. Your mind can’t distinguish the difference. I am guilty of doing this. I have for years. The reasons are obvious, I am not comfortable in my own skin. But I don’t lack self-esteem. A person who has little to no self-esteem that makes self-deprecating comments is very uncomfortable in their own skin. That may be the reason they are alone and/or lonely.

In conclusion, there is some meat to this article. But a good amount of these traits are suffered by all types of people, not just lonely ones. Taken in its entirety, I am a bit surprised at how many of the above do apply to me.



Is Loneliness a Choice? A Personal Reflection

I’ll never forget when my friend Steve said it.
“You can go to a restaurant by yourself, sit and drink or eat alone. It doesn’t bother you at all. That’s a rare thing, you know. I sure can’t do it.”
He has never given me the impression that there’s anything he can’t do. The guy was a Army Ranger and won’t sit in a restaurant alone? I told him that I had never given it much thought.
He further went on to say that it indicates security, confidence, and self-awareness. Things that I have rarely been accused of and traits that he has an abundance of. I asked him why he wouldn’t do it. His reply was that he didn’t like to appear lonely.

Lonely. Many aspects of my life can easily suggest that I am lonely. I live alone. I haven’t had a relationship lasting more than 4 months in almost 8 years. I do indeed go into establishments and bars alone, where I can occupy myself for hours. But I don’t feel lonely.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I occasionally lament the fact that I don’t have the company of a woman. But that’s another conversation.

I am very comfortable being alone. In fact I often enjoy it. As my social anxiety increases and my energy level diminishes, home is my favorite place. I like to cook, read, putter, watch movies and write. Sadly, much time for those activities was lost as my drinking and weed habit surged of late. Now that I am attempting sobriety I am doing more of those activities.

But I’m not lonely. I have a vast network to reach out to. I could probably arrange a breakfast or lunch with a friend every day of the week. I enjoy people. To an extent. Then I retreat to my Fortress of Solitude, my tiny apartment.

It has occurred to me that this is largely semantic. Does loneliness mean that one has no-one in their life? Does it mean that you don’t have friends or family to talk to or spend time with? Or does it mean that you need a partner? If it’s the latter, then yea I may be.

By choosing to remove myself from the dating scene entirely I didn’t make a choice to be lonely. I made a choice to be alone. I’ll admit it, I’m not too proud or macho to say it, I don’t want to get hurt anymore. I can tell you a very convincing argument about how I’m ok with it. But the hole in my heart has caused a hole in my life. I liked being married, if not to the person I married. I enjoyed having someone with me to share life with. I wish I had someone to spend time with. Not every day, maybe one day a week. To have dinner, make dinner, go out to a movie or something. To see where it goes. I genuinely crave female companionship. Not just sexually. Yes I like it but I value connection above all. I like women.

But I have decided to not make any active measures to meet anyone. I am leaving it to chance. Hopefully someone I can meet face to face. Online Dating is just miserable. It’s exactly like trying to make puzzle pieces fit. It’s forced and I won’t play that game anymore. Until I meet someone I want to be with, it’s just me. I choose who I spend my time with.

I am not lonely, I am just good at being alone. I’m alone because, despite my desire for intimacy, my sense of self-preservation will always take over. And it is definitely not a decision.

A moment

Everyone, including former Recovery Case Managers, know that relationships are a bad idea when you’re in recovery. Patients are always warned not to date fellow members. They are further cautioned against beginning new relationships while in the early stages of sobriety. Those already in a relationship while chasing sobriety can just hope for a supportive partner. When I walked into my first meeting, I was preparing to chase many thoughts out of my mind. One of these thoughts was dating someone in the group.

I was amused to hear someone say, “Have all the sex you want just don’t get in a relationship.” That works for some people, I’m not built like that. I’m a relationship person. Sex leads to feelings for me. Anyway, I noticed quite a few attractive members in the room. But I quickly remembered where I was and what I was there to do. Get better.

But one woman continued to catch my attention. I can’t get a feel for her exact age, but she seems age-appropriate. She has pretty blonde hair, nice eyes, and pleasant fleeting smiles. I’ve heard her story through her shares and she interests me. I kept my interest to myself.

We continued to see each other at daily meetings, and a few pleasantries exchanged led to a few minor conversations. She began to smile at me when she walked in. I didn’t read into it. She smiles at a lot of people. But one night I happened to be standing near the exit as she left. She looked very nice that evening and I told her so. She thanked me and walked past. While I was talking to another person, I looked to my left and she was looking back at me. She gave me a look. I can’t define it but if memory serves she was checking me out. I’m not very good at that stuff and it doesn’t happen often.

I’m sure that I just made her feel good. Her story suggests that her soon-to-be ex-husband isn’t nice to her so that may be it. All I know is it felt as if we had a moment. I remember the look vividly and it has remained with me.

We had a moment.

Tonight I told myself that it’s going to stay just a moment. I’m going to chase this out of my mind. I’m only thinking of myself in wanting to ask her for coffee or a late lunch. She is struggling with her life. Sobriety is hard and requires everything you have at times. Even a coffee with a well-meaning acquaintance may be more than she needs on her plate. It’s not fair to her.

I’ve always been a sensitive person. I don’t think I am selfish. I’ve even been called an Empath. But I take comfort in knowing that I can put another’s needs before my own. I’m not looking for a cookie or a pat on the back, I’m just sharing a nugget of personal growth.

I’m no closer to being ready to date than I was months ago. I don’t even know if I want it.

How Sobriety Changed My Morning Motivation

Occasionally, I look for topics outside of my wheelhouse to avoid repetitiveness and overkill. I have several books on affirmations, daily motivations, and such at an easy reach. This morning I picked up my “Question of the Day” book and opened it to today’s date. The question was a simple one. One that I would have moved past any other day.
The question is, “My favorite way to start the day is?”

This is a timely question. That is to say, had I been asked this 2 weeks ago my answer would have been very different.

11 days ago, I would start my day by waking early to my alarm. Then I would promptly hit the snooze button. Not always, but more often than not. When doing Car details or going to appointments, I sometimes had to leave early. Mostly, my morning routine was to get up and instantly make coffee and find my way to the sofa. There, I would sip my wake-up juice and watch the news as I searched for inspiration. Inspiration, for the sake of this conversation, meant that I was trying to find something to do. Many of those days I procrastinated until the wish to be productive passed.
Often, this was exacerbated by an upset stomach. I have been feeling sick in the morning. Many days I made many trips to the bathroom as I battled with an upset stomach. That certainly added to the procrastination and made it difficult to get out the door.
Many evenings I would think negatively about my day, wishing that I stop procrastinating and be more productive.
I had no excuse for not having a clean apartment. I was wasting opportunities to read the stack of books I had on my bucket list. I squandered opportunities to work on my blog, or the book that is actually shaping up to be something. Instead, later in the afternoon, I would see the glass of whiskey or beer in front of me. Then, I would figuratively beat the crap out of myself.

As of Jan 1st, in the absence of alcohol, I have been a morning person. Not the first day, but more and more so each day. This is odd to me because I rarely drank to to point of drunkenness. If so I attribute it to a hangover. It’s not. But that says more about my tolerance than about my portions. Clearly, the alcohol and consequent food choices had an effect on my system. Needless to say, no upset stomach in the morning. When the alarm goes off I get up instead of hitting the snooze. I get out of the house with ease, often leaving early to Drive Uber or hit an early AA meeting.

Today, I woke up and decided to do some things I had been putting off. I cleaned the entire apartment, paid bills, read Affirmations and started this blog. I was out the door by 10 for an appointment. Normally, that would be it. To be fair, disabled people set lower goals than healthy people. We’re happy to get one major task done each day to feel accomplished. That would be when I gave myself permission to have the first of many drinks. Instead, I kept going.

This is a pleasant side effect of a major life decision. I never knew that I would feel so much better physically and mentally in such a short time. I know I made the right decision.

My favorite way to start my day? Sober.

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.


Facing Family

I revealed a very poorly kept secret to my family this week. It was not received as anticipated.

My oldest boy was surprised. Despite it being a poorly kept secret, he didn’t see it coming.
My youngest daughter was straight-up glad to hear it but not surprised. She had an idea of the secret.
My oldest daughter was surprised. But she also had an idea of the secret.
My ex-wife didn’t react at all as I thought she would. She knew more about the poorly kept secret than anyone.
My youngest boy was not surprised. He was glad but didn’t say much. When I asked him why, he said he figured I would tell him more when I was ready. I was ready at that point but he missed the cue.

I can’t believe that most of my family didn’t understand the extent to which I am an alcoholic.

My oldest boy didn’t think that I drank as much as I did. This is the kid who used to bring me multiple beers throughout the night and jokingly call them “water bottles”.
My youngest daughter suspected but was very happy that I admitted it.
My oldest daughter, who I see the least, had seen me at my worst as a child. She didn’t know I was still struggling.
My ex-wife simply said “I figured. I just hope that you’ll get healthy one day.
My youngest son, we did talk later, thought I had it under control. Barely. He figured that one day I would just stop.
My youngest son, the no-nonsense “call it like it is” one said, “Good. Now what are you going to do about it?”

I told him this. I also told the others. I am now in AA and have been attending 1-2 meetings a day.

It’s time to stop procrastinating. I need to fix the one thing standing between me and the man I want to be.

Reminiscin’

I was recently asked what was my favorite memory of my Father. One immediately

I will just start by saying my Dad was a god to me when I was young. Unfortunately, I feel that I worshiped at arm’s length. Later in life, I would understand the small gap of air between us. What I thought was reserved was actually his “Dad Hat”. My Dad was determined to be a good father. Committed to give me a good childhood and to make sure I had enough of everything. 

Because he had a lousy childhood and was given nothing, he was ending the cycle. 

What I refer to as reserved was just him trying too hard. I wish he had learned to just be himself around me. He eventually would, and when he did all was good. We enjoyed a very nice relationship in his later years. Nevertheless, Parkinson’s reduced him to a shell of his former self. He died in 2013.

I connected with my Dad through common interests. I made myself interested in things to spend time with him. When he was working on the house, I would hang with him and help out whenever possible. When he was under the hood of the car, I poked mine in as well to see what he was doing. When he watched Sports, I sat with him. I ingratiated myself to get close to him. And I’m so very glad that I did because my love of cars and sports came from him.

But what I love most from my father’s influence is my passion for motorcycles.

My Dad rode motorcycles as far back as I can remember. Motorcycles have an obvious allure. Aesthetically, the sleek styling, shiny chrome, and loud pipes appeal to the senses. The idea of them and what they represent excited the hell out of me. Freedom, danger, independence and (let’s face it) a badass vibe came to mind. That excitement has yet to wear off, but it is rivaled by the sight of my Dad pulling up the driveway on his bike when I was young.

It was agonizing on so many levels as I waited to be deemed old enough to ride on the back. When that day finally came, I was jumping out of my skin with excitement. I can still remember putting the helmet on and watching as dad made sure it was fastened properly. I remember the pre-ride speech about staying still and not making any sudden movements that may throw his balance. I vividly remember as we rolled down the driveway for the first time.

I wasn’t scared. I trusted my father to the moon and back. We went to our favorite place in Salem, MA. We ate pizza and Ice Cream as we watched the people scuttle about. It was a magic day and the place became our place after that day.

The only memory greater than that, my absolute favorite of all, involves the day I met up with my Dad. I was on my own bike to embark on our first ride together. We went to our place in Salem, MA, our place, and ate pizza and Ice Cream. This time, it wasn’t just the destination that mattered but the journey there and back. 

That is how I like to remember my Father. When I bought my first Harley after he had passed on. As I fired her up for the first time, I looked to the Sky and wondered if Dad was proud of me.

Connection

When I first decided to take advantage of alternate ways to earn extra income I asked around. Ride Share and Food delivery were the unanimous answers. The prospect of either of them sent my anxiety through the roof. But I knew I had to get past that. My benefits allow me to earn up to 12k/yr without penalty. I liken not earning that money to leaving it on the table. It also keeps Social Security Disability (SSDI) off of my back. When you try to earn, SSDI often overlooks your case. They do not find it necessary to do a Medical review and closely examine your ability to work full-time. Not that a medical review would result in an issue for me, my condition is certainly confirmed. But it is a hassle, one that I would rather avoid. And I like to work.

I enrolled in Lyft, Uber, and DoorDash. Uber wouldn’t accept me because my car was ineligible due to age. I decided against Door Dash because I really don’t like handling people’s food. Lyft terrified me because, while I’m a good driver I am bad at directions. I procrastinated for a month (I put the PRO in procrastinate) but finally took the leap. It wasn’t bad once I was used to the Application. It is notorious for being wrong and I dreaded getting grief from riders. As it turns, they are very forgiving and understanding, most of them are aware of the erratic directions and mistakes. I forget sometimes, people are almost never as bad as you expect them to be.

I immediately took to Lyft. I got the hang of the App. I was beginning to earn a respectable part-time income. And I discovered the source of the appeal of giving strangers rides over delivering their food.
Connection.
I crave connection. To those who know me, you are aware that I am not at a loss for friends. My support network is vast. Through Masonry and other activities, I have something that many men my age do not. Did you know that most men over 50, regardless of marital status, have almost no close friends?
Despite my obvious wealth in this department, I can’t meet enough new people. I love it.

Riders are a mixed bag of personalities. In training for Ride Share, we learn to be mindful of topics of conversation while on a fare. We must also be mindful that some people do not talk. This is not ideal for me and my big mouth, but I get it. Many of my passengers get rides every day. They either enjoy the alone time. Alternatively, they don’t want to engage in conversation with an old bald guy with a goatee.
Then there are the ones that talk a little. They are easy to recognize, they choose who they want to engage with. Then there are the ones that talk with you the whole ride. They want to know about you, they want to talk about their day, or simply want to make a connection. I have come to appreciate them all.

Most days that I drive I end the shift tired but energized. The knowledge that some money was made doing something that I enjoy comforts me. It is good for my soul. There are days that I have a memorable passenger with whom I shared a connection. It can go both ways; maybe they helped me, maybe I helped them. Maybe…we helped each other. It makes me feel valued. The kids are grown now. I am out of the workforce. I long for the days when I was needed. I truly believe that sometimes we were meant to meet certain people. Now, I am not suggesting that it’s a privilege to meet me. I am suggesting that sometimes one person is exactly what someone needs at that particular moment in time.

I suspect that you can not get that from dropping off a bag of Taco Bell on someone’s doorstep.

Only in the movies

“C’mon, let’s go get the shit kicked out of us by Love.”
Sam from Love Actually

This kid, this character. He’s my hero.

I had never seen Love Actually until recently. I had tired of the standard fare; Scrooged, Christmas Vacation, It’s a Wonderful Life. So, I searched a streaming collection of holiday selections and gave this one a shot. No regrets. It features a great ensemble cast. There are some “awww isn’t that sweet” moments and a great ending. It also includes my favorite type of character, the precocious young lad who believes in laying it all on the table for love. Bonus, he knows the rules of the Rom Com. This is evidenced by his comment, “I have to wait to the end, that’s when you get the girl”.

Now, the benchmark role for such a character is the son in Crazy Stupid Love. A hopeless romantic who never gives up. A believer in grand gestures and a yearning for romance that far exceeds the sensibilities of a young boy. A boy with the patience to actually wait for his one true love and the balls to go after it. Sam captures all that while dealing with the loss of his mother. Despite the sadness and utter turmoil he was enduring, he fell in love. And when he learned that the object of his desire was moving away, he channeled everything into getting the girl.

This post isn’t so much about this kid or his role. It’s about how I’m reminded by him of how I used to be. I never have been capable of the grand gestures portrayed in movies. But I was a devout believer in true love and I would really put myself out there in pursuit of it. I would have, given the chance, tried to get past TSA to stop a girl from getting on a plane. I would drive all night to spend an hour with a woman I loved.
Now, I don’t think I would cross the street for it.

I’ve given up. I choose not to date. I can’t do it to myself anymore. Love and Romance has been reduced to something that is found only in the movies. I can’t reconcile it with real life anymore. On the screen, I see happy endings and bold gestures. But in my mind, and in my gut, I only recall pain, bitterness and disappointment. Relationships now induce feelings of loss and rejection, which inevitably lead to my blaming myself. It’s a vicious cycle I don’t have the stomach for anymore. If for no other reason, I removed myself to protect what little is left of my heart.

Sam’s impulsivity and bravery in Love Actually is something I can relate to it and always enjoy it onscreen. But it’s a foreign concept to me now, putting myself out there. I am capable. I can flirt with the best of them and I am virtually fearless in talking to women. If only I was able to do that when younger. The difference between then and now is that I have no expectation of getting the girl at the end.

It’s a self-preservation thing. Young Sam is ready to let love challenge him. I really admire him for that. It’s a valuable lesson in life and a necessary rite of passage. No matter how bad it is, he’ll get over it.

Me, I’m still reeling from the last beating. Love is now a spectator sport to me.