Tag: depression

Repeat patterns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genuine

genu·ine
[ˈdʒɛnjʊɪn]

genuine (adjective)
truly what something is said to be; authentic:“genuine 24-carat gold”

I hear it a lot. “You’re one of a kind”. I know it’s not always a compliment, if it is it’s meant as a backhanded one at best. But I take it for what it’s worth. We’re all unique in one way or another. For better or worse, I suppose. Even the extreme conformists have unique qualities. Sheeple, as I like to refer to them, have something that separates them from the pack. We all have interests, passions, and guilty pleasures. Unfortunately, you have to dig a little harder on some people to find out what makes them different. Personally, I value the differences in people.
I only ask that the world do the same for me. Because for all of my faults, at least I’m genuine. I’m real.

I’ve spent an inordinate amount of my life fighting the compulsion to be what I think the world wants me to be. It’s exhausting. And it’s not for me anymore. I realized recently that I do something embarrassing every day. To be clear, I may be the only one who is embarrassed by it. However, that’s all it takes to send me into a spiral. Those spirals have been devastating to me. A typical fall down the rabbit hole has me questioning my self-worth. It also has me doubting my cognitive abilities for days or even weeks. It has crushed my self-esteem and has often left me wondering how people perceive me. I think it has a little to do with my nightly weed consumption. It is a depressant after all, and what I have described are all symptoms of depression. That’s an easy fix.
But the self-flagellation has to stop.

The answer to how to stop is actually quite simple. Just as one should always accept responsibility and embrace accountability, we should also “Own” our shortcomings. Is it really that simple? Just “Own it”?
Maybe it is.

This is who I am. I am awkward. I say the wrong thing or say too much in general. I sometimes don’t know how to act in situations. My anxiety causes a massive “Murphy’s Law” scenario in which fearing gaffes causes me to do just that. So what would it be like if I removed the worry about the gaffes as a self-fulfilling prophecy?
Bill 2.0. That’s what.

I’m going to lean into it. I am who I am, and I insist on being the genuine me. Social gaffes, saying the wrong thing, the list of things that have made me self-conscious are part of the package. If people don’t get me, I guess it will have to be their problem. If they don’t like me, then they’re missing out on some good stuff. Because, despite all of my awkwardness, I have a lot of good qualities to offer. I need to learn how to showcase them to the world. I’ve always said that you need to look deep to find what makes someone special. Well, then people will have to do the same with me. As my beloved fraternity of Freemasonry espouses, every man needs to shine his light. I live by that credo. So that’s my new philosophy.

Talk about an epiphany.

    Enough with the BS

    I need to reconcile myself. I need to get my life in order. Overall, I have a pretty great life. But it’s time to tackle some things about myself if I’m ever going to achieve happiness.
    Happiness, what is it even? At a cursory glance, I am relatively happy. At least for moments when I am enjoying my favorite activities. Riding my motorcycle gives me great joy, as it often includes good times with great friends. Moments with family make me happy. I am fortunate to have close and meaningful relationships with my children. My Masonic activities are my source of fulfillment and meaningful interaction with others.
    Those are moments of happiness. Unfortunately, I spend more time alone than I do partaking in any of the above. I am generally happy around my circle.

    However, when I am alone, I am decidedly unhappy.

    I used to hate being alone. I now look forward to it. Most assuredley, this is due to my waning ability to tolerate people for extended periods. I like people a great deal, but I have a decreasing tolerance for the antics of many people today. I look forward to retreating to my sanctuary, my “Fortress of Solitude after a long day of peopling. I breathe a sigh of relief when I walk through the door. Getting home is my favorite part of the day.
    Until the demons come.

    The negative thoughts come at night. It’s unlikely it’s a coincidence that it happens when I get high. Weed has become a regular aspect of my routine. I need to wind down at night, to put the anxiety at bay. Weed is the only thing that works. I will have to deal with the unfortunate side effect of analyzing every aspect of my life, good or bad (mostly bad) for hours on end. For a while, these episodes caused me much duress. But I have come to realize that weed causes my brain to tell me the truth. And that truth is that I have some things to work on. I have come to value the insights gained during these sessions.

    I heard a line on TV the other night that reached out of the screen and throttled my neck. “I’m sick of my own bullshit.” An older version of myself would have run from this harsh reality. It caught me at the right moment, at that moment I was indeed sick of my own Bullshit.

    I expect to explore that Bullshit in depth.

    The gentle sobbing

    The phone buzzed through my Blue Tooth hearing Aids and I looked at my mounted phone. Pickup scheduled for 12:50. I checked the clock on my dash. I realized that I had 20 minutes to finish a 10 minute ride to the pickup.
    This is the opportunity to stop at CVS. I needed some gift cards and wrapping paper. I looked at the location name, Innovative Psychiatry. I quickly decided that I would rather be early on this one.

    I pulled into the parking lot and a young woman was turned away from me looking for a at her phone. As a ride share driver, I know this scenario well. When arriving at a pickup, the person staring at the phone is your rider. I stopped the car near her and she recognized me as her driver and got in the car. I swiped the app and it revealed the destination as a local Emergency Room. I asked the young lady if she was all set. She was. I pulled out of the parking lot.

    I drive in silence. My passengers don’t seem to mind. A quiet cabin does not bother me. I realized today that sniffling and gentle sobbing were a poor alternative to music. Also, it was breaking my heart.

    I have seen it so many times. A person will be sent to the ER after a particularly trying appointment. My passenger was clearly in such a situation. It took everything of my being to not say something to her. I do believe that she may have welcomed a kind word or small talk. Still, odds were that whatever was consuming her did not need a chatty Uber Driver. I focused on getting her to the Hospital. It was a silent ride, only to be interrupted by gentle sobbing.

    We arrived at the ER quickly. I unlocked the door for her and I was surprised when she spoke.
    “Thank you for the ride. Have a good day, sir.” So hurt but still managed to find manners and civility. I chose to reply.
    “I really wish you strength to get through whatever it is you are dealing with.” Her smile was genuine but so very sad. I watched her walk away and I felt helpless.

    It’s not my problem to fix. All I can offer is kindness and the young lady needs so much more than that. This saddens me every day, regardless of the season. But during the Holidays it hits harder. So many manage to get through their lives, one day at a time. But the Holiday season, so chock full of fake bullshit and corporate created fake joy, hits hard for some. Grieving a lost family member and facing your first holiday without them is challenging. Being alone in life while everyone raves about family, friends, and parties is difficult. Struggling with addiction as the world binge drinks around you adds to the holiday hazards. I don’t even know, not could I begin to surmise, what is hurting my passenger today.
    But I feel just awful for her, as well as those I didn’t personally interact with today.

    I am not really sure what “the point” of this post is. I felt compelled to write about one of the dozens of people I interacted with today. I do not know what the source of her sadness is, nor do I think she needs me to feel bad for her. But I do. I am full of love for people. All people. I care and I can’t “dial it down” or pretend it’s not who I am. I suppose I’m inevitably headed in a predictable direction

    That is to say, be nice to everyone. We truly don’t know what anyone is dealing with at any given moment. I attempted a kindness today, even though I only did so by shutting my mouth for a change. But I know that everything I say, and don’t say, matters to someone. Let’s at least not be the reason that some poor soul is sobbing in the back seat of my car.

    A voyeur of my own life

    I’m not depressed. Really I’m not. Maybe if I say it enough times then I’ll believe it.
    Who am I kidding? If it is or isn’t, this is just what I do.
    I isolate. It’s better for me if I acknowledge that I don’t have the stamina that I used to. I’m disabled, maybe I should admit it. When you’re disabled you have to remind yourself that you only have so much in you each day and when you’re tired, then go with it. Lately I’ve been embracing that notion, to perhaps an unhealthy level.

    But people are worrying about me. They don’t understand what I’m trying to do. I’m doing a reset. Truth is, I like being alone.
    I do my best thinking. I save money. By avoiding people I avoid piquing my anxiety, which is running roughshod over my weak ass lately. I’m safe in my little space. Not safe like a little Gen Z snowflake afraid to get his feelings hurt, just safe from encountering extra stimuli that is going to serve as the proverbial straw that broke the Camel’s back. That’s why I isolate. There is nothing that says that I have to be out there doing stuff all the time. It’s ok to spend time alone.
    Did I mention that I was never like that before this year?
    It’s true. This is very new. I used to be the guy that needed to be around people all of the time. I suppose that’s before people in my life started letting me down, or just the day that I noticed a lack of equity in my relationships. Equity is a nice way of saying that I’m tired of giving more than I’m capable of and getting the minimum monthly payment back. Disclaimer, I do have some very good friends. But there are a couple that hurt me recently and I’m not going to lie, it stings. It’s causing me to reevaluate how much I give of myself to those that don’t deserve it. While I’ll never pull it off, I’m tempted to dump my trademark “be kind” and not be so fucking nice all of the time. You can be a good person without being a punching bag. Fuck the high road, and fuck anyone that did me dirty.

    I have thought a lot about my isolation recently. I have been forcing myself to go out and do something each day, no matter how small. Last night I decided to take the bike out. It was a hot day but by 7 it cooled enough and it was perfect riding weather. I could have called several friends, any one of who would have joined me but I went alone. I drove to a lake and sat at the edge looking at nothing and everything like a first year Philosophy student. Other than some serenity, I didn’t feel much of anything.

    Therein lies the problem. I don’t feel anything anymore. Until very recently I was basking in that post-transplant glow. Full of promise, a new lease, the ability to do things that once appeared to be unavailable. Now, I’m joyless. I don’t feel things like I should. I spend my TV time watching Documentaries on subjects that irritate me, made by people I don’t like or respect. I watch indie dramedies in search of that amazing love story that rips my fucking heart out, because I don’t have that but I want to FEEL IT! I’m challenging my entire paradigm to figure out why I am a voyeur in my own goddamn life.

    How can I be a spectator of my own life?

    Everything must go

    I’ve been struggling lately. I am reluctant to say that I have been sad, but I have been isolating more than usual and feel like I’m searching for something. Despite my lack of physical activity this past week, the mental energy expended was triathlon level. I have been evaluating everything, challenging my own viewpoints and beliefs, and wondering why someone with such a fulfilling life can feel such despair.
    I sought the advice of a friend, which is hard for me because I don’t tend to share the very personal with people. I tend to laugh off, minimize and generally suppress that which gnaws at me. To my amazement, after hearing about my funk, he asked me if I ever properly processed the difficult events in my life.
    I scoffed at him, it’s what I do.
    He was ready for that. He knew that was what I do. So I thought about it, and I wasn’t happy with what I came up with. I may have handled the situation(s) but I never dealt with them.

    Yes, those who know me may assume that the myriad of health problems that I have experienced would be the most traumatic experiences of my life. They would be wrong. Health is easy to deal with. With illness, it may take a while but you deal with it. You accept it, if you’re smart you will follow directions and maybe change some habits, and leave the rest up to fate. You either live or you don’t, the very “out of ones hands” nature of illness makes it that simple. The only obstacle is pain, but you get used to that as well.
    What I never dealt with is the emotional trauma, which goes way back, of everything from the bullying in school to my failed marriage and everything in between. It was a nice revelation but I am clueless to how to act on it.

    Enter one of the things that I do like about myself, my persistent tendency to always be on the lookout for a sign. I believe in signs. It is my belief that the universe communicates with those in tune through signs. I actively look for them everywhere and in everything; by studying my surroundings with an open mind and heart, in my choice of shows or movies, even in interactions with others. I have been inspired by the smallest of things and in the most unlikely of places. Today, I found great inspiration and even some answers in a Will Ferrell movie, of all things.

    Everthing Must Go is a sleeper movie that slipped under the mainstream but caught the attention of a few respected movie critics. It is the rare Drama done by a comedian considered to be out of his depth that surprises you. Not unlike Reign Over Me with Adam Sandler and Moscow on the Hudson with Robin Williams. Of course, Robin Williams would go on to be a respected dramatic actor but you get the point.
    In Everything Must Go, the main character loses his job and marriage on the same day. Both due to his chronic alcoholism. He returns to his house to find all of his belongings in the front yard, door locks changed and his bank accounts frozen. With no funds or other means to do anything, he chooses to live with all of his belongings in his front yard. In the ensuing days he endures a crash course in confronting the issues of his life. As expected, what unfolded was a painful emotional roller coaster. One that I related to almost to the point of tears.
    He was forced to deal with his alcoholism, his choices, his accountability for his role in the failure of his marriage and career, and I was held in rapt attention. The familiarity was staggering. The impact of alcohol on his life was particularly poignant. The failure of his marriage was downright painful. All of it was just too close to home. And it proved to me that my friend was SPOT ON correct that I never dealt with my marriage, my choices, my place in life and my deeply repressed emotions on ALL of it.
    Watching the movie unfold, I felt the despair, the frustration, the longing, the pain as if it was my own. And like my life, the story did not have a happy ending. Yes, I know my life is not over but I’m not expecting great things in the future.
    The only positive takeaway I have is that it was a movie. I still have time, not to recover that which was lost, but to finally deal with the trauma of my past. It’s critical to mention here that my use of the word “trauma” is a rarity. I tend to downplay, even be derisive, of people who use the word. But it’s time that I face up to it, finally.
    Being minimized at work and home, being forced to tolerate rampant abuse by employers who knew that I needed the job and could do nothing about it, being a mere roommate to my wife, and then finally having the chewed-up carcass of what was left of my life spit out by chronic illness nearly destroyed me.
    That is trauma. The fact that I am still standing notwithstanding, it needs to be dealt with.

    I may have to focus on that for a while.

    My room the sanctuary

    I don’t know if I’m on a quest for substance or just profoundly depressed. While on paper there would appear to be no possible similarities between the two, with me they can easily be mistaken for each other.

    I get depressed. But I don’t get sad. Yes, I know it’s a false equivalency; Depression isn’t always characterized by sadness. It’s detachment, apathy, lack of interest, isolating. There are times that I experience all of that. It’s a problem that I need to deal with at some point.
    When I am on a quest for substance, it means that I am unsatisfied with something in my life. One would think it would be an easy fix, identify the issue and work on it, right?
    Not always. Things are never that easy with me. If that is what is happening; I don’t know what it is that is bothering me, what I feel I am lacking, or even in what direction to look.
    Having taken a deep dive on all of it, the best I can come up with is that it is a combination of both.

    I am definitely depressed. And again, not sad. I just don’t give a fuck about things that I usually care greatly about. I love my family and friends but I don’t answer the phone when they call me. I may text some of them back. They want to know where I’ve been, why I missed meetings that I am always at (with joy I might add). They want to know if I’m ok. I tell them I’m fine, they know I’m lying and I’m making them feel bad for me. And I hate that. It would probably help me to talk about it, what little I understand of my behavior, but I refuse to pull them in.
    I’ve been lying to everyone about how I am for years, why stop now?

    There’s something to be said for the quest for substance also. Yes, I have been in my loft, with the exception of the rare times that I have to go out, and I have been watching a LOT of television. But here’s the caveat, I’m not watching reruns or just anything, but instead I am combing the streaming channels with a purpose. I am looking for that great movie that I’ve always wanted to watch, selecting titles and topics that I know will challenge my paradigm , even documentaries on controversial subjects created by controversial people. I watched Moscow on the Hudson because I knew that it was a beautiful take on Immigration and the American dream. I streamed Bowling for Columbine because I needed to see the other side (not my 2A stance) on the Gun Violence debate.
    All in the interest of challenging myself. I actually like what I’m doing, just now how I’m doing it. But underneath it all, I know that I’m trying to improve myself and that cannot be a bad thing in my book.

    Still, it needs to stop. I have a great life and there is no reason to be down. I have a great family, tons of friends, groups and activities that I enjoy, there are people that actually are counting on me. I like that as well as need it. It gives my life value. So what’s my problem?

    I’m going out tomorrow. No matter what. I’m going somewhere and doing something with someone. If I can’t do that then I need to Google some therapists. Don’t think I haven’t thought about that as well.

    something has got to give

    Right now I should be at an event at the Shriners. I had every intention of going but I didn’t.
    Last night I had every intention of going to another event. In fact, I was dressed and ready to go. Then I couldn’t find my keys. I had a complete meltdown as I frantically searched high and low for them. I exaggerate not one bit when I tell you that I tore my loft and most of the kitchen, the place I had last seen them (and where they were eventually recovered) apart in a complete panic.
    My roommate’s girl found them for me, but by then it was too late for me to go to my thing.
    I realized today that I am actually glad that I didn’t go, I would even go so far as to venture a guess that I may have mentally sabotaged myself. I didn’t want to go. In fact, I don’t want to do fucking anything lately.

    I thought I was just being lazy. I have those moments. To listen to my doctors, friends and family tell it, I am busy enough most of the time that I should allow myself those days, as they remind me that I am after all disabled and can cut myself some slack. But I haven’t left my room, except for the food shopping I did yesterday that led to my lost keys. Other than that I have been isolating.

    Isolation is not entirely new to me. I do it once in a while. I have been doing it more lately, I must admit. But it’s getting more intense; one new development this week has been my ignoring almost all phone calls, family excluded. In addition to not wanting to do anything, I don’t want to talk to anyone either. And some of those people are starting to notice and are concerned about me. But I won’t discuss it with them because I don’t want them to worry about me. I want to talk to someone about it but that, for sure, would make people worry about me.

    I don’t like this. If for no other reason, it doesn’t make sense. I have a good life. I am in good health. I have been to fucking HELL and BACK and I came out on top. I thumbed my nose at my mortality and I am doing everything that I once thought was lost to me. I even have a female companion. That is an area of my life that caused me great anxiety, worry and heartbreak.

    I also have to ask, why did I have the overwhelming urge to end my life last week? Out of nowhere, while with family of all things, I suddenly didn’t care if I lived or died. I didn’t make any plans, or pick a means or a place, and I didn’t write a note, but I couldn’t have given less of a fuck if an asteroid hit the house I was in at that moment.

    And then, just like that it went away. I am not in a good mood, but I scoff at the thoughts that racked my head last week. That depressive episode has morphed, deescalated perhaps, into a shameful state of apathy. I am a lot of things but apathetic is not one of them. Yet, here I sit, marveling at the effort it required just to write this blog.

    Something has got to give. And soon.

    A much needed reminder

    How are you don’t lieInstead of heading straight downstairs to find a seat for dinner I asked my Brother John to save me a seat. I knew many people at the event but I always prefer to sit with close friends at these events and for some reason, one which will reveal itself at the end of this post, I wanted to sit with John. I can’t put my finger on it but for some reason, we really click. He agreed and I went outside to clear my head and put on my “everything is fine” face. I knew that I would be asked how I was doing by many. My health history is well known and it is a blessing and a curse that many inquiries regarding my progress are made. I needed to be ready. You see, it is my opinion that for some the greeting “How are you?” is generic at best. But among my brethren they really mean it. And they know me, I have famously said “fine” to the greeting hundreds of times when I was anything but. A true friend would push and ask for the truth. That night, it was going to be difficult to satisfy those people because despite my robust physical appearance, I was bearing the weight of the world. Someone was going to call me on it.

    The walls really were closing in on me. I was beating myself up over leaving my first Insurance Job. Three weeks in I was being pushed too hard and trained too little and despite my Herculean efforts to learn and apply TONS of information from Licenses to Certifications they weren’t happy with my progress and we parted ways. It really isn’t a huge deal career-wise. It wasn’t a good fit and I wasn’t contracted yet. Still, I felt like a failure, as I am prone to do. I was miserable. On top of that, I was disgusted and upset that my recently-broken-up-with ex-girlfriend didn’t have the decency to even text me after I drove over an hour out of my way to give back some belongings. Why would she be so childish and angry with me after she dumped my ass? She broke my heart and n top of reeling from that, now I have to wonder about this? I was consumed and my mind was racing. I shook it off and went inside.

    I joined John and a few other good friends for dinner. It really was a tremendous set up. The room was full of well-dressed happy people. The decorations were lovely, the food was amazing and the bar was open. As expected, many inquiries were made about my health. I think I fooled all of them. Then John says to the whole table, hand resting on my shoulder, “Bill has the most amazing attitude. He is the most determined, optimistic and cheerful guy I’ve ever met. He’s been through so much and he keeps dusting himself off. He’s an inspiration to me.” Everyone at the table offered up similar sentiments. I gratefully acknowledged them and thanked them profusely.
    Then it hit me.
    There was the reason I had felt compelled to sit with John that evening. Because I was destined to hear that. Not for the praise, despite how flattering and humbling it was. No, it was a REMINDER to stop spiraling down the drain of negative thinking and remember that I have survived so much big and important shit in my life that I can’t let a couple of setbacks get me down. Somehow I had lost my mojo but John’s words snapped me right out of it. To Hell with the heartbreak, it’s her loss. To Hell with the job, it wasn’t the right company but I’ve still got the license and I will use it. To Hell with negativity in general, I needed to get back on track.

    I know this is hard for some people to believe, but sometimes things really do happen for a reason. I was at an absolute low and by the end of dinner, I was actually in a decent place. I can’t begin to understand how it happened that quickly, but I can’t deny that it happened.

    Today, I’m not 100%. I still miss her terribly and I still wish the job had turned out better. But neither of them are getting me down. And for now that is good enough.

    Right place, wrong mood

    As a Mason, my favorite time of year is Installation season. Every year, and every 2 for some lodges, there is a turnover in Lodge Officers. The officers of a Masonic Lodge are modeled after the ancient Stone Masons guild and have roles ranging from Master to the man that watches the door. The officer line changes as some move in, others move up and in my case, as departing Master of the Lodge I moved out. I’m done and my role is now diminished.

    The Installation is a special event for all involved. Families and friends are invited as well as any Masons that want to attend as they witness a ceremony that is not only historic but memorable as well. Especially for the Master. Becoming Master of the Lodge is a special thing. I can only speak for myself when I say that, when I first joined, I didn’t know if I wanted to move to the big chair. But a few years in I committed to it. It can take many years to move through the line and there is a great deal of work involved to prepare. But if you “get it”, as those in the know say, it’s worth it. It is a position of respect to be celebrated. I will always fondly remember mine. As Masons, we are very supportive of each other and an Installation is well attended by well-meaning brothers. I am a well-meaning Brother and I attended many this season. The most recent was Tuesday night.

    I visited another lodge in my district to witness my friend Tony be installed as Master. I sat with a great group of Brothers who I consider dear friends. I couldn’t be in better company nor could I be doing anything more enjoyable at that moment in time.
    Yet I was in a terrible mood.
    Everything was bothering me at that moment and the environment I was in failed to improve my mood or even distract me for a while. I was in a terrible place. The ceremony was wonderful, perfect in every way in the way of fellowship, camaraderie and the love and respect being given to my friend, yet it couldn’t be over fast enough for me. When it ended, I only wanted to have a drink and eat. In that order. I asked my Brother John to save me a seat in the dining hall. I went outside to get a breath of the cool September air. Before I would re-enter the building I would have to put on my “everything is fine face”.

    More tomorrow…