Tag: life

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.

The 2AM friend

I have this amazing friend. She is a fellow blogger. Many years ago, 4 of us decided that we wanted to put a face to the words and we sacrificed our WordPress anonymity for a get-together. We all hit it off and became real-life friends. I became particularly close with one and we have served as each other’s confidantes and support system as each of us navigated the challenges of family, chronic illness, and life in general. And despite our distance, we maintain contact. We both believe in the mantra that friendship doesn’t require constant communication, but instead to pick right up where you left off when you reconnect.
We earned the right to bestow upon each other the role of 2 AM friend. The 2AM friend is a coveted distinction. It implies that no matter what time of day, especially early morning, if you need to talk then you can call and the other will pick up.

Well, shame on me. The other night I got a 1:35 AM call from her and in my sleeping stupor I ended the call. I didn’t even look who was calling, I just assumed it was a butt-dial.

When I saw the next morning who had called I reached out. “Was that a butt-dial?”, I asked.
It wasn’t. She was in a bad place and needed to talk to someone and she chose me. And I wasn’t there for her.

What fucking good does being a 2AM friend if you don’t answer the call? Shame on me. If you’re reading this my dear friend please know that I feel terrible and if you choose to give me another chance I won’t let you down.

Yes, I apologized to her already but I felt the need to put it to paper.

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.